Protector #4 (A Navy SEAL Military Romance)

PROTECTOR
#4

The
Protector Series Book #4

By
Claire Adams

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright
© 2015 Claire Adams

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Protector 4

I
tossed and turned all night. Around 3:00 am, I finally fell into a fitful sleep
that was interrupted by Brian’s restlessness. When I woke up the next morning
felt worse than I had the morning before. I sat up slowly and looked over to
see Brian fast asleep on the couch across the room, and I immediately felt the
previous night’s irritation return. He’d shut me out without saying anything or
even trying to have a conversation, and now he was sleeping like a baby. I
shook my head in disgust and went to the bathroom to get ready for my meeting.

In the shower, I let the
hot water cascade over my body as I tried to clear my mind of the way that
Brian had reacted to learning about my involvement in the anti-war group. I
couldn’t see how he could be angry with a group whose sole aim was to keep
peace and prevent war, and it pissed me off that he’d just shut down and
stopped talking. It made no sense to me whatsoever. I rinsed my hair and turned
my face up toward the warm flow one more time before twisting the knobs to shut
it off.

I stepped out, grabbed
the fluffy towel off of the counter and began drying myself off as I thought
about how to start the conversation with Brian. We were going to have to talk
about this in some way or another or else we weren’t going to be able to find a
way to continue the physical part of our relationship, and I had already grown
to like it - a lot. I toweled dried my wet hair as I looked in the mirror and
noticed that there were dark circles under my eyes. The stress and lack of
sleep were getting to me, and Friday night’s partying hadn’t helped matters.

Ah
well, that’s what concealer is for.
I thought to myself as I
reached into my cosmetic bag and pulled out the tube. As I began to dab it on
the dark spots, I was transported back to another morning when I had had to do
the same thing, but for very different reasons. The night before Dominic had
returned home angry with me about some imagined infraction of his rules and had
spent the evening moping silently in his man cave before emerging to teach me a
brutal lesson about obedience. I cringed as I recalled how the concealer hadn’t
been able to do its job the next day, but then it hadn’t been designed to hide
the handiwork of a man who was determined to leave his mark on my face.

As I dusted my cheeks
with a peachy blush and tried to brighten up my pale skin, I thought about how
I was certain that Brian wasn’t at all like Dominic. But I also knew that I
wasn’t going to roll over and let another man dictate what I could or couldn’t do
with my life; even if it meant that Brian was going to be irritated enough to
continue sleeping on the couch.

Two coats of mascara and
a swipe of a berry colored lip gloss later, I considered myself in the mirror
and decided I looked good enough to lead the meeting. I pulled my long, thick
hair back into a low ponytail and smoothed my bangs before wrapping the towel
tightly around myself and walking into the room to grab my clothes. When I
emerged from the bathroom, Brian quickly looked away as I headed to my closet.

“It’s okay to look, you,
know,” I said in a light tone. “You’ve seen it all anyway.”

“Yeah, got it,” he
replied as he tried to hide the smile that flitted across his lips. “Just
trying to give you some privacy.”

“Well, it’s hard in a
space this small, but I appreciate it,” I said as I grabbed my clothes.

“
It’s
kind of chilly out there this
morning,” Brian offered as he thumbed through my psych text book. “You might
want to dress appropriately.”

“What’s that supposed to
mean?” I shot back as I felt myself getting defensive. “Are you implying that I
don’t usually dress appropriately?”

“Step down, spitfire,” he
said as he raised a hand in defense. “I’m just saying that you might want to
dress for rain, that’s all. I’m not judging you.”

I stood there fuming as I
looked at him.
How dare he tell me what’s
appropriate and what isn’t!
I was sick of his constant back and forth, one
minute approving and the next disapproving. I was tired of having to walk on
egg shells as we tried to navigate the path between security guard and
boyfriend. Suddenly a flood of questions came rushing into my brain.

Does
he see me as his girlfriend? Do I think of him as my boyfriend? Are we a
couple?
I quickly discounted my answers by telling myself
that it was insane to think that he could be someone I viewed as a boyfriend
after less than a week.
It’s Stockholm
Syndrome
, only without the kidnapping and violence.
I
chuckled as this thought crossed my mind.

“What are you laughing
about?” Brian asked in an irritated voice. “Is there something funny I don’t
know about?”

“Just thinking about my psych
homework,” I replied. “No need to get all irritated with me.”

“Irritated? Who’s
irritated?” he said in a voice that was even more irritated than before.

“Obviously you are,
sailor,” I said nonchalantly.

“I’m not irritated!” he
yelled as he shot up off the couch.

“Evidence would prove
otherwise,” I said as I held my ground.

“What the hell is wrong
with you, Ava?” he shouted. “Why do you push me like this?”

“How exactly am I doing
anything, Brian?” I said. My voice was calm, but inside I was trembling like a
leaf. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, but his anger was palpable.

“You are so…so…so…” he
stuttered before blurting out, “Infuriating!”

“Oh,
I’m
infuriating? Me?” I cried. “That’s a good one! You’re the one
who gets all
pissy
and then shuts down and refuses to
talk about anything! I didn’t do anything to you, and you just get mad and stop
talking! What’s that all about, huh?”

Brian stood glaring at me
with his fists clenched at his sides for what felt like hours before he lowered
his eyes and loosened his hands. He stared at the floor in front of my feet for
another long while before taking a deep breath.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he
began. “I just feel…frustrated.”

“About what?” I asked quietly.

“About the fact that I
want to protect you, but I feel like you won’t let me do the things I need to
do to ensure that you’re safe, and then you go and…” he trailed off.

“I go and do what?” I
asked.

“You participate in that
hateful group that does such awful things to members of the military. How could
you?” he asked as he looked up. The hurt and pain in his eyes took my breath
away.

“What hateful things?” I
was confused by his accusation.

“Those anti-war groups
protest at military funerals and say hateful things about people who’ve given
their lives for their country,” he explained. “How could you participate in
that kind of thing?”

“I have no idea what
you’re talking about!” I protested. “We don’t do those kinds of things!”

“I’ve seen the groups that
do,” he said quietly. “They were at my best friend’s funeral when I accompanied
his body back to the states. They had signs and literature that they were
passing out about their anti-war activities.”

“Brian, we’ve never once
protested at a funeral,” I assured him. “That would be rude and disrespectful
of the people who’ve sacrificed their lives for our right to oppose war.”

“Then what do you do?” he
asked. “What’s the purpose of an anti-war group that doesn’t protest?”

“We do protest,” I said.
“We protest against unjust wars that use our military service people as cannon
fodder. We protest against the government’s lack of concern for the service
people who’ve returned home after the wars, and we protest against the use of
violence to ensure peace! It’s all wrong!”

“It’s not wrong,” he
muttered.

“Yes! It is horribly
wrong to send young men and women out to fight a war that is simply about
protecting oil and resources!” I yelled. “How can you say it’s not?”

“Because I fought the
war! I fought for freedom and democracy and to get rid of a dictator that had
brutally oppressed his people for decades!” Brian shouted back. “I was there,
little girl. I saw what was going on and fought to bring peace to those people.”

“Little girl? Little
girl?” I was pissed. “Don’t you dare dismiss me simply because I haven’t been
over to Iraq and fought in the
war.
That’s the most
asinine argument I’ve ever heard!”

“Oh really?” Brian
crossed the room and stood not more than a foot from me as he continued. “Then
please explain to me why I went over there and spent years on the ground
helping secure the territory. Please explain why I spent so much time away from
my friends and family in order to patrol the cities and prevent violence.
Please explain why I watched civilians get blown up by their own countrymen who
were trying to kill me and my team! Please explain, Ava, why…” Brian stopped as
a look of anguish tore across his face.

“Brian…” I began.

“No! Please explain why I
watched my best friend die,” he choked on the words and then looked into my
eyes and said, “Tell me why, Ava. Tell me why anything I did mattered. Tell me
why the sacrifices we all made were required. Tell me, Ava, would you please?”

I had no answer for him.
I had been stunned into silence by his tirade against my involvement with what
I had seen as an honest attempt to stop war from happening. I hadn’t really
thought about it from the soldiers’ point of view other than to not want any of
them to be hurt or killed in the fighting of wars that weren’t of their making.

“Look, I have no
answers,” I said as I reached out and gently touched his arm. Brian shrunk from
my touch, but I continued. “All I wanted to do was to stop the needless
fighting. I didn’t want people dying - not any people! I thought that if I got
involved in the group we could petition our representatives and persuade others
to sign the petition requesting that the U.S not get involved in wars that
aren’t about freedom or democracy.”

Brian continued staring
at my feet as I spoke. “I have never in my life ever done anything as rude or
disrespectful as to protest at a soldier’s funeral, and I never would. I just
don’t want people to die, Brian. That’s all. I just don’t want you or anyone
you know to die in combat!”

I stood in front of him,
out of breath and emotionally on edge from trying to explain myself. Brian
continued staring silently at the floor before he raised his head and looked
into my eyes. My heart cracked as I felt the waves of unspoken pain flowing
between us. I didn’t want to break the silence, so I held his gaze as he
reached out and ran a finger down my cheek before pushing the hair out of my
eyes.