A SEAL’s Heart (Jake’s Heroes #1)

1. Ed

1

ED

M y jaw throbs and my stomach aches with hunger. I haven’t eaten since the sloppy muck from the feeding tube that passes for food at the clinic this morning. But fucked if I’m going to draw more attention than I already have by attempting to stuff a sausage roll or mini sandwich into my wired shut mouth.

“Anyone for another drink?” Marcus raises his empty glass. “May as well make use of the free bar. It’s what Jake would have wanted.”

Jake would have wanted to be here, having a beer at The Landing and talking shit with his buddies.

I shake my head and grunt, which is all the sound I’m able to make.

“Eloquent as ever,” Marcus quips.

I scowl at him. It cost me to grunt, and I’m not going to give him a second one. I’ve never been one for words, and my former teammates think it’s hilarious that my mouth is wired shut.

The Landing was the perfect choice for Jake’s wake. It’s run by an ex-Marine, and the entire bar is an homage to the Navy. Navy blue vinyl covers the booths; thick ropes separate the dining area from the bar; and pictures of local service members decorate the walls.

I came here with Jake the two times I came back to his hometown in the mountains of North Carolina on leave with him.

“Did you ever come here when this place was JayJays?” Hudson rolls his broad shoulders and cricks his neck. His short dark hair is as wild as he ever lets it get. He’s the only Navy SEAL who never took advantage of the fact that we could be as hairy as we wanted.

I shake my head.

“It was a dive,” Hudson says. “Sticky floors and reeked like stale beer.” A ghost of a smile appears on his face. “Jake loved it. We snuck in when we were underage. Jake used his brother’s ID.”

Amos frowns. “That little shit.” He shakes his head and smiles, making him appear so much like his brother that I have to turn away.

“How long you home for?” Marcus asks.

“They gave me a month, but I’m heading back in a few days.”

No one needs to ask him why. Amos is the only one of us in any shape to re-deploy. He wants payback for his brother’s death.

I wonder what he’d think if he knew what happened in those final few moments of Jake’s life.

But I can’t tell him, even if I wanted to. The officer investigating what went wrong with the mission came to interview me in the hospital. I wrote my statement as best I could with my fingers swollen like sausages from the impact injury. The guy got frustrated that I couldn’t talk. He left me alone, but there will be a reckoning. The truth will come out at some point. But that’s not what I’m thinking of today.

A swish of blue has my head snapping around so hard I almost tear the wiring in my jaw. In a sea of military uniforms and funeral black, Jake’s little sister wore bright blue.

I watched her through the funeral. Who wouldn’t? Avery stood with her back straight as the blue dress caressed her ankles. Her lips trembled as she held her mother’s hand, their father tall and unmoving behind them in his Rear Admiral uniform. Her brother, Amos, stood on the other side of their mom, ready to prop her up if needed.

Avery held it together until the lowering of the coffin. Then the trembling of her lip erupted into a full-blown sob.

The ache in my jaw I can handle, but watching Jake’s little sister cry her way through her brother’s funeral is enough to make my chest implode.

The last time I saw Jake’s little sister, she was just a girl. But there’s nothing girlish about the woman making the rounds of grieving relatives, old friends, and military personal.

My gaze follows her as she carries a plate of sausage rolls to a group of elderly folk in the booth near the bar.

“How are you doing?” I tear my gaze away from Avery to find Joel staring at me.

His intense gaze misses nothing, as intense at home as he was when he was my commander on the battlefield.

I shrug, because the fucker knows I can’t talk.

“I got you this.” He pulls a notepad out of his pocket with a pen attached to it by a string. “So you can still talk to us.”

I glare at the notepad and back at Joel. He looks expectant, probably waiting for me to write him a thank you note.

I grab the notepad and scribble off a note, then turn it towards him.

He reads it out loud. “What makes you think I want to talk to you fuckers?”

Joel chuckles. “You still got your voice, Ed. Don’t retreat inside yourself.”

He leans in. “Listen, I’m thinking of starting up this thing.” He rubs the stubble on his beard. “I been thinking about it for a while, ever since I got out.”

The Navy honorably discharged Joel two years ago when his wife got sick. He was the best commander in the field. I trusted him with my life. It’s no mean feat to lead a team of hardened Navy SEALs, and Joel’s the only commander that earned my respect. He loved the battle; he loved being a part of it. He’d be the first out leading his mean from the front.

But he gave it all up without hesitation when his wife got cancer. He came back to Hope, to his family, and nursed her through the last months of her life.

“I’ve been doing some work with the Veterans Association in Charlotte.”

I nod my head. Since I can’t speak, I’ve become a good listener.

“The VA is great. But I’ve been tossing around ideas of other ways to help. I’ve been doing some work with veterans on the mountain. But I want something more permanent. There are a lot more people I could reach.”

That’s Joel for you, always thinking of how he can help.

“I’m still getting my plan together, but I might have some work coming in soon that I need some guys for.” He leans in, and I get the full Joel stare.

But if he’s thinking of me, then he’s not thinking straight.

Two weeks ago, I was on a top secret mission in Columbia, a place where the US military should not have been. Now I’m at the funeral of my best friend with my jaw wired shut, unsure if I’ll ever speak again. My career is over, and I’ve lost my best friend. My only friend.

I grunt. Joel deserves a grunt.

“You don’t have to say anything yet.” He chuckles at his own joke, and my scowl deepens. “Get yourself fixed up. Find your voice, then let’s talk.”

I may never talk again, is what the doctor told me. The shrapnel from the explosion got me on the left side of my face. My body is fine. I’m in one piece. My legs work, my arms are okay now that the swelling has gone down. But I took the hit on my jaw. My first reconstructive surgery is next week. Then they’ll see if my tongue can strengthen and repair itself enough for me to talk.

Fuck that. No one needs to hear me speak. I’ve just lost my career, the only thing I was good at, and I’ve lost my best buddy. Who the fuck do I need to talk to?

My gaze catches on the swish of a skirt. I turn too late and find Avery standing before us. Joel stands up, and I’m two beats behind him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Joel says.

I stand up too quick, and my big ugly mug catches on the end of the tray of sausage rolls. The plate clatters to the ground, and sausage rolls fall with soft thuds on the vinyl floor.

Avery covers her mouth with her hand as the entire room stops to stare at us.

Fucking great.

I duck to the floor at the same time she does, and our bodies collide. She bounces off me, and on instinct I shoot my arm out to catch her. I grip her around the waist and catch her from falling to the floor.

She stares up at me, her mouth in a perfect surprised ‘O.’

She wears her hair pulled back into a bun with wispy strands framing her face. Her raw beauty enhanced by a thin layer of make-up.

Sorry .

The word forms in my mind, but all that comes out is a grunt. An animalistic grunt that matches the beast I’ve become.

She frowns in confusion, and her gaze shifts from my eyes to my swollen cheek and the pieces of wire poking out between my cracked lips. I close my lips around my tin gums and my mouth slants to the side, deformed and hideous.

I can’t bear to watch Avery’s gaze turn to pity. I set her abruptly on the floor and turn away.

I should stick around to pick up the sausage rolls, but I can’t bear to be around Avery any longer. I don’t deserve to be here with her family, grieving. I don’t deserve their hospitality, and I sure as hell don’t deserve her pity.

Not when I’m the one responsible for her brother’s death.