Page 8 of Until You Can't

I was clueless about what to do with my life now. Thirty-nine was young to most. Ancient for a Frogman like me.

“Well,” Samantha began after giving me time to process my thoughts, “Luke has a spot for you at Scott and Scott Securities. There are plenty of positions that don’t require you to go out into the field.”

Operating, even in the private security world, was still too risky. I might not walk away from the next blow to the head.

“I’m a door kicker, not an analyst,” I reminded her, then checked on the food cooking and gave the noodles a quick stir. “But thank you.”

“I know, I know. But Teamguys always look out for each other, you know that.”

Owen letting me stay at his place was proof of that, too.

Turning back to face her, I nodded my thanks. “And, uh, how is Luke doing these days? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

Luke Scott co-owned the company with his sister, Jessica, where Owen now worked. Luke and I had been part of the same BUD/S class back in the day. I’d also briefly served with him and Owen on SEAL Team Three in my late twenties. Then Luke and I made the change to DEVGRU. But in 2013, Luke mysteriously left the Navy shortly before Owen.

“Luke’s busy with the kids and job. And it’s exhausting for him to dodge the public eye since his wife is Hollywood royalty.”

“I’m sorry I missed the wedding.” Owen and Samantha married out in Vegas a few years back, the same time Luke married his wife. I’d been in the belly of hell overseas at the time, and the only way to get out early would’ve been in a body bag.

“I think you’ve apologized plenty of times now.” She smiled and tipped her head to the fancy coffee machine in the kitchen. “And your wedding gift has lasted a long time.”

I faced the stove again and checked on the meatballs simmering in the sauce, a special recipe of Dad’s.

“We need to go get Matthew a Halloween costume after dinner. You want to come shopping with us?”

“I think you’ll need to make him a costume. Pretty sure the stores are empty by now,” I said. “Just smudge oil on his cheeks, put him in overalls, and he can be a mechanic.”

“Your dad worked on cars, right? Classics?”

My shoulders fell at Samantha’s question, and I kept my back to her, hiding the emotions I knew I was wearing at the mention of my father. “Yeah.” And yup, there was the familiar lump in my throat. “Classics were his passion. But Toyotas and the like paid the bills.”

I spent my childhood with grease under my nails. My head was either under the hood of a car or in the pages of a comic book.

Great, now I couldn’t help but think about Natalia and our conversation at my brother’s place three years ago. Spiderman and Mary Jane.

Of course, my brother and Natalia were no longer together, and according to everyone back home, I shouldered the blame for it. Even my brother, which was downright absurd.

“What about cars? Why don’t you work on them like your dad did? Restore classics.”

Before I could process Samantha’s suggestion, the clock on the wall caught my attention. It was 18:05. “In the months I’ve been here, I’ve never known Alice to be late. She walks her three Dalmatians every day at eighteen hundred hours. And Ollie goes nuts.” I turned my head, and there was only silence.

“Ollie’s not barking.” Samantha stood, preparing to go check on her Siberian Husky, but I shook my head.

“Let me check on him. You stay put.”

“I’m sure Alice is just late. First time for everything.” Samantha’s eyes thinned as if she didn’t believe her own words, though.

“You have a nine mil nearby, right?” Owen was paranoid, so I knew he probably had a safe in almost every room in the house. It’d be far from their son’s reach, of course, and one that required a code to access the firearms.

“Of course.”

“Good. Grab it and hang tight,” I requested, my heartbeat drumming with more intensity as my concern grew.

“You should—” Samantha let go of her words, and I quickly spun at the realization we weren’t alone, and I shielded her body with mine.

Men in well-tailored suits now blocked both hallways leading to the kitchen. Neither asshole stupid enough to breach Owen’s home had their faces covered. And they were also ballsy enough to have pistols trained on us.

“Hands up,” one of the men hissed, keeping his voice low.

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