SEAL Forever (11 page)

He hung up, relieved the Team was secure. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he wanted to scream, both in happiness and in pain. Balling his hands into fists, he pulled his anger inward. He knew, even with one leg, he could rip this whole room to shreds.

Medication flooded his thought patterns. The painkiller took away his needs, his concerns. The subconscious part of his brain though…well, that had a lot of fucked-up, disjointed things to say to him about himself, his manhood, and worst of all, his place in SEAL Team.

* * *

Waking up to two women lifting him was a somewhat welcome and yet unnerving experience. He'd never been a deep sleeper, so the idea that someone could be touching him and moving him was disconcerting. Not that he could have done much about it, with the amount of drugs swimming in his system. He felt no pain…anywhere. Probably the optimal way to handle a special-ops guy, he supposed, without those knee-jerk, hand-at-throat experiences.

“Look who is awake. Good to see you.” A soft voice teased his ears. “We're giving you a bath.”

They reached the section he was worried about and it stirred to life.

“Thank God.” He sighed.

“Hi, Master Chief Swifton,” said one of the nurses. “I'm Doris.” She smelled like vanilla sugar cookies, a pleasant scent. Her red hair was twisted into a bun and her makeup around the eyes was heavy with streaks of pink shadow. “You might ache a little. You've been catheterized, so give your private parts a day or two to recover, okay?”

“So nothing permanent.”

“Not that I'm aware of, though extreme pain can turn off pleasure receptors pretty quickly. Again, give yourself some time. Your meds should wear off in an hour or two. Let us know if you need another dose.”

He nodded, though he already knew he didn't want more pain medication. He'd seen plenty of buddies drop down the slippery drug slope, and he didn't even want the temptation. His preference was to gut it out.

The other woman chimed in, the tone mellow and low. “I'm Valerie. Nice to see you awake, Master Chief. After your bath, we'll get you some food. Chicken noodle or tomato soup?”

He cleared his throat. “How about a steak and a Caesar salad with a large ice tea?”

Doris laughed. “Not quite yet. Your stomach isn't ready for food that heavy. Go…”

“Slow,” he finished. “Got it.”

Valerie put a straw to his lips. He drew deeply on the water.
God, it tastes amazing, almost as good as frozen stout. Pure heaven!

“Slow down. You'll want to take small sips,” said Valerie as she lowered the glass to the table next to him.

* * *

The days blurred together. He jerked awake. He felt like Rip Van Winkle, lost and clueless upon waking.

Right now, two nurses hovered over him with sheets.

“What's going on?” His voice was a little rough, though he could still make himself heard.

“You've been out for four days with a fever caused by your wounds, but now you're responding to the new antibiotic marvelously. Just relax while we put some new bedding down. You've been sweating up a storm.”

That didn't make sense. Germany. DC. The flights back… Hadn't I just gotten off the plane? Wait, something happened to me.
He struggled to sit up.

“Move slowly. Your temperature spiked at 104.5. You're going to feel some residual aches and light-headedness.” The nurse's eyes were gentle as she rubbed the towel over his arm.

As the memory of the SOCOM guy flooded back, he pushed the helping hands away. “I can do it myself, thanks.” He moved into a propped position on the bed. Looking down, he said, “Thought I dreamed that.”

“Many of my patients say that,” Doris said as she finished washing him and then began drying him off. “That it's a nightmare. Hard to take it all in…in the beginning.”

“What? People get used to it?”

She shook her head. “No one gets used to trauma. But they often find a way to make peace with it.” She smoothed a blanket into place over him. “We can see about getting you some other clothes. You're going to need to get up and moving, and I don't think you're going to want your tail hanging out.”

He felt a smile tug his lips. “Yeah, I don't want to invite anything I'm not prepared to follow up on.”

She smiled back at him, but she didn't engage him further. That was fine by him. He wasn't into chitchat.

Finally, he watched her go. In another time and place, he might have admired the way the cloth clung to her behind, the swing of her hips, and the movement of her hair. Today…he was facing the crap he wouldn't have wanted his best friend to have to see. He knew he was luckier than most, with a lot of years under his belt, but it still ripped his guts out.

He lifted his forearm and placed it over his eyes. The battered arm protested. Ignoring the tenderness there and on his head, he concentrated on his leg, trying to desensitize it. He forced himself to take it—the mental backlash of what-ifs, should-haves, and what-nows—so he could face what was coming.
Who am I without the Teams? Without my brothers?

He'd held brothers—Teammates—in his arms as they died, and faced their families and their widows. Why was he griping? He was alive. A tear sped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly.
Christ, if only I could go run the emotion out of me.

He knew there'd be tears in private—to let the pain out. But he wasn't going to let anyone publicly see him cry; he'd deal with the emotion and force it to go eventually. No damnable feelings would master him.

Those bastard terrorists out there could try to take his life, but they were not going to break him. He was tougher than that, and he was going to damn well stay that way.

Now he had to call Maura. Or should he wait until he knew more about his medical condition? Either way, he had no idea what to say, so maybe radio silence was the best move.

His body wrapped protectively around hers.

She felt safe.

He was reaching for her, caressing her body and her scars.

She was showing him everything perfect and flawed about her form.

He celebrated everything about her as he stroked his hands over her and kissed her flesh, igniting her passion and making all her senses come alive.

Thrusting her breasts against his chest and using his shoulders for stability, she took control. Climbing onto his hips, she lowering herself ever so slowly onto his manhood.

Her body wanted to protest, but she was so wet that as he slid inside, all she felt was intense pleasure, an electric firing that made her whole body tighten and stretch.

Feeling the breadth and width of him inside of her, the pulsing, the passion, the heat…she couldn't stop herself from taking exactly what she wanted. She took it again and again and then changed the rhythm, thus denying him his pleasure until he was saying her name, pleading for his own release, “Maura. Maura. Maura.”

Maura awoke in stages. She was sexually frustrated and seriously wanting. Her dream might have been coitus completus, but her life right now was nothing but never-ending interruptus or complete denial until Declan got home.

Tossing the covers off her sweaty body, she stretched and then stood.

She unlocked her balcony glass door and stepped out onto their shared balcony. Even the balcony didn't smell right without the scent of his skin and that horrible stout he drank. In her opinion, it stunk worse than regular beer. She was most definitely a lager girl, if it had to be beer.

She checked her watch. Nine o'clock on a Saturday, and the beach was already filled with sunbathers. She could go down there and join them, maybe make a new friend, or she could stay here in her oasis, protected from the rest of the world. Her hair blew into her face. As she tucked it behind her ear, it was difficult not to look over her shoulder at Declan's apartment. Flashes of their time together made her close her eyes, reliving those images. She arched her back, wanting it to happen, wanting him…wishing she could kiss him and make love to him all over again.

Standing on the balcony, Maura couldn't resist looking into Declan's apartment. She hadn't heard from him since that night many weeks ago, and she was worried.

Her apartment was so sanitary you could eat off any surface, and she needed to use up more energy.

Maura jiggled the handle of his glass door and it slid open. “No way.” It figured, Declan would leave it open. Only a SEAL would think that crooks wouldn't break in. Then again, it was California. Didn't most folks leave their doors unlocked? She'd never get used to that concept. They locked doors where she came from.

She stepped inside and her nose wrinkled. The air in here was stale. She opened the door wider and took a look around. It wasn't messy per se, but the place did look lived in. Mentally, she made a list. There were dishes drying next to the sink and half-open bottles of stout perched on the coffee table, and his bed was unmade. Declan must have been in a hurry to leave.

The worst part was the kitchen floor and refrigerator. Seeing the fridge open a crack, she noticed a pool of water surrounded it, and everything inside had gone bad. Looking at the side, she saw it was partially unplugged. It was a fire hazard for the whole apartment complex. She pulled the plug.

Spying a towel on the counter, she mopped the floor and wrung the water out in the sink. Unable to find any kitchen cleaner in the cupboards, she went back to her apartment, grabbed her cleaning kit, and thoroughly scrubbed out his refrigerator, his oven and microwave, and the rest of the kitchen. Making a list of what had previously been in there, she stood in the doorway and smiled.

Putting her hands on her hips, she surveyed the rest of the apartment critically. “This place could do with a little more work, a woman's touch.”

She flipped on the stereo and listened to The Who as she picked up clothes, ran several loads of laundry, changed the sheets on the bed, and dusted. Pretty soon the apartment smelled as fresh and clean as hers.

As the stereo switched to the next CD and the Pretenders joined in on the musical parade, she felt her spirits lifting. Maura admired his closet, the neat rows of uniforms, shirts, pants, a suit and blazer, along with jeans and various casual all-weather jackets. She could see Declan did indeed have some order in his life. The shoes were polished and all lined up appropriately to match the clothes above.

Taking one of his hats off the shelf, she slipped it out of the plastic and tried it on. Going back to the mirror in the hall, she looked at herself. “Looks good.” She laughed as she danced around. Maybe she should have gone into the Navy. The uniform would have looked great, but there were parts of her life she was pretty sure would be barriers to the military system. She had difficulty following orders. Returning the hat and closing the closet doors, she went back to her tasks.

Humming to herself as she sanitized the bathroom with the strongest cleaners she owned, she actually finished in record time. Only took ten minutes longer to clean his than hers.

“Okay, so I'm a little OCD about cleanliness, but you have to admit this place looks perfect now.” She smiled.

A knock sounded at the front door.

The smile melted from her face. She froze.
Should I answer it?

Slowly, she made her way to the door and peeked through the peephole.
Goodness! It's her.
Olivia Fenwick had been in the newspaper practically every week, hosting charity events or being seen on someone's arm, and here she was at Declan's door.

“I can hear you breathing,” said the voice in a short, high staccato.

Flipping open the locks, Maura opened the door wide. “Hi, Olivia.” She was holding her basket of cleaning supplies.

Olivia walked past her and into the living room. “Oh, it's you. Well, you've certainly done an adequate job. I guess you can go now.” Seating herself on the couch, she arranged her skirts. “When do you expect him home?”

Maura didn't close the door. She left it wide and stalked into the living room. Who was this stuck-up cow to “dismiss” her? Taking a deep breath, she slowly exhaled and decided to play nice rather than upbraid the uppity woman on her lack of etiquette. “I'm
not
the cleaning lady.” Of course, she didn't know exactly
what
she was to Declan, but the maid she was not!

“Oh?” Olivia's eyes were sharp as they swept up and down Maura's body, stopping at the basket of supplies. The look in those eyes was not admiring. “Enlighten me.”

Growing up with brothers had made Maura tough, and she had played several withering games with her brother's girlfriends before. Blood was, in most cases, thicker than lust. “I live here.”

Not quite the truth, but the woman made it impossible not to respond to her cattiness.

“Fascinating, I thought he preferred them…young.” Olivia looked away. “I guess men are fickle at times.”

Was that a dig?
Maura's eyes narrowed. “Why would he need a girl when he has a lady?” She might be shy around men at times, but she could hold her own with any woman. Competing in gymnastics for most of her youth had taught her to psych out many a competitor.

Olivia sniffed. “Precisely.” She stood and walked to the counter. For several seconds, she seemed to search in her purse for something, and then she withdrew an elegant envelope. Making a show to kissing it, right over his name, she placed it on his counter and walked out the door. “Enjoy your grunge work.”

Maura was so mad she wanted to spit. Instead, she ran to the door and slammed it, but Olivia was a fast little minx and was already in her car, revving the engine. The gesture was lost, however juvenile it might have been.

Leaning against the closed portal, Maura slid to the floor. She threw her hands up. She had played right into Olivia's game, and Declan didn't give a rat's ass about her.

Pushing herself to her feet, she took one last glance around the apartment, trying to ignore the envelope on the counter, and then closed the balcony door behind her, making sure she locked it.

As she traced the steps back to her own place, the cool ocean breeze blew against her skin. Sunbathers were wrapping up their blankets and heading for home. She'd spent her whole day cleaning Declan's home. Initially she'd done it to blow off steam, and now she realized it was an act of love. She really cared about him.

Sunset would be coming very soon. Maybe wishing on the green flash, the light that streaked across the sky at the exact moment the sun set, would help her wish come true.

As she watched the green flash split the horizon, she whispered, “Come home soon, Declan. Come home to me.”

* * *

The gang teens had made tremendous progress at the gym. Not only had they painted walls, repaired mats, and cleaned equipment without a single grumble, they'd asked permission to work out on the parkour course. Maura granted it eagerly and was delighted to see them working out and assisting the younger kids.

American Ninja Warrior
had made its mark on the southwest corridor of the U.S., and the trials for the show usually started in Venice Beach. Several of the regular contestants called San Diego home and used her gym as one of the home training spots.

Among her new clients was Minnie. Maura spied her on a treadmill near the window and walked over. “Hi, Minnie. Nice to see you again.”

“Hi, Maura.” She beamed. “Guess what? I came here with Bosco.” She slowed her pace from running to a brisk walk. “We're dating now. Thanks for the advice you gave me. It turns out he likes me too.”

A male voice cleared his throat behind her. “Hi, Maura.” The awkwardness at seeing him at the gym over the past few weeks seemed to melt away as he stood before her smiling and so obviously infatuated with Minnie.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled at Bosco. “Hi, Bosco.”

“Uh, listen. Sorry for how things turned out with the date. Though, I, uh, appreciate your kindness to Minnie. I've known her a long time. She told me what you said.” Bosco nodded his head. “I appreciate it, ya know.”

Maura nodded her head and smiled. She was happy for them both.

Bosco's cheeks reddened. “She's my girl and I'm her guy.”

“That's great. Friends should always be happy for their friends when they find joy, and especially love.” Maura patted his arm.

Minnie said, “Thanks, Maura.”

“Anytime.” She left them and headed for her office. On many levels, she was relieved. The friendship boundary was clearly in place, and she could move on to other matters. It was nice, though, that Bosco had apologized. He had gone up a few friendship points in her opinion.

Mrs. B. was in her office working on the calendar when Maura finally arrived. She sat down behind the desk and decided to join in on the effort.

“Hey, Mrs. B., did the gymnastics coach leave her schedule for the next set of practices?” asked Maura as she held the general calendar in her hand. “I want to make sure that we don't have any competing events during the tryouts for our squad.”

“Right there, in your top box.” Mrs. B. pointed to a stack of plastic shelves on the desk. “I believe the four-to-eight-year-old parkour group wants to have a show for their parents too. Don't forget to add that to the calendar.”

“It's already on there,” confirmed Maura, setting the calendar down. “Practically every day is filled. We've gone from a small community group to a bustling gym with the superhero kids groups, the gymnastics competitions, and the parkour, not to mention the regular workout crowd. I can really do this, can't I?”

Mrs. B. smiled. “I knew you could. And look at all of the jobs you've created. I'm especially grateful for mine.”

Maura returned the grin. “I'm glad you're here. Okay, back to paperwork or no one is getting paid. I can hardly wait until we have the new payroll system loaded on your computer. No more outsourcing! That's going to save us at least four hours a week of reviewing the records. Pretty soon, employees can punch in, and automatically it will link to their paycheck. It's brilliant. Thanks for the suggestion.”

Mrs. B. nodded. “Oh, Maura. I forgot to tell you, a man came by the gym. Asked if you were here. I told him you were running late.”

“Can you describe him?” Was it Declan? Was he home? Why wouldn't he come over to her apartment first?

“He was lean and blond, but strong looking.”

“Oh,” said Maura, disappointed. “Well, you can give him my cell phone number if you like.” She checked the clock. “Okay, let's get back to the accounting.”

As Mrs. B. ran through the figures, Maura tried to keep her mind on the issue at hand, but it was difficult. All she wanted to do was run home and see if Declan was back yet. Though in her heart of hearts, she knew he wasn't.