Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anna lean over to Rhonda and whisper something. Her sister, taking her eyes off her new husband, looked across the room and smiled. He was glad to see her so happy and the wedding had gone off without a hitch. Partly due to—fuck—Dodger. When the vintage doors that they had ordered didn’t arrive, Dodger had gotten them in record time, set up and ready to go at the outdoor wedding venue.
Max’s mom waylaid his teammate, and he smiled at her as they conversed. The guy was smooth and suave like James Bond and his accent was considered dreamy among his sisters and his mom. Dodger had charmed his whole damn family. Even his dad for fuck’s sake. His grumpy-old-man dad.
When even his mom couldn’t talk the old man into a suit, Rhonda in tears, Gina getting sassy, and the rest of them adding in their two cents—in other words, the usual pandemonium—Dodger had talked to him in low tones, and Bob’s your uncle, as Dodger said often, his dad was wearing the damn suit.
2-Stroke’s voice broke into his thoughts. “If looks could kill. Dodge would be cold stone, double-tapped dead, my friend.”
“Anna.” The best man got up and called for the dad and daughter dance. Max watched his dad, looking great in the suit Dodger talked him into, dancing with his slim sister in her gorgeous lace and pearl dress. His throat got a bit tight.
“Yeah, too bad your sisters are all so damn beautiful. What happened with you?”
Max found himself nodding and then just realized what 2-Stroke had said. He turned his glare to him.
“Shut the fuck up.”
2-Stroke laughed softly.
“You’re going to be the death of me. My sisters already think you’re a stud.”
His dad turned Rhonda over to her husband, and they danced close. Anyone could see how in love they were. Max had to wonder if he was missing out by keeping all his relationships shallow.
“It’s all that SEAL hype and my leather jacket. Probably the motorcycle.”
“No, they’re right. You’re a stud. So, knock it off.”
“Can’t. We’re honed, lean, mean fighting machines, man. Gotta keep the body strong.”
“Just keep that strong body away from my sisters,” he said as Anna approached Dodger, conversed briefly, then led him out to the dance floor. Max gritted his teeth. Dodger knew the score. Max didn’t want him to be rude to her or cold and hurt her feelings. He tried to loosen up his shoulders.
“You look like you’re trying to remember if you loaded up your trunk with lime and a shovel, instead of enjoying a wedding. Loosen up, big man,” Hemingway said, setting a beer into Max’s hand. “You’d be lost without Dodger.”
Max took a swig. It was just a dance. Dodger did know the score. Teammates didn’t mess with sisters, girlfriends, and wives. He’d have to console himself with the SEAL code.
“How are you holding up?”
“Training is going well. I’ve mostly healed from my cuts and bruises, just in time to get more.”
Max chuckled and clinked bottles with him. “Hoo-yah,” he said. “I was actually referring to Shea being gone. That must be tough.”
Hemingway shrugged. He was really good at concealing his emotions, but Max caught the bleak look before he hid it. “She’s got her job, and I’ve got mine. We both knew that going in.”
“It’s okay to say you miss her. I miss her. She is a pistol.”
Hemingway smiled. “She sure is, and I do miss her.”
“You hear from her?”
“No, not much. She’s going pretty deep undercover. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize her safety.”
“Copy that. She’s courageous and good at her job.”
“I know.”
Max signaled Wendy, and she got up from her chair. “Look at that. Wendy doesn’t have a partner,” Max said with a grin.
“Do I have to worry about lime and a shovel, too?” He rose when she came over and they went out to the dance floor. Max wasn’t concerned about Hemingway. He was in love with someone else. Wendy was safe.
Anna on the other hand…
One Year Later
Hemingway was back in Coronado after his twenty-six weeks of SEAL Qualification Training. His graduation was only an hour and a half away. His sister, brother-in-law, niece and father would be here in a half an hour so they could take him out to breakfast. He’d received a package with no return address, plain brown wrapper, addressed to him at the base. He sat down, fully dressed in his uniform, shaved, spit and polished. He’d been waiting on this day for what seemed like forever.
He, Milo “Professor” Prescott, Adrian “Rock” Lane, Matt “Easy,” Hitchcock, William Brown, and Benjamin Vincent, his boat crew, had all made it through SQT. Professor and Lane were going to Team Seven, Easy to Team Eight on the East Coast where the SEALs were housed at the Joint Expeditionary Base Little Creek-Fort Story. Hemingway was going to Team Seven as well—Fast Lane’s team. He was ecstatic that he’d be working with Mad Max, Dodger, Pitbull, and the rest of the guys. He couldn’t have asked for a better draft. They had shown up to rescue him from SERE training—Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape.
He opened the package and the box inside to find a brand-new pair of UDT shorts.
Shea. A ripple of pain knifed him, even as the humor lifted him.
He read the card. I had to wrestle Daisy for your dukes…er…UDT shorts, but in the end, she said you had such a nice ass, she would concede. She’d drawn a smiley face, and he chuckled. Congratulations, Special Operator Sinclair!
She’d sketched a little flower after that with a blue center and pink petals, and his heart turned over in his chest. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think about her, miss her. There was very little contact and usually on her terms because she was so deep undercover.
He’d been on his share of journeys after finishing First Phase, consisting of a lot of classroom work, moving onto Second Phase: combat diving, which he loved, and Third Phase: Land Warfare Training. He was a natural with a weapon and the instructor recommended him as a sniper. Then they’d had the graduation ceremony with just the candidates and instructors. Even Kyle and Vile congratulated him and after a couple of drinks in him, Cheezer said he was one of the best to come his way as an instructor.
After a week of leave, Hemingway headed over to the northeast side of the base to attend SQT, away from the Center and BUD/S. Training was intense with medical and navigation, then it was on to the NSW Mountain Warfare Training Facility at La Posta east of San Diego in the Laguna Mountains. After he earned his expert weapons qualification, it was back to Coronado and close quarter defense training. Then one hundred and thirty-five miles east of San Diego, he learned desert training at Camp Billy Machen, NSW Desert Training Facility. Then it was back to combat swimming in San Diego Bay. Hemingway remembered the sixty-degree water…maybe not fondly. Finally, jump school with his classmates, where they turned him into a helicopter, HAHO and HALO badass paratrooper. He loved jumping out of perfectly good helos and airplanes. The tests had been easy, since classwork was always something he excelled at.
He set the card back into the box, his heart heavy. He’d heard about finding the one, that elusive person who would make him feel complete, but he had always thought it was just bullshit, to be honest. Now he was the one eating crow.