TRITON: A Navy SEAL Romance (Heroes Ever After Book 2)

by Alana Albertson

  It was hard for me to accept.

  “You really didn’t have to do this. I can cook for you if you like. Maybe I can go grocery shopping later today? I make killer chicken enchiladas.”

  “Let’s relax today. How did you sleep?”

  “Great. It’s so peaceful here.”

  I took a sip of my coffee and tasted the omelet. I detected a hint of goat cheese and some fresh herbs. It was delicious. “So, have you decided what you’re going to do when you get out?”

  “No.”

  “After the book comes out, I’m sure you’ll be asked to do interviews. I can give you some media tips.”

  He squinted his eye. “Not interested. I’m going to tell my story once and then vanish until I decide what I want to do with my life. I don’t want to be that guy who spends the rest of his life capitalizing on this one event.”

  “Right, I get that, but people just want to hear your story. It’s so inspiring.”

  “Look, I see you staring at my hand and my eyeball. I’m clearly fucked up—but I’m sick to death of talking about it. Ever since it happened, that incident has been my entire life. Every person I meet fixates on my injuries and the circumstances surrounding them. Before I was maimed, I was just a normal man. I want to be him again. The minute anyone sees me, or finds out who I am, they treat me differently. Everyone does. You do.”

  Wow. That was kind of deep.

  “Okay. I understand. But I don’t treat you differently because of how you look—I treat you differently because of what you did. But I do get what you’re saying. When I was dancing, everyone expected me to look and act a certain way. Sometimes I just wanted to be a normal girl.”

  “Exactly.” His gaze focused on my chest and I realized I wasn’t wearing a bra.

  “So, I know we discussed this last night, but I want to be clear of your expectations. We’re just getting to know each other?”

  I anxiously awaited his response, hoping I was reading this situation correctly. “I still have the ball to go to in November. You’ll pretend to be my girlfriend for the event. But I’ll be honest with you, Isa—you’re insanely hot, and you seem sweet, but I’m not looking for a serious relationship until I can figure out my life. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  A tingling swept across my face, and I couldn’t help faking a smile to mask my disappointment in his answer.

  “Got it. Me too, I mean with the serious relationship thing. I want to focus on graduating from college. So what does pretending to be your girlfriend entail, besides the incredible sex?”

  He laughed, reached over the table, and grabbed my hand, his deep red scars contrasting with my pale skin. “I’m a man, you’re hot, of course I want to fuck you every chance I get. But I need our arrangement to be drama-free.”

  Damn. Well, glad we cleared that up. But I had to admit, the intensity in his voice, the strength in his hand, the delicious way he said fuck, made every part of me ache for him.

  “Good to know. I assume I’ll meet some of your friends before the ball so we can pull this off?”

  His lips curled, but since half of his face was covered in scars, I couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed. “You assume correctly. Any more questions or can I finish my fucking breakfast?”

  Definitely annoyed. I flinched. I’d clearly pushed too hard. “Of course. Sorry for the interrogation.”

  We ate in silence. As I savored each bite, I wondered what the ball would be like. There had been a time in my life that I’d spent dressing up, going to ballroom competitions, enjoying meeting new people. But I hadn’t been that person in years.

  He stood up from his chair, his hand trembling, his face now pale. “I don’t feel well. I’m going to go up to my room.”

  “Are you okay? Do you need to go to the doctor?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay, what should I do?”

  He leveled me with his eye. “Read a book.” His voice was gruff, unsettled, and tinged with anger.

  I finished my breakfast quickly and retreated to my room. Well, Mr. Nice Guy bearing flowers hadn’t lasted long. I was probably already annoying him. But I felt better knowing his intentions. To be a respectable girlfriend for hire. We clearly had to get to know each other to pull the charade off.

  That night Grady grilled burgers, still not allowing me to cook for him. He pounded beers all night, and we barely spoke a word. The tension hung thick in the air. Yes, we’d had sex, incredible sex, but we didn’t know each other at all. Basically, I was holed away in a cabin with a stranger. The full scenario was simultaneously nerve wracking and unbelievably hot.

  I was also struggling to understand his reactions toward me. He probably couldn’t stand me and was regretting inviting me as much as I was second guessing coming here.

  He retired to his room with a curt goodnight, didn’t even try to get intimate with me. I felt so undesirable, but I had to remind myself that I was the one who asked him to take it slowly.

  I also felt useless. I’d never just sat around. I wanted to clean the house, organize something, be productive. Instead, I went down to the basement, sat on the sofa, and turned on the television.

  A scream roused me from my sleep. This time I was absolutely certain it was a scream, not a nightmare. I must’ve crashed watching the movie. Dammit. I woke up shivering, forgetting for a second where I was.

  I ran upstairs, worried that maybe there was an intruder, or Grady had been hurt. The main floor was eerily quiet. The hair on my arm stood up, and I made the decision to go against his orders and creep upstairs to the third floor. When I reached his room, the door was shut. I debated knocking, but before I could make a decision, I heard another groan.

  What was going on in there? I knew that groan—it was the sound my mother had made when she was in agony, when her migraines were so intense that she was sobbing in pain.

  My chest stuttered, so I listened by the door, praying not to get caught. After a few seconds of silence, another moan—deep, guttural, haunting. Definitely not of the sexual variety—it was as if he was being tortured.

  Suddenly, I heard muffled footsteps that seemed to be coming closer on the other side of the door. Heart pounding, I quickly hurried back downstairs to my room.

  Damn, how could I be so insensitive? Giving him a hard time about not trying therapy when he clearly had been injured. He was still coping with so much physical pain that maybe he couldn’t even begin to deal with his emotional pain.

  I vowed to just try to live in the here and now, be more sensitive and less anxious, and not interrogate him. No more rules, from him or from me. I would for once allow myself to be in the moment.

  21

  Grady

  I’d been up all night fighting the sandman. Maybe it was the altitude or maybe it was all this tension with Isa, but whatever it was, I was fucking miserable. My already short-circuited nerve endings prickled my skin, my head pounded, and my stomach churned.

  I snuck downstairs and was shocked to notice that Isa’s bedroom door was wide open when the other night it had been shut.

  She eventually emerged from her room, her hair wild, her skin flushed. My cock rose to attention.

  “Did I oversleep?”

  “No, babe. It’s fine. What would you like to do today?”

  She yawned and sat on the sofa, her nipple buds pressing against her tank top. “I was thinking we could just get brunch.”

  Fuck. I’d been hoping for Chinese takeout, Netflix, and sex. I didn’t want to leave the safe confines of this cabin and risk having an episode. But I wanted to make her happy. “Sounds good. There’s a great restaurant on the water in South Lake Tahoe.”

  “Okay. Great. I’m going to take a shower and get ready.”

  I showered in my room, dressed, and waited downstairs for her.

  “Woman, we’re leaving in five fucking minutes. Get your sexy ass down here.”

  Isa ran down the stairs, her hair framing her heart-shaped face. Tight jea
ns showed off her perky ass and it took every ounce of strength not to throw her over the dining room table and take her right then and there. Claim her as mine forever.

  I smacked her on the ass and gave her a kiss. It was a sweet, normal moment, like she was my girlfriend.

  I locked up the Tahoe home, a gnawing in my stomach. I hadn’t been out in public unmasked for months, outside of my doctors’ appointments, military check-ins, and that quick run to the store yesterday. She clutched my hand, as if she could sense my discomfort.

  We climbed into the truck and made a pit stop to feed our caffeine addictions.

  We drove in silence for around forty minutes as Isa took in the scenery and I zoned out to the music.

  But something was bothering me. My gut felt she was hiding something, and I really wanted to get to know her better. Time to do some intel. “So tell me about your mom.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I read online that you found her body. Did they ever catch the guy who killed her?”

  “What makes you think it was a guy?” Her voice was sharp and irritated.

  “Because men are more likely to kill people.”

  She bit her lip. “What, are you a cop now? Why do you care so much?”

  Fuck it. “For someone who thinks I need therapy, you sure get angry when the tables are turned. Forget I asked.”

  She lowered the window and exhaled. “Sorry. I just don’t like to talk about it.”

  I understood. Completely. “It’s fine. So what about your ex-partner? Is he still hung up on you?”

  “Pasha? No, we never dated. We danced together as teens, won some championships. He wanted to be a professional dancer, and I didn’t. We ended our partnership when I left the show, which is for the best. He wasn’t there for me when my mom died and didn’t defend me to the tabloids when they were printing lies about me. We’re not friends or anything, but we don’t hate each other.”

  I studied her face. She spoke flatly, little emotion toward her memory of him, a guy she’d spent years with pursuing her dreams. It made me think she was cold, closed off. Same way she was with me. Only time she’d been raw with me was when she’d admitted that she’d stolen my bullet. I was used to overly emotional women. “Have you had serious boyfriends?”

  Now she turned away from me, gazing distantly. “Not really. I dated some guy my first year of college but it didn’t work out. No major drama. What about you? Have you ever had a serious relationship?”

  I pounded back my coffee. It was my fault for walking into this line of questioning. I actually hated hearing about a woman’s exes, imagining them fucking her. But I’d only asked her because I wanted to see if we had the same views on relationships. Wasn’t this what all women wanted? Intimacy? Fine, I’d play. “Once. We started dating before I’d deployed. I thought I was in love at the time, but it was bullshit. She couldn’t stand the sight of me after my injuries, not that I could blame her.”

  Now she turned her attention back to me, her hand placed firmly on my thigh.

  “I’m sorry. But Grady, it’s in your head. You know that, right?”

  “What’s in my head?”

  “Your perception that no one could love you because of your appearance. I’m sure most people see you how I see you—strong, sexy, masculine, invincible. I just want you to know that no matter what happens with us, I think any woman would be so lucky to have you in her life.”

  She caressed my face and I resisted the urge to kiss her. I wouldn’t allow her to penetrate my soul, get under my skin. Her words were nice to hear, but I refused to believe them; they couldn’t possibly be true. I was afraid to let myself care about her, because I was still certain she would eventually leave.

  I pushed her hand off of me, accelerated the truck and sped down the freeway. Being around Isa was just like being stuck in one of my PTSD group therapy appointments, but at least it had the added hope of sex. I didn’t want to have to think about my feelings, about the past, about my buddies. I only wanted to forget.

  We pulled into the parking lot of the Riva Grill. I wished for a second that I had a mask to wear. I adjusted my baseball cap lower on my face, pressed my sunglasses down, and prepared to face the world.

  Isa attempted to open her door, but I stopped her. I jumped out of my truck and walked around to open it for her.

  She smiled and hopped out of the truck. I wanted to spoil her, make her feel like a princess. Show her that I could be a normal guy.

  I took her arm and we walked through the little shops on the way to the restaurant. My eye scanned the tourists, assessing any threats. I couldn’t help myself.

  A little boy around three years old pointed at me, “Mama, is he monster?”

  His mom shushed him, gave me a sympathetic smile, and pulled him toward her. I kept my chin up, not knowing how to respond. Isa’s grip remained tight on my arm.

  The hostess seated us, a table with a view of the dock. I would’ve preferred a secluded booth.

  As we were perusing our menus, someone dropped a glass behind me. My heart raced. All my nerve endings prickled as adrenaline jolted my system. I clenched my hands into fists around the menu, struggling to keep my breath anywhere close to steady. This was a mistake. I needed to go home.

  Isa took my hand. “Are you okay?”

  Despite the riot battling inside my body, I replied, “Yup.”

  We ordered, and as I was sipping my beer and feeling a little calmer, I heard a voice behind me.

  “Excuse me, sorry to bother you. Are you by any chance Sergeant Grady Williams?”

  I turned around and saw a tall man with white hair wearing a red Marine Corps cap.

  “Yes, sir. I am.”

  “Well, son, it’s an honor to meet you. I told my wife it was you when you walked in the restaurant. A real American hero, that’s what I said. Would you mind if I took a picture with you?”

  I couldn’t say no; I had a soft spot for old Marine vets. “Of course not, sir.”

  His wife snapped a picture of us, the flash momentarily blinding me. The gentleman turned his attention to Isa. “You must be a special young lady to be with a man like Grady.”

  I sat back down and the waitress brought our food. Isa was glowing.

  “Wow, how cool was that? People worship you.”

  “He’s probably a vet. I was happy to take a picture with him, but I really hate the attention.”

  “Oh, I understand. I used to hate it too, but I guess I eventually became used to it.”

  I wanted to finish my food and get out of here before my anxiety heightened and I freaked the fuck out. I sipped my beer, hoping no one else would recognize me.

  After we shared a peach cobbler, I was ready to bounce. I called the waitress over and asked for the bill.

  “That gentleman took care of your bill. He told me how you saved all these lives in Iraq.”

  Wow, that had never happened to me before. I turned to thank the gentleman, but he’d gone. I threw down a tip and walked out with Isa.

  We looked into a gift shop, which was randomly filled with patriotic toys, so I bought her a Marine Corps bear that sang the Marine Hymn. I checked my watch and realized we needed to get back to the lake house before sunset.

  I’d been avoiding sunsets since Iraq, unable to handle the triggers that reminded me of the night my life, as I knew it, ended.

  I opened the truck door for her, and she climbed in. Before I closed the door, she wrapped her arms around me. “Thanks, Grady, for bringing me here. It’s so beautiful.”

  She was so beautiful. I was stretching my comfort zone for her, but I couldn’t shake the sense that our next public outing wouldn’t be so easy.

  22

  Grady

  I opened Isa’s door the next morning and watched her sleep. Her chest heaved and she made these cute little sighs. I didn’t want to sleep next to her, afraid something would startle me and I’d wake up with my hands wrapped around her throa
t, thinking she was an enemy. I hadn’t allowed myself to sleep next to a woman since my injury.

  Isa stretched in the bed and opened her eyes. Her lips widened into a smile when she saw me. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, sexy.”

  The doorbell rang, and Isa jumped.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” she asked, her voice weak.

  “Nope.” I stood up and walked over to the security cameras. Some young, cheese-dick-looking guy stood outside. Despite the fact that it was eighty degrees, this douchebag wore a black V-neck shirt, skinny jeans, and a fitted leather jacket. Once his face came into focus, I recognized him as Pasha, Isa’s ex partner.

  Isa came over to me and peeped over my shoulder. “That’s Pasha, my old partner. What on earth is he doing here?”

  I gritted my teeth. “How does he even know you’re here? Do you still talk to this guy?”

  Isa’s eyes widened. “No.” Her face turned blush. “But . . . I did see him recently. I went to the studio to ask Benny, the producer, if he could help get me on the show so I could pay for my tuition but he wasn’t there. Pasha was though. He said there was no way, unless some celeb requested me.” She paused and I was certain she was keeping something from me. “But that was before I asked you about my dad writing your memoir. I haven’t spoken to him since that day.”

  So had she been able to get on the show, I probably would’ve never seen her again. She asked me about the book because she was desperate and had no choice. Fine, I refused to let that bother me. We were here now, and I was going to try my damnedest to make her happy.

  “Don’t worry, babe, I’ll handle him.”

  I opened the door. His skin was tight and my first thought was that he resembled an alien. It immediately struck me that his pale blue eyes seemed hollow. His mouth stretched into a sleazy smile, and he eye-fucked Isa openly. Hell, no. I wanted to deck him, but I controlled my temper.