Navy SEAL Bad Boy

by Cleveland, Eddie

  “You can ask anyone who was there, I punched that guy in self-defense. It’s not like I started it, he attacked me,” I dive into my justification.

  Edna simply holds up her hand and I clamp down my jaw.

  “Cool it, hot shot. I know what happened. And, as you no doubt heard, you’re not being kicked out. At least, not today.” She lets the threat hang ominously between us as she skims over the rest of my documents.

  “I’ve looked at your file, Jake. It seems to me, that you might want to focus your attention on your program. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, if you don’t graduate from rehab after your time here, you won’t have a position to go back to in the Navy SEALs. Isn’t that right?” Despite her stature, she seems to peer down her nose at me, like an owl on a branch. She has got to be sitting on a phone book.

  “That’s right,” I sigh. She’s right. If I don’t get the green light from these people, then my career is over. The only job, scratch that, the only life I can ever imagine living would be nothing more than a memory. I shift in my seat and try to push the thought away.

  “I’ll do better,” I answer. “I’ll focus,” I push the words through my gritted teeth.

  “Good!” Edna beams cheerfully. I have to admit, I was more comfortable with the scowl. “I’m glad we could have this little chat then; you can go back to your routine now. I’m pretty sure it’s almost lunchtime,” she holds her hand up again, pointing to the door.

  “Um, thanks.” I stand up and make my way out.

  “Oh, and Jake?” Her tone is cool; I turn around and her face has transformed back into a stone-cold stare.

  “Yes?”

  “I better not see you in here again, understand?”

  I nod and walk out into the hall. I need to get it together. If they kick me out of here, that’s it. I have nothing to go back to. My job, my friends, hell, my entire life has been the SEALs since I graduated high school. If I lose them, I lose everything.

  12

  Holly

  Is that him? No.

  Disappointment floods through me as I watch another man walk into the dining hall and head over to the counter. Ever since Jake was hauled out of group this morning, I’ve been on pins and needles. Is he getting kicked out?

  My heart sinks at the thought. I’ll never be able to sleep easily, knowing he was shown the door because of me. Well, because of how Carl was acting toward me. Still, it wasn’t his fault.

  That’s not the only reason you’ll be upset, a little voice nags me.

  I know it won’t be. I know that if Jake leaves, even though I barely know him, even though we may never meet again once we’re both out of here, I’ll miss him.

  I try not to let the thought linger. I don’t like how it twists up in my gut and refuses to let go.

  There he is! I jump up from my seat so fast that my chair almost topples backward. I steady it with my hand, also taking a moment to settle my nerves. Deep breaths.

  Walking over to the counter on shaky legs, I try not to stare at him like a hunter narrowing a deer into their sights.

  “Hey,” I try to sound casual as I lean against the food counter where he’s collecting his lunch.

  “Hey yourself,” he smiles back.

  Damn, my heart is thudding like a drummer at a band audition.

  “I saved you a seat, back there,” I point to the little table stuffed in the back corner. I chose it purposely, hoping that, if Jake was staying, we would have a bit of privacy to talk. And, if it turned out he was leaving, it would give me a quiet place to cry.

  “Looks good,” he agrees. “Lead the way,” he lifts his tray with the lunch special and follows me.

  I can’t help it, I’m giving my hips a little swing as I make my way through the crowded tables to the back. I don’t have to turn around to know his eyes are on me, I can feel them.

  We get settled in our seats and Jake nods at his plate, “Do you want some of these fries?” My eyes glide over salty, crispy, hot fries piled high beside his sandwich.

  “No, that’s ok.”

  “Are you sure?” He prods.

  “Oh, ok, just one,” I quickly rescue a fry from his plate and pop it into my mouth as Jake chuckles and shakes his head slowly.

  “What?” I tilt my head waiting to hear what’s so funny.

  “Nothing, it’s just, women always say they’ll have just one fry and then they end up splitting them. I don’t know why you do that,” he takes a bite of his sandwich.

  “I don’t know either,” I smile and grab another one of his fries.

  I can see the twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

  For a moment, I’m lost in him. It’s amazing how just watching him can make the past, present and future blur around me like some kind of Van Gogh painting.

  “Hey, I’m glad you waited for me. I wanted to find you. We need to talk,” his voice interrupts the slowly swirling time warp and brings me back to the moment.

  “Sure,” I sit up straighter, “what do you want to talk about?”

  “I’d like to apologize to you,” he answers before taking another bite of his roast beef sandwich.

  “Apologize?”

  “Yeah, say sorry,” he explains.

  “I know what the word means,” I laugh, “why are you apologizing to me?”

  Jake puts his food down and looks into my eyes, my breath catches in my throat. His eyes, they’re so intense. “I should’ve tried to deal with that asshole without, you know, being violent. I get the feeling that you’ve already dealt with enough of that from men,” he stares into me. At least, that’s how it feels. Like he’s watching my secrets, my thoughts, my fears, all play out on a screen.

  “You picked up on that, huh?” I look down at my ragged nails, trying to push down the swell of shame rising inside me.

  “I did.”

  “How?” I force myself to meet his eyes again, even though it’s unnerving. “I never told you about any of that, hell, I haven’t told anyone here.” I search his face.

  “I’m pretty good at reading people. It’s one of the things we learn in the SEALs. Knowing when people are lying, telling the truth, or hiding shit, can make all the difference between a mission being a success story or an epic failure.”

  My eyes dart back down, I grab another fry from his plate and think about his words. Makes sense.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” His hand grazes against the edge of mine. His touch is a whisper, so light, but somehow reassuring.

  “I don’t think there’s much to say, really. I ran away from home when I was seventeen. Went from a small town to Miami and it was just too much for me. I didn’t know the first thing about surviving in the big city. It didn’t take long to feel like I was being swallowed whole.” I look up at him and he nods, waiting for me to finish.

  “So, when I met Knox, my ex,” I explain, “it felt too good to be true. He was ten years older, had an amazing place, made amazing money, it all seemed like a fairy tale.”

  “But it wasn’t?” Jake prods.

  “Maybe like one of those Grimm Brothers ones. Where the happy endings are bleak and everyone has the plague.” I force a weak smile.

  “Doesn’t sound good,” Jake smiles at my attempt to lighten the mood.

  “No,” my smile slides off my face, “it wasn’t good. Far from it.” I pull another fry off his plate, but don’t eat it. I just hold it as clips and glimpses of memories fight for a spot in my brain. “It wasn’t good at all.”

  “He was violent?” Jake lowers his voice.

  “Yes. Very. At first I did the whole ‘he didn’t mean to really hurt me that badly’ thing. But it didn’t take long to see that he did. He got worse and I never left because… I didn’t have anywhere to go.” I confess to the table.

  “Why did you leave home? Were your parents violent too?”

  “No,” my voice is flat but firm. “They never laid a hand on me. Ever.” I emphasize.
/>
  He nods slowly, “you don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t be pushing you.”

  “No, it’s ok. I left because,” I swallow the hard lump in my throat, “I left because I could never undo what I did and it ruined my family. It ruined our lives. I couldn’t take it anymore, the guilt, and the shame. Watching the sadness overtake their lives. Watching my neighbors shake their heads at me when I went out. Everywhere I went, I couldn’t escape.”

  “I’m sure whatever you did couldn’t be that bad,” Jake soothes me.

  Slow tears trail down my cheeks and my lower lip trembles, “It was,” I whisper.

  “Let me tell you, I know this from experience, sometimes it feels like we’ve done the worst thing in the world when we’re in the middle of it, but it passes.”

  “No, not with this.” My voice cracks.

  “Why? What happened?”

  “I have a twin sister, Heather.” I swallow hard, “Had,” I correct myself. “She died.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jake grasps my hand, but I pull it back.

  “She died, and I’m responsible. It’s my fault she’s dead.” The tears slide over my cheeks and gather on my chin. “It’s my fault.”

  13

  Jake

  Holly drops her head into her hands and sobs uncontrollably. I gently lay my hand on her shoulder, trying to think of what to say. I have so many questions. What happened to her sister? How is it her fault? Obviously, she didn’t mean to do her any harm, or she’d be in jail instead of here with me. As the tears drip from her palms and she chokes on her sorrow, it’s easy to see that, whatever happened, Holly believes wholeheartedly that it is her fault.

  “Hey, it’s ok. Shhh, it’s ok,” I soothe her. She’s in no state to answer a bunch of questions that aren’t my business anyway. I want to pull her onto my lap with my arms wrapped around her tight and hold her against my chest until she feels better. However, in a place like this, you can’t do that. It’s considered inappropriate contact. It’s a violation of one of their fifteen million rules around here. My mind flashes back to my meeting with the Director. I’m already on thin ice. If they kick me out of here, my career in the SEALs is through. I look around the nearly empty cafeteria and spot one of the counselors wading past the sea of chairs toward us. I instinctively pull my hand back. The last thing I need is another reason for them to give me the boot.

  But, it’s more than that, isn’t it? The thought crosses my mind. This isn’t about your career; you just don’t want to leave her behind.

  The realization fires through me like lightening. For the first time in my twenty-seven years, I’ve met someone I really want to get to know, and not just physically. I mean, let’s not pretend I’m a saint, that’s definitely part of it, but it’s deeper than wanting to fuck her. I want to help her.

  “Hey! You two! You’re late for the activity. Let’s get a move on!” A short, elderly woman with big, military style boots and khakis gives us our marching orders.

  I choose to ignore the little dictator, turning my attention back to Holly. “Hey, are you going to be ok?” I murmur.

  “Yeah, I will. I’m good,” she manages to pull herself together remarkably quick, sweeping her thumbs over her tearstained cheeks like two wiper blades on a car window.

  “Did you hear me?” The counselor stomps over to our table, it’s impossible to tell if she’s scowling or if her face is just wrinkled in such a way that she always looks miserable.

  “We were just heading out,” giving her the sweetest ‘let-me-get-you-your-next-drink’ smile I can manage.

  Apparently, it was a scowl, because her deep lines shift and transform on her face as she tilts her head and smiles back at me.

  “It’s my fault, I was just blabbing about working in the Navy SEALs and totally lost track of time. I would hate to miss the… I’m sorry, what is the activity?” I lay it on thick. I know this woman’s type. She might have a good thirty years on me, but she still wants to have a strong, young buck give her a smile that makes her melt.

  “The what?” She blinks, like she’s just awoken on a stage at a hypnotist’s show with a crowd of unfamiliar faces smiling up at her. “Oh, uh, the activity. It’s an Easter craft,” she answers softly. Then, snapping her head back up straight, her lines return as she grabs a hold of her senses, “And you two are late! So, let’s get this show on the road,” she demands again.

  This time we both listen and get up from our seats at our cozy table and follow her out of the dining hall.

  “Easter craft?” I mumble to Holly. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, apparently, every week we have these mandatory group functions that we have to attend. It’s so dumb.” She rolls her pretty blue eyes.

  “Nothing like mandatory fun,” I smirk.

  The counselor leads us into a large room filled with tables full of crafting supplies and surrounded by groups of patients. Each table is filled with every preschooler’s dream of glitter, paints, stickers, pom-poms, glue and more. Well, doesn’t this look… interesting.

  I scan the faces of the present addicts in here. So many of them look unreasonably happy to be doing this right now. Like, this will be the highlight of their day that they write about on the sheet we have to turn in each night listing what we liked, hated and learned from our day in rehab. It’s just one more way I can’t relate to so many of these people. Not only are they in here because they let drugs or alcohol destroy them, and everything they held dear, but now they’re so deliriously happy to find meaning in everything, that simple things like compulsory craft time brings genuine pleasure to their lives.

  My eyes flicker back to Holly. I almost burst out laughing at the twisted look of pained disdain on her face. It’s like I can see the thoughts running through my brain playing out like a projector on a movie screen across her milky complexion.

  I might not be able to relate to these guys, but this girl? The one right I can’t stop thinking about. The one whose scent drives me wild. The one who I’ve only just met, but feel like I’ve known since we were kids, I get her.

  “Ok, enough dilly-dallying now. You both take a spot at that table back there,” the silver-haired woman points across the room to the only table with less than ten people crowded around it. “We’ve got to get started.”

  “Sure,” I start to walk away, “wait.” I turn back to face her and watch as her deep scowl evolves into a softer gaze again. “What is it we’re supposed to do?”

  “Oh, um, the activity is to take one of the cardboard eggs at your station and decorate it to represent your truth.” She explains, like she’s actually speaking English.

  “My truth.” I repeat.

  “Yes.”

  “And, these are… Easter eggs?” I try to make the connection, but can’t.

  “Yes.”

  “So, are we hiding our ‘truth’ around the building and doing an egg hunt or something?” I’m honestly not even trying to be sarcastic. Although, I can see it’s not being taken that way.

  “No, of course not.” She snips at me.

  “Are we donating these eggs to children or something? For them to enjoy?” I grasp at straws to make sense of what possible association this could have with Easter.

  “No! No egg hunt, no donations. It’s just Easter eggs of your truth. Now, get to your table and get it done before you run out of time,” she peers down at her wristwatch, reminding me of the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland always worrying about being late.

  I look around me for Holly, but see she’s already joined the table we’ve been assigned, so I clamp my jaw shut and head over. I guess it doesn’t matter if I understand the reasoning. Or, if there actually is any. It’s time to spend beside her, and that’s time well spent.

  “You ready to glitter your truth?” I slide in beside her at the table with a smirk. “Oh, look at this!” I mockingly point to the pile of art crap in the center of the plastic, pop-up table, “If glitter isn’t ‘truthy’ enough, you can put rhinestones on
that shit!” I pick up a package of dollar store fake jewels.

  Holly laughs loud enough to deafen the scowls of other participants at the table. I don’t give a fuck about them, or what they think of me. I’m only focused on one person, and if I can make her laugh after how hard she was crying in the cafeteria a little while ago, well that’s a win.

  “Ok, I know it sucks, but let’s just do it. Who knows, maybe it’ll help out a couple of lost coke-heads like us,” she smiles up at me sweetly and it takes every ounce of physical restraint I have, in every fiber of my muscles, not to kiss her. God damn it! She’s so beautiful.

  She doesn’t wait for me to stop staring at her like a man who’s been shipwrecked and hasn’t seen a woman in a decade. Instead, she grabs some paints, an egg, and gets to work.

  I pick up a cardboard, unmarked egg shape and stare at it blankly. What the fuck am I supposed to draw on this thing? My truth. Whatever the hell that means. Like I’m going to paint my deepest pain or my biggest desires on the side of a pretend egg. Anger wells up inside of me at the thought.

  I can’t believe my brothers are back in Virginia Beach doing real shit, like fighting terrorism and defending our soil in operations most people won’t ever hear about and I’m here doing this. This fucking stupid craft. Like I’m a six-year-old boy instead of a twenty-seven-year-old man.

  Fine. They want my truth? Then the truth is what they’ll get. I grab a paintbrush and dab it into the paint.

  Time evaporates as I create my masterpiece. With a few flicks of the wrist, I admire my rudimentary artwork with a grin. Sure, it’s no Da Vinci painting, but it’ll do the trick.

  “Time’s up!” The counselor who rounded us up like a couple of stray cattle chirps. “I’m going to come around and collect your eggs in this Easter basket, one-by-one. I’m going to ask that you share the truth, your truth that you decorated on your egg with the group, please.” She stands up, with a giant wicker basket in tow.