Matched (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 2)

by Paris Wynters

  Nothing had prepared me for parenting my own parent. I was a kid who was suddenly responsible for taking care of my younger siblings too. So, while I love my dad, I also resent him for not being there when we needed him most. Plus, talking to him always brings back sad memories of my mother.

  “Well, I’m planning on holding a fundraiser in honor of your mother for early November of this year raise money for cancer research and having the donation be in her name.”

  “Zumba’s not exactly my thing.” Both the hesitation in my own voice and my father’s silence cause an image of his disappointed face to flash in my mind. I lean over, my thumb and middle finger massaging my temples. “Look, I can’t make any promises, but I’ll think it over. I mean I would like to see your famous moves.”

  My father chuckles. “It’s mostly choreography, but I can still dance you right off the floor, choreographed or not.”

  The image brings a rush of memories. All of us—me, Apá, my sisters, and Mamá—diving into Zumba to help distract my mother from the diagnosis. I remember the pain on her face when she explained it to me and my sisters. I remember the fear racing through my veins when she uttered the words lump and breast, but mostly, I remember how her whole life changed after those stupid words. She loved being outdoors and used to spend hours gardening, but in the months before she told us, we’d seen her slow down, and grow pale and gray. Knowing why was only a small relief, and it did nothing to alleviate the terror that carved out a hole in my heart. It was hard to watch the woman I’d always looked up to, the one I had always seen as a rock, crumble bit by bit. That’s when my youngest sister, Vanessa, suggested Zumba.

  My stomach twists and there’s a dull ache in my chest. I want to ignore him, to forget all the ways we failed her while she was alive and even after she passed. Her loss still weighs on me like a buried bullet that I’ll never be able to cut out.

  “It’s for your mom, Tony.” My father’s voice, the pleading tone, shocks me back to the present. “There are a lot of details to work out still, but I’m hoping to host it in Virginia Beach, somewhere near the ocean.”

  I straighten, panic setting in. This all sounded okay in theory when it was happening miles away from me. “Why here?”

  “Your mom always loved the ocean.” There’s an undercurrent of grief in his reply. “I figure we could host the actual Zumba class on the beach and then head to a restaurant after for food and drinks. I don’t know, I haven’t worked out all the details, but I wanted to talk to you about it.”

  Except talking about it is the last thing I want to do. Not when the topic of Mamá always brings this tsunami of emotions with it. So I do what I learned to do years ago—I smash all the unpleasant feelings into a tiny ball and ignore them. “Sounds like you have some good ideas. What do you want from me, though? You need a poster boy? A hottie for all the soccer moms to come gawk at?” I joke because joking is way better than the alternative.

  “Mijo, they’d probably leave thinking it was a Mr. Clean event instead!” Apá laughs, and a sense of ease flows through me. I’m sure the distance I’ve put between us hasn’t been easy on him. But the loss of my mother carved out a piece of me I’ll never get back, so, though I love my father and sisters, I avoid all the things and people she loved. Being around them hurts too much.

  I roll my eyes. Clearly my lowbrow sense of humor is genetic. Then a sad sigh comes across the line. “Anyway, I know thinking about her is hard for you. But I don’t want to do this without you, and your mother wouldn’t have wanted me to. Maybe this will be good for you?”

  I flinch. I would have been able to dismiss it no problem, but my resolve weakens when he mentions my mother and what she would have wanted. Mostly because I know he’s right. Damn him.

  Not one to ignore an opening, my father dives into the silence, as if hoping to fill it before I come to my senses and hang up. “It’ll be a memorial, but more than that, the proceeds will go to cancer research. Maybe talk to some of your friends on base, ask if they’d like to be a part of it? It would be a big help.”

  “Why not have it closer to home?” It’s not that I don’t care about cancer research, because of course I do. I’d do just about anything to keep other people from going through the same hell we went through. Anything but face the soul-shredding emotions that my involvement in this event will be sure to bring on. I drop back onto the couch, dig the fingers of my free hand into the cushion, and twist. “Why drag yourself all the way out here?”

  “Mi hijo, you’ve pushed us away for long enough. I gave you time to grieve, and I know it won’t erase what happened, but I think it’s time we reconnect.” He pauses, takes a deep breath that I hope means he’s done, and then plunges on. “I wasn’t there for you right after your mom’s death, I know that.” Even over the phone, the genuine remorse in his words hurts. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t the best I could have been. But I want to try harder now. Your sisters and I want to see your home, your city. We want to do this there, around your new family and friends. We want to be part of your life.”

  “Apá, I appreciate that . . .” In a perfect world, having family around for support would be great. If things work out with Inara and me, I’m sure she’d want to meet my family. But life’s rarely perfect and I’ve got a full boat of issues staring me in the face right now as it is. I mean, how do I explain my temporary marriage to a dad whose wife was his everything? “But I don’t know if I’m ready.”

  I pause, take a deep breath, guilt settling with my decision. Apá’s grief may have made it so he hadn’t been there for us right after her death, but I can’t say the man didn’t try. He’d kept his business going. He’d made sure to provide for us. I have to respect that. I can’t cut him out forever. “I promise, I’ll think it over.” Which probably doesn’t sound like much, but it’s the biggest concession I’ve made to him since I moved away.

  We wrap up the conversation, I tell him we’ll talk again soon, then put the phone away. My father knows I might not call, and I know he won’t push me on the fundraiser. But maybe doing the fundraiser will help a bit. Taking an active part in an event to honor Mamá’s memory would be a kind of closure.

  “Tony?” Inara’s voice cuts through the air.

  My heart leaps into my throat. I didn’t even notice her come back out of her bedroom and there’s no telling how much she heard. Not that I need this to be some big secret, but I don’t know that I’m ready to tell her all about my family.

  She studies me with wide eyes that catch me right beneath my ribs and fill me with an urgent need to soothe her. Part of me wants to talk to her right here, to tell her everything, while the other part wants to evade. Why would I tell her my entire life sob story when in less than eleven months from now, we’ll be going our separate ways? And I’m not ready to be so vulnerable, especially in front of the person I . . .

  I freeze.

  I . . . what?

  My brain tries to shape the word, but I don’t allow it. I can’t.

  “Is everything alright?” She steps toward me, reaching out, but pulls her hand back when I flinch.

  I’m suddenly like a wild animal, except instead of a steel claw, I’m trapped by the confusing emotions she’s arousing with her concern.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I don’t think I’m convincing anyone, but thankfully she follows my lead and drops it.

  “Okay. Just . . . if you need to talk, I’m here. You still good to volunteer with my stepdad?”

  Bennett. Shit. Somehow in the span of thirty minutes, I’d managed to forget all about the community building project. “Yeah. I’ll be there when my job offers me the opportunity to be. Not a nine-to-five, after all.”

  Now I’m just spitting out whatever comes to mind to push her away, to insert a little more space between us. I think it’s working because her brown eyes go a little frosty. She straightens and steps back, folding her arms over her chest. “Got it.”

  And now I’m a total jackass. Okay. Slow down. It’
s not Inara’s fault that my dad called and stirred up some emotions that I’d rather not acknowledge. I shove that part of my life back into its box and tuck it away. Best to keep the past in the past. Right now my wife is asking me to help underprivileged families have affordable places to live. This, I can do.

  “Sorry, I’m just tired.” After the emotional rollercoaster that was my dad’s call, more like exhausted, but that’s why my best course of action is not to think about it and focus on something else. “I promise, I’ll make sure I get over there to help.”

  “Thank you,” she says again as her rigid posture relaxes, and the renewed gratitude in her voice both warms my heart and makes me a little jittery.

  But at the end of the day, I’m happy to help.

  I just need to make sure I check caller ID from now on before I answer the phone.

  Chapter Twelve

  Inara

  I check my lipstick in the mirror. The plum color I bought at the boutique across the street settles perfectly on my cupid’s bow. Taya snorts and shakes her head. Lucky for me, my shift is over. Unlucky for her, she still has five more hours to go.

  “What a life. Work is over and now you get to go grocery shopping,” she says.

  “That’s because I live with an eating machine with a never-ending stomach.” I still can’t wrap my head around how much food Tony consumes. At least we share a joint bank account due to military rules; otherwise, I’d be penniless.

  “Speaking of Tony, how’d the marriage counseling go?” Taya says.

  I release a heavy sigh as my shoulders slump forward.

  Taya shakes her head and laughs. “That good, huh? Trust me, I’ve been there. My first session with Jim was about the most awkward thing ever.” She pats me on the shoulder. “You, too, shall live through this.”

  I snort and groan at the same time. “I hope so. I think ours was less awkward and more straight-up bizarre. Tony flipped the switch from mild-mannered goofball to tight-lipped SEAL mode at times, like he was suspicious that the therapist was trying to dig out some deep dark military intel or something.” I pause and nibble my lip as I remember the way Tony’s posture changed. The way he’d taken control. “Although, I can’t lie, it was kind of hot, seeing that side of him.”

  “Bizarre yet hot, got it.” Taya nods like what I’ve said makes sense, even though I’m still trying to decipher my feelings myself.

  “Overall, he was pretty great, though. He had no problems talking about marriage-related stuff, or even joking about some of his insecurities. The only personal thing he clammed up about was his childhood.” And his stonewalling on that front had come as something of a relief, because it made me feel better about not wanting to share my own childhood baggage. At one point, when the therapist was not so subtly nudging me to open up about any issues I’d had with my parents growing up, Tony and I had shared a commiserating look while the therapist was jotting notes in his notebook. Of course, next thing I knew, my screwball of a husband was pulling a hilarious face, and I’d had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

  The session left me with questions, though. I know why I’m not eager to share my family life growing up, but what’s Tony’s baggage? I voice as much to Taya, but when I glance up, she coughs and turns her face away from me. “Sorry. Must be my allergies acting up.”

  I narrow my eyes. Since when does Taya have allergies?

  My phone vibrates, distracting me. I yank it out and read the text.

  I’m on my way to the market. Need anything?

  I show the screen to Taya. “Oh, how romantic, you two can go shopping together now.”

  I roll my eyes, but honestly, I’m not mad about sharing this chore with Tony. I shoot off a text telling him to wait on me there.

  “Later, chica.” With a wave, I spin around and head toward the exit of Shaken & Stirred while the conundrum of my new husband fills my mind. There’s the easygoing, happy-go-lucky Tony, who jokes around at hospitals and therapy sessions. Then there’s kindhearted, eager-to-help Tony, who readily agrees to give up his free time to build houses with my stepdad.

  There’s also guarded Tony, which I’d caught a glimpse of in therapy, and prickly, tight-lipped Tony, who won’t talk about mysterious phone calls. I wish he trusted me enough to confide in me. Maybe I’d made a mistake in therapy not being upfront about how all of Mami’s failed marriages affected me. Maybe if I’d opened up, Tony would have followed suit and done the same. Next time will be different. For now, all I can do is try to help him sort out whatever he’s dealing with. Maybe grocery shopping will put him at ease, and I could sneak in a few questions over thumping watermelons and inspecting cuts of beef.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the parking lot at the grocery store. Tony is waiting for me, leaning against his Durango, his brow furrowed as he frowns down at a word search puzzle book. I watch him for a few moments and smile. As far as addictions go, I can’t complain.

  When I open my door and climb out, his head pops up. He flashes me a sheepish grin. Dark shadows form semicircles beneath his eyes, reminding me that he’d gone straight from work to therapy and then back to work, and now here he is, waiting on me to go grocery shopping. The impact of my husband’s grin combines with admiration over his work ethic and causes my heart to skip a beat.

  He turns and tosses the puzzle book into the car, then shuts the door and faces me once again. “Are you trying to tell me something? Is purple lipstick meant to be some kinda aphrodisiac?”

  I smack him softly. “Yeah, it’s the color your balls are going to be after we spend the rest of our marriage sexless.”

  He winces. “That’s cold.”

  He’s right. We hadn’t had a chance to talk yet about the other night, but given the way he’d been acting, he must’ve taken my flippant statement about his wildness or lack thereof in bed a little too personally. “Sorry, bad joke.”

  His smile returns. “So, you’re saying that we aren’t going to spend the rest of our time together sexless?”

  His phone pings before I can reply. He tenses and shoves the device into his back pocket. Something is wrong. The last time Tony was this on edge was after Taya was attacked. “Is everything okay?”

  “Huh?” His forehead wrinkles as his brows pinch together, but the lines disappear as his eyes widen and brows lift. “Yeah, nothing to worry about.”

  Liar. But there’s little I can do if he doesn’t want to share. I rub small circles on his back, hoping to ease some of the tension as we head over to grab a shopping cart.

  Tony swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “We both know you and I don’t have these kinda conversations. Hell, I’m not asking you what your mother thinks of those little bars in your nipples.”

  “Cabrón, you can keep your secrets.” I grip the shopping cart until my hands hurt and increase my pace, pushing the cart faster and leaving Tony behind.

  “Where you going? Wait up.”

  My husband is a closed book. And I’ve learned from Taya he won’t be able—and also might not want—to share what happens when he’s sent on missions. But he’s more than just his job, and I want to learn about those parts. I grind my molars and snarl. I’m not great at being the gentle, patient kinda gal who’ll give him space to blossom and grow. I’m more of the “let’s break down the walls with a sledgehammer” kinda gal, especially when time is sort of an issue here. Not the best quality for a caring wife to have.

  As I’m about to enter, the door on the opposite side swings open and out walks a familiar face. I stop and wave just as my husband catches up to me. “Hi, Trevor.”

  Trevor rears back when he sees us. His eyes go wide and his shoulders stiffen. He tries to hide a DVD under the Sara Lee frozen pie in his hand, but Tony grabs it. “Jack Frost? What are you, eight? Or is it some new porno version?”

  I turn and lightly slap my husband’s shoulder. “Not everyone’s sitting at home watching porn all the time like you.”

  Trevor laughs
and takes the opportunity to snatch back the DVD. “It’s a bit of a birthday tradition.”

  I turn and pin my husband with the most serious glare I can muster. “You didn’t tell me it was his birthday.”

  Trevor clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “None of them know. I usually just spend it alone, watching Jack Frost, eating key lime pie, and getting hammered on whiskey.”

  “Doesn’t sound like fun. Let us throw you a little party at our place.” Tony winks at me and looks entirely too smug.

  I nearly choke on my saliva. Does Tony realize what he just said? I take measured breaths attempting to chase away the small bit of hope attempting to reside in my heart that my husband might be coming around to erasing the expiration date on our marriage.

  I hike the straps of my bag higher onto my shoulder. My mission right now is to make sure Trevor isn’t alone on his birthday. “We’ll have everyone over, it’ll be fun.”

  Trevor rubs the back of his neck and stares down at the floor. “Wouldn’t wanna put y’all out.”

  The sliding doors swish open again, and we all step to the side to let a mom and her squealing toddler pass us by on their way out of the store. Once we’re clear of the walkway, I smile at Trevor. “We’d love it. We’ll have food and everything. You can bring Jack Frost if you want.”

  “You sure?” His blue eyes are so hopeful that I’m suddenly extra glad that Tony asked.

  “Come on over around eight. Tony will text you the address.”

  “Thanks, y’all. I really do appreciate it.”

  Tony claps his hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “And happy birthday.”

  Trevor smiles and heads off toward the parking lot while we enter the market. My mind races as I begin creating a mental list of what I’ll make, what we need, and whether or not we’ll have time to get some balloons.