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I nodded reluctantly. She gave a half smile which I didn’t understand.

“But Joy, they also don’t know about my time in the service. Hell, neither do you.”

“So, tell me.”

I pointed to the food on her plate. “Eat up before the food gets cold. Then we can talk.”

Once again, Joy dug into her food. I’d finally figured out how she kept her figure. She went running when she got up. I’d about swallowed my tongue the first time I saw her in bicycle shorts, a sports bra, and a tank. She’d been a lime green goodness.

“Dessert?” I asked when her plate was clean.

“Answers.”

I sighed. “You’re a tough woman. Gonna rip off my nuts?”

She snorted. “Your manly parts are near and dear to me, so they’re safe. But that doesn’t mean I won’t find other ways to torture you, so spit it out.”

I sat back in the chair, stretching out my legs so my bare feet could touch Joy’s. “You know I was a SEAL, right?”

“Yeah, like Simon and Drake. I did some online research. Logistics and training, my ass.”

I winced. “That’s what most of us say. You say you were a SEAL, and a lot of people want to know details. They think it is a glamorous job.”

“Glamorous?! How do they figure that? For God’s sake, Graham. From what I read, it was crazy scary. What’s more, you had to be almost a superhero to accomplish some of the things I read about.”

I shook my head. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. People have these unrealistic ideas about spec ops operators. What it really comes down to is training and preparation. You go into a situation knowing exactly what to expect, and you’ve trained for it, over and over again. That’s it. You know the job, and you do it.”

She snorted again. “Yeah, and how often did it go to plan?”

She caused me to choke back a groan. “Most of the time,” I answered weakly. “Most of the time, it went to plan.”

She must have sensed my pain. She came around the table and pushed me around, forcing me to move my chair so she could sit on my lap. “And when it didn’t go to plan?” she asked quietly, looking me straight in the eye.

“Except for one time, we always accomplished our mission.”

“What happened the one time?”

I didn’t answer.

“Dammit, Graham. You’re sitting here blaming yourself for something you had no control over, aren’t you?”

“Of course I had control over it, I was the team leader.”

“Are you saying every time a team loses a football game it’s the coach's fault?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand. I want to, but you have to let me in.”

I gave a deep sigh. “It’s tough. I never talk about it.”

“Aw, baby.” She placed her palms on each of my cheeks, then gave me a long, soft kiss. When she was done, she tucked herself back against me, her head resting under my chin, her hands petting my chest.

“I fucked up on our last mission.” Her hands stopped stroking me for a moment, then started up again. “We were in Africa. There were five of us. I was the team leader. Only two of us came back.” Somehow, she was able to cuddle even closer. It was like she was melting into my body.

“It was supposed to be a quick rescue mission. We had all the intel we needed. Turned out it was a set-up. They were waiting for us. They’d already killed the hostage during their interrogation, and they needed a new one. Or more than one. Turns out, they were the ones who had leaked the intel, and our side bought into it and sent us in.”

“How do you think this was your screw-up?” she asked. Her words whispered against my heart.