Flash Bang: A Summit Seduction SEAL Novel (The Summit Seduction SEAL Duet Book 1) Read online

  FLASH BANG

  RACHEL ROBINSON

  Contents

  Introduction

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Other Titles by Rachel Robinson

  Copyright © 2021 Rachel Robinson

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by Melissa Gill Designs

  Cover photo by Lindee Robinson Photography

  Editing by My Brother’s Editor

  Editing by J. Wells

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  For those who love selflessly. I see you.

  Introduction

  Blurb:

  Maeve Ahern

  No one ever really starts over. They drag their overweight suitcase filled with a haunting, dead fiancé and unzip it in a new location. That’s just facts of life. At least, it’s my life. Sure, I moved to Colorado for a fresh start, but my past with Rexy looms in every corner light doesn’t touch.

  My career as a pediatric physical therapist is the only thing I have left, and I pride myself on being the best in the field. It’s why I moved to Colorado to open my own practice. Men aren’t even on my radar, but then again, Turner isn’t a man, he’s my adorable, six-year-old patient. His father, though? He’s everything I swore off. A swaggering, muscle filled, creation similar to the one I lost.

  He’s a Navy SEAL. A military man. A heartbreaking blunder I can’t make twice.

  Unfortunately, whenever he steps into the room, all I see is light.

  Lincoln Wilds

  Single parenting isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s constant chaos, and the maddening sense of abandonment always lurks in the background. Turner’s mother left us a month after he was born—vanished into a dark, drug-fueled existence. My military career suffered during his infancy stage, but I’m finally working my way back to some semblance of normalcy.

  I just got my own squad at the SEAL Team, when Turner falls off the monkey bars and shatters his leg. Just another hiccup in our complicated life. He needs a skilled physical therapist to help him walk again, but when I meet Maeve, something about her disorients me completely.

  Maeve Ahern is a walking, talking flash bang.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MAEVE

  He died a week before our wedding. Like a real schmuck. There wasn’t warning, or even time to cancel anything. His life got canceled first. Two years later and I’m working on being less angry. Instead of a simmering rage for breaking my own code and allowing a dangerous variable into my life, it’s now more of a pent-up aggression I feel in spurts throughout the day. Like now, staring at my laptop screen in my work office.

  “Maeve, did you hear me?” Aspen snaps her fingers next to my ear, a graceful gesture that would seem rude done by anyone else. My attention flails when I sink into this headspace. Into the past. Here one moment and gone the next. The waxing and waning are tumultuous, and I can’t predict it. It’s maddening.

  She clears her throat. “You have a patient in room three. They’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.” My medical assistant, and friend, bears the full force of my blunt personality and mood swings. After Rexy died, I moved to Colorado. Way up into the mountains, far away from Cape Cod’s beaches and siren call. It was time to start my own pediatric physical therapy practice. Or at least that’s what I told myself to justify the fact I wanted to flee everything and everyone I’ve ever known. The mountains are more than a fresh start, I need them to bleach away my history. Growing up an orphan, I don’t have any real family to my name, aside from my best college friend who lives in Europe full-time now. The friends and the comradery I felt within the SEAL community was the closest thing to an actual family I’ve ever had. It didn’t feel safe. I never feel safe when I’m comfortable. Comfort means stability, and anytime I’ve felt stable, the proverbial rug gets pulled out from under me.

  “Maeve. Did you hear me?” Another wispy snap.

  I slam my laptop closed. One unread message. It’s been unread for two years. From him—my lost love, my fiancé, the Navy SEAL killed by friendly fire, Rexy. The last email. By refusing to read it, I’m giving myself more time to be furious. “Sorry,” I clip. “I’m on my way now. I’ve already gone over the charts, so I’m up to speed on the little guy. I read up before bed last night.” The upside of knowing no one is that I throw myself into my work most nights. That, or continuing my education, and obsessing about being the absolute best in my field. Because being comfortable or stable in my job means nothing, as long as I know I’m the best.

  “The dad is a real looker,” Aspen says to my back as the cool air in the hallway hits me.

  I swallow hard, ignoring her lighthearted teasing. She’s trying to be a friend, but if I stop being angry, I know what comes next, and I’m unprepared to deal with it. Sadness. Despair. The anguish of grief. Feeling sorry for myself. Gross. I grab the chart from the box outside the door and find the patient name: Turner Wilds. Aged six. Recovering from a broken femur. I glimpse the X-ray to familiarize myself with the injury. Ouch. Pushing the cool handle down, I enter the room with my brightest, I’m here to help you, and I have excellent bedside manner, smile. “Hi there, I’m Maeve Ahearn, the physical therapist. It’s nice to meet you.” I speak to his father. Aspen was correct in her compliment. More than a looker, I think. Then chastise myself for being so vain. He’s probably awful, with a fatal flaw, like all men. I clear my throat and let my gaze flick to the small boy wearing a scowl seated in the corner chair. “And you must be the superhero, Turner Wilds? I heard you were saving fifteen kittens and twelve puppies from an evil villain when you broke your leg!”

  Turner grins—a cheeky, shy expression that warms my heart. “No, I fell off the monkey bars and landed funny.”

  His dad stands and extends his hand, my simple beige greeting not enough. “Lincoln Wilds, ma’am. Thanks for fitting us in. I know you were booked solid. I called until there was an opening or that nice lady I spoke to made an opening for my son after I annoyed her half to death. Not sure which is the truth. I’m thankful all the same.”

  When our hands and gazes lock, my stomach drops to the floor and floats back up to where it belongs. Lincoln knits his eyebrows.

  “You’re the best in the area, and I only want the best for my boy.” A familiar, comfortable feeling washes over me as my skin warms against his. My hand slips out of his grip and the fleeting emotion vanishes in favor of confusion and embarrassment. What just happened?

  After his statements,
I know exactly who he is. The persistent dad with a growly voice is how Aspen described him. Clearing my throat, I counter, “I’m happy to help, of course. No thanks needed.”

  Lincoln smiles, and it matches the one his son flashed. Butterflies flap in my stomach.

  “Aspen is harder to get rid of than that. She rarely gets annoyed by me. I’m the best at exasperating her, for sure.” I test the waters with a light joke. It’s easier to work with children if the parents feel comfortable. “Looks like his cast came off two days ago and we’re ready for some light therapy today. I’ll explain everything to Turner once we get inside the training room.” It goes smoother when I take them back by myself, but a quick read of the room tells me Lincoln is joining us—that he’s a protector and wants to be near his son at all times. It’s the moment I realize that not only don’t I mind, but I want Lincoln to join us for therapy that the warning bells start ringing.

  As I make small talk and lead them to the training gym area, I notice things I never notice about patients or parents. His wedding ring finger is bare and doesn’t have a tan line. Lincoln hasn’t brought up Turner’s mom once, even though he’s prattling on. I nod at something Lincoln tells me about the injury and open the file once again to glimpse the intake paperwork and emergency contacts. No mother there either. I set aside the file and have Turner gingerly climb up on a padded table and explain what happens next. “Tell me your favorite memory.” I ask the question that I usually use to distract little kids, but this time it’s for ulterior motives. Most will bring up a family memory, more times than not, their mom is involved. Mothers are important. I only know that because I don’t have one.

  Lincoln clears his throat and I glance over my shoulder at the sound. His gaze is focused on his son. The little boy starts to talk, but stops when I wrap the large elastic band around the ball of his foot and bring it around his head so I can test his reflexes.

  I don’t pull or put any pressure on his leg. “You okay, Turner? Tell me if anything hurts. What were you about to say? Happiest thing you can remember, right?”

  I’m behind him so I can’t see his face, but I can see Lincoln’s to my left. His eyes slant down in the corner as he swallows hard.

  “’Member when we went fishing, Daddy?” the boy says. Lincoln’s face lights up. “To catch the big ones!”

  “You caught the biggest fish that day,” Lincoln says, leaning in to rest a hand on his son’s good calf. “It was one of my favorite days, too.”

  I pull on the rubber band just a touch to flex his foot and ask him to push against it if he can. “Tell me about the fish you caught,” I prompt Turner. “Do you remember what kind? How was it?”

  As he tells me the color, shape, size, and every detail he can remember, I use the distraction to test his flexibility. Lincoln’s gaze flicks over to meet mine. The stare is so intense I look away. “That sounds like an amazing day, Turner.” I prompt him with another question as I move him onto another machine, aware that while Lincoln doesn’t follow us, he’s watching, studying every move I make. A gesture that’s both normal and completely raw. A look is something I’m skilled at reading. At least more than average people. When you fend for yourself at a young age, you’re able to discern looks and the emotions behind them. I can tell you that some people were born looking safe, and those are the ones you watch out for because they’re usually the worst kind of monster. The wolves in sheep’s clothing.

  Growing up in foster care, cycling from home to home, ’d familiarized myself with what pity looks like, and what anger, rage, and disappointment look like. The slant of a brow or the quirk of a lip. Micro-expressions can tell you everything you need to know about someone. Unfortunately, I also know what a casual glance filled with, ‘I’ll see you in your bed later tonight. You better not scream,’ looks like. I shudder against the cool that felt nice only minutes ago. The next therapy exercise is one that will be a little painful after being in a cast for such a long period of time. Circling to the front so I can see the boy’s face, I take hold of his good leg.

  “Next up is the superhero stretch.” I hold up a foam roller. “This is kryptonite, Superman. Feeling brave enough?” My gaze flicks quickly to his father so he can see how painful this exercise might be for his son.

  Turner’s face lights up, eyes narrowed, as he embraces the challenge. “I’m the hero for the job.” His voice lowers a few notes as he plays the part perfectly. He doesn’t cringe or turn away as I roll over the tender places near his injury. We play this game for the next fifteen minutes as I tick through the list. Lincoln stays silent for the remainder of the appointment. I do my best to block out anything that isn’t related to Turner and my job, but it’s like Lincoln has awakened something inside me. With a mere look, he has me spiraling back into dangerous territory.

  The session wraps and I tell Lincoln to make another appointment with Aspen on their way out. I make notes in my laptop in an effort to appear busy, and to avoid small talk with this man. He doesn’t have an untrusting look about him, but it’s more that I can’t read him that makes me so wary.

  Aspen breezes into the hallway. “All wrapped up?” she asks.

  I nod, not taking my gaze from the screen balancing on my palm. “Come with me, Turner, I’ll let you pick out a prize from the chest up front.” Her voice is cheerful, and Turner responds immediately, hobbling in his plastic boot to find his prize.

  “Dr. Ahern,” Lincoln says, and I have to close my eyes against the onslaught of unease that prickles my skin. It’s just my name. Craning my neck, I peer at him as he walks a step behind me. I nod for him to go on. “This may seem forward, but I was wondering what brought you to Colorado. You were established in Cape Cod, or so it seemed. What brought you way out here?”

  I swallow down the nerves threatening to trip me up. “The mountains called.” I offer what I believe is a comforting smile. “I took a vacation here once with a friend in college and I’ve been trying to get back here ever since.” I stop and turn when we reach the reception area. Turner is bouncing a super bouncer on the tile and hobbling after it when it makes a stray turn. “You can trust that your son is in the best hands. My previous position in Cape Cod was the final stepping stone I needed to open my own practice.” It’s true, but also a thinly veiled lie. The life insurance money I received from Rexy’s death is the real stepping stone I needed. It was shocking when I realized he left it to me. I didn’t feel I deserved it. Then again, I haven’t felt like I’ve deserved much of anything, and I couldn’t give the money back.

  Lincoln leans his head to the side as he eyes my face. I feel stripped down bare with that solitary look. “Well, I’m really glad that you came here. The way you worked with my son just now was amazing. Not very many people can open him up like that, and so quickly. Pardon my intrusion, I just wanted to know a bit more about you as this doesn’t happen often.”

  “What doesn’t happen often?” I ask.

  Aspen is staring at me, a fact she’s making blatantly clear.

  Lincoln directs his gaze at Aspen and she glances away quickly. “Turner doesn’t really talk much. Especially to women he doesn’t know.” He clears his throat, an awkward gesture. “It’s surprising he felt comfortable enough to play with you.” He looks embarrassed. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  He looks crestfallen. Why doesn’t Turner talk to women? Women are mothers. Mothers are safe. They’re supposed to be the trustworthy people in our society. If a child gets lost on a busy street, they will try to find a mother with kids to help them. Pressing my lips together, I offer him a calm grin. “It’s my job, Mr. Wilds. I love my job. Turner’s leg is going to be just fine in time.”

  “He’s in good hands. That’s for sure.”

  “He is,” I say. Lincoln is a good dad. I see the way he looks at Turner right now, and the empty pang in my heart beats out in protest. He is in good hands. Not mine. His father’s.

  Turner hobbles to the front office door and spins on his good l
eg to look our way. “Bye,” he says, raising one hand in front of him.

  “Bye, Turner,” I say, smiling widely.

  Aspen hands Lincoln a card with his next appointment and I take that as my cue to head back into my office after issuing a professional good day. Sucking in a deep breath, I put a hand to my chest as I sling myself into my seat. When my pulse slows, I stand up from my chair and head back into the therapy room to retrieve the file I forgot there.

  The crumpled white paper on the training table Turner was sitting on catches my eye. There’s a phone number scribbled on there, the name Lincoln printed neatly in capital letters above it. I laugh at first, because of course I have Lincoln’s phone number, but then I realize he wants me to use it. Not to confirm an appointment either. The lightning. The buzz. The palpable draw. He felt it too.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MAEVE

  Ringleaders take a lot of shit. We’re too demanding. Everyone has expectations of us knowing and controlling everything. As if we love that kind of responsibility. Behind closed doors, the Regina Georges of the world are a heaping pile of burning garbage. We own emotions we can’t control, so we assert dominance over everything else. Which is fine because no one else knows it. Our reputations are safe and sound. Our minds are a prison. In some cases, like mine, our hearts are sealed off completely. To others who aren’t privy to the inner workings of our mind, it comes off as snobbish, aloof, out of touch, but our likability has little to do with what others think of us and everything to do with coping the best way we know how.