Nashville SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood: Nashville SEALs

by Hamilton, Sharon

  “You playing tonight, Thomas?”

  “No, ma’am. But I come prepared anyway, just in case they need the backup quarterback. I actually have a better chance to get on stage now that Jameson is gone.”

  Lizzy’s heart raced. “Gone?”

  “Oh, not dead, sweetheart.” He winked at her indicating he might be a bit drunk but his observation skills were still sharp. “Gone as in he’s off to San Diego. Finishing up his qualifying. The guy actually made it through the SEAL training.”

  “That’s awesome,” said Kendra.

  Lizzie wanted to learn more, but didn’t want Thomas or anyone else to know that she still hadn’t stopped thinking and dreaming about him. She thought she’d tucked the pain in fireproof containers in her chest, but she felt the sharp sting of unfinished business and a world of regrets.

  She didn’t care for being held hostage to the mystery between them, didn’t want to get hit with it some day when he might just stop by and she’d have to deal with the reality he’d moved on. “So, I suppose by now he’s found a nice young lady and settled down.”

  Thomas smirked and took a long drink of whatever was in his glass, coughing afterwards. “That’s funny, missy. I guess you don’t know very much about those guys. They train all the time. I mean, he was awarded his Trident, but he still has to learn how to do all this shit. They go up to Alaska, to the desert, even go to Mexico, North Africa—all over to train. I don’t know how he’d have the time. But,” he eyed Lizzie carefully, giving her a lopsided wolfish grin, “he’s supposed to be done now.”

  Lizzie wasn’t sure why that made her feel better, but it did.

  “You know, darlin’, if it’s someone you want who can keep you warm at night, I’d like to apply for the job.”

  Lizzie wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. If it had been anyone else, she would have let him down with a harsh reprimand involving something about him not being in her league, but because he was Thomas, dear sweet Thomas, and Jameson’s old friend, she couldn’t do that.

  She was going to say something, when he blurted out, “Oh, hell, might as well tell you. He’s coming back to Nashville. You’re gonna see the posters everywhere. Old Reed has him doing a farewell tour. Seems he has all kinds of new material, and might have a song or two that will be picked up.”

  “Really?” Lizzie asked.

  “When’s this happening?” asked Kendra.

  “Next week. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, right here.”

  “You gonna come back and see him, Lizzie?” asked Kendra, as they drove back to her house.

  She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Jameson still had her phone number, and a call might have been nice if he wanted her there. In the absence of that, she wasn’t convinced it would be a good idea. “I’ll think about it.”

  They arrived at Kendra’s house and woke up the babysitter. As Kendra left to drive her home Lizzie walked inside the bedroom and found Charlotte asleep wearing her pink sparkly cape and crown. She remembered the day she’d come running out into the living room and nearly high-jumped into Jameson’s lap. She remembered other things too: how he bent down and helped her eat her ice cream, how he walked around the house with Charlotte on his shoulders and forgot about the door jamb catching her forehead on it, giving poor wailing Charlotte a goose egg that took nearly a week to heal.

  She’d told him to find himself. Did he? she wondered.

  Lizzie closed the bedroom door, took a shower, put on her nightgown, propped her feet up, and turned on the television. On the coffee table, a small book was open, so she leaned over and began to read some very erotic poems Maureen had left behind.

  Kendra arrived back home.

  “Take a look at what your sitter was reading. Honestly, these are very adult. Kind of surprising.”

  Kendra grabbed the book and read the title. “Ecstasy and Love by Rumi? Who the hell is Rumi?”

  “I’ve never heard of him. The kids these days read all sorts of stuff. One of our teachers said her eighth grader was reading that Fifty Shades book. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “But this Rumi guy was a mystic, a thirteenth-century poet from Afghanistan.” Kendra wrinkled up her nose. “How the hell did she get this? I’m sure they don’t teach this in the high school. This is way too adult. These pages have erotic drawings and pictures of stone carvings. Look at this!”

  Kendra flipped the pages back and forth, pen and ink sketches of couples in various mating rituals, and photographs of stone temples with couples having sex carved into the relief.

  “You should call her mother,” whispered Lizzie.

  “I will. Wow. I’m sorry,” Kendra shook her head. “I really don’t like the fact that she thinks she can bring this into my house.”

  “I don’t know. I guess I should be surprised, but I’m not.”

  “I’ll pick one of the other girls from the babysitting pool next time. Sorry.”

  “It’s not that big a thing.”

  They shared a glass of ice water and then decided to head for bed. Kendra made up the couch, and for Lizzie, leaving the girls asleep together in the other bedroom, and settled in for the night. Just before she turned off the lights, Lizzie fingered the Rumi pages and read several erotic poems.

  When she closed her eyes, she saw Jameson’s bare frame looking down on her, the feel of his kiss on her neck so real, she had to open her eyes to verify he wasn’t really there.

  She knew, despite what she told herself, she’d be dreaming about him all night long.

  Chapter 15

  ‡

  The Highway to Heaven was packed with the first of Jameson’s three farewell concerts. He sat in his dressing room, signing tee shirts, glossy pictures Reed had made up for the event, and occasionally, an arm or the thigh encased in a tight pair of jeans. It was flattering how the ladies still wanted his attention, and he had many offers for nightcaps and all-night parties. He declined them all.

  Kyle, Cooper, and several of the other SEALs had come back with him for the weekend, and he had plans to show them the back streets and dark stories of the Nashville scene, sort of like they’d done for him in San Diego.

  He’d been working out so much that the shirt he had planned to wear didn’t fit him anymore. The definition in his shoulders and upper arms made it so he could hardly wear anything that wasn’t made from stretchy material. Even his jeans were snug, his thighs packed in so tight they almost hurt.

  His boots fit, though. He hadn’t worn them for months.

  Kyle showed his face around the doorway. “How’s it hanging, Elvis?” The name that the first BUD/S instructor had called him had caught on, and he was evermore known as “Elvis, the singing SEAL.” He wasn’t sure how he liked it, but part of his acceptance in the community was predicated on the pranks and practical jokes that he could tolerate. Nicknames were brutal, and as nicknames went, Elvis wasn’t nearly as bad as “Moron” for the Mormon kid he roomed with on one training or “Papa Smurf” for the short tight little package from New Jersey the girls called “Sugar Buns.” The poor guy was barely five feet tall, and for some reason, all the six-foot-something beach volleyball players loved him, which was a constant sore subject to the taller SEALs.

  “I’m good. Maybe you could help me with this. My usual shirt with all the fancy beading doesn’t fit me anymore. I mean, I feel like I’m gonna pop a seam.”

  He held up his arms and showed Kyle how tight the back and chest were. “And look at this,” he showed Kyle how little room his biceps had.

  “You wanna just play in your white tee shirt? Might be more comfortable.”

  “No. This is a tradition. I never thought I’d have to have this damn shirt altered. It’s my lucky shirt.”

  Kyle pulled the fabric wide at his upper torso. “You need more room here. I’d say give ’em what they want and unbutton an extra two. That’ll make the room you need.”

  Kyle unbuttoned the shirt.

  “Now I feel like Tom Jones. Only
thing missing is all the gold chains,” laughed Jameson.

  “And the wolf patch on the chest. Don’t forget that. Although I guess that’s not really in anymore.”

  “I think Elvis did it, too,” added Jameson.

  “Oh yeah, I think he just shoved his shirt into his pants without buttoning it at all, especially toward the end. And then he kicked and danced around on stage with his coattails flying. Been a long time, but I saw him on TV as a child.” Kyle adjusted the shirt so it hung on Jameson straight. “Perfect, cowboy. I think we’re good to go.”

  “Okay, thanks, man.”

  “You need to pray? Do I need to do a laying on of hands or anything?”

  “Shut the fuck up and get outta my room, you prick.”

  “Okay,” Kyle said, feigning being careful, tiptoeing out the door. Just before he closed it behind him, he whispered, “Give ’em hell, Jameson. Let ’er rip. You’re a fucking guitar-playing-fuckin’ U.S. Navy fuckin’ badass SEAL.”

  Jameson kicked the door closed and left a boot print on the wood.

  He closed his eyes and he saw Lizzie’s face.

  Damn.

  He’d been staring at the cover of his cell phone for nearly twenty-four hours, since they hopped aboard the transport plane and landed at the Naval Air Station. He was looking for a text or a call from Lizzie, but none came. With only five minutes ’til show time, he knew it wasn’t likely she’d be there. He consoled himself with the fact that perhaps he’d call later tonight or tomorrow morning and catch up, maybe invite her to one of the last two concerts. They were going to deploy in a couple of months, and up until that time, their training would be intense, without any weekend leave. So this was the last time they’d have off before then.

  Grabbing his guitar, he realized he hadn’t brought the rum and coke into the dressing room with him, and he’d been so busy, he’d forgotten to order one. The club body guard—a huge woman named Debbie who sported tats, and wore all black leather, with bright pink lipstick matching her two-inch long, scissor-like nails—barked her question that sounded more like an order.

  “You ready, sugar?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She grinned from ear to ear and sauntered over to him, not minding a bit that her enormous tits rubbed against the bare skin on his chest. Her fake eyelashes were nearly an inch long.

  “Look at you, cutie. You’re sweet as sugar. Man, I’d love to fuck your brains out. You game afterwards?”

  In spite of himself, Jameson blushed.

  She squealed with delight. “Ah, sugar, sugar, sugar, I want you to suck my pussy dry and then fuck me wet.”

  “That’s very tempting, Debbie,” he said, hoping the panic in his voice didn’t show. “But I got a date,” he lied.

  “I don’t mind. I’ll bet she has a nice little ass that we could both enjoy. Or she could watch, and I’d bet she’d be so hot she’d let you fuck her from here to the moon and back. You know like that sign they have in the expensive gift shops? ‘Love you to the moon and back?’ That kind of a fuck.”

  She’d been a topless dancer in her younger years, one of those who was naturally well-endowed, and a Nashville favorite. Her string of nasty boyfriends had her taking self-defense, and when she couldn’t get a job working for the Nashville Police Department because of her past drug use, she took to being Reed’s enforcer, and sometimes mistress. But only if she was feeling generous. Reed practically had to beg her to go to bed with him, and he was walking behind the bar with a continual hard-on, Thomas told him.

  She stood before him, poured into the size-twenty leather pants that showed every curve. “Laters, baby,” she said and blew him a kiss.

  Jameson took in a big gulp of air, sort of grateful for the entertainment, which was a lot wilder in his dressing room than whatever was going to happen on stage tonight.

  Thank God.

  He heard his name being called out, and the crowd erupted into cheers, the likes of which he’d never heard before.

  The band had started their warmup late, barely breaking a sweat by the time Jameson came out on stage and began playing.

  He began the set with his American Patriot song that the crowds always loved and sang along to. He gave the front-row ladies winks and the chance to become stars, leaning over the stage to give them one shot with the microphone, their friends screaming in the background.

  He launched into a three-set heartbreaking series, singing about cheaters, drunks, and girls who chose somebody else. He mopped his brow with a shirt someone had thrown him, and then decided to slow it down a bit.

  “Okay, let’s have some fun. Who here has the most tattoos?”

  Instantly, the SEALs stood, ripping off their shirts, displaying Celtic crosses, barbed wire rings, naked girls, skulls, and of course, the frog prints going up their forearms. Nobody else came close.

  “Honestly, I think you guys are the winners. Why don’t you come up on stage? Or better yet, let’s have Kyle Lansdowne come up here and show off his tats. He can be the symbolic winner.”

  Jameson happened to glance stage right and saw Debbie’s ample ass covered in hearts of all different sizes and colors, all with a man’s name written in script beneath them. And sure as shit, the bright red one on her left cheek read Jameson. She started to take her pants off when Kyle hopped up on stage, his eyes widening as saucers. “Holy shit,” Kyle said.

  “You don’t know the half of it, Kyle. Unless you’ve got a month’s supply of penicillin, you don’t go near that,” he whispered in Kyle’s ear.

  Kyle paraded like a body builder across the stage with whoops and hollers from the crowd, which was mostly made up of women.

  Jameson played a few bars of Miss America, and Kyle flipped him the bird. Jameson then shook his finger at Debbie and pointed to her pants down around her ankles.

  “Reed,” he purred breathlessly into the microphone. “I think Debbie’s ready for you right now, from the looks of it.”

  The club owner dove over the bar and came running backstage as Debbie yanked on her leather pants, which were very stubborn. She, too, gave Jameson the finger.

  “Thank you, Kyle. Ladies, give it up for one of America’s finest!”

  Kyle hopped off the stage and returned to the rear with the other SEALs.

  Jameson gripped the microphone and gave them the warm buttery voice he knew the crowd would like. “I’m gonna sing a song I’ve never sung before, something I’ve recently written.” He turned around and nodded to the band.

  “These guys haven’t even heard it. So it’s gonna just be me.”

  He picked up his acoustic guitar and leaned into the stool with one leg straight and one knee bent, he balanced the guitar on his thigh. The melody was simple, but one of the sweetest ones he’d written, eliciting something deep inside him. He began to unburden his soul and let the words flow out of him.

  You loved the spring in Carolina

  With the dogwoods all in bloom.

  I couldn’t pay the price of that small time life,

  Second story, one room view.

  He’d practiced some intricate fingering he was proud of. It made even Thomas stand up straight behind the bar, as he gave Jameson the thumbs up.

  He scanned the audience, warmed by their rapt attention. He was ready for the second stanza, and as he leaned into the microphone, he noticed Lizzie walk in through the door.

  He inhaled, but discovered he’d temporarily forgotten the words. Seeing Lizzie had taken his breath away. Her red dress was anything but demure, and she’d let her hair go back to blonde, just like he remembered her. She was the woman he’d loved all those years ago, and she was here again, after all that had happened between them.

  “You know, folks, I liked those words so much, I’m thinking I should sing them for you again. How’d you like that?”

  The crowd was into anything he was going to do on stage, and he thanked them for their support. Then he smiled at Lizzie, as if she was the only girl in the bar, a
nd sang the words again, this time just to her.

  You loved the spring in Carolina

  With the dogwoods all in bloom.

  I couldn’t pay the price of that small time life,

  Second story, one room view.

  His heart melted when he saw her discreetly wipe tears away with the backs of her hands. Her girlfriend pulled her to a table, and they sat. Though she was only one out of over a thousand people waiting to hear him sing, she was the only person he focused on.

  He continued with his song until the last two stanzas.

  And the words you said, still ring in my head

  While I’m lost here in San Diego.

  He stepped back from the microphone, and bowed his head. Nothing ever again would be as special as singing his song of love for Lizzie, in front of a room of mostly strangers. And nothing was sweeter than seeing her softly sobbing, her shoulders shaking, as she tried to stop, but couldn’t. She waved off her friend, who was shooting daggers at Jameson. But he didn’t care. It was one of those magical nights. He’d gotten to mess with his new LPO, the girl he loved with all his heart sitting in the distance, knowing how he felt about her; while the grunts and groans of Reed and Debbie’s lovemaking punctuated the air and had the band laughing so hard they could barely play. On a scale of one to ten, this was clearly a fifteen.

  A perfect night, if only she’d let him touch her, he could right the axis of her soul, kiss her tenderly, and swear to her there wasn’t anyone else in the universe he’d rather be married to.

  And he’d mean every word of it.

  Chapter 16

  ‡

  Lizzie’s plans that evening were to slip into the audience unnoticed, since she hadn’t thought out meeting Jameson again so publicly. They’d dressed at Kendra’s house, the girls playing in the background. Her friend took a look at her red dress and she whistled. “That’s a statement all right. You sure you know what you’re doing, Lizzie?”

  “No,” she laughed. Her heart was light. Some of the heaviness had dissipated as the anticipation of seeing Jameson ‘made her think funny’ as Kendra so often described when seeing a handsome man. She told herself it was to see him play one more time, since he was, in all likelihood, not going to become a Nashville star as he’d originally wanted. He’d chosen a career in the Navy, instead.