Lust in Translation (Harbour Point SEAL Series Book 1) Read online

  Margaret reassures me I did, and we chit chat while she shows me around the break room and fixes two cups of coffee. A few people meander in and out. Some are wearing the standard issue uniform, and others are dressed business casual. It’s a good mix. She notices me looking around. “The SEALs typically stay in the other building unless they’re here for classes or need to take care of something in the administrative arena,” she says, handing me a steaming cup. Bringing it to my lips, I blow gently before trying a sip.

  “When does my first class begin?” I ask, surveying my surroundings. We walk across the hall to the dark office where I left my things. She throws on the switches and illuminates a large room with a conference table in the middle and a small wooden desk off to the side.

  “This is you. I wish I could say you had a month to get your first lessons together, but unfortunately, we took too long filling your position and they’re expecting lessons at the beginning of next week. I can help you if you need it,” Margaret says.

  I swallow hard. I wanted the challenge, craved something to take my mind off of my own life. This is it. Reaching down, I pick up the box I left by the door with the few personal items I brought from home, and set it on my new desk. “I can handle it. No worries, Margaret. Spanish is an easy one. I’ll be able to whip up a month’s worth of material this week. How much do they know now, if anything?”

  Margaret perches on the conference table, drinking her coffee. “Assume they know nothing. It will vary day to day which SEALs will be available for language training. They’ll all sort of work along at their own pace. Some will be proficient in no time and some will make you want to open a vein and shave your head with a dull blade. Their personalities are, ah, somewhat challenging,” she says, coughing. “I’m sure you can handle it. It’s why I chose you for the job.” She eyes me over the rim of the cup. “I have a feeling you’ll hold their attention better than the last person did.”

  I know for a fact the person who held the position before me was a woman in her mid-fifties. I searched for her online and was impressed with her resume. She’s the reason I didn’t think I had a shot at this position. Far more qualified, and much more seasoned in working with military personnel. I’m not dense, I know Margaret is suggesting I’m easier to look at and the men might respond better. I’m not above using what God has given me to further my career. As a married, emotionally stunted woman, brushing off any advances will be easy.

  “There are only two men starting the Spanish class and one of them is deploying to the West Coast next month. I think he’ll be a quick study, though.”

  I eye the monster of a conference table in front of me. “Two? Only two?”

  She smiles with her eyes. “I don’t have to tell you, but the budget knows no bounds when it comes to the Special Forces. These men take precedence. They pretty much get whatever they want, and definitely everything they need.”

  “This is a full-time position?” I ask, swallowing a searing sip of coffee.

  She nods. “Yes. Men will come and go and their needs will vary. Some weeks you might be helping translate memos in the intelligence department, other weeks and months you’ll be teaching a table filled with unruly men how to hold a civil conversation in another language.”

  “Seems strange,” I say.

  “What, that these men can hold civil conversations?” Margaret asks, laughing again.

  I shake my head. “My stepdad is a SEAL. I know exactly the kind of personality I’m about to deal with. I read that my job description would vary, but this seems like a really great opportunity to learn a lot.”

  “Learn something new every day, right?” she says, holding her free hand out. “I’ll let you settle in. You can head back to the ID office after that. I’m sure you’ll still have to wait for a few minutes. That office is military run. You’ll understand quickly what is civilian and what is Navy. Fast and slow.” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head.

  I thank her again and walk her to the door. She tells me where her office is and points to a folder on my desk that contains a handbook and all of the passwords I’ll need to access the systems and my new email. I take out the few things I brought for my desk. Several language resource books, a box of new pens, a notepad, and a large sand timer my mom gave me last Christmas. I think it’s supposed to be a paperweight, but watching the black sand fall brings me comfort. The constant falling, the same amount of time passing with each turn of the paperweight is calming. I didn’t bring any photos. Nothing that would remind me of my life outside of these walls. Sitting in the comfortable office chair, I decide to take a quick peek at the materials Margaret has given me.

  In bold, running along the top of the handbook, says, NO CELL PHONES IN THE BUILDING. Makes sense with the top-secret clearances required in some of the areas. The welcome email made note of the cell rule, so I left mine in the car, but I realize what an adjustment it will be. I let my eyes scan the basic rules, regulations, and job expectations. A lot of it is verbatim from the job offer, so it’s familiar. I put my purse into the bottom left drawer of my desk and head back into the cool hallway. I’m met by a group of men who definitely don’t work in this building. They’re SEALs. I’m positive. Their builds are large and their voices are boisterous. They swagger instead of walk, their self-confidence boiling over in the form of well-sculpted muscles and a brazen presence. Sure enough, the large, gold trident pin marks their chests.

  Sighing, I try to move around them without garnering attention—keeping my head down. “Hey,” one guy says as I pass, drawing the vowel out for longer than necessary. I should have known better. “You’re new here.”

  I pause and determine if I’m going to gain their respect, I need to establish boundaries right away. “It’s my first day,” I reply, spinning on my heels to face him. His gaze rakes my body. “I’m the new linguist. My name is Simmons,” I say, extending a hand. Everyone goes by last names here, or so my stepdad Aidan told me when I called to tell him about my new job.

  The big, wolfish man with white teeth and a predatory gleam in his eye, shakes my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Simmons. I’ll be sure to fail my next language test. You freelance your services?”

  Even though my grip is firm, his is tighter and he doesn’t release me quickly. His comrades standing behind him chuckle and pretend to be oblivious. “And your name is?” I say, meeting his firm gaze.

  Laughing, and without letting go of my hand, he replies, “You have a lot to learn, Simmons.” He points to the name tag on his chest.

  “Oh, I saw it. I read it. Wasn’t sure if you’d remember it was there,” I say, swallowing hard. Take that. “Long,” I say the name on his nametag. “I am in the business of teaching.” I shrug. “Wasn’t sure how smart you were if you’re failing your language tests.” If the SEALs are proficient in languages, they get extra language pay. Every so often they have to take a written and oral test to continue receiving the extra pay. I’ll be the one issuing the tests.

  Long releases my hand. “Feisty, huh? I like it.”

  “I have an appointment,” I say. “It was enlightening meeting you.” I peer around his shoulder to the men standing behind him. “You guys, too. Have a great day.”

  “I’ll see you around,” Long seethes, not hiding his appraisal—gaze flicking over every curve of my body.

  I catch my breath in the ID office, and like Margaret said, I wait another ten minutes before the woman behind the computer is ready to take my photo and print my new credentials. She hands me back the identification I gave her earlier and my new civilian badges. I get back to my office and mull over the conversation with Long. Will they all be so annoying and forward? What armor should I wear to protect against it? Humor or bitchy indifference? Am I ready to deal with that every day? What the hell will Adam think when I tell him? I won’t tell him, I decide. He doesn’t need to know details of my career, just that I’m happy doing what I’ve been trained to do. I turn on the large computer on my desk and typ
e in the passcodes to log me into the system I’m expected to use to record my students’ progress and detail my lesson plans.

  A chime alerts me to an email from Margaret. It’s a note giving me more details about what to expect from my day-to-day schedule. I learn that Margaret loves to send email memos throughout working hours and expects me to respond to them in haste. Between that and planning next week’s curriculum, the day passes in an eye blink.

  I haven’t thought of anything except the tasks at hand, and I mentally chastise myself for waiting this long to get back out in the world—to live. Grief is odd. It doesn’t follow a timeline. It writhes in dark corners and appears when you least expect it. Maybe this job will shine like a lighthouse so nothing can lurk in the shadows, waiting to attack. I already feel lighter than I have in months, and my mood will reflect as such. I should pick up ingredients to make Adam’s favorite dinner, rather, what used to be his favorite dinner.

  My right hand is scratching a short list of items I need from the grocery store as I close my office door for the night, when I turn around, head still down writing, I run into someone.

  “I apologize, I wasn’t paying attention,” I huff out, bending to pick up my pen. I’m met with combat boots. Big ones. The legs are in uniform, and I glance up to meet his eyes.

  “No fucking way,” he says, shaking his head.

  I stand, tuck my notepad and pen into my purse, as my smirk turns into a full-blown smile. Teeth and all. It brings to mind the Bronze Bay beach, his sun-kissed skin, and his brown eyes pleading with me. My mind filled with the way he apologized for his actions. His eyes, his words, everything begged for my forgiveness. That apology fueled the return of our secret friendship that continued until the night before he left Florida for this base.

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you,” I say, hitting him on the shoulder. “Aidan would have a cow. How have you been, Callaway?”

  Leo. My friend.

  Leo. A reminder of home.

  Leo. Peace.

  “Long said there was a new hottie over in the admin building, and I had to come see for myself. Never in a million years did I think it would be you.”

  “How well do you know that guy? He’s a real…charmer,” I reply, voice laden in sarcasm. “Lacks basic conversational skills,” I add. Looking at Leo, a friend from a long time ago, makes my chest bloom with warmth. He comes from an uncomplicated time before I moved away from Bronze Bay, Florida, to go to Boston College. I met Leo down at the beach when he was stationed at the SEAL base there. Our friendship was only odd because I was still in high school. He was nineteen and fresh out of SEAL training, BUD/S I was a senior, enamored by the attention of an older guy.

  He never pushed the boundaries of our friendship because he knew that my stepdad, a superior to him, would have been furious. More furious than he was about our platonic friendship. Leo and I talked. A lot. About everything. He was homesick for Cape Cod and I was confused as my Mom began dating again after my father had an affair. It was a time in my life that was equal parts confusing as it was enlightening. I learned a lot about myself. I think Leo did as well.

  He steps back, shaking his head. “Time’s been good to you, Kid,” Leo says, biting the corner of his lip. “Don’t worry about Long, he won’t be a fuckwat again. I promise.” There’s a fire in his eyes when he says the last sentence, and it makes my stomach flip.

  Just like that, I’m transported back to the time when I pined for him behind closed doors, and he didn’t give me the time of day. Not in the romantic way, at least. Except now, everything is changed. I look down and away. “Thanks. It doesn’t feel that way sometimes,” I say, being far too honest. “I’m not a kid anymore, by the way, Callaway,” I add in a lighter tone.

  “You’ll always be a kid to me,” he says, winking. He’s a winker. How could I forget. Groaning, I roll my eyes.

  “Look, rolling your eyes. Just like an angry teenager.” Leo points at my face.

  “I’m married now,” I fire off, hands on hips. The statement feels like the most relevant thing to mention in the moment.

  “I know,” he replies, no hesitation.

  That takes me aback. How does he know?

  “I went to the Bronze Bay base for a retirement ceremony last year. The only thing that town is good for is gossip and heat. I think it was less than an hour after my feet touched land that I knew you were married with a baby on the way, your mom had a mid-life crisis and a newborn, the lady at the general store had an affair with the mayor, and I was sweating like a whore in church.” Leo taps his chin, screwing up his face in thought. “Did I miss anything? I don’t think so.”

  My stomach lurches. The only thing worse than losing Noel is telling people who don’t know I lost her that I’m childless. Over and over I’m forced to relive the heartbreak. Leo is about to say something when I cut him off, “I lost the baby. She’s no longer with us. Stillborn.”

  His eyes widen, and there’s this heavy silence that always follows where the other person isn’t sure what to say, and I’m not sure how to look, so we end up staring at each other, absorbing the awkwardness of the moment. It makes it that much more painful. It’s not right now, though. Not with Leo. He pulls me into a hug and I go willingly.

  “I’m so sorry, Kid. I’m sorry.” I don’t reply right away. I close my eyes instead. I could have said a million other things about what he mentioned. I could have waxed poetic about my baby brother who is completely wonderful. I told him the ugly first, though. To push him away. It’s a defense mechanism I engage, even if I don’t want to.

  “Mom had a boy,” I say into his chest, trying to keep my tears in check. It’s time for the happy subject change. That’s what my therapist taught me. “They named him Weston. He’s a real spit fire. Looks just like Aidan, too.”

  Leo chuckles softly, but he doesn’t release me from the embrace. I’m glad. It’s warm and comforting. “I bet he’s going to grow up to be a real bear,” Leo says, pulling away, but staying in arm’s reach. “Are you holding up? That’s rough.”

  My heart slams against my chest. I hold my arms out next to me. “This is me trying to hold up,” I explain. “I haven’t been alright, honestly. This job is a step in the right direction. I don’t want to hold you up. I’m sure you have somewhere else to be. I was just headed out for the evening.”

  “I wanted to check out where class was going to be next week,” he says, clearing his throat.

  “You’re one of my students?” I gasp. “I’m teaching you Spanish?”

  He chuckles. “Sí,” he replies, then tells me about the other student who will transfer out.

  A second ago I was comforted by him, but the prospect of spending days and weeks and months on end with him terrifies me.

  “I’ll walk you out.” Leo drapes an arm around my shoulder and guides me out of the office. It’s casual. Two old friends reconnecting. Isn’t it? Would the office staff think that?

  He bids me farewell at my car and disappears into the dark parking lot. The chill of the November air sets my lungs on fire. I get into my car and start it up. The heat blows furiously out of the vents after thirty seconds of an icy blast. Leo shouldn’t even be a second thought. I knew I’d run into people from Aidan’s circle here—expected it, even. I didn’t expect someone from my circle. An old friend is a good thing to have these days and I am glad he is here. Someone who knows the old Kendall, then the truth hits me square in the heart. As my body warms, my brain thaws.

  Leo is the first person I’ve let hug me since Noel passed. The first human interaction I’ve allowed willingly, sure, people hugged me out of sympathy when they found out, but it wasn’t wanted. I could say it’s because he’s an old friend who knew nothing of the horrible circumstances in my life, or that we haven’t seen each other in five years, so it was warranted, but it’s not that. Nope. It’s something else.

  And it’s a terrifying feeling.

  I pick up the ingredients to make dinner. Now this s
pecial dinner is not because I’m in a great mood, it’s because I feel guilty.

  CHAPTER THREE

  KENDALL

  THE REST OF THE week breezes by as Margaret and I fall into an easy pattern of work, emails, and lunch. My life at home is the same blur it has been for the last six months. I don’t see Leo until the next Monday morning at seven when he waltzes into my office wearing his uniform and a smarmy smile. “Hatton won’t be here today, he has the flu. Just you and me and whatever love language you’re going to teach me.”

  Taking in a deep breath, I center myself. Indifference. That’s what I need to portray when it comes to Leo Callaway. “Aren’t there five love languages? It’s a book. I don’t think they have anything to do with Spanish, Callaway.” Friendly indifference, I amend. He is my friend.

  Leo shrugs, drops a notepad down on the table, and says, “Whatever you say, Kid. What’s on the agenda today?” His eyes flit to my desk, my personal items, and then to me, my body, and lastly, my face. He grins when he sees me watching.

  “Tell me how much you know and we’ll go from there. Margaret wasn’t sure. Don’t be embarrassed if you don’t know much. I need to know so I can tweak the program.”

  Leo slinks down into a chair and draws a sip from his oversized coffee cup. “I know how to hire a prostitute, get out of jail, and order a beer. That’s like medium-level shit, right?”

  I wince. “Charming, Callaway. Really, breathtakingly charming. You’d get along well in the seedy parts of a Spanish speaking country just swimmingly. Now, talking to diplomats? Not so much. We’ll fix you up, don’t worry.” They’ve issued me tablets for the students. I have downloaded several different apps on the one assigned to Leo and hand it to him.

  “You’re going to fix me up, huh?” Leo says, eyes smiling over the rim of his mug.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re going to fix yourself. I’m here to help you. It’s going to be a lot of studying in your off time. You need conversational Spanish, so it will be a little more challenging than starting from the ground up like I would with a child.” Jab. “I’m sure you can handle it, though. The purple icon. Click it and take the placement test in the third tab on the bottom.”