Marissa takes the phone from my hand and reads the email out loud while shrieking in between paragraphs. “BUD/S class 1030,” she says out loud. “Aarabelle.”
I nod twice to acknowledge her, and she continues freaking out, telling me how she needs to call our mutual friend Sarah to come over. Some girls dream about growing up to marry a prince. They’ll wear a pretty gown and watch as the strong, handsome man slides gold onto their left ring finger. My dreams have never resembled anything normal. I want gold, don’t get me wrong. I don’t want it on my finger gifted from a man. I want it pinned on my chest. Over my heart. Because I earned it. I want the trident. “I’m going to be a Navy SEAL.”
Chapter Two
Luke
“This is what it’s going to look like, boys,” Dagger shouts. To get our attention, but also because he’s a loud motherfucker by nature. He unveiled the map of the brand-new female compound on our SEAL base here in Coronado. The higher-ups want women to be equal to us, they want them included in our brotherhood, and yet they took a whole damn year constructing a compound to segregate them. Because, you guessed it, they’re actually quite different. “Your key cards won’t work there. You’re not allowed in there for any reason. Don’t even piss in a 100-yard proximity of the building. Do you understand?”
There is moaning. Groaning. Dissent among the group of SEALs collected for the meeting. Someone shouts out a question asking if women are allowed in our area. Dagger has been my best friend for as long as I can remember, I know him as well as I know myself. So, when I see the sweat rolling down his face as he pretends he’s not affected by the estrogen bomb about to rock our world, it makes me nervous. It makes everyone nervous. The average, normal person is terrified of change. In our raucous world, we aren’t scared of anything. I clear my throat when I see Dagger try to answer the question while maintaining the politically correct visage.
As if he felt the uncomfortable clusterfuck of the moment, my dad saunters into the open large bay, his salt and pepper hair gleaming in the midday sun and walks up to where Dagger is trying his best to gain attention of thirty plus alpha males with huge chips on their shoulders. Maverick Hart. The man. The myth. The legend. The goddamn reason most of the men sitting in this room wanted to become Navy SEALs. I’m lucky and unlucky enough that on the weekends, and when we’re off the clock, I call him Dad.
“Shut the fuck up you spoiled Nancy’s,” Maverick booms. “This isn’t a forum for your opinions. No one cares about your opinions. This is how it’s going to be.”
Magically, everyone silences. “This is happening. You’ve had a year to get used to the idea. Now shut your holes and prepare. BUD/S class 1030 rolled in last night.”
“How many females are in their class?” a new guy chirps. This is my second year at SEAL Team 5 after graduating SQT, SEAL Qualification Training. For all intents and purposes I’m still a FNG, a fucking new guy. Not as new as the asshole piping up right now, though.
Maverick’s dimpled smile scans the room. A smile I wasn’t glad I inherited until I saw how effective it is on the ladies. The dimples branded me cute as a child, then sometime after puberty when the muscle genes worked in my favor, the dimples became…panty melting. His smile drops, “Just one. I’ll be taking over this BUD/S class because she’s a special one.” He meets my eyes, but moves on quickly. It’s a tedious balance to ensure no one thinks I get special treatment. “Aarabelle Dempsey is the BUD/S candidate. Liam Dempsey’s daughter is our woman. She passed all of the initial physical and psych tests. We didn’t lower any of our standards. Not one. She deserves to be here and earned the spot.”
No one says a word. A pin drop would sound like a flash bang right now. Maverick goes on, “This will be the last BUD/S class I run before I retire.” I knew this information already. He’s been talking nonstop about finally retiring and giving Mom the life she’s always dreamed of. Just Windsor and Maverick in their vacation house up in the Calabasas Hills right on the water. Mom deserves it more than anyone else I know, but as Maverick Hart would put it, it’s hard to walk away from family. The Teams are his family, and that’s why he’s hung around longer than anyone thought he would. I bet he’s getting kicked out at this point. Liam Dempsey, too.
“We aren’t asking for any special accommodations for her. It’s going to be a long road as you all know.”
The FNG from a minute before says, “Yeah, let’s see this chick make it through training.” His tone is sarcastic, a bitter edge. “Most men can’t get through. She has a rude awakening.”
Maverick flashes a half smile. The scary one, given present company. “You haven’t met Dempsey’s daughter?” It’s been a long time since I last saw her. We were children ensconced in the SEAL community. Her father Liam Dempsey transferred from the East Coast Teams and I remember Aarabelle as a small, muddy-faced brunette who didn’t like to listen to her parents. Our times playing together were few and it was always heavy on the make-believe side. Guess she’s still probably on that same course given our current circumstances. How else could she find herself here, wanting to be one of us? Maverick leans against the bar. “Dempsey is going to stay neutral and isn’t taking part of any of the training of this BUD/S class. I, on the other hand, will make sure you derelict dogs stay in line. Do you hear me? The media will grab a hold of this and make her life a living nightmare. It will be…rough if she makes it through. It will be sensationalized.”
New guy can’t shut his mouth. “If she makes it through. Why are we even having this conversation? She’ll drop before Hell Week and all of this will be wasted time and we can go back to normal.”
The SEAL Teams are a family. A tight-knit unit like any other. We have the bitching Aunt Ethel, the pretentious cousin, the complainer, the one-upper, and you don’t have to look too far for the alcoholic or the perpetual bachelor. On the contrary, there’s a dynamic that’s unlike the average family. We would die for each other without thinking twice. With that, comes respect, even if it’s thinly veiled in moments like these. Something like indoctrinating the first female SEAL in history to our ranks, is legendary. Even if Dempsey stays tucked away in an office, he has to be rooting for his daughter to pull through without having her mental state dismantled completely. He might be one of the few rooting for her, as I let my gaze take in the faces surrounding me. It’s bleak.
Maverick growls. “I’m sorry if you think I’m wasting your time. If you have somewhere else to be right now, go.” His blue eyes turn to ice as he speaks. He hisses something under his breath. Something crass, I’m sure.
“No, no, no. Looks like I’m the stupid bastard who is saying out loud what we’re all thinking,” FNG replies. He shifts in a chair, an uneasy movement. He’s dipping his foot in to test the waters. No one else speaks up. “By all means finish the tour of their compound, the one that we won’t ever see. Or is there more? A set of rules you’re about to unload on us? About how we’re going to have to start carrying tampons in our kit?”
I cringe. If this was my sister, Marley, he was talking around, I’d want to shred throat. Maverick handles it by pointing to the exit, and the FNG vanishes into a sunny day to be dealt with alone.
Of course, there will be new guidelines and structure and honestly, I’m not happy about that shift. I worked my ass off my entire life to get here to have a piece of the sacred brotherhood for myself, and it does feel like it’s being washed out and hung to dry. I have wanted this career longer than I’ve wanted anything else in the world. More than the women who clamor for my attention. More than the flashy cars and lavish houses I’m afforded by being born a Hart. More than words. To me, being a SEAL is a feeling. An invigoration of adrenaline and honor to serve my country. The side perk of telling women what I do is merely a bonus.
Dagger goes on, and as the FNG assumed, the rules are next. He clears his throat. “No interpersonal relationships. This one is hazy from the higher-ups, but don’t shit where you eat, guys. That goes without saying. Relationships end
and it’s hard to have someone’s back when you want to stab it instead, we clear? No friends with benefits. Nothing. Platonic working relationships only. Hands to yourself. Nothing inappropriate. There will be a Personnel Specialist in our offices to make sure the integration goes smoothly. Her name is Lt. Williams and if you have any questions or need clarification about expectations, visit her office in building two.”
There are snickers echoing the large space. Someone lets out an explicit grunt. Dagger talks over it. “Hart touched on it, but there will be no preferential treatment for any BUD/S candidate. We aren’t changing anything. Women will have to roll into our world. If my leg gets blown off and she has to carry my stinky ass three miles to the chopper for evac, then so be it.”
“And if I could carry your stinky ass to the chopper quicker, and I know it? What then?” A SEAL pipes up.
“She won’t be a SEAL then. She won’t make it through training. Simple as that. Same standards. I cannot repeat this enough.”
I’d feel bad for the poor woman if I didn’t know the knife’s edge we walk downrange. Some things do require brute physical strength. Dagger looks at me. “For this particular instance, it needs to be known that Aarabelle Dempsey is here on her own merit, from the Naval Academy, because she earned the spot. Dempsey wasn’t used as a reference and had no pull in the spot she acquired. She qualified a year ago, and it’s taken this long for our command to prepare.”
“Luke,” someone behind me coughs out my name. Laughs erupt.
“Hey, fuck you!” I say, turning to find the culprit. It was the same for me, having a father high up in the Teams. Some are more vocal about it than others. Assuming we were a shoo-in instead of having to claw out our fucking spots like everyone else. It’s bullshit. But, I get it. I’d probably think the same thing.
Maverick chuckles loudly. “If you think I wanted my only son sitting in this high bay instead of a plush, safe office somewhere in the city, you’ve lost your fucking minds. Yet, here he is. Giving me white hairs every which way he can.”
My brothers know that, but they still give me a hard time. Mostly for the trust fund Maverick also passed on to me on my eighteenth birthday. It affords a lifestyle that is uncommon—lavish. Most wouldn’t understand why I’d even work with an account so large I’d never need to work a day in my life. Then they get to know me, and quickly find out how passionate I am about being a SEAL and serving my country. To an outsider, it may seem like I’m in the Navy to pass the time in between spending my millions and that’s just not the case. Sure, money makes a lot of things easier, but it doesn’t slake the desire to have a meaningful existence. Leaving my mark on this world, like the brothers that came before me have, is my drive.
I hang my head—staring at my clasped hands. Aarabelle is a woman, and her dad is Liam Dempsey. If she makes it through BUD/S and SQT, she’s going to have it rougher than I did. “Everyone just needs to keep a level head,” Dagger butts in, doing his best to take the heat off me. “That’s the base level of all of these guidelines. And the new guy was right, unfortunately. There’s three weeks until Hell Week and as you all know; the attrition is close to twenty percent. Let’s see where she lands and keep an open mind in the meantime. A woman would offer new perspective to an archaic system.”
Okay, now I know he’s on script. We laugh. Dad turns away, ostensibly to hide a smile.
Dagger snarls, shaking his head. “Done. Go. Get out of here.” It’s Frogman Friday, an easy, usually short day at the office for us. Some guys leave the high bay straight away, others head to the bar in the corner and start mixing drinks. Others linger, watching the big screen television on the oversized leather sofas playing an old action flick.
Maverick lifts his chin my way, and I slink over to him. He resists the urge to ruffle my hair like he does when we aren’t at work. His hand twitches. “Do you have plans tomorrow? Mom wants to come over and make dinner at your place.”
“Why my house?” I counter.
He shakes his head. “You know she loves the kitchen at your house. Don’t argue, let her come over and cook dinner. Marley has cheerleading practice, but she’ll come over when it lets out. A nice family dinner. Like the old days.”
My sister is in her senior year of high school and I know my mom is feeling the empty nest rapidly approaching. The family dinners get a little farther spaced out and their house quieter as Marley spends more time with her friends and doing her extracurricular activities.
“Okay,” I say. “I have a date tonight, but she’ll be gone by tomorrow morning. Come over any time after noon.” Mom will want to hang out all day. She likes my kitchen, but she also loves my pool.
Maverick’s dimples appear. “Dog.”
I hold up one finger. “It’s a second date, so not a dog. More of a boar.”
He winces. “You know your date could stay and you could introduce her to your family? That’s a novel idea. A second date must mean business.” No, she’s an amazing fuck and has a body meant for speed.
I don’t introduce my family to any of the women I date. Even in high school, I kept my dating life close to vest. It felt like something I didn’t want to share with anyone because no relationship was permanent. My dad had a hell of a time in the woman department leading up to meeting my mom, so I know when he sees me being cagey about my love life, he’s hoping I’m not fucked up like him.
“That’s like fourth date stuff, Mav,” I say, grinning. “Tell Mom we’re on for dinner and I’ll love her forever if she makes strawberry shortcake for dessert.” It’s his favorite, too so I know he’ll put in the good word. He grins.
His gaze flicks around the room, and then he ruffles my damn hair before walking out of the oversized building, heading back to the offices to find Liam Dempsey. He’ll want the play by play.
Chapter Three
Aarabelle
Sugar Cookie
I haven’t thought about quitting once, but I have thought about passing out, screaming at a BUD/S instructor, marching back to the women’s compound to feign menstrual issues, and just flat out punching the commanding officer in his face. I’m wet. I’m colder than I’ve been in my lifetime. I’m covered in freaking sand from scalp to pinky toe. How did the sand get into my socks? Why did I think this was a good idea? How can such a sunny climate get so damn cold at night? How much longer until I start hallucinating? Will I ring the bell in a sleep-deprived stupor and not remember it in the morning? Can I swim to Hawaii? It’s so close on a map. Would a shark eat me? A meg? You’re going crazy, Aara. Dad told me I’d start to go a little mad during Hell Week. Humans aren’t meant to function in a high capacity without sleep. SEALs are, though. I take in a deep breath and calm my thoughts. Someone grunts from behind me, and I take solace in knowing everyone feels as miserable as I do.
Always, right when I’m on the brink of collapse, the glorious words come. It’s like they’ve studied when too much actually is too much. “Naptime,” shouted through a megaphone. The voice is harsh—new. Change of shift. Again. It’s the only way I’ve been able to accurately measure time passing. Collectively, we put the heavy log down. It’s a jerky, weird movement from stiff muscles and lack of body awareness this far in to the week. It’s Thursday and this is our second nap. The first time I slept arrived Wednesday, which feels like a lifetime ago because Hell Week began on Sunday. Walking without the weight on my shoulder feels like trying to jump out of quicksand in Super Mario. Is it possible to get out? I don’t know. Keep hitting the jump button, Aara, I tell myself. Keep going. Keep going. The tent I enter has bare bones camp cots that look like a luxury mattress in a five-star hotel. Leaning down, I go face first into the PVC pipe on the edge, my eyes already closed.
Usually, on a normal night, it takes me at least thirty minutes to fall asleep as my mind replays my day, and my brain organizes my worries. It’s hard to shut it off and power down. It was really bad in college after cramming for a test. The knowledge refused to take a back seat to my exhausti
on. Even as a child I’d lay awake wondering what would happen if an axe murderer broke into my house. I hate sleeping because it seems like a waste of time. Right now though, my body slack, and covered in wet, dirty clothing, my brain gives way. Blackness overtakes me in a matter of seconds. Which is ironically the amount of time it feels like when they’re screaming into the megaphone to wake us up. That couldn’t have been three hours. It felt like half a second. I swallow a mouth full of spit down my dry throat, and wretch myself to the sitting position.
It’s not a soft, easy rising. We’re being yelled at to go eat before we begin a new evolution. From zero to one hundred in mere seconds. I rub the sleep from my eyes while I drop into the line jogging from the tent to the chow hall. It’s over the embankment, set up in another larger tent area. My stomach growls—waiting for the impending calorie festival where we are allowed to eat as much as we can. Even still, I’m burning more than I can consume, and my whole body feels it.
There are SEALs in uniform watching us from the grinder, perched against poles, casually talking to each other, like we aren’t having the worst week of our lives. They are just here to gawk, and have nothing to do with the running of training. I’m sure they’re taking bets on when I’ll drop out—ring the bell of defeat. I see it, and all the helmets lined underneath it of the men who couldn’t hack it. Being this close to the bell gives me pause. No one quits after a nap or after eating. It’s during the hard, tiresome nights when it feels like the sun has betrayed you and your body can’t take anything else. Dad told me it’s all mind games. That when my body fails me, grit will push me on. My eyes are still heavy, my mind is foggy, and yet my boots are propelling me forward at a brisk jog.
Legacy: A Salvation Society Novel Page 2