“I love you, Nicholas,” she gasps, staring down at the ring.
“I love you, Casey,” I say softly. “Now… Let’s really get the party started.”
The End
1
Alexander Knight
Joint Base Andrews, Maryland
One of the things that comes with the territory of being the commander of an elite military operations and consulting group is last-minute missions. I can’t say I love that, but it’s what I signed up for.
Tuesday night at the office, I’m the only one left, reviewing the details of the three-week assignment I received about an hour ago. I’ll be heading to England to do some consulting with the Royal Marines. Low danger. Low stress. Just what I need these days.
I’ve had plenty of danger and stress in my previous career as a Navy SEAL, and it’s taken its toll.
It’s almost seven thirty. Normally on a Tuesday night, the rest of the guys that make up our seven-man unit would be into their third or fourth beers at Powell’s Draught, the nearby bar we frequent several nights a week. But now that every man in the group has fallen in love with the woman of his dreams, more nights are spent at home than out, though we still try to hang out at least once a week outside the office. We have vastly different backgrounds, but we’re as close as brothers.
Of course, I don’t have anyone waiting on me at home, not even my younger sister Casey, who was living with me for a little while after moving east from LA. She’s now happily living with her boyfriend, Nicholas Diego, a member of the unit. That was a little awkward at first, but I love Casey and want her to be happy, and Diego is an excellent young man I have nothing but respect for. I do miss Casey’s bubbly, funny personality, though, so going home to an empty place makes the office a little more appealing.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t love someone.
With a sigh, I close out of my email and shut down the computer. There’s no sense in going down that sad path of thoughts yet again, but I know there’s only so long I can hold it at bay before it comes back to haunt me. I may as well head home, make a quick dinner, and start my laundry for the trip.
I have a small house in the suburbs outside DC. I used to live in the city, but after years of nonstop “excitement,” I like the peace and quiet my suburban neighborhood offers. I can hear myself think.
The house is dark when I walk inside. I normally like to go for a sunset run but finishing up last-minute things at the office had me missing my routine. I also like to cook a somewhat healthy meal for myself at the end of the day, but tonight, leftovers heated up in the microwave will have to do.
Damn, why am I so down?
I grab my hamper to take it down to the basement where my washing machine is, but a photo I keep on my dresser catches my eye.
It’s from five years ago. I’m on a beach, staring into the camera wearing a huge grin. And my arms are around the most beautiful woman in the world, who’s gazing up at me as if I’m her hero.
Devin Powell.
The photo is one of the last reminders I have of the happiest time in my life. A time when Devin was mine, I hadn’t deployed as a SEAL yet, and I wasn’t a shell of myself, the way I often feel I am now.
In the picture, the sun picks out the auburn hues in Devin’s long, dark hair and the golden glints in her tan skin. Immediately after I took the selfie, I tossed my phone into the sand, pulled her against my chest, and kissed her like it was the last time.
If only I knew then that it very well would be one of the final times.
Fuck. Stop it, Knight. You’re pathetic.
I set the photo down carefully in its rightful place and carry the hamper downstairs. The photo is easily my most prized possession, and yet I often can’t bring myself to look at it. Shortly after our beach trip, I deployed for a year as a SEAL. And when I came back, I wasn’t the same.
Terrified of my own shadow. Terrified of sleeping. Terrified of being in the world. Yet I never said anything to anyone, and I kept serving. I kept deploying. And when I returned, I brought home fewer and fewer pieces of myself.
One day three years ago, knowing I was drowning in the poison eating me from the inside, I shoved Devin away before I could destroy her too.
I ended up getting help. It took a long, long time for me to approach some semblance of normality and mental health, but I had to do it alone. I know I broke Devin’s heart, but I thought it was for the best. I don’t exactly regret taking the time to heal myself and protect her, but I do regret being unable to find a way to keep her close while I was in the throes of PTSD. I’ve never stopped loving her, but I don’t think she can forgive me.
I suppose it’s what I deserve for breaking her heart.
My cell phone ringing pierces my depressing thoughts. The ringtone is a Cardi B song Casey loves and programmed to be her caller ID. It usually makes me cringe and laugh at the same time, but I won’t change it. It reflects my beloved little sister’s bubbly personality.
“Hey, sis,” I answer.
“What’re you doing?”
“Laundry.” I push the empty hamper to the side and head back upstairs. “Just got home from the office. I’m headed out again soon. To England this time.”
“When?”
“Saturday.”
“Oh. Well, that actually relates to why I’m calling. I wanted to have dinner with you this week. Work has been going really well, and I never properly thanked you for letting me crash all that time when I moved from LA.”
“You’re my sister. You don’t need to thank me for that.” In the kitchen, the microwave patiently beeps, signaling my dinner is ready. I remove it and set it down on the counter.
“I know, but I want to.” She pauses. “How about Cristo’s? Thursday night.”
I almost choke on a bite of leftover meatloaf. Cristo’s is one of the fanciest and most expensive fine dining restaurants in the area. I’ve heard the food is out of this world, but so are the prices. “You’re insane.”
“No, I’m not,” Casey says warmly.
“That’s way too fucking expensive.”
“No, it’s not. I’ve been getting tons of jobs in LA and New York, Alex. I can more than afford it, I promise.”
“Then spend that money on yourself,” I argue. “More supplies, more advertising, I dunno. Shit, or one of those designer bags you like.”
“Nope. I’m treating my brother to a fancy-ass dinner, and I refuse to take no for an answer. Do you hear me, sailor?”
I’m beyond touched Casey not only wants to take me out but wants to take me to a place like that.
“Say yes!” she demands.
“Okay.” I chuckle. “Yes. Thanks, sis.”
“Great!” she says brightly. “I love you, bro.”
“Love you too, sis,” I reply, my heart lightening a little.
Just a little.
2
Devin Powell
I flip the bar’s open sign to closed and shuffle toward my open laptop on the bar, where Olivia Arnold, our resident Southern belle and general manager, wipes down the counters.