Fallen SEAL Legacy (14 page)

In the old days, he’d have gotten a new tattoo. The pain of the scabbing flesh would be a reminder of how mortal he was. He’d get hard watching Daisy and her huge tits, leaning over him, brushing against him, teasing him, and smiling without looking at his eyes. She had known he lusted after her long before they became intimate. Now, that was out of the question.

No, meeting Libby, being inside her, kissing her neck, her full lips, hearing her moan and feeling her shudder beneath him had ruined it for him with anyone else. Much as he tried to tell himself otherwise, he was tethered to Libby just as if he’d been hogtied physically.

He’d have to keep things in balance, though. He needed to slow things down, give himself time to think. He knew better than to go jumping into a long-term relationship, even though he realized he was powerless to stop himself. He’d never had that problem before. He’d always looked at his buddies, who’d gotten snagged by a cute little thing that came waltzing into their lives, and turned their man-caves into honeymoon suites. Was that what could happen to him?

He knew if he wasn’t careful, he was about to experience a terminal case of…of…
What the fuck am I feeling?

He couldn’t deal with this any longer. He was certain his sorrow over the loss of his parents had drawn him right into the middle of Libby’s life, and that was just not fair to her. He had nothing he could offer her. His tank was on empty. And he could see in her eyes that she expected—she deserved—so much more. He decided he’d just not call her back. He should have exercised better judgment before he’d taken advantage of her. Oh yeah, he’d taken advantage of her all right. He’d been an animal. Couldn’t get enough.

And the reason he felt so bad was because, while he’d gotten what he wanted, he knew he couldn’t give her what she wanted—needed. No fuckin’ way he could do that.

Time to get numb. He decided to call his Team 3 LPO. Kyle picked up on the first ring. “Coop. How’s your love life? Fredo thinks he got stood up Friday night.”

Cooper knew Kyle’s comment was intended to be a joke, but had misfired. “Yeah? Well, you’d have been proud of me Lanny. I got ‘er done.”

“That’s mighty fine, my boy. Just what the doctor ordered. And did it help?”

“Nope. Think I’ll get shit-faced tonight. You be my DD?”

“I’ll be your mule, but you sure? Thought you gave it up. You got some years invested in being sober.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Maybe you better rethink that one, Coop.  Not tryin’ to be your nursemaid…”

“Then shut the hell up, Lanny. Get off my fuckin’ case.”

“Oh, no you don’t, SO. Remember, you called me. You’re really starting to piss me off.”

“I want to get shitfaced and then fucked. Royally fucked.”

“I got you. I can’t help you do either, but I can grab a cup of coffee with you.”

“Fine.” Everything was not fine. It sucked. Big time.

 “Let me get permission and I’ll call you back.”

A few minutes later Kyle affirmed, with his new baby screaming in the background, that he was free to help slide Cooper into the delirium of an alcoholic stupor, if he insisted, and would respectfully deliver him back to his motor home at the end, even if he had to carry him.

The Scupper was within walking distance of the beach. Cooper was on his third beer, Bay asleep at his feet, by the time Kyle arrived, and Coop didn’t have an ounce of regret. Behind his LPO, Fredo swaggered in, wearing a ridiculously bright Hawaiian print shirt over jeans which barely covered his flip-flopped feet.

The Mexican Hawaiian.

Coop was happy to see his buddies. Been a while since Fredo tried another one of his legendary takedowns. Maybe he’d challenge him this evening. Most of the time Fredo, who was a foot shorter, won, but Cooper was of a mood to play hard tonight.

Fredo nodded and they touched knuckles. He whistled when he saw the beer. “You look terrible, Calvin,” he said, “and you smell like dog, man.”

Coop wondered if the waitress he’d tipped to allow Bay to stay with him, as a SEAL service dog, got a whiff of him before she said yes. Bay was too old, and way too fat to be considered a service dog. Maybe she’d thought Bay was a companion dog for a mental returning vet. But Molly accepted his word.

Figures.
He knew sure as hell he could pass for a mental.

Fredo was going on and on about the dog smell. This tickled him, a little. “Frodo,” he said, referring to his buddy’s nickname—one that the SEAL hated being called—“meet Bay. Bay, say hello to Frodo.”

The dog popped his head up at the sound of his name, looked up at Fredo, and then examined Kyle, before laying his head over his paws with a big sigh.

“Frodo here’s been in some movies, Bay. Be respectful and don’t lift your leg on him, okay?”

The dog looked at the Mexican SEAL, who was scowling like he’d been punched.

“You’re in a nasty mood, Coop. What happened, Daisy get your penis all infected?”

Cooper was immediately on his feet. Kyle kicked him behind the knees to make him sit. “Enough. You’re being stupid now. Both of you.” He glared between the two best friends. “Shake on it,” Kyle commanded. There would be full compliance with this direct order, but they didn’t have to like it.

Fredo said something in Spanish and submitted his paw for the grip of his friend with hands twice the size of his.

Cooper found some of his humor filtering through the fog of his psyche. “Daisy only did one guy’s penis, and it wasn’t mine.” He got the effect he was going for. Kyle winced and Fredo swore. 

Bay yawned so wide it looked like his jaw was going to be unhinged. Coop noticed the dog’s breath smelled like rotting cabbage. His two Teammates were wrinkling their noses.

“Come on, guys. Haven’t had him groomed. He’s only been in the ocean a few times. Haven’t had time for a bath.”

“No, dog lover, you’re too damned cheap,” Fredo said.

“What’s the point? He’s gonna get dirty again.” Through the beer fog, Coop thought it was a plausible argument.

Fredo’s eyes got wide with fire. “What’s the point? You, the guy who dusts his floors with his toothbrush. Mr. don’t-get-the-sand-in-my-duty-bag-kind-of-guy? The guy who reuses baby wipes—oh, yes, I’ve found those little brown used wipes at the bottom of your medical kit.

“Hate to waste the sanitizer.”

“You’re the guy who counts the dryer sheets. Don’t tell me it isn’t about money. And now this poor dog is suffering, you asshole!” Fredo looked genuinely worked up.

Cooper shrugged and turned back to his beer. Fredo grabbed the glass from him and finished it off for him. In a lowered volume, Fredo continued, “They got cute little chiquitas that take them and bathe them, paint their nails, too. Dude, you gotta give that dog some love, man. Your pimpmobile must smell like dog hair, man.”

Cooper looked down at his empty glass and smiled. His bed smelled like Libby. He wasn’t sure he would want to wash his sheets for weeks.

“Oh, God in Heaven,” Fredo chuckled as their beers arrived. “I know that look. You been scoring for the last three days since you been back. I knew it! I told Gunny your pecker was going to fall off.”

“Not quite.”

“She lose her touch? Or is it someone new?”

“Come on, Fredo,” Kyle interrupted. Cooper was starting to blush.

“Fuck me! It
is
someone new. You got yourself one of those Junior College chiquitas?” Fredo’s eyes were sparkling.

“There’s more to life than—“ Cooper started to protest.

“Since when?” both Kyle and Fredo said in unison.

Kyle gave Fredo a look, and Coop knew that was going to be the end of the disrespectful banter. His leader was going to make sure Coop was right in the head. He’d start probing now. It didn’t take long for the series of questions to begin.

“So, while you’re able to talk, you never told us how it was back there. You have to go back anytime soon?” Kyle asked.

Coop filled his lungs and let the air out with a rush. He ordered more beers for all of them. “Buried them last Wednesday. Paid for coffins, but we never could find anything.”

No one said a word. Kyle’s eyes bored into him.

“You going to sell the land? Timmons told me nothing was left of the ranch and all.”

“Nope. Keeping the dirt. They got disaster aid coming. I could have the farmhouse rebuilt, if I wanted to. It’s gonna take four or five months to get it settled, but my folks actually left me some serious money.” Coop felt guilty coming in to so much money when he didn’t need it, especially since it had been obtained through the death of his family. He had a sheaf of paperwork an inch thick at his trailer. He’d get to it when he good and felt like it.

“Where’d you find the dog…what’s…?” Fredo asked.

“Bay.”

Bay perked his ears but didn’t raise his head.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to dis your dog, man. You musta known he’d spend the last of his days at the ocean, Coop.”

Kyle looked at Fredo with a question.

“He named him Bay. As in San Diego Bay?” Fredo said to Kyle, who was sporting a puzzled look.

Recognition crossed Kyle’s face.

“Funny,” Coop mumbled and took another swig.

“So, where did you find him?” Kyle asked.

“Near the farm, like he used to wait for me when I was a kid. He injured his right front paw, a cut of some kind. But he musta run like the wind and outrun the tornado.” The group fell silent. Coop was more comfortable talking about Bay than talking about himself to his Team leader.

“I found him after the funeral. Thought I was hearing things when I went back to see the farm and heard him bark.”

It was a grim reminder of odd things he’d seen—they’d all seen—overseas.  A litter of puppies they saved when their mother got blown to bits. Babies crawling in the dust, being rescued by a soldier. Sharing water with a child only to find him murdered the next day. Things he didn’t want to remember much. Things no one should have to try to forget.

The steady wheel turning, the circle of life and death came with them on every deployment. That and the randomness of the sorting process: who was going to live and who would die today.

Kyle squinted at Coop’s comment and nodded, staring down the bubbles in his own barely  touched beer. “Grief does funny things to a man.”

“I’m right as rain.” Coop defended his state of mind.

“Yeah, Timmons told me you’d say that,” Kyle said without looking up. “And I agree with him. You’re full of shit.”

The comment smarted, but Cooper wouldn’t let them see it. He had too much respect for his Team leader, who had saved his life on more than one occasion.

“I feel like ice cream. You want one? I’ll buy,” Fredo barked. Coop knew one of Kyle’s favorite haunts was the Dunkin’ Dandy frozen yogurt shop. Kyle couldn’t resist the chocolate dipped soft swirls with sprinkles on top.

“What the hell. I promised Christy I was going to lay off the sugar, but if you promise not to tell her, I’m game.”

The trio sauntered outside and down the sidewalk, Bay on his leash. The dog stopped at every parked car, sniffing and peeing more than Coop thought his bladder would hold. In between, he stopped for a pat from each passer-by.

“Dude, at this rate, we’ll get there by tomorrow at noon, Coop. Can you tell him to stop being so social? Starting to act like a politician,” Fredo was smiling, but Coop knew he was in a hurry for his ice cream.

“He’s just getting used to things. He barks when I leave him behind.”

“That dog’s gonna be hoarse and then dead when you deploy. You gotta find someone to take care of him. I hear Daisy—“

Cooper cut him off. “No. I’ll find someone else. She doesn’t want a dog to take care of. She has a hard enough time taking care of all of us,” Cooper said.

Fredo turned, shaking his head, pushing through the glass door of the yogurt shop.

Coop declined Kyle’s invitation to enter, saying he was keeping an eye on Bay. After both his buddies were out of sight, he realized these two had saved him from a lonely night of drinking at the Scupper, getting into trouble on two fronts: alcohol and female. Neither of these two troubles would be a comfort to him in the long run.

Tonight, he’d chosen well. He was grateful. For the first time in the past week, he started to feel like he would make it, after all. Maybe there could be a normal life ahead of him. Although it had been something he appreciated before, he realized he had taken it a bit for granted.

You always miss stuff after it’s gone.

And then he began to think about Libby. She’d called him. Maybe he could trust himself to call her back.

He’d sleep on it tonight. Wake up with a hangover tomorrow and then call her. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day.

Chapter 13

Carla padded out to the mailbox in her flip-flops. It was nearly nine o’clock Monday morning, and the mailman had just made his rounds.

Mrs. Brownlee was wearing the expensive silk robe her husband had brought back from Japan years ago. The smooth fabric caressed her bare skin underneath. She loved the feel of the sash as it cinched her waistline.

She and Austin had been experiencing an on-again-off-again married couple affair, between bouts of Austin’s foul moods. On a warm sunny morning, as most days in San Diego were, she was grateful for the rise and fall of their shared emotions. Passion was strong in their family—all sorts of passions.

He’d taken off for an early appointment at the office. But not before he said he was sorry for several things yesterday, stopping short of apologizing for his tone with the SEAL. He finally admitted that perhaps he was overreacting about the cat incident. She was relieved he agreed that they’d stay at their house. Today, Clark Riverton’s friend was coming by to check out the security and make some recommendations for their additional safety.

She opened the mailbox flap and immediately smelled something foul and metallic, like rusty iron. A thick, burgundy, pudding-like substance coated the floor of the aluminum box. She was shocked to realize the dark liquid was blood. Envelopes had been tossed on top. She slammed the mailbox shut.