SEALed_A Standalone Navy SEAL Romance_A Savery Brother Book

by Naomi Niles

  “I haven’t played this game since we were in Mogadishu,” she said, opening the box like it was some sacred relic. “And if I’m not mistaken, it was raining then, too.”

  “So anyway,” I said, shoving my plate away. “Now I have to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”

  “Are you still going to write that article?”

  I watched as she took the board out of the box. “I don’t really see the point anymore. Zack’s response was so hurtful that I sort of lost interest. I know at some point I’ll have to explain to Evan that I don’t want to write it, and then he’ll be pissed. It just feels like men are impossible to please.”

  Renee frowned, a pained look on her face. “I know Zack’s opinion was important to you, but you can’t let it control you. If you really wanted to write this article, then you should write it.”

  “I guess.” I watched as she removed the totems and arranged them on the starting square. “What are you going to do now that you and Max are finished?”

  “Well,” she said, “now that I have all this free time on my hands, I’ve been thinking about maybe starting my own yoga studio. How would you like to be my partner and co-manager?”

  I had to laugh at the earnestness on Renee’s face. “That sounds like the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” I replied.

  Renee shrugged in defeat. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

  By the time we had finished our first round of Trouble, it was almost 11:00am. I tried texting Evan a couple times to let him know I was stranded and wouldn’t be able to come in until later. But when he didn’t respond, I was forced to hail a cab.

  I spent the next twenty minutes in traffic while the rain fell miserably down around us. I knew it was best if I didn’t put off telling him I had given up on his pet project; I’d have to let him know when I reached the office. I had no idea how he was going to react. He had been dangling the lure of a promotion in front of me, and at this point, I would almost certainly never get it. I gazed sadly out the window at a girl in a pleated skirt and neon-pink rain boots who was skipping up the street, heedless of puddles. I had never seen anyone enjoying herself so much. I hadn’t even known it was possible.

  I descended into the basement at noon to find Dennis half-buried under a blanket with a space heater at his feet while Evan sat at his desk under the drain pipe looking increasingly harassed by the constant drip-drip of water from overhead.

  “My kingdom for a DeliWorld sandwich and a pair of headphones,” he muttered in irritation. “I understand this was how the Chinese used to torture people, and it was arguably more effective than waterboarding.”

  “If it rains anymore, this basement is going to be under three feet of water.” I pulled up the one empty chair in the room and sat down. “Maybe we ought to consider going home for the day.”

  Evan ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of agitation. “You know when you come in an hour late and immediately ask to go home, it doesn’t exactly reflect well on you.”

  “If you think that’s bad, wait till you hear what I have to tell you.” Evan raised an inquisitive brow. “I’ve thought long and hard about the offer you made me—”

  “Don’t say it—”

  “And I’m afraid I can’t accept for personal reasons. I’m already sort of notorious in the military community for being a ‘traitor’ and whistleblower, and I don’t want to sink my reputation any further.”

  Evan buried his face in his hands. “Do you know how much I was counting on this?”

  “I do, and I’m sorry. I realize my previous experience made me seem like the perfect person to write this exposé, and in theory that’s true. But I have to take my own feelings into account. I’m not just a machine that spits out essays, but a woman with a life of her own to look after. Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s how it is.”

  By the time I’d finished speaking, my hands were shaking. I sank back into the chair, feeling exhausted, and coolly waited for his response.

  “You really haven’t been helping yourself out lately,” said Evan with a shake of his head.

  “Well,” I said quietly. “I can’t please everyone.”

  “No, but you could try to put in some actual work, sometime.” He waved me away. “Go on, go back to your desk. I have a lot to get done today, and you’re not making my job any easier.”

  I stood up and returned to my desk. Dennis lifted his blanket just long enough to flash shocked eyes at me, then promptly lowered it again. I pulled the last of my bagel out of my purse and finished eating it thoughtfully, feeling simultaneously proud of myself for defending myself and worried about losing my job.

  My one consolation was that at least I didn’t have kids, or a husband, or even a boyfriend to look after. I could find another position pretty easily if I needed to, and I would probably have to. I remembered something Zack had once told me back when we were still dating: “This job is beneath you,” he had said, and before I could get angry, he added, “You deserve so much better than this.” Looking back on it now, I realized he was probably right: it would be a mercy when Evan finally let me go.

  Chapter Thirty-Five Zack

  As much as I enjoyed my last few days at home, I was eager to get back to Manhattan. I missed the bustle of the city, the live bands, the rooftop bars, the parks and art museums. But somehow, Kelli had gotten tangled up in all that. When I thought of the city now, I thought of her. When I smelled the barbecue wafting down Harlem Street on my first night back, I was viscerally reminded of her.

  I guess it sometimes happens that you meet a person in a certain place, and the two become linked in your mind ever afterward. Kelli was New York to me now. I couldn’t walk down the street without thinking about her. If I had wanted to get away from her, I would have had to leave the city entirely. And that wasn’t the sort of thing I was prepared to do just yet.

  On that first night back in my apartment, I lay in bed for a couple hours listening to the steady drip of a drain pipe coming from behind the wall. More than once I was tempted to reach for my phone, but then I remembered Mama saying how much time I had been spending on my phone since Kelli left. I didn’t want to be one of those guys who hides in the Internet because the world is too much. So I lay there trying not to think about her, trying to ignore how alone I felt, and trying not to let my feelings sink me.

  The next morning, I didn’t even bother making breakfast. Instead, as soon as I got up, I went over to Carson’s apartment.

  “Get up,” I said, charging through the door without knocking. Carson, who was once again lying naked on the couch, scrambled to throw a blanket over his legs. “You and me have got things to do today.”

  “What’s up?” asked Carson, looking slightly irritated. It was raining outside the windows, and the room was dark enough that he had to turn on a lamp to see me clearly. Rubbing his tired eyes, he said, “We’re not going golfing again, are we? In this weather?”

  From the way he was clutching his temples, I suspected that Carson was suffering from a hangover. Either that or he really hadn’t gone to bed the night before, in which case being woken up like this was probably torture. His pants were draped over the arm of the couch; reaching into the pockets, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, letting the smoke rise to his nostrils without once setting it to his lips.

  “You know you’re not allowed to smoke in this building, right?” I reminded him.

  Carson shrugged. “I’m not smoking.”

  Eventually I was able to coax him off the couch and into his clothes with the promise of breakfast and coffee. It’s hard to explain how good it felt to be back in the city after hiding out in the boons for a week. I wanted to run through the streets like Gene Kelly marveling over every hydrant and lamp post. It was all so big, so magnificent. But we had things to do.

  “So where we going?” Carson asked as we tore down Tenth Avenue. The rain was falling thick and fast, and I could barely see more than a few yards in front of m
e. On the sidewalk, a large Samoyed dried itself with a tremendous shaking motion while a couple of kids carrying subway sandwiches hugged them protectively to their chests like some treasured family relic. A girl in a short skirt and a blue sweater ambled idly over wet oak leaves and damp, discarded flyers, seemingly oblivious to the deluge happening all around her.

  “We,” I said, “are going to have a chat with Kelli’s boss.”

  Carson stared at me as if I had gone mad. “And by ‘chat’ you mean—”

  “Exactly what you think I mean. This guy’s been giving her a hard time, so I figured it’s time we went over there and gave him a hard time.”

  The car drove through a puddle, splashing a couple of pedestrians on the sidewalk who were crouched under an awning trying to get out of the rain. “You sure this is a good idea?” Carson asked. When I glowered at him he added in a meek voice, “I don’t wanna do anything illegal.”

  “Carson, when you can explain to me why you thought it would be a good idea to stalk a high school girl who had stolen your wallet, then we can talk about the difference between right and wrong. Until then, spare me the lectures, please.”

  Carson was silent for a long moment, as though trying to think up a counter-argument. But I was saved from ever having to hear it by our arrival at the Bugle ’s offices.

  “Stay close to me and don’t say anything unless I tell you to,” I said as we stepped out of the car into the pouring rain. “All you’ve really gotta do is look threatening.”

  “ This is where the Bugle is located?” asked Carson, staring in disbelief at the old and dilapidated warehouse with its peeling paint and torn awning. “Somehow I thought it would be better than this.”

  “They don’t even own the whole building,” I said, leading him through the front door and down the hall. “We’re looking for a dank basement.”

  “The way it’s coming down out there,” said Carson, “the basement’s probably flooded. We’d be better off coming back tomorrow or some other day when it’s not raining.”

  “There it is!” I said, motioning to a steel door at the end of the hallway. When we opened it, we found a flight of stairs leading up and another flight leading down. We followed the descending stairs and within a few moments we had entered a dark room lit only by a dim bulb and the glow of a few computer screens. It smelled badly of mildew and cat piss, and there was a constant drip of water that was somehow louder and more insistent than the one in my bedroom.

  Kelli’s boss was sitting at a desk in the corner of the room surrounded by pipes. I recognized him from the awards banquet, but he must not have remembered us because he stared blankly at us as we came in and tapped his pen against the desk in agitation.

  Carson and I strode up to him with stony faces. “Mind if we talk to you for a minute?” I asked him.

  “What do you need?” He didn’t look too happy to see us, probably because he sensed that we could break him just with our eyes.

  “Heard a rumor you’ve been giving a friend of mine a hard time about a book I’m supposed to be writing.” I leaned against the desk with the easy confidence of a man who knows he can’t be bullied. Behind us I could hear someone playing “Fireflies” by Owl City, very loudly, from their laptop. Turning around and giving him a death glare, I said, “Do you mind?”

  He shrugged and lowered the volume, looking irritated. I turned back around. “Let’s get a few things straight here. I’m not writing any book that you or your reporters need to be worried about. The Navy would appreciate it if you’d lay off of us. We got into enough trouble after your girl, Kelli, wrote that piece about us.”

  “Did you not think she did a good job?” her boss asked.

  “I thought it was excellent! That’s just the problem. You’re sending in brilliant reporters, like her, to expose all the rot and filth in the military. Some of that stuff don’t need to be talked about. Hell, she’s smart enough that you could promote her to an editor’s position and we wouldn’t have to worry about her no more. Next time you wanna do a piece on me, or one of my books, or the Armed Forces in general, send in one of your hack writers who takes shortcuts and don’t know what they’re doing half the time. Send in that kid.” I motioned to the guy who had been playing Owl City, who could sense he was being talked about and glared at us. “But don’t send in your best. Don’t send in Kelli.”

  “But she’s my best reporter,” he said in an annoyed tone. I got the impression he didn’t enjoy having strangers wander into the office and make staff recommendations.

  “And she’ll make a great editor. If I come back and find out she’s still writing about us, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

  The boss-man rolled his eyes. “And just what kind of hell are you planning to unleash?”

  I nodded to Carlson, who picked up a loose tube of metal pipe and bent it in his hands like melted butter. Tossing it down on the desk, he said, “Now imagine that was your finger.”

  The boss nodded, looking distinctly impressed and a little scared. “I’ll talk to her when she gets in and see if we can’t work out a compromise.”

  By the time Carson and I emerged onto the rainy street a few minutes later, we were giddy with triumph.

  “DID YOU SEE THAT?!” Carson shouted, punching me in the arm. “That was just about the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”

  “I’ve gotta admit I feel pretty damned good about it,” I said as we climbed back into my car. “Only sad thing about it is, Kelli wasn’t there to see it.”

  “She’ll be hearing about it, I’m sure,” Carson replied with a smirk. “I hope she likes being editor.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six Kelli

  For about a week after Zack broke up with me I could barely bring myself to get out of bed in the morning. If it wasn’t for my job and my sister’s persistence, I might not have. I kept thinking of all the things I could have done differently to save the relationship, but it all went back to the same thing: I should never have asked him about his book or volunteered to help him.

  “You’re looking at this the wrong way,” said Renee as we sat in the kitchen together eating cereal one morning a few days after the breakup.

  “How? Tell me what I’m not seeing here.” My tone was challenging, but I sincerely wanted to know.

  “You’ve gotten this idea that if only you hadn’t said this one thing, he would still love you and your relationship would be perfect.”

  “Maybe that’s because he did love me and our relationship was perfect.”

  Renee ignored the edge in my voice. “If he’d break up with you over one thing, then the solution is not to go back in time and not say that one thing. If it wasn’t this, it would’ve been something else. He gave you no time to explain, no time to correct yourself, no time to talk it out. Anyone who treats you like that would have eventually blown up over something. Frankly, I think you deserve better.”

  It was gratifying to hear her say this, but she hadn’t been in our relationship, hadn’t seen the way he looked at me sometimes when we were in the car together, hadn’t heard the sincerity in his voice when he whispered the things he loved about me. If I hadn’t been so convinced of his love, the betrayal wouldn’t have hurt this much.

  In my head, I knew what Renee was saying was probably true, but I couldn’t convince my heart of that. I still revered and respected Zack like no other man, and if he didn’t think I was worth dating, then there must have been something wrong with me. I began spending hours in the bathtub. I would lay there until the water had all gone cold, and my skin was a bundle of wrinkles. I bought a couple bottles of scented lotion from Bath & Body Works and rubbed them all over myself. I used so much in one day that I emptied an entire bottle.

  When I went into work, I barely paid attention to anyone. I’d spend a few hours shuffling papers and occasionally typing, trying to look busy. No one asked how I was doing, and I began to wonder if they hated me as much as Zack did. Maybe they all wanted me to go somewhere else where I wou
ldn’t ever bother them, but they were too polite to say anything. Maybe it had been like this my whole life and up until now I had been too oblivious or self-deluding to notice. I began to hate the fake smiles and to wonder what they were hiding.

  So it was all the more shocking on Monday morning when I came into work and Evan informed me that he was giving me the new position of executive editor.

  “Pardon?” I said with a blank stare. “I didn’t even know we had an executive editor position.”

  “We didn’t,” said Evan. “But we do now.”

  He said it so simply, as if he regularly made up new positions and handed them out to undeserving employees. I sank down into my chair wondering if I had heard him correctly. Dennis smirked and applauded.

  I sat for a long time with my hands folded over my mouth trying to figure out how this had happened. It was like one of those dumb ‘90s movies where some regular schmoe becomes president of the United States. I didn’t feel remotely qualified to be the executive editor, whatever that was, and I couldn’t understand why Evan had thought I was.

  Once the meeting was over, I questioned him about it.

  “Hey Pope,” he said as I approached his desk. He was scrolling through CNN on his laptop. “Did you hear about the mass shooting at the maritime museum in Brighton Beach? The gunman killed three people before being impaled by a harpoon.”

  “Yeah, hey, I just had a couple questions.” I sat down in the hard, wooden chair across from him and folded my hands in front of me. “Why are you giving me this position?”

  “I’ll be level with you,” said Evan, leaning forward with the air of a spy preparing to divulge state secrets in a public restaurant. “I think you’ve proven yourself more than up to the challenge of editing our digital publications.”

  “I thought we had Bryan for that.”

  Evan winced, as if it had just become painfully clear to him that I had no idea what an editor did. “Bryan’s a copy-editor. He fact-checks the work of our reporters and makes edits for spelling and grammar. You’ll be a content editor, which means you determine what stories are printed and where. You’re choosing the tone and layout of the website. It’s a high responsibility, not one I would entrust to just anyone.”