Nashville SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood: Nashville SEALs (11 page)

“You’re being very strong now, but you don’t have to be.”

“Do you understand that I love Charlotte too much to bring someone into her life who isn’t sure what he wants? Where he stands in relation to his future? To us?”

“If you want to get married, I’ll do that.”

“Why? What difference would that make? Is marriage some kind of magic pill you take and voila! Everything is wonderful all of a sudden? Get married and then go off and get yourself killed, leaving us behind?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“You can’t guarantee that, and you know it.”

“No, honestly I can’t. So, you want me to stay in Nashville and pursue my music? That what you’re saying?”

“No, Nashville wouldn’t work either. If I stayed by to support and watch that happen, it would only hold up until the next pretty girl forces herself into your dressing room. How long before an avid fan shows up at my doorstep saying she’s pregnant with your baby? You really think I want any possibility of that happening?”

“I have no say in the matter, then?”

“If it wasn’t for Charlotte, we could duke it out, hash out all the details, and maybe come to some conclusion, but this is about her, and for God’s sake, I don’t understand why you can’t comprehend that.”

Her flight was to, of all places, Charlotte, en route to Nashville, where her friend had offered her a couple of days to heal and talk through her pain and confusion. She really needed her best friend now more than ever. The flight was now being announced over the loudspeaker.

“I still have to go through security, and they’re boarding my flight. Jameson, you follow your heart, your dreams. I hope you get there. I really do. And I’ll follow mine, okay? Do this for me.
Find
yourself. Find someone who has the luxury of being able to wander the world with you, a great adventure, to be sure. But I’m not that person. I live in North Carolina, and I have a life I’ve made with Charlotte and the support system of my friends. And she’s gonna be happy. Already is a happy little blessing. A little part of you, the only part of you I can have right now. The only part of you I can safely have.” Her voice trailed off. She had to work to keep the waver out of it.

She wouldn’t look at him. He’d put his palm on her shoulder and squeezed.

With her eyes still downturned, she added, “In time, I will be, too. I promise. Now go.” She pushed him away without making eye contact, re-hoisted Charlotte on her hip, pulled out her boarding passes, and turned in the opposite direction, without glancing back.

Lizzie felt his eyes follow her all through the line, knew that he watched for some sign she’d change her mind—if she turned, he’d be encouraged by something she did. Or maybe he was already gone and it was just her imagination. Either way, she wasn’t going to check. Her heart had been excised with a dull spoon.

“Bye-bye,” Charlotte said, as she waved behind her to someone. The tears started to come. Charlotte giggled and continued to wave, because that’s what someone else was doing on the other side of the security checkpoint line.

She handed Charlotte to the agent at the x-ray machine. “I don’t want her going through this, but I will.”

“Yes, ma’am. We have to do a wand check. We can do it on you both. You can hold her hand.”

They barely made the plane before the doors were locked behind them. She’d had to check the stroller and one of her carry-on bags since Charlotte was a lap child on a full flight and space was limited.

She leaned back into the middle seat between two heavyset ladies who grumbled at their placement. Charlotte gave them both a stern frown when neither smiled at her. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll be home soon. Just try to rest, and a little later, we’ll get something to eat and take a little walk down the aisle to the back. Would you like that?”

Charlotte nodded her head and, with her small forefinger, traced a tear Lizzie didn’t know was showing, from just under her eye, down to the top of her lip. Lizzie gazed into eyes that sparkled aquamarine crystals and wondered if Charlotte understood more than she was able to communicate.

“It’s going to be okay, baby. Mama’s okay. You take a nap.”

Charlotte tucked her little face under Lizzie’s chin, sighed, and in a matter of minutes was fast asleep.

‡

J
ameson waited until
the plane took off before he left the San Diego airport. He wanted to punch something, he was so upset with himself for not running past the gate and all the guards, grabbing Lizzie, and kidnapping her back to the safety of his arms. But no, he’d been a dickwad and just watched as she made her way out of his life forever, his daughter waving good-bye like a fuckin’ sad movie scene.

He climbed into his SUV and squealed the tires as he turned the corner of the parking garage. The last thing he wanted to do was show up alone and have to explain to any of his new SEAL friends what had happened. It was too early to tie one on, or maybe it wasn’t. He wished Thomas was there. He’d say something either so obnoxious he could push him over, or scream at him, or he’d say something that would take his breath away. Regardless, he would react. It would release some of the tension, and he’d be fixed for now.

He checked his cell phone. Thomas wouldn’t be at the club yet in Seattle. He gave him a call.

“Hey, asshole.”

“How’s it going, Thomas?”

“What the fuck’s wrong with you? This a social call, Jameson?”

“I just put Lizzie on a plane for Nashville.”

“So what the fuck are you doing there in San Diego?”

“Looking for someone to get drunk with.”

“This is bad. This is very bad, Jameson. I’m stuck here another three weeks, unless we get held over, and right now, it looks like that will happen. You could come up here, hang out with the band. Not like performing, but still, it would be something to do.”

“Not happening. I’ve got some sorting out to do.”

“Your funeral. You seriously considering becoming a sailor?”

“Not a sailor, a SEAL. Big difference.”

“In a manner of speaking, but if you don’t make it, you go out to the fleet. You’re not Elvis singing to the troops and all. You’d be swabbing decks and cleaning toilets, or peeling potatoes and shit.”

“Nah. I’m gonna see what it takes. I’ll call back and let you know.”

Jameson, Kyle, and
Coop sat down with the Navy recruiter. Kyle told him not to trust a single hair plug on the guy’s forehead, and that they all lied through their teeth. Kyle helped secure an order signed by the senior staff that said he was allowed to try out for the next BUD/S class in just over a month.

It felt funny raising his right hand, taking the oath of allegiance, and receiving the sporadic clapping his three SEAL friends gave him that Thursday afternoon. Before the ink was dry he got orders to ship off to Great Lakes, where he tested so highly they pulled him out of basic training and told him he was going to be a dentist.

“Nah, man, I’m going to try out for the Teams.”

“No one makes it. I don’t think they’ve graduated anyone in six months, son,” the hardened Chief barked at him. “They don’t tell the public this, but they’re not adding any new SEALs. In fact, they’re downsizing. Just don’t want the enemy to know. I’d say dental school is much smarter, son.” The Chief pressed it to Jameson’s chest. “Take it, goddam you. I’m doin’ you a fuckin’ favor.”

Jameson called Kyle that evening and was told that was horseshit. He tore up the orders to report to dental school. Next morning he reported back to the Chief “You guaranteed my shot, and I’m gonna take it.”

The team had only been able to train with him for a month before Indoc, so he was looking forward to testing all the training they’d shoved down his throat. Kyle and the men kicked his butt. He learned to work out with little sleep. They made him run on the beach with seventy pounds of sand in his backpack, in full combat gear. They hosed him down on the beach outside the Babemobile, and made him recite the Lord’s Prayer so many times Jameson knew he’d be saying it in his sleep. They made him carry sawed-off telephone poles by himself.

He’d pulled a groin muscle during basic, but didn’t want to tell anyone when he reported for his first day of BUD/S. Sure as shit, they started doing timed runs, and his groin began to swell. When he stood up and began limping, one of the instructors pulled him out of the lineup and said, “You gonna go all medical on me or are you pregnant, because you walk like a lady who’s gonna deliver triplets. I’ve been watching you.”

“I pulled a groin muscle in basic.”

“Sure you did. How many times did you get laid this week?”

“Not one, sir.”

“Oh, I get it. Playing grab ass with the recruits. So you’re into boys, that how it goes sailor?”

“Nosir. Nothing wrong with me in that department.”

“Did I say there was anything wrong with being gay? I’m fuckin’ gay. You wanna see if I can whip your ass, sailor?”

“Nosir. I meant no disrespect.”

The trainer looked him over. He picked his hands up and saw the calluses on his fingertips. “You a guitar player?”

“Yessir, I am.”

“No, you’re not. Your ass is mine. You might never get to play a guitar again, son. Is that gonna be okay with you?”

Jameson sighed, wondering how long the smack talk was going to hold up. “I brought my guitar, but like you said, sir, I’ve not had the energy to play it. But writing music helps me to relax.”

“What the fuck is that? We don’t write songs in the Navy. You like Frances Scott Key or something? Gonna write a new Navy SEAL song?”

“No sir, that would be a very bad idea.”

“You’re damned straight.” He walked around him a couple of times. “Who got you trained for this gig? You fill out well. You a swimmer?”

Jameson signed again and examined his boots. “No sir.”

“This getting all hard on you, son? You don’t like someone talking to you this way?”

“I had a soccer coach who used to talk to me like this all the time.”

“That a fact? And how did you guys get along?”

“I quit the team. And I slashed all his tires.”

“What the hell for?”

“He wanted me to give up the lead in the high school musical. So I quit the soccer team.”

“So you’re a Romeo boy. A crooner, that what you’re sayin?”

“I sing and write country music, yes sir. If that’s what that means.”

“You get the ladies all hot and bothered is my guess. You’re kinda good-looking, kid. Too good lookin’ for a SEAL. We only let ugly ones pass. That’s a little known fact.”

“Horseshit.”

“Excuse me?” The instructor leaned his concrete chest against Jameson’s. “You want to tell me that again?”

“Horseshit, sir. I got friends who are SEALs, and they’re damned good-looking.”

“Really, and who would those friends be, or are they posers?”

“Chief Petty Officer Kyle Lansdowne, Special Operator Calvin Cooper, and a couple of others.”

The instructor tried not to show it, but Jameson could tell it had left an impression on him. “So, you’re hoping to be one of Kyle’s boys, that right?”

“I understand it doesn’t exactly work that way, but if it’s possible, yes.”

That day turned
the corner for Jameson. He was given a lighter duty than the rest of them, and allowed to get a little more sleep. One by one, they learned to swim in the dirty inlet, increasing their swim and run times until most of them could nearly break records on the college level. Jameson ignored the repeated calls from Thomas, and never got one from Lizzie. He focused on only one thing: not giving up.

In the end, he was one of twenty-two out of two hundred who graduated with his original class.

Kyle, Cooper, and several of the other men showed up at his Trident ceremony. He was unprepared for the fact that they’d asked Kyle Lansdowne to deliver the speech to the new graduates.

“The world’s changing, gents. We’ll probably have a woman graduate within these next few years. I’m not at liberty to comment about that, but the nature of warfare and the rules of engagement are changing as we sit here on this beautiful and sunny San Diego day. There are people out there,” he pointed off in the distance, “who are planning right now to do us harm. Right here on American soil. That’s not official Navy issue, but it’s a fact. By becoming a SEAL, wearing the Trident—which I don’t recommend doing, by the way, in public anymore—you are not only endangering your own life; but the lives of your wives, girlfriends, parents, brothers, and sisters.

You don’t walk in these shoes lightly. As SEALs, we carefully train for every eventuality. And your families need to agree to be a part of this. We are all one unit. No one else understands what we do or why. We never know who ordered it or why some guy at the Head Shed decided it was a good idea to do X, Y, and Z. We don’t know what political party he’s a part of, because the war doesn’t discriminate by political party, race, religion, or sex. Dr. Death is an equal opportunity employer. And he’ll claim as many as he can get away with.

The difference is, our families are more at risk than they ever have been. Make no mistake. You won’t get out of this life before you know someone
personally
who has given his or her life to save our great country from its enemies.”