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I was a soldier, a Navy SEAL. I was a fucking warrior. I wasn’t some media asshole smiling for the cameras and trying to act like I gave a shit about the same fucking questions.
How could Selena ever understand that? She’d never experienced combat, never felt like what she was doing was the most important thing in the world. I’d felt like I had purpose out there fighting for my country and killing terrorist bastards.
Back in the States, sitting in front of cameras, I felt like a fucking clown.
“Nothing,” I said finally. “It’s nothing.”
“Come on,” she said, “you wanted to say something.”
I grinned at her. “Let’s go celebrate.”
She smiled uncertainly. “That was an abrupt change in conversation.”
“Yeah, well, take the hint.”
She laughed. “Celebrate what?”
“Your first interview. We got through that shit together.”
“I don’t know.”
“Driver,” I said, “you know a bar near here called Mickey’s?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Take us there.”
“Hold on,” Selena said. “I didn’t say I wanted to go.”
“Take us, driver,” I said, and looked back at her. “Come on. One drink.”
She sighed. “Fine.”
We pulled up outside the bar a few minutes later. I climbed out and paid the cabbie and then smiled at Selena.
“Welcome to the best dive in the city.”
She laughed. “It does look like a shithole.”
“Hell yeah. Real people come here.”
Mickey’s was the epitome of a dive bar. The door was old and the paint was peeling off, and the sign was basically nonexistent. Unless you knew about it, you’d never want to stop and walk inside.
I’d been to NYC a ton of times during the last couple of years. I never failed to visit Mickey’s at least once, usually way more often. I pushed inside the door, dragging Selena behind me.
Inside, it was dark and it was loud. People sat up at the bar and at random tables, and I found us two spots at the end of the bar. The floor was slightly sticky and half the lights didn’t work, but it felt like fucking home.
It helped that they knew me here and knew not to fuck with me. The bartender gave me a nod and brought over a whisky. “What can I get for the lady?”
“Whatever he’s having,” she said.
He smirked at her and came back with a whisky, placing it down in front of her.
“Thanks, Jimmy,” I said to him.
“No problem, Nash.”
Selena looked at me. “You know him?”
“This is my favorite bar. Plus, I’m a little famous. I let them take a picture of me in here for their wall in exchange for leaving me the fuck alone when I come in.”
She laughed. “Where’s the wall?”
“Men’s bathroom. It’s just me and Regis Philbin.”
She cracked up and sipped her drink, making a face. “I’m not a whisky fan.”
“Why order it then?” I asked, taking a sip of mine.
“You’re always drinking it. I guess I wanted to try it.”
I laughed. “Takes a mature tongue.”
“I don’t have a mature tongue?”
“Not like mine, you don’t.” I smirked at her. “You’d be lucky to feel my tongue.”
“Doubt it. Your tongue is too busy flapping in front of the cameras.”
“Yeah, well.” I knocked back my drink and motioned for another. “Not my choice.”
“You keep saying that.”
“You ever do something that made you feel whole?”
She looked at me for a second before finally shaking her head. “No. I guess not.”
“That’s how I felt out in the fucking desert, killing bad guys. And you know what? I was good at it.”
“Yeah. That’s what your book says.”
I snorted. “Book doesn’t say shit. That stuff all happened, but not exactly the way it’s written. The truth is way better, but it’s also classified.”
“So why not go back out there?” she asked.
“Can’t,” I said, and I knew I was getting into dangerous territory.
“Why not?”
I thought for a second, trying to decide what she could know and what she couldn’t. “Korengal Valley, a few years ago. I was on a mission to hunt down a pack of terrorists trying to cross into Pakistan.” I nodded at Jimmy and took the drink he placed in front of me, sipping it. Selena was sitting there, staring at me intently.
“It was going well. We hunted them into a wooded area, but our scout overstretched and we got spotted. During the firefight, I took a bullet to the chest.”
She frowned. “That’s the scar right near your heart, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Tore right through me, missed my heart by fucking millimeters. Almost bled out, but our medic saved me, kept me alive long enough to get me out of there.”
“You almost died,” she said.
“Yeah, almost.”
“And you want to go back?”
“I do,” I said. “I don’t think you could understand unless you really did something that made you feel right. But after that injury, the upper brass thought they were doing me a favor by giving me an honorable discharge.” I shook my head, annoyed. That last bit was a slight lie, or at least it was the truth according to the public record.
