Hemingway - Zoe Dawson Page 0,31
time and money. Getting married should be simple and easy, not a damn production. His sister Rhonda was often either hysterical because something wasn’t going off as she’d planned or in full-blown bridezilla mode because the flower shop didn’t have whatever flower she wanted in stock for the boutonnieres when it was time for the nuptials. If it were up to Max, he would get married in his parent’s back yard.
That made him think about who he did want to bring as a date. He sat up straighter. With all the deployments and his busy life as a SEAL, he had no prospective woman in mind. Damn, he would just be happy bringing Jugs, but Gina would rip him a new one if he actually thought he could get away with it.
Why not? Jugs had saved his life many times. He was always happy and didn’t need a new dress. Max chuckled and sent Jugs to his kennel. His meeting with the other instructors was in fifteen minutes and he didn’t want to be late.
“See you later, boy.”
Shea was already up when Hemingway woke the next morning. The scent of her, of their lovemaking, still clung to the sheets, and he rolled over onto his stomach, every shred of tension dissipated. It felt good to wake up relaxed and rested.
Sighing, he rolled over onto his back, making a mental list of all the things he had to do tomorrow. Sunday would be shot from getting their room in shape for the beginning of the phase and making sure all their gear was in order, stenciling names on their helmets, not to mention the gear they needed for the Monday evolutions. He hoped his roommates had their shit together. It only took one guy’s lack of attention to detail and all four of them would be face first in the sand under the light of the moon. His success depended largely upon their success. That’s just how a team worked.
The soft murmur of voices made his hearing pique. Hemingway turned toward the sounds, taking his eyes off the spectacular view of the ocean looking almost close enough to touch. He was sore again. It was a normal occurrence ever since he started BUD/S. He was aware it was only going to get worse. His muscles would hold up. It’s why he’d done so much endurance training along with the endless sit-ups, pull-ups, and push-ups.
He threw back the sheet that was loosely over him and pulled on his briefs. He slowed as he drew closer to the kitchen. He remained motionless, not wanting to announce his arrival with any sound. He didn’t want to disturb what seemed like a serious conversation.
“How are you doing? Really, sis. Don’t give me any of the bullshit ‘fine.’”
Her brother, his voice deep. He wasn’t aware she had a sibling. Did she have more?
“I’m handling it, Jason. That’s all I can say.” Her voice was low and soft, with a cadence that was tense. His shoulders tightened.
“That’s good. It has to be enough for now.”
When she spoke again, her voice was a bit deeper, perhaps a bit tighter. With what emotion—anger, regret, or grief? Hemingway couldn’t be sure without seeing her expression.
“I know you worry, but I’ve explained my reasons the best I can. Things won’t change.”
“I still hope they do.” His voice gentled. “I really do, but I still support you, Shea.”
“How are things there?”
His words were hushed and sad. “Terrible, so many dead. We’re still going through all the rubble.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s not an easy deployment.”
Military brother.
“They never are,” he murmured with both a sense of duty and sorrow. He liked her brother right away. He heard another man in the background, and Jason said, “I’ve got to go, Shea. Please be careful.”
“I always am.”
Careful? What did she have to be careful about? He heard her shut the laptop, and he peeked around the corner.
She had her elbows on the kitchen table, staring out at the ocean. But where the ocean brought him peace, there was none in her eyes. She looked drawn, an exhausted look around her eyes, deep tension and sorrow around her mouth. Had she slept at all?
He cleared his throat and entered the kitchen. “Everything okay?”
Her face cleared and she nodded. “Sure. You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“The fridge is over there,” she said with a smile.
He grinned. “You hungry?”
“Yes,” she said, “but you don’t want me to cook.”
“What makes you think I’m any better with a pan?”
“I have a feeling you’re