Page 21 of Summer L.A.W.

Her eyes narrowed. “You were eavesdropping? Again?”

“SEALs don’t eavesdrop.” He glanced at her finally, a sharp flick of green eyes in the dark. “We gather intel.”

The Jeep hit a bump, jolting her boot off the dash. Crystal laughed again, louder this time, and didn’t bother putting her foot back up. At least he was entertaining. Maybe she didn’t mind having a SEAL in the driver’s seat after all.

They rolled in silence for a mile, headlights skimming across dark trees. Crystal leaned her head against the window, watching her own faint reflection. “You know, I used to think the ocean was the only thing big enough to understand me. Turns out it’s just bossy.”

Mason didn’t laugh this time. “That’s how the sea works. Gives and takes. No apology, no reason. You either adapt, or you drown.”

She turned toward him, eyebrow arched. “And people are complicated?”

“People lie to themselves. Pretend they’re fine when they’re breaking. Or play up their brokenness so no one expects too much of them. The ocean doesn’t bother with disguises.”

Crystal sat with that, the crunch of a Chex piece loud in her ears. “Wow,” she said finally. “You’re either really deep or just quoting Navy motivational posters.”

“Why not both?” he said, and this time, the smile broke through.

“So, what’s the worst thing you’ve eaten out there in SEAL-land? Give me your top three mystery rations.”

“Number three: freeze-dried meat product. Number two: something labeled ‘seafood loaf.’ Don’t ask. Number one…” He shook his head, grim. “Jungle grub. Raw. And crunchy.”

Crystal gagged theatrically. “And you willingly signed up for that life? Remind me never to ask you to cook dinner.”

He smirked. “I can cook. You just have to lower your standards.”

“Oh, trust me, my standards are already subterranean,” she said. Then, quieter, “Still sounds like hell.”

“It was.” His tone flattened, but he didn’t shut down. “Not the food. The waiting. Hours, days, weeks of staring at nothing, listening for something that might never come. Your mind goes places.”

Crystal glanced at him, but he was all shadows and green glints of eyes on the road. “And where does it go now?”

Mason didn’t answer right away. Finally: “Depends who’s in the passenger seat.”

Her chest tightened in a way she refused to name.

They drove on, the Jeep’s rattle settled into a rhythm that almost felt like music. Crystal leaned her head against the glass again, pretending she wasn’t listening hard.

They drove in silence for a stretch, the Jeep humming like it had secrets of its own. Mason’s jaw worked, like he was chewing on something harder than Chex Mix.

“You ever think about the future?” he asked finally.

Crystal arched an eyebrow. “All the time. Usually, while I’m making the ocean mad.”

“I’m serious.” His hands tightened on the wheel. “I got out of the Teams because I was done. But now, I don’t know. I spent years knowing exactly what came next. Orders, missions, objectives. Then one day it’s just… over. Feels like stepping off a ledge.”

Crystal studied him, the hard lines of his face half-lit by the dash. He didn’t look like a man who got lost easily, and yet here he was, admitting it.

“So, what do you want to do now?” she asked.

He gave a small, humorless laugh. “That’s the problem. I don’t know. Protect people? Build something? Hell, maybe just sleep for a year.”

Crystal leaned back, tapping her chin. “Okay, let’s brainstorm this. You could be a lifeguard. You’ve got the ocean experience, plus the abs. I’d pretend-drown just to get your attention.”

Mason shot her a sidelong look. “That’s not a career.”

“Fine. Security guard. Or—ooh! Professional motivational poster model. You’ve got the whole grim and brooding thing nailed.”

“Motivational posters don’t usually feature guys who look like they want to strangle the photographer.”