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With any luck, she’d pass out before I got her home. My chest hurt at the sight of her. It physically fucking hurt.
Because she was in pain. Stress from whatever money problems she had most likely the cause of her drunken state. And having to help me was probably like ripping at old wounds, making her relive her breakup with my brother.
I was an asshole for ever asking for her help, and I’d have to find a way to make things right somehow.
I let go of a few deep breaths and then pulled away from her restaurant.
She remained quiet the short ride to her place, and as I expected, Enzo and Maria were waiting outside.
I parked behind Enzo’s Porsche, feeling another swell of discomfort in my chest at the mere sight of my father’s favorite car, then turned off the engine to go around and open the door for Natalia.
Enzo beat me to it. “I’ll take it from here,” he said with a suspicious nod, noticing Natalia’s change in demeanor. Grumpy, for one.
“Goodnight, Ryan.” Maria gave a sympathetic wave, clearly noticing the change as well.
“Yeah, goodnight.” I’d planned to wait until Natalia was inside, but I wanted to kill Enzo for simply having his arm around her while walking her to the house, so I got back into my truck and drove the short distance to my driveway.
* * *
I was relieved that Mom was already asleep when I walked in. I was wound too damn tight for any kind of conversation.
I’d only had one glass of Maker’s Mark earlier since I knew I’d be driving, and I needed to take the edge off with another drink. I went to the small bar in the dining room to see if Mom kept it stocked.
“Jackpot.” I snatched a glass and a bottle of Jameson.
Once upstairs, I kicked off my loafers and set the bottle and glass on my dresser. “Always a SEAL, right?” I mumbled, remembering my words to Natalia.
Forever a Teamguy . . . until you’re not.
Because you’re broken. Discarded. Feeling like half a man.
I left the liquor on the dresser and opened my closet, unsure if walking down memory lane was the best idea.
Mom had hung up my dress whites and dress blues alongside my uniforms. I reached for one of the pixelated green, black, and brown camo uniforms from my operating days, eyeing the patches on the sleeve. Then I ran my palm over the insignia on the breast of the uniform—the SEAL trident with an eagle clutching an anchor, trident, and pistol.
My stomach turned as I tried to remember what happened on my last day operating three years ago.
Of course, the actual memories were fuzzy. I had to read the AAR, the after-action report, to fill in the details that had led to the end of my time as Alpha Two. To learn more about the explosion that had sent me flying. And I wasn’t Superman, nor did I heal like him in the sunlight. God, if only that’d been the case.
I took a knee and reached for the shoebox that held so many memories, then began rummaging through the pictures. It was too painful to look at the photos from my time with Alpha Platoon, so I searched for some older images from when I was at BUD/S. Back when we didn’t have camera phones.
Once I found the aged pictures, I sat back on my heels to go through them. God, we were kids back then.
Luke, Noah, myself, and a few other guys were in most of the pictures. We’d become a close-knit group of seven. Not a single one of us ever rang the bell and quit. We’d graduated BUD/S and became Teamguys.
Another one of our BUD/S crew also worked at Scott & Scott Securities, but probably more regularly than Noah, even though Knox’s father was now the President of the United States. Maybe Knox was the link between Luke’s company and the President? Well, if my instincts were right, and the guys were actually running secret ops for the Commander in Chief. If true, my gut told me Noah didn’t take part in those clandestine missions.
I’d talked to Noah earlier before heading to Natalia’s restaurant, and he confirmed Anthony still appeared to be fine.
I’d thanked him over and over again for his help. For leaving his family in New York for my brother who didn’t deserve it. It’d been way too long since we’d talked, so we tried to play catch-up over our brief ten-minute call.
Noah had a family, just like Luke. The other four guys I kicked it with back at BUD/S were married with kids, too. I was the only solo act left.
I let go of a heavy sigh, packed up my mental and physical memories, and then exited the closet, closing the literal door behind me. The metaphorical door? Yeah, that never fully shut.
Before I had a chance to grab the Irish whiskey, I noticed Natalia’s bedroom light up, and then her blinds scrolled up a moment later.
I frowned, unsure of her game plan, but did the same with the blinds in my room, then dug into my pocket for my phone. I held it in front of the window, letting her know I planned to call.
