Chapter 12
brOCK
I’d had shorter flights from Vah Beach to Kandahar as a strap than my first-ever flight on a luxury private jet. Seven SEALs, four dogs, a wife/mom, and five kids filled the plane, and they never shut the hell up.
About twenty minutes into the flight, Foster’s wife, Julie, walked over and snatched my backpack off the floor next to my feet.
“You look seconds away from murdering the lot of us, so here,” she said as she handed me my headphones. “Drown us out with some Nirvana or STP. I’d prefer not to have to go mama bear on you.”
“How’d you know I like grunge?” I asked.
This woman was frighteningly all-knowing.
I laughed at her. I’d said it before, Julie Holt was a damn fine SEAL wife.
“You’re a bit scary, ma’am.”
Julie smirked, her brow cocked. “I’ve been a Holt for a long time. It’s eat or be eaten, kill or be killed. They take no prisoners.” Her face immediately fell, and she dropped to a squat next to me. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
I nodded. “You didn’t cause any harm, and you didn’t mean anything by it. No need to apologize. Adam wouldn’t want it, and neither do the rest of us. Plus, Woody would’ve found that funny. Not that he would’ve laughed.”
Julie slid into the seat beside me. “Tell me about him. Adam, I mean.”
I snorted. “There’s not much to tell. He’s a SEAL, through and through. He eats, sleeps, and breathes being a team guy.”
He’s the love of my life. His smile is rare, but it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. His body is strong and sexy, and I miss feeling it over me, under me, and inside me. And I miss him so much my bones ache.
Julie smirked. “Typical team guy answer.”
She sighed, glancing at her husband, who tried to look like he wasn’t watching his wife.
“When Foster was assigned to Alpha as team leader, he was pissed. He thought Adam should’ve been given the number one spot.
His dad told him to suck it up and take the promotion.
Foster and Parker both wanted to follow in their dad’s footsteps, but Foster hates differential treatment, which is what he felt the bump to Alpha was. ”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked as my mind swirled with the reasons behind Julie confiding in me.
She laughed. “I figured you should know Foster felt he wasn’t the right person for the job on Alpha. Plus, I’ve always liked you.”
“How’d you come to that conclusion?”
The teams socialized some, but with the rotating deployment and training schedules, we didn’t get together a lot.
Foster, we’d known, of course, because we’d worked with him off and on over the years.
Separate teams and not as a team leader, but we knew him.
Julie and the kids? They were passing acquaintances.
“People talk, Brock, and any time you’ve been at a function with the families, you’ve watched your language, for the most part.” She laughed, then continued. “But you’ve played with the kids, broken up a couple of fights, and my dogs love you. Which I consider the highest endorsement.”
She stood and walked back to Foster. She paused on the way to scold two of the kids, who were fighting over a video game. She settled on Foster’s lap. He kissed her forehead, then whispered in her ear.
“What are y’all playing?” I asked as the disgruntled voices of two boys increased from the low hum it had dropped to after their mom had gotten after them to nails on a chalkboard level.
Their heads popped up, and two mini Foster Holts stared back at me. I raised my eyebrow, cocking my head. They whispered to one another in a rapid exchange. Then they turned back.
“God of War,” they said simultaneously.
I smiled.
“Hmm. Are you any good?” I asked, grabbing my bag.
They looked at each other. They never spoke. Then they looked back at me.
“Of course.” Synchronized like little robots, or maybe even clones.
I laughed. Little smartasses. They were definitely their father’s kids. I pulled out my game system and held it out to them. “I trust y’all know how to not mess with my saved games?”
They stared at me, then looked at one another, then back at me before glancing at their parents. Foster nodded, and they jumped forward.
Shit! They even move in tandem.
The rest of the flight was blissfully silent of sibling bickering.
Foster’s daughter was reading, and the oldest two boys were playing chess.
The team had all settled down to sleep, and their grunts, groans, and snores were a harmony that had lulled me to sleep for years.
I reclined my seat, closed my eyes, and fell asleep.
My thoughts and dreams centered on Adam.
I prayed for him, begging whoever was listening to watch over him.
I also sent all the steadfast vibes I could.
A couple of hours later, a hand landed on my shoulder.
I jolted awake and looked up into the eyes of Admiral Matthew Holt.
I’d seen several photos of him over the years, but even without those pictures, I’d have known him anywhere.
He was an older version of Foster and Foster’s older brothers, Walker and Parker.
“Looks like you slept well,” he said as he sat down in the seat across from me.
I glanced around the plane. It was empty.
“I sent them on ahead of us. You and I need to talk.”
I sat up, scrubbing the sleep from my face. “About, sir?”
Matthew Holt was smirking at me when I looked back at him. “Your future. And Adam’s.”
Shocked, I gazed at him, not blinking and barely breathing. What did he mean by my future and Adam’s?
“Admiral, Mama called,” Foster called through the open door as he came up the stairs of the plane.
The admiral growled. “That woman. I love her more than the air in my lungs, but…”
Foster stepped into the room with us, waving and pointing at his phone. “She said to get your ass back to the ranch that you could steal my SEALs at another time.”
I coughed to cover a laugh and grabbed my gear.
Foster handed his dad his phone and clapped me on the back. “She’s gonna ream his ass. If there’s one thing you need to know about Holt women, it’s this: they’re fucking scary as hell, and the older ones start training up the younger ones in the cradle.”
I laughed at him, remembering my thoughts earlier about his wife.
When we were settled in a pickup sitting on the airfield, Foster said, “I know it’s late, but I’m sure Mama has been up cooking. She’s a true southern lady who will try feeding you as soon as you walk through the door, so be prepared to be smothered with food.”
“What do you mean—steal your SEALs?” I asked.
Foster glanced over his shoulder at me before turning to watch his dad walk toward us from the plane. “Dad runs a PMC. He needs another team. One that specializes in the Middle East and Europe.”
The admiral slid in behind the steering wheel of the truck. “Alright, boys, let’s head to the house. I need to remind Viv that she loves me.“
“Jesus, Dad,” Foster groaned, and I laughed.
I’d never had this kind of camaraderie with my father, or even a grandfather. I was alone in the world other than Adam, his grandparents, and the team.
“Admiral, not that I’m not appreciative of everything you’ve done…”
I had questions and needed answers. Adam and I both had another three years on this enlistment.
Before I could question him further, his phone rang.
“Holt,” he answered, listening silently to whoever was on the other side.
The man must be an amazing poker player because his expression never wavered. He maintained the same stoic appearance for several minutes.
Then the shit-eating grin Foster must’ve inherited from his dad split the admiral’s face, and he said, “Welp, it’s about damn time. I’ll get them outfitted and send them out with my guys. They can rendezvous with the unit in country.”
Foster and I kept glancing at one another. Neither of us was good at waiting for info. Foster just put on a better show than I did.
When the admiral turned to us, he said, “Your boy’s forced our hand. Guess he got tired of waiting.”
Your boy?
“Adam escaped?” I asked. “How do they know? Last we were told, they didn’t have a definitive location for him after I found him—or rather, his call sign being held up in that vehicle a couple of weeks ago.”
Matthew Holt’s face turned from a gleeful summer day to an angry thunderstorm in a split second.
“This may come as a surprise to you, Jones, but even though I’m an admiral, I’m not a fan of JSOC brass.
The vast majority of them have no wartime experience.
They’re a bunch of paper-pushing bureaucrats. ”
I tried my best not to laugh, but I failed miserably. “I never thought I’d hear a cake eater say something like that.”
The admiral scoffed. “Yeah, well, I’m not your typical cake eater. But back to your boy. Apparently they’ve known where he was for a week or so, or at least strongly suspected, and they kept it from the team because they didn’t want to be pushed into a response without definitive proof.”
He shoved his hands through his hair after scrubbing them across his face. It was a move I’d seen Foster and his brothers, Walker and Parker, do as well.
“We’re going to the house for a bit so Foster can see his mama because if she doesn’t at least lay eyes on the boy, I’ll be missing a few parts I kinda wanna keep.”
Foster groaned, “Goddammit, Dad.” His face was bright fucking red.
We walked into the house, and the rest of the team was seated around the biggest fucking dining room table I’d ever seen in a house.
Granted, the house was a fucking mansion.
It reminded me of the house on Dallas. My mama had watched that show religiously while I was growing up.
Only this house seemed twice the size of the one on that show.
“Who has Adam?” I asked, interrupting their banter.