A SEALed Fate (2 page)

Fitz wouldn’t be able to deal. Wouldn’t be able to live with the thought of never getting to fulfill every fantasy he’d ever had about Zuly. He’d wanted her more than his next breath of air from the first time he laid eyes on her. Then he had been in awe of her slight lisp and beautiful golden eyes; her skin the color of sepia, the feel of satin. Over the years that fascination had blossomed into love. And the same way Fitz’s love had blossomed, so had Zuly.

His brain and cock hadn’t been able to process the change in her the summer they’d turned sixteen and he’d looked up to notice her mouth was suddenly fuller. How her chest had gotten heavier, her hips and thighs thicker, her behind rounder. How suddenly her skin didn’t just seem to glow under the sun. It looked as though it had been dusted in gold and kissed by the rays. How her voice had dropped to a lower register that stirred his groin every time she spoke. How he couldn’t seem to retain moisture in his mouth when he was near her.

Fitz had plans for them. Plans that had been shot down. Plans that would never come to be. So no, there was no bravery in him. No strength. No wellness. No laughter. No energy. He was going to die a bitter, lonely old man before his time because he couldn’t bring himself to speak a few simple words to the love of his life.

Fitz allowed his head to roll back on his shoulders, closed his eyes and of course saw her face. Utter perfection. That molten stare focused on him with an intensity that made his skin perspire under the moon. Jesus. He missed her. This old cabin wasn’t the same without her. How many days had they spent up here as kids, lazily dozing on blankets in the grass or roasting marshmallows over hastily made pit fires?

How many water balloon fights had taken place all over the land his parents had given him as a present after he’d finally finished his pre-deployment training and had been allotted time home for a visit? How many times had they slept under the stars, only to wake up closer to one another than they’d been the night before?

How many times would he revisit every one of those memories before he made himself sick off regrets? Fitz didn’t have the answer to any of those questions. He didn’t have the answer to anything anymore. Fifteen years as a SEAL had taken away all his answers. Yes, he’d left as a Patrol Leader but at what cost?

Two months ago he never thought he’d be sitting up in the mountains of West Virginia, watching life pass him by. He never thought he wouldn’t be able to walk without the assistance of pain meds and a cane that made him feel three times his thirty-five years. He never thought he’d have secluded himself from everything he loved.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, he took another swig from the bottle in his hand. Fitz couldn’t explain the gaping loneliness burning a hole in his chest. It wasn’t that he
couldn’t
be around others. It was just that it didn’t make a difference. In a room full of people, he still felt alone.

None of them knew what he’d seen, done, had gone through. None of them would ever understand what it was like to watch the light fade from a man’s eyes after you’d just twisted your knife into his gut. None of them would ever grasp how having the death of a child on your conscience ate at you night after night. Made you wonder if you’d just done
one
thing differently...

Fitz blew out a harsh breath. Determined not to let his mind drift there. No, he’d had enough of that. There would be plenty more empty days for him to sit and contemplate all his mistakes.

With a grunt, he took hold of the railing near his shoulder and hoisted himself up, wincing as his weight began to distribute evenly onto both his legs. He started into his cabin, determined to try and get a few hours of sleep tonight before he woke up just to stare at the ceiling of his bedroom. He stopped when another howl rent the air.

His heart thumped once, then twice. Without a second thought, he tossed his head back and let his own howl release, giving into the urge to keep up the tradition he and Zuly had started so long ago. And as he finally made his way inside, he wondered if there were any possibility his Z was somewhere near, her eyes to the stars, doing the very same thing.

***

“Okay, either you need a mental evaluation or I should seriously be concerned that you’ve gone rabid. Have you been feeding those goddamn raccoons again? I told you. All it takes is one time for you to run out of leftovers and
boom!
Your hands suddenly look like delicious little meat treats for their fangs to sink into.”

Zuly snorted before turning away from her screen door to face her sister. “One of us needs to see a therapist about an irrational fear of raccoons.”

Kamara shuddered. “They’re unnatural little beasts. I refuse to believe God played a part in combining a cat, a possum and a rat...before giving it opposable thumbs. Had to be Satan’s work.”

Despite the sadness tugging at her, Zuly cracked a smile. Kamara had the ability to bring that out of her at the oddest moments. Well, Kamara and someone else. Someone who wouldn’t be mentioned or thought of because he’d become a ridiculous dickhead! She cast a glance over her shoulder to the full moon, the echo of coyote howls still bouncing around just outside. No matter how many times she tried to ignore it, the need to honor a long-standing tradition had nagged her until she finally gave in. Kamara understood a lot about Zuly, but this wasn’t something she’d get.

“All right,” Zuly’s sibling drawled. “Tell me why you suddenly look like a Disney woodland creature who’s lost its mom.”

With a resounding click, Zuly closed the door to her home and leaned against the hardwood, shrugging. “Not feeling too great today.”

Understatement. Zuly hadn’t felt great for a long, long time and the reason for that was somewhere up the mountain, wallowing in misery and drinking himself to death. God, just the thought of him up there in that cabin all alone made her chest ache. How was anyone supposed to help him when he’d suddenly decided to go all
Phantom of the Opera?

Hands clenching at her sides, Zuly stepped away from the door, resisting the urge to run out and get into her truck, just to drive miles up the mountainside and have a door slammed in her face yet again. The fuck was that about, anyway? She’d seen Fitzgerald Carrigan drunk enough to almost piss himself, had watched him clear his stomach of a week’s worth of food and was there to wash his hair after that one awful incident at the carnival. So why was he acting as though she’d recoil in horror at the sight of one injury?

Then again, maybe his injuries weren’t just physical. How many soldiers had come home completely different from the way they left, hearts and heads bruised from seeing the pits of hell over and over again?

If that were the case, if that was what was hurting her frogman, why wouldn’t he just say it? Why wouldn’t he simply open his mouth and tell her he needed her, needed
anyone?

“You’re thinking about him again,” Kamara noted, following Zuly as she walked from the front door to the living room and into the kitchen, determined to keep her hands busy by making something.

Zuly paused at her spice cabinet. “Don’t.” She didn’t want to talk about Fitz—didn’t want to think about him anymore. Didn’t want to wonder if he were eating properly or staying off his knee. Didn’t want to leave him another container of food just to drive by and find it had been ravaged by the small game near his cabin instead of eaten by him.

There was only so much rejection a person could take. And yet, if he showed up on her doorstep now with that crooked-toothed smile and messy hair, she’d let him in without hesitation. She missed her friend; missed the person who seemingly understood her better than she understood herself. Zuly had a gaping hole of loneliness forming without him around but stubborn pride wouldn’t let her admit that something felt
off
without him.

If he wants to be alone. I’ll fucking let him.
She snatched down a box of cake mix harder than necessary and continued to her fridge, able to feel her sister’s gaze following her. Kamara had been coming up to Zuly’s more and more often lately. She briefly wondered if her family had her on suicide watch. Did they really think she was that pathetic? That she couldn’t survive without Fitz?

Zuly chewed the inside of her lip. Maybe she
was
pathetic. They’d been joined at the hip from the moment he rescued her from the clutches of a wolf spider. The second he’d smashed it on the playground and she finally calmed down enough to stop screaming, their eyes met and she’d been lost. When eight-year-old Fitz had puffed out his thin chest and said with all the pride in the world what his full name was, Zuly’s face had scrunched up as she repeated it.

Instead of making fun of her lisp he’d grinned like her voice was the greatest thing in the world and nodded, hair flopping into his face. There was something about that movement that caught her attention, made her feel an instant kinship to someone who apparently had no more control over his locks than she had over her own at the time.

From that day on he was always rescuing her from something. Whether it was boring family functions or idiotic classmates, Fitz was always there, ready to make her shoot milk out of her nose laughing. Zuly could recall every weekend spent camping out at the cabin he now owned—hours swimming around the small lake on the property. She could remember the time they spent the night in a makeshift canopy because they thought they heard a bear growl. She could remember waking up before him in their tent, staring at the way his dark lashes fanned out on his cheeks, covering eyes so blue they reminded her of the sky.

Where had those days gone? Where had
that
Fitz gone? Was she selfish for needing him? For wanting him to need her too?

“I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody. Just fucking leave me alone, ‘kay? Understand now?”

Those words would never be forgotten. The look of fear and anger in his irises would never fade from her memory. Neither would the way she cried afterwards. How she’d stayed in bed for days on end, praying he’d pick up the phone and call her, ask her to come cook for him. Fitz never had. And every day that went by Zuly felt like someone was twisting a scalding knife deeper into a wound that formed the day he left for boot camp fifteen years ago.

She’d wanted to stop him then. Beg him not to leave her, but it was his dream.

“I’m gonna be a Navy SEAL someday, Z. One of the biggest heroes to walk the planet.”

Even now she could hear the echo of his twelve-year-old voice telling her how badly he wanted to join the military, how he’d save so many lives. What kind of bitch would ask him to give all that up?

So Zuly had sent him off like the rest of his family, secretly praying every night that he’d come back to her whole and able to see how much she loved him. She couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened exactly, but one day she’d looked up and suddenly noticed how the curve of his jaw had gone from baby fat to granite. How his shoulders had gotten broader, stronger. How his lean muscles had begun to slowly transform his body into that of a man’s. How the roughness of his palms and the baritone of his voice rolled over her skin in ways her adolescent body shouldn’t have noticed.

It felt like she’d wanted him forever. And she’d had every intention of having him when he returned to her. Zuly had plans. Plans that would’ve included telling him all the different ways she loved how his chest rose and fell with every inhale and exhale. But her plans had been shot to hell and her frogman had returned damaged. She hadn’t given a royal fuck about anything aside from him coming home safe and sound.

Fitz had done that and so much more. But he didn’t want her. Apparently, he didn’t need her either. What was she to do? How could she heal a man who refused to take it? As a RN she’d seen her fair share of patients with injuries that surpassed just the physical, yet she had no idea what to do here.

Zuly simply wanted Fitz near her. Wanted to run her fingers across his scalp, curve her hand around that granite jaw, let him know he was loved. Over the last two months she’d begun to differentiate between the howls she heard and now understood which ones were mournful, lonely.

Why wasn’t it that easy for them? Why couldn’t they simply communicate with a sound?

“God, Z...” Kamara murmured, suddenly standing in front of her with a paper towel, wiping her face. “You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself.”

She sniffed; hadn’t even realized she’d been crying until her sibling pointed it out. “Sorry. I’m just having a weepy moment. It’ll be better in a second.”

Kamara hugged her close, running a hand down her back in the same soothing motion she used to use when Zuly would run home crying about how other kids in class were calling her
bush head.
That had stopped when Fitz had come around, of course. “Oh, baby,” she murmured against Zuly’s temple. “He’ll come around. He’s in pain right now.”

She nodded against Kamara’s shoulder. “I’m so stupid. I’m sobbing and he has to be—”

“Don’t,” her sister warned. “Don’t undercut your feelings. He’s in pain, yes. But that doesn’t mean his hurt cancels out your own. When you truly love someone you’re connected on a level that defies logic. And you two have
always
defied logic. Howling weirdoes.”

Zuly snorted as Kamara kissed her forehead and pulled back to brush her thumbs just under Zuly’s eyes. “You’re a Hines woman, Z. You don’t take no for an answer, remember?”

“I may just have to,” she whispered.

Kamara shook her head. “No. You really don’t.”

Something about the steely look in her sibling’s eyes sparked something within her. Did she? Did she
really
have to take no for answer?

Two

“Carrigan! You handle this shit delicately!”

He would. He’d be as delicate as fucking possible. There was no other choice here; not when he was staring into the face of the devil, and the devil had a hold on a child. With unerring calm, he rolled his shoulders, desperate to beat down the anxiety thumping in his pulse, the words of his chief ringing in his head.