***
The next morning, he dressed quickly. Picking up the duffel, he hoisted it over his shoulder and checked to make sure he had his wallet and cell phone before he put his hand on the doorknob. He wished today could be a day off—he wanted so much to spend more time with her—but that wasn’t possible.
“Sneaking out?” His wife propped up on one elbow and looked at him. “What time is it?”
He had to get going, or they were going to be late. “Three thirty. I need to pick up JC. I’m taking the weapons, per our agreement. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“What? Wait, where are you going?” She placed her hands on her hips and stared at him.
“Work. We’re going on the High Altitude jump. Aria, we talked about this.”
“I thought you were getting more time off.” She was getting angry. He could tell by the way her eyes were narrowing and her words were becoming more terse and clipped.
Shifting the weight to his other shoulder, he said, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s a workday. You know how it is—we practice and do more practice and prepare some more and then go on missions. I’m trying to get some time, but it all depends on the Team’s schedule. I wish we could be together more too. But this is the life of a SEAL.” Why wasn’t there a manual—something he could study—so he knew the right thing to say or how to ease her pain? “Hon, I want to help. It’s just…I have to go.” He walked to her, closing the gap between them. Lowering the bag, he got to his knees and kissed her. “Can we talk about this when I get home?”
“When will that be?” She fanned her face as if she was trying to dry the tears that welled in her eyes.
Crap! This was eating him up inside. He didn’t want to leave her like this. She had been through so much. He sighed. “I don’t know.” Then he stroked her hair, willing his energy into her, attempting to ease her and at the same time bolster her courage. “Bear with me, Aria. Okay? I love you.”
Her eyes met his. “Yes.” The smile was weak, but it was there. “I’ll be fine. I love you, too.”
He kissed her once more, so tenderly it tugged his heart, and then pulled out of the embrace. Picking up his gear, he left.
The bedroom door clicked closed. He let himself out of the front and relocked it before he left. Depositing the duffel into his trunk, he stared at it briefly. Filled with knives and guns that lay snugly in their cases, with the ammo locked away separately, he knew it had been as safe as he had been able to make it.
He slammed the trunk and slid behind the wheel. He knew he should have told Aria about them from the start, but there was never really any harm of anything happening to anyone, unless they got bullets somewhere else or spent a lot of time sharpening the knives. He supposed it could happen, but he was as careful as he knew how to be.
He should have warned her he was leaving the next morning for the jump. But he didn’t have the heart. If they were counting strikes between them, he was on strike two, and most likely he was in the doghouse.
As he turned on the ignition and sped away from the house, he prayed things would get easier between them, without this push-and-pull sensation, because this bumpy road—was not doing a lot to ease or improve his mind-set.
Stopping in front of JC’s house, he waited. JC was out of his front door and sliding into the passenger side of the Mustang in no time. “You look like someone gave you a sour gummy bear. What’s up, coconut?”
“Just stuff…” As Dan sped away from the curb he tried to put his mind in neutral. It felt as if he was getting bombarded with pellets of worry…something that had never happened to him before, and he didn’t like it.
“Ah, married life. It’s a gem, isn’t it?” JC teased, pulling a long sip of coffee into his mouth. “I remember when Jen told me she was pregnant. I was on cloud nine, and that morning while we were diving, I was running low on oxygen, and if you hadn’t alerted me, I’d be swimming with the fishes right now. Distractions can kill ya, man.”
“It’s not like that,” Dan said. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d be happy if Aria was pregnant. I’m…just not sure how to sort everything out. Parts of each other, we don’t know very well. The brother moved in. Being there, and being gone.”
“Is the bloom off the rose? Is she ready to dump your sorry ass? You already made it longer than some of our brethren.”
Dan’s hand gripped the steering wheel tighter. “No. I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.” He sighed. “I’m just frustrated. Don’t worry, I’ll work it out.”
“I know you will.” JC toasted him and then chugged down the rest of the coffee. Placing the empty container in the passenger-side cup holder, he said, “Best advice I can give you is to get over it or let it go, because we have some flying to do.”
“I’m with you.” Even as Dan spoke the words, they felt distant, untrue, and dishonest, but maybe if he repeated them often enough, they would become a reality.
***
At the base they grabbed the necessary gear from their cages…getting psyched up for the HALO jump. Some of the guys were giving each other crap. Dan couldn’t quite get into the mood. His mind keep wandering back to Aria, identifying the issues and building strategies to fix them. He was used to attacking issues head-on, making them better, and moving on. The problem was, he wouldn’t always be there to help Aria out of a difficult situation or funk.
He leaned into the large metal locker and felt pain rip through his finger. Blood gushed from an inch-long slice. “Damn,” he swore softly. When he wasn’t focused, sometimes he did dumb shit, and this would be one of those preoccupied moments.
“What’s up, Mac?” asked Hammer as he grabbed Dan’s finger and looked at. “I can fix that.” Digging out a roll of duct tape from his locker, Hammer ripped off a strip and then opened a bag holding hunks of gauze.
“Left over from that knee thing?” asked Dan, who then abruptly sneezed.
JC sneezed, too, and yelled. “Buster, take it easy on the baby powder, you’re killing the ambiance in here. I like the fact it smells like feet.” He sneezed again. “Come on, give it up!”
People asked him what it was like being a SEAL. They were just a bunch of men, doing what they do. There was no ego. You gave each other a lot of crap, and you made sure everyone was watching the others’ backs. Pretty basic stuff, but a lot of the world had visions of grandeur. SEALs didn’t. The fact was, overly prideful guys didn’t make it in the Teams. This life kept them humble, and that humbleness, in his opinion, kept them alive.
The alarm on Dan’s watch beeped. He gave everyone a hand signal. “Grab and go. We need to peel rubber.”
***
The plane climbed up to 35,000 feet. Everyone in the cabin was Team THREE, Platoon 1, and they were a combination of Alfa and Bravo. High Altitude and High Opening, or HAHO, was a “Hop and Pop” 35K jump, and you opened the chute by 34.5K. Today they were doing High Altitude and Low Opening, or HALO, which meant jumping at 35K and opening at 1,200 feet, giving them six seconds to get it right, or “unfuck” and pull reserve in case of failure. Dan knew that most likely there wasn’t a man on this plane who hadn’t lost a friend in a HALO either in training or on a mission. HALO jumps required split-second timing and full concentration.
Waiting for that moment, most of them were cutting jokes left and right.
“Fly into the arms of your mama, Zankin. Maybe she’ll fit you for air wings.” Hammer laughed at his own joke so hard, it was punctuated by a loud gaseous fart.
“Oh, man, I want my oxygen. Anything has to be better than that smell,” said JC, waving his hand in front of his face.
The jumpmaster gave the signal and they placed the O2 masks over their faces and strapped them tight. That meant they were five minutes out from the jump site. It was typical, too, for oxygen to be put on in the plane when it exceeded 18,000 feet, if the cabin was depressurized. But for these purposes, the C-130 would stay pressurized until their masks were set and it was close to the time they leaped.
; Dan turned to the person next to him and checked his neighbor JC’s O2 flow. It was sound. Hammer was next to him and checked Dan’s, and on down the line they all went.
Each of them had packed their own square, as opposed to the round chutes that normal airborne troopers use. Someone else usually packed the safety chutes. The practice was, if the square the SEAL packed failed and the reserve the parachute rigger packed opened, then that safety rigger was owed a case of beer.
The C-130 hit some turbulence, and they bumped around for a few minutes. Finally, the plane steadied out. Dan checked his watch. Three more minutes, then it was time.
He remembered the first time he did a high-altitude jump. It was at 35K and the sky was so dark blue above him, he felt as if he were leaping into outer space. There had been something cosmic about it, as if he had been more scared of staying in the plane than leaping. Back then he’d thought, if I die, at least I had the courage to do it for something I believe in…SEAL Team. The best part was, not only did he live, he found he liked to jump.
Spending a few weekends at Trident Field, he had gotten jump-qualified on the civilian side. A few of his friends’ wives had parachuted tandem with him. It was strange how none of the ladies would willingly jump out of a plane with their husbands, but they’d allow themselves to be lashed to him. Must have been his Boy Scout exterior or some kind of a marriage thing. He’d once broached the topic with Aria—before their wedding—and she had emphatically said, “No.” He still wondered if he should be offended that she didn’t want him to jump her.
One of their most recent jumps had been over the ocean, and they had leaped at about five hundred feet over a contested stretch of water and captured four terrorists on an eight-million-dollar yacht. Another jump had been made from 35,000 feet, inserting them behind enemy lines to rescue a diplomat’s daughter.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dan saw the light flash red. Those men who weren’t already on their feet stood. There were about fourteen of them.
The back of the plane began opening. To anyone outside the plane, he imagined that when they jumped, it looked like a giant hungry bird feeding its kids. Hammer always said it reminded him of an eagle taking a dump. He had a way with words.
The light changed to green and they ran out, leaping in a giant heap.
Dan cleared the ramp and hit his hard arch. Wind buffeted his body for several seconds. Then he brought his arms to his side and followed JC down in a rapid descent. Checking his altimeter, he was almost there. Dan couldn’t hear anything. He’d once described it to Aria as sticking his head out a car window at 120 miles per hour and doubling that experience.
His mind drifted to her. All the issues they were having. “Shit!
He almost missed the signal. JC was the low man, and he had done the wave-off—hand to ears and arms spread—to signal he was about to pull his chute. Low man had the right of way, and he could have flattened JC’s chute, killed his swim buddy and himself.
Get it the fuck together! Dan pulled and his square popped. He kept himself focused, his mind clear as he landed about ten feet from JC.
Mentally, he was kicking his own ass! Crap, Dan! Remember your fucking training!
His hands shook as he took off his mask and turned off the O2. He stowed the mask and pulled the tank from his side. The strap had been loose, too. Why the hell didn’t I see that? If it had dislodged during the landing, it could have blown. Shit! Where is my brain?
The jumpmaster landed. As usual, he’d brought up the rear and assured that everyone left the plane safely. Also, he tended to eyeball all of the jumpers. “McCullum, what the hell? That was almost a near miss.”
JC was at his side instantly. Putting an arm around Dan’s shoulders, he said, “Nah, he just loves me. That was choreographed. We wanted to see how close we could get without smacking face.”
Dan started to deny it, but JC had other plans. “I noticed a small tear in my chute. Can you take a look?”
“Really? Let me see.” The jumpmaster gave up reaming Dan out and became preoccupied with the tear. “Looks like a tension rip. Make sure you report it when we get back.”
JC nodded. “Aye, aye.” His swim buddy’s gaze tracked his movements. He could feel it on his back.
Dan collected his square and then headed for the truck that was waiting for them. He didn’t know what to say to anyone, let alone JC. Thanks for keeping an eye on me, watching my six. Damn it, I almost fucked up. Let me take my lumps. Either way, Dan couldn’t be more pissed at himself. Later he’d have to figure what was going on with Aria and everything.
Now, well, all he hoped was they’d get to jump again. He wanted to prove to himself that he could keep his mind on track, in the present, and not get waylaid with all the shit his brain thought he had to deal with right now.
Chapter 10
Aria yawned and spread her arms wide. She’d fallen asleep after Dan left. Rolling onto her stomach, she wondered if this was what other women went through…missing their husbands and at the same time being frustrated with them, too.
She lifted the pillow on top of her head and buried her nose in the air mattress. She cuddled into the smell, and her mind and body ached for him. She couldn’t escape…his scent lingered everywhere.
She remembered the first time she had picked up the sensory cue… Their first meeting had been in Bay Books on Orange Avenue. She’d been searching out Cathy Maxwell’s latest historical romance and Nora Roberts’s latest contemporary when someone bumped into her, sending her tripping over a small stool and ending up sprawled on the floor.
Looking up, she was prepared to bawl out the jerk who had ruined her day, when her eyes connected with his…a man’s gaze so penetrating that she’d hardly remembered being pulled to her feet or the way his hands had brushed over her legs and back.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. I mean, yes.”
His hands roamed over her back again, and as they touched her rear…she pulled away.
“I’m fine. Really.” Heat rose in her cheeks. Spice and something wild filled her senses. “You smell good. I mean…I feel good.”
“Okay.” He stood there, just staring. Finally, he put out his hand and said, “I’m Dan.”
“Aria.” When she took a step, she tripped over her own feet.
He caught her and held her. “Maybe we should go get some coffee.”
Abandoning her book search, she allowed him to escort her from the premises and down to a small bar called Danny’s. They both ordered iced teas and in the semidark of the place talked about books and snorkeling, travel and trips… When dinnertime filled the bar, they ate burgers and fries, and still they talked.
As noise made it more difficult to continue the discussion, they left…walking toward the beach. Words left her head when he took her hand. Then silence wrapped its comforting arms around them both as they strolled past the Hotel del Coronado, the Coronado Shores, and onto the Amphibious Base beach.
Dan waved his ID at a security guard and directed her farther down the empty beach. Then he turned her toward him.
Wind whipped her hair in a frenzy of movement as he leaned in and laid his lips on hers. Heat seared her skin where he touched her, and her mouth responded to his as if he were pure oxygen.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she deepened the kiss, leaning her hips into his. Her heart raced as his hands splayed on her waist. She breathed in his scent…that indefinable Dan smell…and she knew it would be stamped in her brain and on her heart forever.
She sighed. So much for staying in bed.
Swinging her legs off the side of the makeshift bed, she got to her feet. Her phone was making noise from the bowels of her purse. Digging it out, she looked at the message. It was from Hannah. The first message said, “There’s a tea this morning. You’re invited. No Caybreena types here.” The second message said, “It’s less than two minutes from your house on the A. Base—on the bay side. Pick you up at 9:00 a.m.”
Head
ing for the bathroom and a shower, she wondered if she could leave Jimmy here alone. Could she trust him, after everything that had happened? Hell, did she even want to go to another military tea? The first one had been such a disaster.
Turning on the water, she put her hand underneath and felt the stream jet, warm and soothing. Stepping beneath the spray, she allowed the heat to relax her muscles. If these wives were anything like Hannah, it might be a relief. The other options for her day were 1) work, 2) gather more frustration toward her brother, or 3) stew about Dan’s being gone. She’d take the chance and go with Hannah.
“I can leave a note for Jimmy,” she said, thinking out loud. She needed something to get her back on track, and what she was doing now wasn’t cutting it. It was time to change her location and her procedure.
***
“Welcome, Aria, to our little group.” A short woman with a rounded figure, glasses, and long blond hair opened the door. She waved them in with a smile. “Hi, Hannah. Oh! Thanks for bringing the cupcakes and pastry. You can place them over there on the counter.”
The entryway was white, and the living room was a brilliant rustic orange. There were books and stacks of magazines in places as well as gorgeous paintings filling the way. Aria was immediately drawn to one of a small boy and girl in a sailboat.
“Do you like it?” asked Francis. Her friend Hannah had shared that their hostess was the CO’s wife.
Aria still wasn’t sure what that meant or how she should act, but she decided to be honest. “I’m not an expert, but I’m a fan of Impressionism. Whoever painted this…the brushstrokes so delicate and precise and the overall depiction breathtaking…it’s amazing. Who’s the artist?”
Everyone groaned. Francis shushed them.
“It’s me.” She took it off the wall and handed it to Aria. “I can’t give them away fast enough.”
“I couldn’t. It’s too…much. All of the work that went into—”
Once a SEAL Page 12