he lost his way after sacrificing his place in the UK’s Special Boat Services, a position he worked hard to get, to follow a woman to the United States only to be dumped by her for another man…an American. He had spiraled, drank too much, and gotten a job with a disreputable importer. When the bloke had asked him to do some shady stuff that put innocents at risk, that was the breaking point for Dodger, and he’d quit. Before joining the SEALs, he had hit rock bottom.
But all of that stuff was in his past.
An hour later, when he parked and walked toward the plane, he saw Dragon, Jo, and Ceri, the cute family talking and hugging it out before he left. Then there was Pitbull, Mak, and Samantha, another adorable family. Then Hemingway and Shea taking a private moment along with Mad Max and Renata before he had to board. Saint, 2-Stroke, and Fast Lane were already entering the belly of the plane.
It was roughly a twelve to fifteen-hour trip, and Dodger expected to sleep most of the flight. He nodded to his teammates as they boarded, then stowed his gear and set up his hammock. He headed for one of the coolers for a beer, popped it open, and took a gulp. He shrugged off the sight of the guys with their families and loved ones. He was fine on his own.
Truth be told, he hadn’t seen his mum and dad for a couple of years. Sure, he kept in touch, called on birthdays, holidays, and their anniversary, but he hadn’t actually seen them or his brother in a long while.
Maybe it was time to take some leave and go visit the UK. Maybe.
He sat down in one of the red mesh seats and took another sip. 2-Stroke came over and sat down. “You still drink that stuff?” Neo asked.
“Yeah, it’s good.” Dodger smiled at the water in 2-Stroke’s hand. He took enough ribbing for not being a drinker. He might have a shot of tequila every once in a while, but he’d never seen 2-Stroke drunk. A surprise for a young guy. “Why don’t you drink, mate?”
“For the simple reason that you lose control. I don’t like losing control. Besides, the Navy has low tolerance for alcohol-related infractions, and I never wanted to jeopardize my time in not only the Navy, but the SEALs.”
“Is that the only reason?”
2-Stroke uncapped the water and drained the contents, then pulled out his notebook, turning it over in his hands. “No.” He released a hard breath. “My father was an ugly drunk.”
Dodger didn’t comment, just watched him spin that notebook. But 2-Stroke didn’t say anything else. They sat there for a few minutes, then he rose and said, “Sorry. It’s just personal.”
“Sorry for invading your privacy,” Dodger said, trying to be contrite.
2-Stroke smirked and shook his head. “No, you’re not, you nosy bastard.” He walked away.
Dodger finished off his beer, ate a bit, and turned in.
2-Stroke’s past came back to haunt him twice today.
It was the anniversary of the act that had liberated him from a nightmare. He knew he should have regrets about it. Everything had been documented and sealed up in a juvenile record, never to be seen by anyone’s eyes.
The only people who had seen what he’d done would never say a word. Yet the secret haunted him, not necessarily the act, although there was some anger and pain associated with it.
2-Stroke realized that his formative years, the ones he’d spent with his gentle and sweet mother, had set the foundations for the man and the SEAL he was now.
Violence had defined his life—he’d lived in a violent LA neighborhood where his father was part of a violent and aggressive biker gang, spewing hatred. He was even conceived in violence. It was no wonder he made it his living.
But he learned in BUD/S that SEALs weren’t about violence. They were about defending the weak and exacting justice. He’d been unable to save his younger brother Riley from his father’s anger, which only reinforced his need to protect others. He didn’t matter. Only the people behind his shield counted. Being a SEAL grounded him, gave him the brotherhood and a way to express everything he was.
A lot of kids in high school, ones who didn’t know his situation, thought it was cool that he had a father in the Black Hearts—racing motorcycles, riding wheelies, and just being badass with a bunch of hellraisers. They had no idea what