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

  I had little control over anything in my childhood. Now, I wield the reins to everything I touch. It can go one of two ways. I could have become a washed-up felon from years of neglect, or one of those slums to success stories that make you cry when the video auto-plays on social media. I’m in the second camp, the damage isn’t visible. I know where the scars are though, and I’ve made friends with them even though they still sting.

  My eyes blur from the blue light radiating from my laptop screen in the dark. Closing it slowly, I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. The room is dim and I know I shouldn’t bring my work into the bedroom. It’s bad sleep hygiene to look at any electronics while in bed. It’s why I don’t have a television in here and why I charge my phone in the kitchen. Sliding my laptop to the cool side of my empty king-sized bed, I pad down the hallway to my new kitchen. The house, well okay, my extremely modern cabin, is everything you think about when you envision a mountain home in Colorado. I’m far enough up into the mountains to not have any neighbors, but also not too remote because, Target, obviously. I’m only fifteen minutes from work, and there is never any real traffic on the main road I take to get to town. The wooden floors creak when I stand in front of the fridge and contemplate my options.

  My phone lights up with a notification on the charging stand next to my smartwatch. It’s just social media, something I’ve been trying and failing at giving up. As much as I craved a brand new start after Rexy died. There are a ton of people, a community of them, that I ended up caring about. It was the first time I felt I belonged somewhere. Truly and wholly. It wasn’t taken from me after his death, but because I detached myself, it’s not something I rely on. I should have known better. It was the final lesson I needed to understand that I can’t open myself up. Never again.

  I get a glass of cold water, ignore my phone, and sit in the oversized leather chair by the sliding glass door that opens to thick evergreens and craggy mountain peaks. My living room is on the second story so I don’t worry about bears much, but there are many things that hunt in the night. The chill of fall has arrived and I’d freeze if I went out in my pajamas. Sipping my water, I look at the stars, so bright in the expansive sky that seems to stretch on forever. This is my reprieve, my escape. This house that took a year to build and safeguards my life. It helps me forget the indentation Rexy left in my heart that will never be filled again.

  When we dated, he asked me to move in with him seventy-three times before I said yes. It didn’t stop me from falling for him. Actually, quite the opposite. His spontaneity was what made me fall for him. Unlike myself, in my rigid routine and habits—he was carefree. He loved me well inside the rebellious, unholy, razed limits he marched across any chance he got. When I told him that people don’t fall in love on first dates, he told me, “It’s a good thing we aren’t most people.” It was true, I never felt anything about our relationship went the way I expected it to. He went to war. He came home and pretended he was at the office instead of a bloody battlefield. Rexy’s nightmares were the only thing that let me know he was affected by the things he saw on deployments even when he said he was fine. Thinking back now, I realize that’s why I said no seventy-two times. If I slept in the same bed with him every night, I would have to live inside his nightmares. They’d become mine. I might not be strong enough to hold us both up. Dark draws dark. Light begets light.

  I eventually agreed to live with him because the light of his love was more than I could hold at arm’s distance. Being vulnerable wasn’t something I ever wanted to be again, and love opens you up in the rawest of ways. Agreeing to marry him may have been my life’s greatest mistake. If Rexy would have lived, he would have been something I couldn’t lose. It’s ironic and funny when I think about it. I ended up losing him, the worst possible thing, and I made it to the other side.

  My phone pings and I walk over to pick it up. It’s an email from the genetic kit company I bought for myself during a Christmas in July special they were running. Even though I’m an orphan, I didn’t send in my spit to find distant family members and connect. I was intrigued by the prospect of learning about my heritage. Who am I, down to DNA level? I don’t want answers, I want facts. The email says the results have arrived, and I click to download the report. It’s going to take a while. The unread email from Rexy catches my eye before I set my phone down and wait for the download to finish.

  Lincoln Wilds. My work tote sits on a console table next to my keys. His phone number, still on a scrap of thin paper, is in there. Throwing it away would have been the smartest move, but something forced me to drop it into my bag on my way out. Like the inanimate object would be lonely if I left it on my desk. Grunting at my own asinine thoughts, I fish my hand in the bag and take it out. Before I left for the day, I went through Turner’s file. Not just the medical stuff I need to do my job, but the front-end intake paperwork Aspen deals with. He was a cash customer and didn’t file insurance. Because of that, there was barely any information given. We didn’t need it, but it’s odd unless he came to my practice knowing his insurance wouldn’t cover services, or it could have been something more. Did he pay cash so he didn’t have to give out personal information?

  I save his number to my phone, and I blame it on the DNA report for taking so long to download. Curiosity gets the better of me. The pit in my stomach that seemed to hollow when we caught eyes. The timbre of his voice as he spoke of practical, normal things. It did things to every part of my body. The way his presence seems to emanate around me even now, hours later. Yes, saving Lincoln’s number is a mistake. Not that I plan to use it, although I know anytime I scroll to it in my phone I can escape for a second. That’s a place I don’t dare go again for fear of losing myself. There can’t be any more screw-ups. Especially ones that involve a child. I sigh as Lincoln’s eyes haunt my memory.

  A popup on my screen tells me that the report is finished downloading. I click through several screens to initial agreements I’m sure are standard liability waivers, I quickly agree to everything, wanting to see the results. I tap the button to view it. A brightly colored pie chart pops up on the screen. I’m mostly European. A fact that isn’t a stretch with my fair skin and blonde hair. I had dyed it a rich chestnut for years but let my natural grow back in after Rexy died. French, Irish, a small percentage Asian. “Okay, so basically I’m everything and nothing. Typical.” I smirk, laying the cell phone down. When I’m not so tired, I’ll go through the details more thoroughly. As it stands, I’m daydreaming about an impractical man, and Rexy’s face starts blurring with Lincoln’s. There’s no denying the similarity between them. His son is my patient, and there’s no way I’d blur those lines.

  The clock on the microwave glows 10:13 when I hear a loud thud outside. I swallow hard as an uneasy feeling slips over me. Was that a car door closing? A tree falling? I keep a light sweatshirt on the staircase banister that leads down to the first floor. I shrug into it, grab my phone, and make my way down to the lower level. There’s a garage, a guestroom, bathroom, and a mudroom connected to my laundry room. It’s mostly glass walls down here that let in bright moonlight. I don’t hit the light switch because another weird dragging noise echoes and I don’t want to be seen.

  Don’t be silly. No one is out here. Everything is fine, Maeve. If someone wanted to hurt me, they wouldn’t be loud and clumsy. That’s what Rexy always told me when I’d get frightened at noises in the night. You’ll never see a killer coming if they're worth a grain of salt. I’d argue with him that it would be my luck to get the first-timer cracking my door down with an ax. He’d laugh, tell me I was letting my imagination get the best of me, and kiss me until I forgot I was scared. Death is silent. A fact that’s both cruel and true.

  Something crashes against my door, vibrating the glass windows, and forcing my stomach to drop even lower. My palms sweat as I unlock my phone to call 911. Then, oddly enough, someone knocks on the door. Three loud and respectable, not scary knocks echo in the foyer. This gives me a
bit of my nerves back as I peer around the corner and see a dog, and then I see my best friend, Ramona. I fling open the door.

  Before I can get a word out, she extends her palms, one of which has a tattered leash wrapped around her wrist. “Listen, I didn’t call first because I knew you’d say no, but look at her. She was running around the airport parking lot when I landed and I couldn’t just leave her there. She obviously has an owner,” Ramona pleads. “Look at her.” The dog in question looks motley. “I just need to keep her until I find the owner. It will be fast. I’m sure of it.”

  I swallow hard and eye my friend. Now that I know she’s not a serial killer, my heart rate has returned to normal. “What about you? Where is your owner? No call or text that you were coming back to the states. What happened this time? Or rather, who happened?” Ramona lives and works in Italy when things with her boyfriend Stavros are good. When they’re bad, she’s in the U.S. couch surfing. Mostly with me, which is fine because she’s the singular person I love at this point in my life. I give her credit; most people would let the ocean of distance force a toxic relationship to die. They don’t. Ramona is committed to the noncommittal.

  Ramona shakes her head and sighs a long, drab noise. My best friend is serious and quiet. Quirky and plain. She doesn’t make sense and I love her for it. She’s not over the top, nor is she suggesting crazy nights out to cure heartbreak. No, the only unpredictable thing about her is her pension for Stavros’ dick and forgiving him when he swerves back on his bullshit. Another fun fact: Ramona hates dogs. “It was a new waitress at the restaurant below his flat. It’s fine. We’ll work it out eventually. He needs freedom. I get it.”

  I roll my eyes and put a hand on my hip. “You’re going to tell me not to, but you’re on my doorstep in the middle of the night so I have you at an advantage.” I sigh. “Why do you let him screw with your life like this? Didn’t you have a real art studio there this time? Things were selling? You were booking shows and had other friends?”

  At the sight of my concern, she smiles. “Nothing is permanent, Maeve. Things change in a split second. People change and plans change and the only thing we can know for sure is that nothing can be predicted. It was a season, and yes, things were going well, but maybe now it’s time for my season in the mountains with you. I miss you.” Her statement hits home and the pang in my chest flares. Her ride drives back down the winding driveway cut through the forest.

  Ignoring the fact that she’d still be trifling with a seedy man if he didn’t cheat, I say a silent thank you to Stavros for sending my best friend back to me. “Your next season includes a dog, too? I guess it’s fitting for Colorado. It can’t stay here for long. You can stay here as long as you want. Everything inside my house is brand new. It still smells like new construction. What’s this thing going to do to my stuff?”

  She trudges through the entrance, towing the cowering dog behind her. “I swear I’ll take care of everything. She just needs a chance. I know, I know. It’s insane. You know how I feel about dogs. I think this is the universe’s way of testing my patience when I’m hanging on by a shoestring. Here Ramona, one more task before you fall apart.” The dog whimpers and lays down at her feet, her snout on her sneaker. “She literally followed me into my cab.” Ramona softens when she peers down at the hairy, matted canine.

  I pull her into an embrace and let the comfort of familiarity wash over me. “You have to give that thing a bath before you go to bed tonight. Can it stay in the garage?”

  The contented feeling envelops Ramona too and she sighs as she leans out of the hug. “Do I get the corner room facing the mountains?” Her voice is quiet. “Could use some of that mountain healing. A little something of what you believe in.” I made a big deal of how Colorado was going to be a perfect, shiny start—that the mountains would fix the hole Rexy carved out.

  Ramona and I go round and round every time she breaks up with her boyfriend. I tell her she deserves more, she argues he’ll come around eventually. Ramona was my dorm roommate in undergrad. We fought for a month over quiet hours. She’s an artist and keeps insane hours while painting or drawing, or whatever it is that captures her attention at each moment. After studying until my eyes bled, I wanted lights out to be lights out. I guess we got to know each other over that month and came to a loose agreement. Our friendship blossomed from arguing. It’s her love language, I guess. She’s been with Stavros since she was sixteen when he came to the U.S. as an exchange student from Italy. Even before Ramona learned Italian, their relationship was torrid and passionate. She told me stories that made me both jealous and shocked at the same time. There has to be some form of strong love there for a reign this long. Who knows, the bastard might actually come around.

  Ramona puts the dog in the laundry room, closes the door, and follows me upstairs. “You could have called. I would have let you in. Dog and all,” I say, making my way to the kitchen to put a kettle on.

  She sinks down at the island and lays her head down on her hands, letting her roller suitcase rest next to her. “I know. It was mostly because I didn’t have the energy to fight on the phone.”

  “I never fight with you,” I fire back, going on my tiptoes to reach our favorite mugs in the frosted glass cabinet. It’s obvious she’s down and out more than usual. “If I didn’t say this, I wouldn’t be your best friend. You have to let him go. Like for good, not for a month. Set up roots here, there is a garage space down by my office that would be a fantastic studio space.”

  Unlike me, Ramona did have parents that loved her. They died in a car accident when she was seven, leaving her a trust fund so large she was able to follow her artsy dreams without a care in the world. Her aunt raised her along with her cousin Doug—with whom she disagreed with about everything. She bounded into adulthood with minimal damage, finding me and giving me the first permanent bond. “I’ll help you. Whatever you need. Just don’t go back to Stavros when he calls. Tell him no. Be strong. You know you’re sick of feeling like this.” I nod at her. “That feeling in your chest. Your stomach turning as you imagine him and that waitress. The fear it will happen again. Or that he won’t come back, that this waitress has replaced you once and for all. There are men out there that you can trust one-hundred percent.” The shrill whistle from the kettle cuts me off. I pour water into her cup and set two boxes of tea in front of her. “You pick.”

  “The thing with all the other men out there, the good ones. They aren’t him,” Ramona says.

  I pick the sleepy time blend and dunk my tea bag in. “That’s the point.”

  “You don’t get it. Which I’m thankful for. It’s like I’m chained to him. Regardless of what happens. Remember that time I dated that one dude? I was literally sitting there making a mental tally of how he was different from Stavros. It was negative, not positive. You never gave Rexy everything. You couldn’t. It makes things far more complicated.”

  Only she can get away with bringing him up and then making rash accusations. True accusations, I think.

  The dog whimpers loud enough for us to hear upstairs. I blow on the tea. “Fine. We don’t have to talk about it. I’ll help you bathe the filthy animal.”

  “Stavros would enjoy that,” Ramona jokes, shaking her head. “But, I’m sure you’re talking about the dog, so let’s go do that so you can get to bed.”

  We take our tea down to the laundry room. I fill the large utility sink in the corner as she works on unfastening the collar and leash. She’s talking to the dog in a low, singsong voice. It’s when I know that this time will actually be different. I feel it deep down in my bones. She’s not going to take Stavros back. She’s also going to keep this fucking dog if its owners can’t be found.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The story of how I had a baby with a crack whore is long and tedious, though it’s not all bad. I’ve loved Rena for as long as I can remember. She wasn’t always bleary-eyed and obsession focused. We grew up as next-door neighbors. Rena was my first kiss, my first fuck—the
girl no one else could live up to for all my adolescence. I only tell you this as my defense because I’m an upstanding man in the U.S. military. An elite. My moral compass rivals Mother Teresa. I mean, I’m not that dignified, I’m a Navy SEAL, but you get the picture. A straight-laced man with a plan and a bright future. To really understand, we have to go back. Six years and some odd months, to be precise. I was returning from a harrowing deployment to the Middle East. Friends were killed. Missions were messy. Sights were seen that I’ll never forget. My state of mind was shaky at best, and completely fucked-up at worst.

  The plane touches down on American soil in broad daylight. It’s confusing when you’ve been flying as long as we have. Exiting the enormous diesel sucking plane onto a base in Southern California, I step onto the tarmac and eye the chain-link fence in the distance. There are American flags waving and you can just barely make out the smiles from the family members waiting to greet their significant others. Kids are running back and forth, pacing, trying to get the first glimpse of the father they haven’t seen in eight long months. Will their fathers even recognize them in person? Photos are liars. Bitches tune, smooth, flatten, erase, and shrink everything these days. The woman I hooked up with before I left wasn’t as advertised in her dating profile. What you expect and what you get rarely match up. Now, I have no experience with kids, but I’d imagine it’s the same. I’ve had friends have to do a double-take when they see their kids after being downrange for so long. Babies grow up and children become teenagers.

  “What’s the first thing you’re going to do?” Isaac drawls. He claps me on the shoulder as he walks next to me. His wife will be here with their kid. A pang of jealousy creeps in. Not that I want a wife and a kid, but I don’t have anyone waiting here for me. I’ve found attachments cumbersome, and unpredictable.