He held still, his body tense and struggling against instincts that screamed at him to move.
Tara took deep breaths, her breasts pressing against his chest with each inhalation. When she began to wiggle beneath him, Mike couldn’t stop his hips from rotating and thrusting in short strokes.
“I’m sorry,” he panted and tried to stop.
“It’s okay. It’s better now.”
But she didn’t look much better. Her eyes were still shut, and her jaw was clenched. Mike pulled out quickly and slid down her body until he was face-to-face with the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen. He didn’t know much about virgins, but Mike figured eating her out was probably more likely to get her off than sex. And despite the fact that whatever was between them scared him shitless, Mike wanted her first time to be good.
When Tara finally grabbed his head and cried out her release, Mike positioned himself above her again. He slid his aching dick in as the last clenches of her orgasm faded away.
She was tighter than any woman he’d ever been with, and Mike knew he didn’t have long to enjoy it before he came. He pounded into her; in the final moments, when it was already too late, he remembered that he wasn’t wearing a rubber. Fuck. He came so hard his eyes crossed, and the thought slipped away.
* * * *
February
“I need to talk to you.”
Mike turned, surprised to hear Tara’s voice. She stood behind him, chewing her lower lip and wringing her hands. Her eyes were wide and scared, which did not bode well for her unexpected appearance at the bar. “What about?” He asked, glancing back at his friends. He needed to find out what she wanted and get her out of there before Miller made an ass of himself. Miller snickered behind him, and Mike shot him an irritated look. He hadn’t called Tara in three days. It was the longest stretch he’d been without seeing her since they’d started dating three months ago. He’d wanted to call, but the team had been doing night ops training. This was his first training with his team, and his last week before his six-month deployment. Before his sea bag had even hit the floor, Miller had been banging on the door pressuring Mike to go out. Mike had caved, though he had no intention of taking anyone home…but he could let the guys think otherwise.
“I just need to talk to you. In private.” Tara wrung her hands and glanced at the three men standing around him. It was hard to hear, and Mike strained to catch each word. Loud music blared from the live band on stage of Deuces and Aces, the seedy bar that was the dive of choice this particular Friday night. He’d planned to have a few drinks and then head home to return Tara’s calls. But she’d found him and apparently without much difficulty. It wasn’t like it was a secret anyway. He came here often with his friends, and she knew that.
“Look, whatever it is, just say it. I’m a little busy.” Mike eyed the perfectly round behind of a blonde walking by, who turned and gave him a come-hither look. He smiled meaningfully at her despite the fact that he wasn’t the least bit interested. Her ass was round, but she wasn’t filling out those jeans the way Tara could.
Tara punched him in the shoulder. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m standing right in front of you, and you check out another woman?”
“Hey, I’m a man. And why should it matter if you’re here?” At her stricken look, Mike felt a tendril of guilt. He pushed it away. He was tired of defending her to his friends. He’d apologize later when they were alone.
Tara turned to leave, and he muttered, “Good riddance,” and turned back to his friends. He hadn’t thought she heard, had muttered it just for the sake of his friends.
But apparently she had heard because Mike felt her grab his shoulder to spin him around.
“Hey! What the hell is wrong with you?” He stumbled a little and looked down at her. His stomach plummeted at the anger and hurt he saw there.
“I’m pregnant, you asshole. I didn’t want to tell you in a damn bar with your stupid friends listening, but there it is.” Tara stared at him expectantly, her hands visibly trembling.
For a split second, Mike froze as elation streaked through him He’d used a condom…most of the time anyway. The first time he’d forgotten. And then there was that night they ran out. Then the picnic…Okay, Mike conceded. He’d used a condom sometimes. It was irresponsible and stupid, but he hadn’t been thinking of anything other than getting it on with Tara. But still, mistake or not, this was his baby. Tara’s baby. And Mike’s first impulse was to jump up and down. Miller laughed behind him, and Mike stiffened as the excitement dissolved.
“Damn, dude! That fucking blows!” Miller guffawed continuously behind him, and it wasn’t long before Evans and Johnson joined in. Mike’s joy shriveled and died a quick death. He resisted simultaneous urges to swing Tara in the air and beat the ever-loving shit out of Miller. Pride won, and he did neither of those things.
“How is it my problem you’re pregnant? Look, baby. We had a one night stand. Go find the other guys you’ve been banging lately and tell them you’re pregnant. It’s not my problem.”
Mike thought he might as well have slapped her for the look on her face. Guilt worked its way into his chest again, squeezing the air out of his lungs as he watched her chocolate brown eyes water and overflow. He immediately wanted to take back the words and hold her, tell her how glad he was, that they were going to get married now and spend their lives making more children. But Miller’s laughter rang out behind him, and he maintained an icy stare. He didn’t want them to laugh at him anymore.
Mike never saw it coming. One minute he was standing there defending the ridiculous idea of keeping a badass image going, the next his left eye and cheek were on fire. He looked up to see her stalking away.
* * * *
August
Mike stood in the parking lot outside the hospital, staring up at the glowing letters of the emergency room sign. Sheets of rain pummeled him, but Mike remained unmoving, unable to take the first step that would carry him inside to see Tara and his baby girl. And he knew it was his, despite what he’d told Miller. For God’s sake, she’d been a virgin and Tara wasn’t the type to sleep around.
The only reason he even knew she’d had the baby was because Tara’s nosey friend Rebecca had called him. Mike was less than a week back from deployment when she called, and he let her rail at him, accepting whatever insults she flung at him because she was right. But at least she’d called to tell him his daughter had been born.
Mike closed his eyes and thanked God it was raining. No one could see the tears streaming down his cheeks, and he could even tell himself it was the rain stinging his eyes.
A siren wailed in the distance, and Mike took a deep breath and opened his eyes. The siren got louder and louder as it approached, the piercing howl drawing him out of his indecision.
With leaden feet, Mike turned to walk away, his conscience and heart screaming at him to stop, go back. But he told himself it didn’t matter. She’d get over it and move on.
Angry at himself more than anyone, Mike resolved that if she didn’t want the kid, there were adoption agencies that would take it in a heartbeat. Even though his chest felt on the verge of collapse at that thought, he continued to walk away.
* * * *
October
“Davis you’ve got to get your shit together.”
Mike looked at Lieutenant Paulson—holy shit, the fucker was big, even sitting behind a desk—and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Those three jackasses you’ve been hanging around with just pissed hot for marijuana.”
Mike’s eyes widened and he stuttered. “I…Uh, I…” Uh-oh. He hadn’t known and certainly hadn’t participated, but association alone could get him in a shitload of trouble.
Lt. Paulson stood and handed Mike a cup. “This is your ‘Operation Golden Flow’ cup. You have one chance to fess up before you go fill it up.” The LT stalked around the desk and held the cup less than three inches from Mike’s nose. “Tell me the truth now, and we’ll take care of it. Yo
u’ll have to take a piss test once a week for the next fifty years, but I’ll take it easy on you. Get you back on track.” He paused and shook the cup back and forth. “Tick-tock, Davis.”
Mike gulped and took a deep breath through his nose. “No, sir. I didn’t know they were smoking pot. I sure as hell never smoked it with them.” He reached up and took the cup. “I’ll take a piss test whenever you want me to.”
LT stared at him, and Mike tried not to fidget. Damn, but the man could stare down a bull. “Fine. Let’s go.”
* * * *
Four days later
“Yo, Davis. The LT wants to see you.” Mike looked up from the brief he was reading to see Bryant standing in the doorway.
“Which one?” Mike still hadn’t figured out how to tell which LT they were talking about by the tone of their voice. Everyone else seemed to know, though, and it was irritating as hell.
“Paulson. He’s in his office.” Bryant slapped the doorframe, pointed at Mike, and continued on his way. Mike stood and walked quickly down the hall of the headquarters building to Paulson’s office. He wasn’t worried about the results. Mike knew he was clean. But Lt. Paulson was famous for his ass-chewings, and Mike really didn’t want to be on the man’s bad side.
The door was open, but Mike knocked anyway and stood at attention, waiting for permission to enter.
“Front and center, Davis.”
Mike moved into the room and positioned his toes at the piece of tape placed exactly thirty-six inches in front of the LT’s desk. Scariest fucking place in the world. He waited at attention, his eyes focused on the award hanging behind the desk.
“At ease.”
Mike snapped sharply into position.
“Seriously, Davis, at ease.” LT stood and moved around his desk until he was directly in front of Mike. He leaned his hips back against the desk and crossed his arms.
Mike waited, Lieutenant Winslow’s parody of the Lord of the Rings quote running through his head.
“One does not simply walk into Paulson’s office.”
Mike met the LT’s eyes, struggling to hold his gaze. They stared at one another, a battle of corneas, for what felt like days. Finally, the LT smiled—just a little, God forbid the man actually show humor—and pointed to a chair against the wall.
“Sit, Davis.”
Mike sat.
“Do you understand what it means to be a SEAL?”
Mike opened his mouth to pelt out the ingrained answer to that question.
“Not the generic bullshit. What it really means. Tell me that.” LT walked around the desk, sat down in his chair, and leaned back, linking his fingers together over his stomach.
Mike frowned and considered the question. Before he could answer, though, the LT was explaining it to him.
“It means that you have a family that is willing to die for you, that you should be willing to die for.”
Mike swallowed and looked away. He had a family. A beautiful woman and a baby girl that would probably never want to speak to him. Not that he really blamed them.
“You fell in with the wrong crowd as soon as you got here. I let it go because I thought you’d come around eventually.” He sighed and continued, “All three of your buddies are getting court martialed. You already know you came up clean, and I appreciate that.” Mike jerked his head up and met Paulson’s eyes. The man seemed so much older than he was. “The fact that you didn’t piss hot shows me that you might actually be worth saving. From now on, stick with your team. They’re your friends, your family. Your life will depend on them and theirs will depend on you. Quit being a shitbrick and be a fucking SEAL. As of right now, you’re mission ready.”
Mike nodded and took a deep breath. It was time to grow up, be a man. Be a SEAL.
Chapter 2
Late July, Present Day, Afghanistan
“And Saint Peter says ‘They’re going to hell; I’m going to Atlanta with you!’” Albermarle turned, laughing, to look at the guys in the back seat.
“Albermarle,” Mike chastised between bouts of hysterics, “You are going to get in trouble with the equal opportunity officer one day, and I’m not going to be happy when I have to talk to the admiral about why an Army colonel is calling him.”
“Aw, Chief, you know I’d never tell my jokes in front of anybody I don’t know. Besides, I heard that joke from Sergeant Major.”
Mike grinned. “Well, Sergeant Major Reynolds is a different kind of…”
Boom!
The world turned red and orange. They were launched into the air by the force of the explosion. The Humvee tipped to one side. The IED had hit off-center. The blast took out the driver’s side and part of the passenger seat. From the back passenger side of the vehicle, Mike watched as it happened almost in slow motion. The vehicle was destroyed, the doors thrown back on their hinges and torn off as the truck rolled. The driver’s position had been ripped from the vehicle. Marks fell out of the hole as the truck pitched and tumbled. Sergeant Thompson flopped over out of one side, and the truck rolled over him. Mike gripped the base of his seat, trying to stay put. The truck rolled one more time and came to a crooked stop on the driver’s side. Gravity forced him to fall, and Mike knew this was it. He was going to die. Tara, I am so goddamn sorry. Blackness.
Blood. There was blood everywhere. And body parts. Mike spit sand out of his mouth and called “Albermarle?” Where was the rest of the Army convoy he was riding escort on? Where was the PFC that was driving his Humvee? Oh, there he was. Mike pulled himself over to the young soldier. “Albermarle! You all right, soldier?” He put his hand on Albermarle’s shoulder. The young man’s head flopped to the side. Half was missing. One vacant eye stared up at Mike. He jerked back and looked around for Marks and Thompson, the other two soldiers that were in the Humvee with them. “Marks! Thompson!” There they were. They were about twenty yards from the vehicle, and he began a low crawl toward them.
Suddenly Mike was jerked in the opposite direction by a hand at his collar. “No! My soldiers are down!” He looked back to see who had him and realized it was one of the medics, Sergeant Howard.
Howard yelled, “Your soldiers are gone, Chief! We have to get you out of here!” Mike struggled against the tugging on his collar. “I’ll stay and fight! Let me go!”
Howard shoved him down and threw himself on top of Mike’s body as another mortar went off nearby. “Chief, your leg is injured. We have to get you out of here!”
Mike heard the familiar sound of helicopters approaching along with the distinctive boom accompanying them. Apaches. They’d sent Apaches. They’d be okay now. “My leg will be fine!” Mike glanced down as if to show the medic he was perfectly capable of defending his troops. There was nothing from mid-calf down on his left leg except blood and shreds of pink flesh. His foot was gone. A tourniquet was tied just below his knee. He could still feel his toes. Mike screamed.
* * * *
CPO Michael Davis
Bethesda Medical Center
8901 Rockville Pike
Room 454
Bethesda, MD 20889
August 7
Tara,
Where should I begin? Maybe I should start with I’m sorry. That seems pathetic, especially considering what I did to you, but I’m not sure if there are words to make up for my actions. I am so sorry. I want to make it up to you. I will fix this if you will let me. Please, let me make it right.
Michael
August 18
Tara,
You didn’t respond to my last letter. I’m hoping that’s because you didn’t get it. Please let me try to be a better person, a better man. I know I screwed you over. There’s a check enclosed for what I owe in child support. I know I’m not on the birth certificate and no one told me to send it, but maybe it will help. Please, don’t leave me in the dark.
Michael
September 2
Tara,
Can I meet her? I don’t even know her name. I know you got my letters. I won’t stop
writing. I just want to see you and meet her. Will you at least send me a picture? Please cash the check.
Michael
September 7
Tara,
I know you don’t care, but I don’t have anyone else except my team. And I can’t complain to them. It’s after midnight. The nurse just came in and took my vitals again. God this gets old. Every four hours somebody wakes me up to make sure I’m still alive. Their machines might tell them I’m alive, but I’m not. I died when our vehicle hit that IED. The last thing that passed through my mind before I woke up here was you and our daughter. Maybe that was supposed to be the last thing I saw before looking at Old Scratch and the flames over my head. But it wasn’t. Somehow, somebody thought I was worth another chance. Maybe the only redeeming quality I have is a little girl I’ve never met. It was so quick. One minute we were pulling patrols, and the next some surgeon is telling me I won’t ever walk without a prosthetic again. They gave me a purple heart today. I told them I’d rather have a leg than another award. There’s nothing left of who I was a year ago. I’m not sure that man was worth a damn anyway. Now I’m stuck in this hospital until they think I’m healed enough to use this damn fake leg on my own. When I can sleep, it’s full of things I don’t want to remember. So I just don’t sleep anymore. I lay here and think about you. What I’m really writing to say, though, is those things I said when you told me you were pregnant, well, I didn’t mean them. It’s been five years, almost six. You probably don’t remember. I thought I had to impress my friends. They were assholes and weren’t worth my time. I’m not asking you to give me another chance. I know it’s too late for that, and we only knew each other for three months. Besides, you’re probably married by now or seeing someone, anyway. But I do want a chance to know my daughter. She deserves a father, even if it’s a bad one that’ll never be able to play tag or catch. Give me that chance. Please don’t shut me out.
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