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Once my heart rate is back to normal and the sweat has dried on my skin, I grab my towel and clean up in the shower. I decide to skip my run and get on the road before the southern California sun gets too oppressive. I love my motorcycle, but driving it up the Pacific Coast Highway in the midday heat is no fun.
When I jog down the stairs and into the kitchen, my housemate and fellow sniper Desmond is back from his run and chugging a bottle of water by the fridge.
“Morning,” I grunt, getting my mug from the cupboard.
“Morning,” Des replies, looking at me a little strangely. “Rough night?”
I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. “Nightmare. You know the drill.” I pour a cup of coffee from the pot Drake, our Lieutenant and other housemate, must have started before he headed out.
Des gives me a solemn nod of understanding and throws his empty bottle in the recycling bin, giving me a reassuring slap on the shoulder as he passes on his way to the shower.
“Have a good break, man,” he says quietly. “Put some of those ghosts to rest, you hear me?”
“I hear you,” I reply. “You too. I’m heading out now so I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
“You bet your ass you will.”
I chuckle and finish my coffee as Des disappears upstairs to shower, and I put my mug in the dishwasher. Grabbing my already-packed duffle along with my helmet and leather jacket, I head out front and secure the bag to the back of my motorcycle. Hopefully the first part of the ride out of San Diego won’t have me boiling inside my leathers.
I’ve been toying with the idea of using this furlough to go home to Crescent Bay, but I was still undecided until last night. Listening to the other guys from my SEAL team talk about their trips while we shared beers and ribs at the barbecue made up my mind. And then the nightmare about Pete. Like Des said, I need to put these ghosts to rest and that means going home and seeing three people I’ve been avoiding for six years.
I pull my helmet on and fire up my Harley, already feeling the uneasy snakes squirming in my stomach. As I drive out of Coronado and join up with the highway, I begin to think about what the fuck I’m gonna say to Pete’s family when and if I see them. Growing up, Pete’s house was like my own; a sanctuary from my fucked-up parents and their toxic marriage. In fact, I probably spent more time at his place than at my own, crawling through his window when my parents got into a drunken fight, curling up on the bottom bunk. His mom never made a big deal out of it when she found me there the next morning, always filling my hungry belly with pancakes and bacon, giving me clean clothes, lunch money, and a ride to school.
That history is what’s made the last six years so painful. I haven’t spoken to my own parents since I enlisted straight out of high school, and if I’m honest I couldn’t give a shit if I ever speak to them again. They left Crescent Bay years ago so at least I don’t have to worry about seeing them. But the radio silence I’ve forced on Mike and Sheila Masters tears at my heart every single day. Not to mention Pete’s little sister Olivia. I know she took Pete’s death really hard—he was her hero, and she’s been reaching out to me since he was killed, desperate for answers that the Navy just wasn’t prepared to share.
As the air begins to cool the further north I drive, I try to decide exactly what I’m prepared to share with Pete’s family or even if I want to see them at all.
Chapter 2
Olivia
“Miss Olivia, can I have a snack please?” The little boy tugs on my skirt to get my attention, and I reach down to stroke his soft white-blond hair.
Crouching down so I’m on his level, I say kindly, “Anton, we had a snack only an hour ago. You can’t be hungry again?”
His chubby little cheeks begin to quiver, and I know I have to avert a nuclear meltdown with a distraction. Anton is a sweet boy, but he’s like a bottomless pit when it comes to food.
“Hey, why don’t we go outside and see what the children are making in the mud kitchen?” I suggest, standing up and taking his little hand in mine.
When his eyes light up, I know I’ve hit a home run. Anton loves playing in the mud kitchen almost as much as he loves goldfish crackers. So I lead him outside and Anton runs over to the little wooden kitchen I have set up in the outside area where the children can make mud pies and get good and dirty. I always loved doing that when I was a kid, so I asked my dad to build the little child-sized kitchen as soon as I secured my job at Crescent Bay Elementary School.
Taking the hair elastic from my wrist, I pull my long black hair up into a ponytail so at least some of it stays mud free. I love getting sucked in with the children when they explore the world around them through play, but it can get a little messy sometimes.
By the time they’re ready to go home, the children have finished making mud pies, and we’ve gone on a bug hunt in the wildlife area. I love their enthusiasm for everything, and most of the time they lead the way on what we learn about. Of course, I still have to teach them the basics, but mostly we just explore whatever piques their interest.
Once I’ve seen my last student safely to their parent, I return to my classroom and lean against the edge of my desk, closing my eyes and letting my head tip back. My job is my absolute passion, but some days it totally kicks my ass, making me feel wrung out like nothing else can. I mean, I run marathons and compete in triathlons, but sometimes chasing around after a herd of little kids makes me question my own fitness levels.
“Another tough day in kindergarten, Miss Masters?”
My eyes snap open, and I turn toward the voice of the Principal, Jessica Vega. She stands in the doorway to my classroom with a bright smile on her face, her baby daughter propped on her curvy hip.
I laugh and rub my hands over my face, noting that my fingernails are still caked in mud. “It was another amazing but tiring day.”
Jess laughs as well and comes into the room, placing Cami down on my colorful floor rug where she immediately begins to crawl toward the box overflowing with stuffed toys.
“I understand completely,” she replies, looking lovingly at her daughter as Cami begins to pull out her favorite bunny, holding it up in her pudgy fist as if checking to see if it’s okay to play with. I give her a smile and a nod and she immediately hugs it close and coos happily. “I thought being a principal was the most tiring thing I’d ever have to do, but being a mom as well is quite frankly kicking my ass.”
“I think you’re amazing,” I say truthfully, feeling nothing but admiration for the strong, inspirational woman who leads our little school with integrity and poise.
