This Time (3 page)

The door was open, but Mike knocked anyway and stood at attention, waiting for permission to enter.

“Front and center, Davis.”

Mike moved into the room and positioned his toes at the piece of tape placed exactly thirty-six inches in front of the LT’s desk.
Scariest fucking place in the world.
He waited at attention, his eyes focused on the award hanging behind the desk.

“At ease.”

Mike snapped sharply into position.

“Seriously, Davis, at ease.” LT stood and moved around his desk until he was directly in front of Mike. He leaned his hips back against the desk and crossed his arms.

Mike waited, Lieutenant Winslow’s parody of the
Lord of the Rings
quote running through his head.

“One does not simply walk into Paulson’s office.”

Mike met the LT’s eyes, struggling to hold his gaze. They stared at one another, a battle of corneas, for what felt like days. Finally, the LT smiled—just a little, God forbid the man actually show
humor
—and pointed to a chair against the wall.

“Sit, Davis.”

Mike sat.

“Do you understand what it means to be a SEAL?”

Mike opened his mouth to pelt out the ingrained answer to that question.

“Not the generic bullshit. What it
really
means. Tell me that.” LT walked around the desk, sat down in his chair, and leaned back, linking his fingers together over his stomach.

Mike frowned and considered the question. Before he could answer, though, the LT was explaining it to him.

“It means that you have a family that is willing to die for you, that you should be willing to die for.”

Mike swallowed and looked away. He
had
a family. A beautiful woman and a baby girl that would probably never want to speak to him. Not that he really blamed them.

“You fell in with the wrong crowd as soon as you got here. I let it go because I thought you’d come around eventually.” He sighed and continued, “All three of your buddies are getting court martialed. You already know you came up clean, and I appreciate that.” Mike jerked his head up and met Paulson’s eyes. The man seemed so much older than he was. “The fact that you didn’t piss hot shows me that you might actually be worth saving. From now on, stick with your team. They’re your friends, your family. Your life will depend on them and theirs will depend on you. Quit being a shitbrick and be a fucking SEAL. As of right now, you’re mission ready.”

Mike nodded and took a deep breath. It was time to grow up, be a man. Be a SEAL.

Chapter 2

Late July, Present Day, Afghanistan

“And Saint Peter says ‘They’re going to hell; I’m going to Atlanta with you!’” Albermarle turned, laughing, to look at the guys in the back seat.

“Albermarle,” Mike chastised between bouts of hysterics, “You are going to get in trouble with the equal opportunity officer one day, and I’m not going to be happy when I have to talk to the admiral about why an Army colonel is calling him.”

“Aw, Chief, you know I’d never tell my jokes in front of anybody I don’t know. Besides, I heard that joke from Sergeant Major.”

Mike grinned. “Well, Sergeant Major Reynolds is a different kind of…”

Boom!

The world turned red and orange. They were launched into the air by the force of the explosion. The Humvee tipped to one side. The IED had hit off-center. The blast took out the driver’s side and part of the passenger seat. From the back passenger side of the vehicle, Mike watched as it happened almost in slow motion. The vehicle was destroyed, the doors thrown back on their hinges and torn off as the truck rolled. The driver’s position had been ripped from the vehicle. Marks fell out of the hole as the truck pitched and tumbled. Sergeant Thompson flopped over out of one side, and the truck rolled over him. Mike gripped the base of his seat, trying to stay put. The truck rolled one more time and came to a crooked stop on the driver’s side. Gravity forced him to fall, and Mike knew this was it. He was going to die.
Tara, I am so goddamn sorry.
Blackness.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. And body parts. Mike spit sand out of his mouth and called “Albermarle?” Where was the rest of the Army convoy he was riding escort on? Where was the PFC that was driving his Humvee? Oh, there he was. Mike pulled himself over to the young soldier. “Albermarle! You all right, soldier?” He put his hand on Albermarle’s shoulder. The young man’s head flopped to the side. Half was missing. One vacant eye stared up at Mike. He jerked back and looked around for Marks and Thompson, the other two soldiers that were in the Humvee with them. “Marks! Thompson!” There they were. They were about twenty yards from the vehicle, and he began a low crawl toward them.

Suddenly Mike was jerked in the opposite direction by a hand at his collar. “No! My soldiers are down!” He looked back to see who had him and realized it was one of the medics, Sergeant Howard.

Howard yelled, “Your soldiers are gone, Chief! We have to get you out of here!” Mike struggled against the tugging on his collar. “I’ll stay and fight! Let me go!”

Howard shoved him down and threw himself on top of Mike’s body as another mortar went off nearby. “Chief, your leg is injured. We have to get you out of here!”

Mike heard the familiar sound of helicopters approaching along with the distinctive
boom
accompanying them. Apaches. They’d sent Apaches. They’d be okay now. “My leg will be fine!” Mike glanced down as if to show the medic he was perfectly capable of defending his troops. There was nothing from mid-calf down on his left leg except blood and shreds of pink flesh. His foot was gone. A tourniquet was tied just below his knee. He could still feel his toes. Mike screamed.

* * * *

CPO Michael Davis

Bethesda Medical Center

8901 Rockville Pike

Room 454

Bethesda, MD 20889

August 7

Tara,

Where should I begin? Maybe I should start with I’m sorry. That seems pathetic, especially considering what I did to you, but I’m not sure if there are words to make up for my actions. I am so sorry. I want to make it up to you. I will fix this if you will let me. Please, let me make it right.

Michael

August 18

Tara,

You didn’t respond to my last letter. I’m hoping that’s because you didn’t get it. Please let me try to be a better person, a better man. I know I screwed you over. There’s a check enclosed for what I owe in child support. I know I’m not on the birth certificate and no one told me to send it, but maybe it will help. Please, don’t leave me in the dark.

Michael

September 2

Tara,

Can I meet her? I don’t even know her name. I know you got my letters. I won’t stop writing. I just want to see you and meet her. Will you at least send me a picture? Please cash the check.

Michael

September 7

Tara,

I know you don’t care, but I don’t have anyone else except my team. And I can’t complain to them. It’s after midnight. The nurse just came in and took my vitals again. God this gets old. Every four hours somebody wakes me up to make sure I’m still alive. Their machines might tell them I’m alive, but I’m not. I died when our vehicle hit that IED. The last thing that passed through my mind before I woke up here was you and our daughter. Maybe that was supposed to be the last thing I saw before looking at Old Scratch and the flames over my head. But it wasn’t. Somehow, somebody thought I was worth another chance. Maybe the only redeeming quality I have is a little girl I’ve never met. It was so quick. One minute we were pulling patrols, and the next some surgeon is telling me I won’t ever walk without a prosthetic again. They gave me a purple heart today. I told them I’d rather have a leg than another award. There’s nothing left of who I was a year ago. I’m not sure that man was worth a damn anyway. Now I’m stuck in this hospital until they think I’m healed enough to use this damn fake leg on my own. When I can sleep, it’s full of things I don’t want to remember. So I just don’t sleep anymore. I lay here and think about you. What I’m really writing to say, though, is those things I said when you told me you were pregnant, well, I didn’t mean them. It’s been five years, almost six. You probably don’t remember. I thought I had to impress my friends. They were assholes and weren’t worth my time. I’m not asking you to give me another chance. I know it’s too late for that, and we only knew each other for three months. Besides, you’re probably married by now or seeing someone, anyway. But I do want a chance to know my daughter. She deserves a father, even if it’s a bad one that’ll never be able to play tag or catch. Give me that chance. Please don’t shut me out.

Michael

Low down, dirty, good-for-nothing son of a bitch. How dare he make her feel sorry for him! Tara balled up yet another letter and tossed it in the trash. Michael owed her for the past five years, but she was still not going to cash his stupid check no matter how much she needed the money. After five long years, he was going to beg and plead to meet Madelynn, when he’d denied she was even his and hadn’t contacted her at all. That took nerve.

Those damn letters sounded sincere, and Tara
hated
him for that. But that still didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t going to give him the time of day. Never mind that there was a kernel of truth in his words. Maddie
did
need a father. Plus, being a single mother didn’t exactly open new doors for her love life, and she wasn’t getting any younger. Tara’s mother never passed up the opportunity to tell her just how quickly she was becoming an old maid.

Regardless, Tara would not give in to the pretty pleas of a self-professed changed man. Even if he was a wounded, crippled, award-winning soldier who served his country in a time of war. She shoved her hair out of her face and glared at the balled-up letter in the trash. Rolling her eyes, Tara fished it out and sat down at her desk to write a response.

Chapter 3

Why did he bother showing up at mail call? It was always the same thing: a bunch of bandage-wrapped bastards snatching up letters from girlfriends, moms, dads, siblings, church groups, or anyone else who wanted to write a soldier. Every day Mike waited on the edge of his wheelchair for his name, and it was never anything new. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. His parents died when he was ten, and his grandmother took over his care. She’d died two years ago. He had no other relatives he was close to. Save one. A little girl he’d never even seen, whose name he didn’t even know.

Every day he pushed himself in his therapy so he could find her. Since Tara wouldn’t write, Mike would just show up at her door as soon as they let him leave. Let her shut the door on a one-legged SEAL. He’d try until he caught a glimpse, something to get him through just a little longer until he could convince Tara he was a different man. Different enough to be part of his daughter’s life.

“Davis, Michael.”

Mike glanced around to see who shared his name. They were both common names, after all.

“Chief Petty Officer Davis, Michael.”

No one answered. Finally realizing that he was probably getting his early retirement paperwork or disability approval, Mike held up a hand and called, “Here.”

The nurse stepped forward and handed him a handwritten envelope postmarked from Virginia. Mike’s heart thudded hard against his ribcage when he read Tara’s name on the return address lines. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.

Wait until you’re in your room to open it.

He didn’t want to break down and cry in front of a group of soldiers getting happy news and love letters. And Tara’s letter was probably a tribute to bitter women everywhere. Justifiably so.

Mike turned his chair around and rolled himself down the hall toward his room. Once he was safely behind a closed door, he ripped the envelope open, a knot heavy in his stomach. He unfolded the single sheet of paper, and a wallet-sized photo fell out. He scanned the neat writing quickly.

Tara Marshall

310 S. Pecan Lane

Virginia Beach, VA

Michael,

Her name is Madelynn. Here’s a picture.

Tara

He held up the picture with shaking hands and stared at a tiny version of himself with delicate features. She had his hair, dark and thick, but hers was long, well past her shoulders. A pink bow stuck crookedly out of one side of her hair. His own emerald green eyes smiled up at him above a nose that was a smaller, more feminine replica of his. High cheekbones and ears that stuck out just a tad too far completed a physical copy of himself. She grinned into the camera with a laughing, mischievous light in her eyes. Mike’s heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest, and he blinked against the burning in his eyes as the first traces of tears streaked down his face.

The door suddenly opened, making him jump, and a nurse walked in and cheerily said, “Time for vitals, Chief Davis.” Noticing the tears on his face, her visage changed to one of concern. “Are you all right? Are you in pain?” She came to the chair and knelt down.

He turned the photo around to show her and gave a small, tearful laugh. “My daughter. Madelynn.”

Taking the picture, she smiled tentatively and looked down at the photo in her hand. “She looks like you. You must be a proud daddy.”

“Daddy,” he whispered. Damn, but that sounded good. “Yeah,” he cleared a suddenly clogged throat. “Yeah, I’m proud of her. She’s perfect.”

* * * *

“Maddie, honey, pick up your toys and come sit down. Dinner’s ready.”

Tara put exactly three cubes of ice into Madelynn’s pink princess cup and poured in Kool-Aid. Carrying it to the table, she glanced into the living room to make sure Madelynn was on her way. Instead, her daughter was bending the blinds on the living room window, staring at something outside.

“Whatcha looking at, munchkin?” Tara walked over and ruffled her daughter’s hair before glancing outside.

“There’s a man walking up to our house. His car is blue.” With that bit of extraordinary insight, Madelynn bounded off to the table.