A SEAL's Heart

by Winter, Nikki

  With Fitz gone for basic training, she’d had more time on her hands to get her degree and had immediately started as an RN at Grant after she gave her two weeks’ notice for her job as a PCA at a small facility in the city. Work kept her occupied for a while until she finally got her first phone call from Fitz. Up until he completed his full sixty-one months of pre-deployment training, they’d been exchanging letters.

  Zuly would wait every day to hear the small roar of the postman’s engine before she hopped the banister of her first-floor apartment and hauled ass toward the mail slots. But there was nothing like hearing his voice--the much rougher, much deeper timbre rolling over her senses like a physical touch. And the first time she’d seen him after he’d come home for a visit...

  The sheer strength in his limbs as he’d lifted her from the ground after she’d thrown herself at him... God...there would never be anything like that feeling of completeness. Zuly had wanted to tell him then; had wanted to hit him until he understood how badly she hurt when he was away. But she hadn’t. Maybe that was why it was so hard now. The man had been all over the world. Surely he’d seen enough women to change his opinion about whatever he may or may not have thought of Zuly. Sighing, she finally rolled to a stop in front of the two-story, log-constructed home at the bottom of Carrigan Mountain. Her fingers brushed across the keys hanging from her ignition, as she remembered the day Fitz had handed them to her. She’d never felt right staying in this place without him so she hadn’t. She’d come and chop wood, dust, air it out but she never stayed the night. The grass needed to be cut and she could clearly see trash littering the yard and the front screened-in porch. There was no telling what the inside looked like. Fitz’s truck was in the drive so that had to mean he was somewhere inside brooding.

  Zuly sucked in a deep breath and climbed out of her SUV, heading right up the front porch and to the door. Without hesitation, she unlocked it and pushed her way in, pulling up short at the sight of beer bottles and pizza boxes. Obviously the frogman didn’t believe in cleaning nowadays.

  She stood there for a while, taking in the familiar layout and the sight of dozens of pictures. The couches and the old futon. With a deliberate slowness, she crept along the hallway, past the kitchen and up the back stairs. With each creak, she winced, wondering when she’d hear Fitz’s angry yell for her to get out. That would come soon enough, she was sure.

  When she finally reached the door to the master bedroom, her pulse hammered loudly in her ears. Trying to retain moisture in her mouth, Zuly twisted the knob and swung the door open. Her eyes scanned the room before landing on the large bear of a man lying in the middle of an even larger bed. There was a bottle of whiskey on the nightstand and an empty glass.

  “Started early this morning eh, frogman?”

  Silence.

  Irritation burned in her chest at the sight of someone so strong looking so frail. Not by anyone else’s choices but his own. He was in pain and he refused to say a word. Why?

  Zuly stomped over to the shades and pulled them open, flooding the room with light before she snatched his comforter back and ignored the urge to look past his naked waist. “Get. Up!” she roared.

  Like a startled bear, he rose. “Ah!”

  She banged on the first solid surface she could reach. “I said get up!”

  Fitz took one look at her, a scruffy beard covering half his jaw,

  his dark brown curls well past his ears now. “Z? The hell are you doing?”

  She was in his face so fast that he scrambled backwards. “If you think for even half a second, Fitzgerald Donahue Carrigan, that I’m going to sit on my ass for a moment longer and watch you kill yourself, you are out of your fucking mind. Get. The. Fuck. Up.”

  His hard features contorted into disbelief then anger. “I don’t have to do a goddamn thing you say. Why are you even here? Get out.”

  Zuly leaned in until they were nose to nose. “No.”

  “I mean it, Z. Go.”

  “I couldn’t give two rubbed-together rat shits what you do and don’t mean. I’m giving you exactly one minute to get up and out of this bed, or by God you will pray for Satan’s arms to comfort you because I am going to rain down on you a biblical fury that you couldn’t even dream up. Get. Up.”

  Strong hands came up to push at her shoulders. “Get out, Zuly.”

  “What part of no did you not understand?”

  “I want you to leave.”

  “And I always wanted to dress up as Godzilla and destroy a small version of Tokyo,” she mocked. “Dreams don’t always come true. I’m not fucking around, Fitz. Get up.” Zuly backed away and started out of the room. “I’ll be downstairs. I want you dressed and ready to clean up this shit-hole.”

  “Oh and what I want doesn’t matter?” he barked.

  Zuly made sure to look deeply into his eyes when she answered. “The day you decided you wanted to die is the day your wants stopped mattering. I’m giving you what you need.”

  “Oh, and you think you know what that is?” Fitz rolled to the edge of the bed, a grimace on his face as he stood. “Please enlighten me.”

  “Me, Fitz,” she replied softly. “Yu need me.”

  Chapter Three

  “Well, shit...” Fitz murmured to himself, wincing as Zuly slammed the door to his room. He could hear every footstep on her way down the stairs and didn’t know whether to laugh or hide under his bed. Jesus Christ, who was that? He hadn’t seen Zuly that angry since he broke his nose in the eighth grade and even then her fury had been directed at Sullivan for hitting him while play-boxing. So what was that about? And why was she even here?

  Donning a pair of shorts, Fitz grabbed his cane and made his way downstairs to find out exactly what the hell was going on. He hadn’t even hit the bottom step when a roll of paper towels, quickly followed by another roll of trash bags, was tossed at him, making two solid thumps against his chest before falling at his feet.

  “The hell...” Looking up, he caught sight of Zuly starting his way with cleaning supplies. “Z, what are you doing?”

  “Bitch-slapping you out of your bullshit,” she answered simply then twirled a finger in the air. “Start cleaning.”

  She started off but he caught her by the wrist. “Who sent you up here?” Fitz demanded. “Mom? Dad? My brothers?”

  Shrugging off his hold, she answered, “No one sent me up here. I don’t operate by the demands of others, or have you been away from me so long that you don’t remember?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re testing my patience, Zuly. I want to be alone.”

  “Didn’t we have this conversation upstairs? Were you not informed that I don’t care what you want?”

  Fitz glared. “Obviously you don’t if you’re still here.”

  Something flashed in her eyes before she recovered. Shit. He’d hurt her. Reaching out, he tried to grab for her hand. “Z–”

  She snatched her hand away. “Once you’re finished cleaning, we’re going for a fifteen-minute walk.”

  He followed her with his eyes as she moved around the family room. “My knee can’t take that.”

  Zuly stopped, didn’t even look at him when she said, “Bullshit.”

  Fitz’s jaw clenched.

  “I’m estimating there to be around twenty to thirty beer bottles inside of here alone. Not to mention the bottles of whiskey and God knows what else. Which means you leave your bed approximately three to four times a week to walk down the stairs, get in your truck and drive down to the nearest convenience store. The pizza boxes let me in on the little fact that you’ve been well enough to get around the house without a problem. So, yeah, fifteen-minute walk.” She continued on to the kitchen.

  He walked behind her. “I’m not–”

  “Twenty minutes,” Zuly interrupted.

  “Z–”

  “Twenty-five minutes.” She turned to him, eyes full of so much anger that he couldn’t even keep his gaze on hers. “For every second you don’t simply say,
‘Yes, Zuly. Okay, Zuly.’ I’ll add another five minutes. You wanna go for thirty?”

  Fitz didn’t answer.

  “I didn’t think so.” Snapping her fingers, she pointed to the dishes in the sink and lining the counters. “Get this shit up and don’t come to me with the martyr act again or I’ll make you sorry.”

  “I already am,” Fitz murmured, grabbing a stack of plates and going for the dishwasher.

  “Did you say something?”

  He knew that tone. That was the tone that said she was giving him a chance to amend whatever had left his mouth. “No.”

  “Good,” Zuly retorted. “Let me know when you’re done in here and you can start on the family room and front porch.” She was silent for a while and he could feel her staring at him for a long time. “If you need help...ask.”

  He should’ve been annoyed, should’ve tried to get her to leave again...but truthfully, all he could do was discreetly stare at those goddamn shorts she had on. The rise of her ass was enough to tamp down his ire. Because really, what man in their right mind would be able to keep his eyes off it?

  Even hung over and exhausted from a lack of sleep, Fitz still felt himself stirring with every dip and sway of her hips. It was unnatural the responses she could pull from him. And yet she was completely oblivious to her effect.

  They worked around one another in silence with Fitz occasionally casting a glance over to Zuly, wondering if at some point the innate silliness he was used to would make an appearance. It never did. There were no smiles or jokes. There was no tossing things at his head or calling him frogman. There was only the sound of their movements and the tic in Zuly’s jaw.

  It seemed like the more trash they picked up, the more agitated she became. When he grabbed a half-full bottle of whiskey from underneath one of the couches, she snatched from him and headed for the kitchen. Fitz struggled to keep up with her and by the time he hit the doorway, she was pouring it down the drain of the kitchen sink.

  “Hey! What are you–”

  “How many more?” she asked, her tone not surpassing a whisper. “How many more bottles am I going to find?”

  Zuly’s eyes held an accusation that almost made him feel ashamed. Fitz shrugged. “Who knows?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t always remember where I put them. I just kind of leave them where–”

  She held up a hand. “Stop.” Turning away from him, Zuly gripped the counter, head bowed.

  He stood there, awkwardly shifting his weight. “You’re angry.”

  A snort of laughter left her. “Angry?” She shook her head. “No, Fitz. I’m not angry.” When she turned back to him her eyes were huge and watery. “Anger would’ve kept me at home...away from you. Which is probably where I should be but I just can’t...” One hand came up to push her straightened hair away from her face. “I’m hurt,” she said quietly. “I’m hurt because whatever it is you’re struggling with, it’s kept you away from people who love you. I’m hurt because you’ve been alone all this time and you won’t put down your fucking pride and talk to me.” Zuly’s gaze put a lump his throat. “I’m hurt because you’re hurt. But I’m not angry.” She leaned against the counter, rubbing her arms. “I don’t get how you still can’t see it...”

  His brows winged. “See what?”

  Her head cocked as she stared at him, mouth opening like there was something she wanted to tell him, something heavy. But she simply shook her head again and started past him.

  Fitz caught her by the forearm but couldn’t look her in the eye. If he saw disappointment there... “I’m sorry.” It felt like the only right thing to say at the moment.

  Her fingers squeezed his own. “Don’t be sorry, Fitz. Just...just let me help you fix it.”

  “I don’t think you can.” He finally did look at her then. “I don’t think anybody can.” Something wet trickled over his lashes and down his cheek.

  Zuly chewed her bottom lip, reaching up to wipe his face right before she tugged him forward and into her arms. Jesus, the moment he wrapped himself around her he felt like he was truly and honestly home. The smell of citrus and vanilla teased his nostrils as he stuck her face into her hair and squeezed her tightly against him. Her warm palms ran over his naked back in soothing sweeps that made him shudder, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from losing it completely.

  “You’re gonna be all right, frogman. I’m gonna make sure of it,” Zuly murmured against his chest, and he felt it constrict. With a slow, deep inhale, he got himself under control, still keeping a hold on her; the only thing anchoring him at the moment.

  ***

  God, how did he not know? Why was it this man still didn’t understand that the very beat of his heart kept her breathing? Why couldn’t he grasp that she couldn’t leave him alone? That she’d never leave him alone because he was as much a part of her as her own thumbprint?

  Without Fitzgerald Carrigan, Zuly’s existence wouldn’t be nearly as fulfilling as it was. It was something no one had ever seemed to understand, no matter how many times she tried to explain it. Her parents had never gotten it, Kamilah had never gotten it. Nor had his brothers. No one could ever grasp how her love for him surpassed any other emotion she had.

  He made her feel...complete. Standing here right now, with him alive and well, squeezing her, caused Zuly to send up a brief prayer of thanks. She couldn’t imagine her life without Fitz, and she never wanted to try. The last two months had been a testament to how it would feel if he weren’t here.

  “It’s me and you Fitz, remember?” Zuly asked softly. “It’s always been me and you, and it’ll always be me and you. No matter what you think you’ve done. No matter how badly things may be fucked up, I’m not going anywhere. Because if I don’t have you around...I don’t have very much.”

  Fitz left out an exhale that said he was trying to speak without losing his man-card. “I don’t deserve you...”

  She snorted. “No. You don’t. Because I’m awesome. And don’t you ever forget it, you wild-haired freak of nature.”

  He leaned back, one brow quirked as he ran his fingers through her own tresses. “And who helped you with this? The archangel Gabriel? Jesus himself decide to do you a favor because he just couldn’t take it anymore?”

  Zuly gave an open-palmed slap to his lower back, grinning when he yelped. “No, your reigning lord and master Beelzebub figured he owed you one for your long and faithful service.”

  His lips twitched. “I don’t serve the devil...anymore. I leave that to my brothers and their satanic rituals.”

  “I thought those were called family get-togethers.”

  “You say tomato...”

  Smiling now, she pushed him backwards. “Go put some clothes on, man. So we can walk.”

  Fitz waggled his brows then made his pecs jump, the SEAL emblem tattooed on his torso dancing. “Does my manliness offend you?”

  It was nothing short of a miracle that she didn’t bend over and ask him to... No, no, she wouldn’t go there. Instead she smirked. “Sweetheart, I’ve seen your manliness. It couldn’t offend an Oscar Meyer.”

  When she turned to walk away, all she heard was, “Goddammit, I told you it was too cold to go skinny dipping that night! It wasn’t my fault!”

  “Excuses, excuses.”

  “You aiming for a peek now, Z?”

  That almost made her trip over her own two feet. The man was vulnerable. She couldn’t. Could she? No, no. It wouldn’t be right. Would it? Goddammit! “Keep it in your pants, Carrigan. I’ve heard about you Navy men. You’re whores.”

  Zuly could hear him heading up the stairs. “That’s a horrible stereotype. It’s true but still horrible.”

  For the first time in a long time, she felt genuine amusement.

  Chapter Four

  “Wait...why are we walking this–aw, Z, no. In the twenty years that thing has been here, it’s never held up.”

  Fitz groaned as he watched Zuly clear off the infamous hammock. The one that
had gotten them more bruises and scratches than the cat he had as a kid. Little demon hadn’t lasted more than a week in the Carrigan household.

  With a smile, she made herself comfortable on that same hammock and patted the space beside her. “C’mon, frogman.”

  He couldn’t have said no if he tried. Having her wait for him in any position shot down all his defenses. Slowly, he took the space beside her, readjusting his weight. Fitz stiffened a little when she rolled, throwing an arm over his waist.

  “See? Armageddon didn’t start,” she said softly.

  Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he put his nose to her hair. “Only because you control when it happens, don’t you, my little science lab escapee?”

  She pinched him and he winced as he started the hammock in a slow rock.

  “You do know I’m not naïve enough to think this changes anything, right?” Zuly questioned.

  His brows lowered but he didn’t answer.

  “Everyone misses you, Fitz,” she continued. “I miss you.”

  “I’m right here.”

  “Are you?”

  He clenched his teeth. “What is it that you want from me, Z?”

  “A lot,” she retorted, and before he could ask what that meant she buried her face in his chest and rushed on to say, “But for starters I wanna know why you stopped physical therapy?”

  Fitz rolled his eyes. “There are men who lost whole legs. My knee was blown. So the fuck what?” He hadn’t understood the recommendation of physical therapy. It wasn’t like he needed to learn how to walk or do things without the use of a limb. He was still intact...for the most part.

  “You saying you don’t think you’re worth help just because your damage isn’t as extensive?”

  “I’m saying I have bigger issues to deal with.”

  Zuly was silent for a few seconds before she queried, “Like your drinking?”