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I shake my head. “No. You need to learn some math, too, which was something I always struggled with. But becoming a SEAL was too big of a goal to let go of because of some numbers on a page. So I got help from a buddy. When I aced my tests, I realized I wasn’t as dumb as I always thought I was.”
“You’re not dumb,” Sailor says, eyes flashing blue fire. “I see the books you’re always reading.”
It makes me feel good that she believes that. Most people never see me as more than the muscle, the brute. I know I’m more than how I look, but the fact that Sailor can see beneath the surface means a lot to me. “I started reading classics back when I was training and had a day off. I slacked in school and figured I’d go back and see what I missed.”
“What’re you reading right now? I didn’t see you reading anything on the flight.”
“The book was too thick, so I left it at home.”
She raises a curious brow.
“Tolstoy,” I admit. “War and Peace.”
“Isn't that like 1,000 pages?”
“Over 1200.”
She smiles and it’s the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day. On the rare occasion when Sailor directs a smile at me, it does funny things to my insides.
“I received my Trident pin and joined the teams,” I continue. “I loved it. The training, the friends who became the brothers I never had, the tours, getting paid to do something I was actually good at.”
“So why did you leave?”
I clear my throat. “We were on a mission that went FUBAR fast.” The memories come flooding back hard and they hurt. Like a punch to the gut. I never talk about that op or what happened. The experience left me physically and mentally scarred, so I buried it deep, protecting myself from the emotional chaos.
But now Sailor is looking at me, waiting for me to go on and needing a distraction to protect herself. And as hard as it is to relive those memories, I’ll do it for her.
“The Taliban kidnapped an American doctor and a couple of Afghan men while they were traveling to a rural clinic in Afghanistan. They were taken into the mountains and the kidnappers demanded a ransom. We were sent in to rescue them. But the intel we received turned out to be bad and my team ended up getting ambushed.”
“Oh, no,” she says and lays a hand over mine. “What happened?”
Looking down at her small hand covering my big, calloused one gives me the strength to keep talking. “We were told there were six hostiles, and it was more like 20. The fucking mountains over there are the worst. There are way too many places for the enemy to hide. Too many ways to get surrounded and trapped, too. We ended up cornered and basically in a shoot-out. It was a nightmare.” I drag my other hand through my cropped hair.
Sailor’s fingers lace through mine and I stare down at our interlocked digits. Unable to look away.
“One of my teammates was shot and killed. My buddy Jason.” Flashes of gunfire and images of Jason getting hit and going down fill my head. The memory is as clear as if it happened yesterday, even though it’s been three years gone. “I was trying to carry him out of there when I got captured,” I say in a low, rough voice. “For three days, I didn’t know if I was going to live or die. It was hell.”
“Oh, Kane, I can’t even imagine.”
No one except my mom calls me by my first name. But I like the way Sailor says it.I like it a lot.“The operation ended with six deaths, including Jason’s. DEVGRU sent more SEALs and a Delta team in. They got me and the doctor out.”
The breath rushes out of her. “Thank God,” she whispers, squeezing my hand.
Her voice is so sincere and it’s like her heart is speaking directly to mine.
My chest tightens and I force a smile and decide not to tell her anything about the torture I endured. She’s perking up already and if I can spare her, and myself, those details, I’d rather just leave them out. “That’s how I first met Finn. He’s the Night Stalker who flew the rescue team in and then flew me out.”
Sailor finally realizes she’s still holding my hand and immediately lets go. I miss the contact, but I get why she does it. “Well, thank goodness for Finn,” she says, mouth tilting in a small smile.
“Yeah. He’s a good guy. For a cocky bastard,” I add with a half-grin. I’m glad the conversation is distracting her from our current situation. “What about you?” I ask. “What made a tiny thing like you join the Army?”
“Tiny? Ha!”
“How tall are you? Five two?”
“I’m 5’4”...in heels,” she adds sheepishly.
“And without?”
