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“The first eight-week phase of BUD/S is a nonstop study in physical conditioning and is definitely the toughest of the phases. It’s push-ups, sit-ups, and burpees as endless as sand grains on the Coronado Beach and as relentless as the cold and wet that gets blasted by waves and hoses and seeps into your bones and drenches your spirit in discomfort and misery.
“It’s sleep deprivation and log PT and brutal instructors determined to weed out those who can’t cut it. It’s beach runs and calves on fire, two-mile ocean swims, frigid water, unforgiving currents and was-that-a-fucking-shark doubletakes.
“It’s timed obstacle courses, drown-proofing and shooting hundreds of thousands of rounds and having your brothers’ backs and your brothers having yours. It’s hauling a 110-pound rubber raft over your head with five other guys until your arms burn and quiver and buckle and then digging deeper and hoisting it up again.
“It’s tossing your boat into punishing waves and paddling like hell, trying to beat an impossible time limit. Then it’s filling it with sand and repeating the whole process when you lose, driving home that ‘it pays to be a winner.
“It’s the sunrise and sunset until you’re so determined day after day, realizing this is me, this is my calling, this is what I was born to do,knowingyou’re that winner and fuck the bell, the cold, the instructors, the boats and logs, the obstacle course, the ocean and Hell Week, because you’re not quitting. You’re never quitting.”
“Oh, my God. That sounds so intense.” She rubbed her hands over his ribs. “Why do you think it was different from football?”
“The stakes are far higher than missing a pass or losing a game. It’s about life and death, being part of something bigger than yourself. I didn’t want fame and fortune. That all seemed hollow to me. I wanted my life to mean something, to do something extraordinary. I’ll leave all that football stuff to those guys who make it their life’s dream.”
“It was never your life’s dream?” she asked solemnly.
“No, it was my dad’s.”
“You said he never understood.”
“To this day. He makes it difficult for me to go home, to be with my mom and sisters. For us to be a family.”
“I’m sorry. I can sympathize. My mom didn’t want me to be an FBI agent. She shows her disapproval every time we meet.”
“Being a SEAL, BUD/S—all of it was easier than telling my parents. Relationships make things more difficult. People who think they know what’s best for you making it impossible for you to live your dream. How screwed up is that?”
“That’s why you want to keep it casual between us, because it’s hard?”
“No, Bree. That’s not it. I fell in love with a woman…Amy, who promised me that she could handle the separations and the danger I was in, but when I got wounded, she wrote me a letter while I was still in the hospital and broke it off.”
“Wow, that’s cold. I couldn’t do that to someone.” Her tone was just as vehement as the fire flashing in her eyes—all on his behalf. “But as painful as I’m sure it was, it’s better that she knew her own limitations. Just terrible, awful timing.” She looked away. “I broke up with my college boyfriend because he couldn’t understand what I wanted to do with my life.”
He should have known Bree would understand, and he experienced a huge amount of relief that she’d jumped to his defense. “If he wasn’t on board, he wasn’t ever going to be. You did yourself and him a favor by ending the relationship, just as Amy did for me by ending ours before I’d grown to resent her constant demands to give up something that was such a huge part of my life.”
Bree reached out and circled the tips of her fingers around his bullet holes, her gentle, intimate touch a balm to his soul. “These warrior scars…Callen. They’re a part of who you are and what you do, and always will be.”
She understood so much about him, and her acceptance mattered more than he could say.
“I realized then that I needed a sure bet, someone who really understood what it meant to be a SEAL’s partner, someone who will handle things much better than Amy.”
“I totally understand that, Callen. I do.”
“Regardless of what reality we have to deal with once your assignment is over and my deployment is up, I care for you, Bree. More than I can say. You’re going back to your job in DC and I’m heading back to Coronado. We both are aware that the distance poses an issue, finding time to build something when we’re not even in the same zip code really doesn’t work. At least, not for me. I wish…things were different, but I don’t duck reality. It just bites you on the ass anyway.”
That was the stark, unvarnished truth. There was no way to reconcile his feelings for her and keep doing what he was doing, but surprisingly, this woman’s opinion mattered to him. It dawned on him why he’d fought so hard to keep his attraction to her under wraps and off his radar. His subconscious had obviously known what his emotions hadn’t been ready to face or accept—that this woman who challenged him at every turn, and who gave herself so openly and generously both physically and emotionally, could very well be the one for him.
He felt lighter and freer than he had in years, and Bree was the reason. He glanced at her, met her soft amber gaze, and wanted to tell her everything he’d just discovered himself and how much he wanted her to be a part of his life, but the obstacles were just too daunting.
That truth was he wanted a woman in his life, not halfway across the country. That wasn’t a relationship, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of them if they sugar-coated a relationship between them, thinking it would work. He was pragmatic enough to understand it wouldn’t.
That hurt like hell. He had a feeling she was going to sit on his heart like a lead weight for the rest of his life.
After Amy, he had learned the lesson he thought would sustain him: guard himself from any more pain and loss by keeping any woman at a distance until he was sure she would measure up to what he needed in his life. And, so far, those barriers and his rules had served him well and had kept his heart protected.
Until now. Until her. Until Bree.
Until she broke all the fucking rules, and his heart hadn’t been able to do anything about it.
Taking a deep, uneven breath, he rested his head against hers, wishing he knew how to say all the things that needed to be said.
