Of course, I didn’t know that until after I’d joined the navy. Maybe I should have bailed on the navy the moment I learned that. True, I was already enlisted at the time, so bailing would have meant going AWOL and facing a court martial, but right now, I can’t help but think that future would have been a better fate than this.
Do I regret the years of service and training? No. Do I resent all the damn jokes about my name over the years? No.
Hell, I don’t even regret that I got injured and had to walk away from the SEALs.
Wait. Let me rephrase. I regret that I got injured. I regret that I’m no longer capable of doing the only thing I’ve ever been good at. I regret that getting injured made me a liability to my team.
But the truth is, when you sign up to be a SEAL, you know it’s not the kind of job you do forever. It’s a job for men at their physical and mental peak. Everybody has to walk away someday. No one is ever ready, but we all know it’s coming.
I always thought I’d have more time in the SEALs, even with my stupid name and the bad luck it brought with it.
Here’s what I do resent, here’s the part of my life I fucking hate.
I hate that all my bad luck and shitty timing led me to this moment, standing beside my wife, signing the document that will bind us together for the next couple of years.
Mywife, for fuck’s sake.
Everything about that term sets my teeth on edge.
First off, the fact that I have a wife, when I don’t have a job or any prospects for the future is a big fucking red flag.
Secondly, this arrangement feels wrong. Yeah, I knew what I was getting into. I know what I agreed to. Two years of marriage to a stranger in exchange for an island in the Caribbean. On paper, before I met her, it seemed like a sweet deal. She’d get the resort she’s desperate to own and run. I’d have time to figure out what to do with my life now that saving lives and being a hero is no longer on the table. Now that I’ve met her, everything about this situation rubs me wrong. Which brings me to my third point…
Clara. My wife.
Fuck.
She is…
Even before I met her in person, I had an inkling I was in trouble. I knew from the emails we’d exchanged that she was outrageously smart, and just as ambitious. From the get-go, she laid out her plans for the resort and why she needed a husband she could trust so that her uncle wouldn’t end up selling it to someone else.
The resort is small and eco-friendly, catering equally to scuba divers, beach bums, and academics. She wants to shift the focus of the resort by bringing it into the twenty-first century and offering not just vacation packages but education as well, where vacationing divers can help monitor the health of the reef, and volunteers can monitor sea turtle nests.
I was sold before I met her.
Before I saw her.
Before I realized she’s everything I’ve ever been attracted to in a woman. Huge blue eyes that spark with intelligence. Blond hair in no-nonsense braids. Full lips that smile easily. Even on our wedding day she was dressed in a practical sleeveless dress and Teva sandals.
The moment I saw her, I felt the full force of my bad-luck name crash down on me.
The moment I shook her hand, I knew.
I want her.
I want every part of her. I want to talk with her. I want to build a life with her. I want to fuck her every day for the rest of my life.
This woman I’d agreed to marry for purely economic reasons was fucking perfect.
Except she isn’t.
Because she doesn’t want me. Not like that.
She needs a husband for purely practical reasons. She needs a physical body to parade in front of her uncle. That’s it.
She doesn’t want or need anything else from me.
On the flip side, I want everything from her. Which makes me, officially, the unluckiest SOB ever.
