Operation SEAL: Book Two Trident Brotherhood Series Read online

  Two days and a hot shower later, Aiden and I shared what we had witnessed. He watched as the latest man to ring out, who had bragged of how he lived in the water during his off time, surrendered when it was rained down on him while strapped to the board. Aiden thanked me for the advice I had given him, explaining how the mind is a powerful thing, and to try repeating to himself this wasn’t real.

  On the final night of training, Aiden received word his father had been taken to the hospital by ambulance. He was allowed a one-minute phone call, as well as the opportunity to ring the bell and return when the next class started. His father refused to hear anything about him leaving California and made him swear to finish what he started.

  Nine days later, I stood beside my friend as he said his last goodbyes to his father. We hadn’t hesitated as we jumped in a rental car the second graduation was over, driving through the night to be by his father’s side as he lost his battle to cancer, something he had hidden from him for years.

  Later in the evening, I dragged him off to a local bar, one he and his friends had frequented. We would be leaving in the morning, boarding a plane for Honduras and our first official mission. As we enter the bar a number of heads turn in our direction, including the girl he once loved. She was working behind the bar, and as I took in the sight of her, I prayed time had not been her friend. Her short, straw-like hair stuck out in every direction, with skin looking more like chewed up leather than skin, highlighted by bright pink lips. The second she recognizes him, she is around the edge of the bar and headed in his direction. Spending the past six months with Aiden, I can tell when he is disgusted by something, and right now that something is wearing cut-offs and a halter-top, the lack of self-control hanging over the edge of her pants like an apron. Using his ninja skills, he stepped around her and slid into the seat of a booth.

  A part of me wanted to feel sorry for her, but I knew the history between them, and the amount of time since they last saw one another hadn’t softened his hatred for her. If anything, it had reassured him he had made the right choice in leaving her behind.

  Photos on the wall confirmed the stories he told me of his time as a youth. His old football jersey was framed beside the newspaper article announcing a hometown boy who had been selected to become one of the elite. The owner came over shortly after we settled in. His former coach who helped him every step of the way in getting the All-American title, as his family was too poor to afford the fees which went along with any sports team.

  Vernon Holt, or Coach as he preferred, purchased this bar the year after Aiden left for the military. Coach freely offered a plethora of embarrassing stories featuring Aiden as the ringleader, including one involving his youngest daughter, Jordan.

  At first, I assumed this would involve a backseat and being caught in a compromising position. The truth was a rescue from a burning car, a frightened eleven-year-old and a drunken mother who perished. The mood at the table turned somber until Coach mentioned Jordan was growing into a fine young lady, working for his sister over at the diner on the weekends.

  The next morning, Aiden pulled into the parking lot of the diner, which was buzzing with activity. Coach had spread the word around we were pulling out this morning. The townsfolk stood and applauded as we took a seat at the counter. A dark haired, fresh-faced girl came shyly over to pour each of us coffee. Aiden introduced the young lady as Jordan, although I could have sworn something flashed between them as they shared a look.

  If I had to guess, I would put her in her late teens or early twenties, based on the way she carried herself and how her gray, nearly violet, eyes stood out against the sun kissed tones in her skin. With her hair in matching braids on each side of her head, she was the poster child for what I would coin a ‘country girl’. Once our meal was ready, Jordan placed the plates before us, and then disappeared into the back. We didn’t see her again before we left.

  I will never forget the first mission we did as trained SEALs, suiting up on the deck of an Aircraft carrier, sitting in a room with the President of the United States on a monitor, calling us by name and wishing us luck. Dropping out of a C-160 and parachuting to the tropical terrain below, feeling the incredible force of adrenalin as the ground rushed toward me.

  None of the scenarios we practiced ever prepared me to have mosquitos attacking my neck, my need to remain still preventing me from killing them before they sunk their teeth into my skin, leaving behind the relentless itching I endured for days later. Balancing my feelings for the man I had to kill as we breached the security of the compound, against my years of training to save lives. I learned to trade the victory of rescuing the captive as justification for taking a life. Celebrating each completed mission with a cheap beer and an attempt to forget the envelope I kept in my shirt pocket, and the promise I made to find the owner.

  Chapter Two

  Harper

  The hum of the ceiling fan gently wakes me, its poor motor exceed the life expectancy the manufacturers had given it years ago. Dusty blades rotate in the center of my bedroom, offering more white noise than actual cooling, but the effort is appreciated.

  Traces of light and the sweet smell of rain filters through the sway of the curtain from the open window. I can feel the chill in the air, a subtle reminder of the change in seasons, as autumn arrives clearing a path for winter and all she has planned. I’ll attempt to remember, to slow down and enjoy the pictures Mother Nature painted for us in the leaves on the trees, and the flavors of the season.

  Deep green eyes greet me from the bedside table, a toothy grin full of mischief and dreams. His picture does him no justice, as his warmth has the ability to erase even the deepest chill old man winter can brew up. The love in those eyes, so all-consuming and reserved for me, reveal a softer side of him kept private from the prying eyes of those around us.

  Alexander Gray, my brother’s best friend and resident pain in my behind growing up, managed to stitch himself into the fabric of my life, making his hold permanent and everlasting.

  Snuggling into my pillow, I recall with fondness how he and my brother would run off behind the house to play Army men, while I surrounded myself with stuffed animals and a tea set. I would sing songs and entertain myself until the boys became tired and hot, stealing my lemonade and cookies, leaving me a crying mess only to do it all over again the next day.

  As we grew older, the games and interactions changed, the relationship morphing into something new. Books became my solitude, my nose proverbially buried between the pages, lost to worlds where knights slayed dragons before they could kidnap the princess. My brother and Alex discovered organized sports, specifically football.

  As they grew and their skill level increased, the eyes and attention of girls their age zoned in on the ever-growing muscle and definition of certain charms. With the newfound status and attention, their view on me changed as well. My brother, Ross, began picking on me, showing off for his new friends and never ending line of female admirers.

  Sadly, I became victim to several schemes in an attempt to get closer to him. After a while, I placed a wall between us, limiting the people around me to those I knew before the popularity began. Alex was the guy everyone wanted to be friends with, the one who helped with every good cause, volunteered for countless organizations, and lended a helping hand to everyone he knew.

  The summer of my freshman year became a game changer for me, while Ross and Alex went off to football camp, my body developed overnight, giving me curves and, more importantly, boobs. Rumors would have started accusing me of stuffing my bra, except the city built a swimming pool and it was the place to be the first day of summer vacation. I showed up with my friends, wearing a bikini, which left no room for the rumors to grow. By the end of the first week, I had a tan and my first boyfriend, Mark.

  The relationship lasted two weeks, long enough for my brother and Alex to get wind of it and scare the piss out of him. Poor Mark was one of many that particular summer the pair of them intimidated from
two states away, calling the guy on the phone and handing out threats as if they were compliments.

  Any attempt at getting help from my father resulted in increased frustration as he agreed the young men pursuing me were not right for me if they scurried away with their tails between their legs after the slightest amount of pressure.

  “Harper, you need a man who is strong on the inside as well as the outside. Able to hold his own and stand up for what he believes in.”

  At the time, it was wasted words on the broken heart of a young girl, one who would grow to appreciate the wisdom in his love.

  Right before Christmas that year, a new boy by the name of Brady moved to the district. He was tall and handsome; with a smile perfect enough to melt the hardest heart. Every girl I knew wanted to be wrapped around his arm, labeled as his girl and have all the benefits associated with the title. Just before the holiday break, I received a note in my locker, letting me know Brady had an eye for me. I remained calm, as much as a young girl could when a boy she liked returned her feelings.

  Brady approached me later in the day, asking if I was available to go out with him that weekend, I accepted and rose to cloud nine, convinced Heaven could not possibly be any better than this. Friday morning I walked with a smile on my face, dreaming of how the day would be filled with glances from Brady. However, as I rounded the last corner to get to my locker, Alex hovered over a cowering Brady his index finger planted in the center of his chest. I didn’t have to hear the words or see his face to know the date would never happen.

  For nearly a month after, I refused to speak to Alex or my brother, my father kept his distance as he and my mother had begun to have problems in their marriage. When Valentine’s Day came around, Ross tried to bribe me with flowers and candy; I tossed them both back at him and slammed the door closed.

  As quickly as my body turned from bomb to bombshell, I stepped back into myself. I quit wearing makeup and pretty clothes, avoided social events and concentrated on my studies.

  One afternoon, as I was sitting in the library, I overheard some students discussing the prom and how the administration had opened it up this year, allowing freshmen and juniors to attend. Slamming my book closed, the frustration of the past few months creating a new sadness in my chest. Had I been speaking to my brother or Alex, I would have accused them of ruining everything. In my haste to get out of the school, away from the colorful posters and announcements of the ticket sales for the event I would never attend, I ran into Oliver Pittman, math club president and king of the pocket protector wearing clan. He fumbled around, shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, his inhaler to his lips as he recovered from the wrecking ball of my life. He scooted off at a hurried pace, glancing over his shoulder twice as he put as much distance between us as possible. As he ran through the final exit door, he moved quickly enough to the side giving me an unobstructed view of Alex singing to the head cheerleader, Laura Fiddler, his subtle way of asking her to the prom.

  I wanted to hit him, make him feel the level of pain I did, have him look into my eyes and see what loneliness looked like. Instead, I turned on my heels and cut through the science lab, using the exit at the side of the building to avoid watching Laura as she cheered her acceptance of his proposal. I was almost to the sidewalk when I heard my name called, the voice changing octaves as if struggling to make it through puberty. Glancing over my shoulder, I caught sight of Oliver walking quickly in my direction, his fingers pushing back his side-combed hair as the breeze whipped it around his face. His breathing was labored, his index finger pushing at the middle of his glasses, sliding them back into place.

  “Harper, please forgive my rudeness. I’ve meant to make an appointment with you, but my schedule has not permitted me to do so.”

  Oliver had the IQ of a genius and the social graces of a slug, still, I couldn’t erase the smile he created on my face.

  “Would you consider going to prom with me?”

  His voice cracked as he managed to get the last word out, swallowing hard to clear his throat and tame the hormones, which wreaked havoc on most boys his age. Oliver was a senior by GPA, testing out of most of the curriculum and leaving his teachers scratching their heads as to what to teach him. Several colleges had made offers, but he wanted to spend one year having the high school experience, which apparently included attending prom.

  “If you’re willing, we could do a compatibility experiment by attending the basketball tournament in the gymnasium tomorrow afternoon.”

  Our high school won the district championship, giving us home court advantage in the state playoffs. Alex and my brother had both made the team and would be there. Given the silence they had received from me, they wouldn’t know it if I attended or not.

  “I’d love to come with you, Oliver.”

  Like most nights at our house, dinner was less family time and more of how creative we could all be in avoiding one another. Dad and I tended to gravitate to the bar, while our mother and Ross sat at the table in the next room. Tonight Alex came over, which sent me upstairs to my room and my mother in the den with a liquid dinner, instead of the meatloaf she made for everyone else. A little after midnight, I crept back downstairs to put my plate in the dishwasher and see if mom had made anything for dessert, but Alex was crashed on the couch, an empty pie plate on his chest. Breaking my mother’s rule of cleaning up after yourself, I tossed my plate into the sink and ran back up the steps. I hated Alex and his ability to destroy everything for me, my love life, and the relationship with my family, and now the last bite of my mother’s homemade pie.

  The next morning, both plates were clean in the dish drainer and both boys already out the door, on their way to the championship game. Mom came out of the den, her hair a mess and the look of sleep on her face, all clear signs she had slept in the chair I last saw her in last night. Her eyes looked empty and sad, reflecting the feelings I had hidden behind baggy clothing and clean skin.

  “You’re such a smart girl, Harper.”

  She praised around a cup of coffee. Her encouragement was meant to make me smile, but she had no idea the torment I felt, being smart didn’t get you anything but good grades.

  The gym was alive with the sounds of cheering, whistle blowing and the squeaking of shoes against the polished wood of the court. Oliver and I arranged to meet at the edge of student seating. Scanning the sea of students, I found him three rows from the top, his focus attuned to the game. Keeping to the edge of the court, I made my way to where he sat, his eyes following the action, the white collar of his shirt peeking out of the top of his red school sweatshirt, the eyes of our mascot, a wolf staring back at me. I never bothered to purchase any team spirit items, as I coined them, not caring enough about the team to waste my money.

  Taking the first step on the bleachers, metallic red and black pom-poms flashed in my peripheral vision. Chancing a look, I found Laura and her copy-cat friends, dressed from head to toe in red and black, Alex’s number painted on the right side of her face. Laura had a reputation for sexual conquests, which matched the number on her cheek. She had a preference for men at the top. According to my brother and his talk with my father I accidentally overheard one night, Laura had given him all the signs she wanted him, but he was interested in another girl, one who didn’t make the roster in the popularity game. Our father told him if he worried his buddies class ring would fall out of her, it was best to leave her for the next guy.

  Oliver’s eyes finally landed on me, a smile of recognition as he stood from his seat and motioned me toward him. Acting as the gentleman I assumed he would be, he allowed me to sit on the inside of the bleachers. We spent the last minutes of the game with Oliver asking me questions about my likes and dislikes; his questions appearing rehearsed. I imagined he wasn’t as versed at speaking with girls as he was at mathematical equations.

  When our team won, he jumped to his feet, and I briefly considered how he was a contradiction in terms; a mathematical scholar who was als
o a sports fan, the two not being mutually exclusive when it came to the norm. As the players left the court, he offered to grab me a drink and popcorn, but I declined, he hurried off to grab something for himself, assuring me he wouldn’t be gone long.

  Several minutes later, the next game began but there was no sign of Oliver. I needed to use to restroom, so I asked the guy sitting beside me to save our seats. As I exited the gym, I saw the line to the ladies room was so long it came out the door and down the hall. I knew the location of a much smaller bathroom, one the janitorial staff used to store brooms and mops. As I hurried down the hall, I noticed my father talking with Ross and Alex, towels wrapped around sweaty necks and proud smiles on faces. I hurried down the hall and around the corner to avoid them seeing me.

  Walking through the janitor’s office, I stilled as the lights were off except for the closet on the back wall. I listened to see if someone else knew about this bathroom and had beaten me to the punch. When I heard nothing, I walked hurriedly across the carpet and opened the door, letting out a bone-crushing scream as I caught sight of what, or rather who, was inside. Leaning against the large tub sink, his sweatpants down around his ankles, stood Coach Loft, his hand buried in Oliver’s hair while he plunged his dick inside his mouth. Oliver was completely naked, his glasses on top of his neatly folded clothing, the hand not tugging at Coach’s balls, wrapped around his own dick, masturbating as he gave the much older man a blow job.

  I heard my father’s voice first, as the pair separated and attempted to look a lot more innocent than they were. It was the large arm, that wrapped around me, pulling me against a wet chest, which I recall with more clarity than what my father said to the pair of them. Alex picked me off my feet, running down the hall and into a vacant room, asking me repeatedly if I was okay?