The SEAL's Best Man (Special Ops: Homefront Book 2) (11 page)

Bess stood, tugging firmly on Maeve’s arm
till she rose from the sofa.

“What?” Maeve whined.

“Come here,” Bess said, pushing Maeve in
front of the mirror in the entryway. “Look at yourself. How the hell would
anyone have to compromise on anything to be with you?”

Maeve’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know
what to do, Bess.”

“You have to at least tell him. Stop
trying to protect all of us all the time.”

“But I don’t want his pity.”

“You have a choice. Take the chance on
his pity, or let him feel rejected and hurt. Because I guarantee that’s what
he’s feeling right now.”

“This sucks, Bess.”

“I know, hon. I know.” She put her arm
around Maeve. Then she let out a snort.

“What?”

“Bet your boobs weren’t the only thing
hard when you kissed him.”

The laugh that escaped Maeve was like a
pressure valve. She laughed, until she cried.

“…with complete disregard to his own
safety…”

Standing amid the crowd that crushed into
O’Toole’s that evening as Jack led them in a toast to missing Shipmates, the
Admiral’s words haunted her.

“…conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity…”

She had stood among the group of
civilians in Bancroft Hall at the Academy, beneath the iconic “Don’t give up
the ship” flag, and watched the brief but awe-inspiring ceremony as they pinned
a Silver Star on Jack.

Sandwiched between Bess and Maeve, only a
few feet from the swarm of family that Jack had in attendance, she had watched
Jack stand at attention, salute, and shake the Admiral’s hand as he accepted
his award. To their right, Midshipmen stood in formation.

The words of the Admiral were cryptic,
barely revealing what Jack had done that day. But Maeve could feel the weight
of it bearing down on her heart.

Jack could have died that day—God
knows where, doing God knows what to protect our country—and rather than
saving himself, he went into the line of fire to save two other men and the
mission.

It didn’t surprise her. But it troubled
her, with words from the Admiral’s speech still stirring her mind. She had felt
stunningly inadequate standing there in Bancroft Hall, a coward among the
brave. A sense of shame had crept into her heart and stayed there even now, as
she lifted her glass of Pinot at O’Toole’s at the end of the toast.

Missing shipmates, she pondered as she
took a long sip, hoping the alcohol might numb the fear that gripped her.

Please God let it not be Jack next.

Jack had done a thorough job of ignoring
Maeve the past two days, not that she’d made it difficult. Every waking minute,
her finger itched to call him, text him, email him—some form of
communication to bridge the icy silence between them. But she had resisted. What
was there to say?

Just everything, she answered herself,
frowning into her drink.

“You look a million miles away.”

Joe’s voice startled her, but she was
grateful to have been freed from the gloom that seemed to be burying her alive.
He was dressed in his choker whites, each medal on his chest shimmering in the
low light of the bar. God, he was delectable. But he wasn’t Jack.

She shook her head as he extended a stick
of fried cheese her way. “Just feeling… I don’t know.”

Joe nodded. “I’ve seen that look before. I
was married twice, remember? You’re in love with him.”

Maeve didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She
couldn’t admit the truth to someone she didn’t know that well, but there was
something about Joe Shey that made it impossible to lie to him.

“You’re scared for him,” Joe continued. “I
saw the expression on your face when they pinned that Silver Star on him. I used
to get the same look from my exes at these ceremonies, and every damn day I was
stateside for that matter. That look that says, ‘Don’t come home to me in a
body bag.’ But you have to remember, Jack’s well trained. He’s damn good at
what he does.”

“Whatever the hell that is—” Maeve
interjected.

“And he’s got a good team surrounding
him. The best at what they do.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Does he know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re in love with him.”

The need to flee was overwhelming. That
single question was suffocating. So easy to answer, but impossible to act upon.
“No.”

“Maeve, I’m not one to be romantic. Standing
in front of a judge twice and getting handed two divorce decrees will do that
to a man.” He rested his arm on her shoulder briefly as he turned Maeve to face
Jack who was standing across the room. “But that guy over there who just got
awarded the Silver Star looks like he just watched his dog get run over by a
car. I’m betting you have something to do with that.”

Maeve looked at Jack, his eyes empty as
he talked to the family and friends around him. The smile on his face was fake;
Maeve knew him long enough to know that for a fact.

She had to tell him. She had no right to
let him think she was rejecting him. She’d have to take his pity. Stand up to
him and make sure he knew he deserved something better. Fight to resume the
friendship they had spent the last two years building. And one day, she’d tell
him how happy she was to see him settle down and start the family he longed for
with someone else.

If she loved him, she had to do that.

Courage. The room, filled with uniforms,
was filled with courage.
Let me steal some of that tonight
.

But right now, the crowd and the noise were
swallowing her whole. Darting Joe a look just this side of sheer panic, she said,
“I have to get out of here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. But Lacey drove me.”

“Need me to drive you home?”

“Please.” She glanced over at Lacey across
the bar, and made a gesture to the exit, then pointed to Joe. Lacey’s eyes
widened, and she mouthed, “Don’t go.”

Maeve shook her head in response, and mouthed
back, “I’m okay,” as she followed Joe out the door.

***

The stars twinkled above her, somehow
offering her courage. Maeve swayed back and forth in Jack’s hammock in his
backyard. She had been there for at least an hour, waiting. Long enough that she
should feel anxious for him to pull up in the driveway.

Truth was, she was dreading it.

Joe had been blessedly silent when he
drove her home from O’Toole’s that evening. When he pulled into the driveway,
he had only said in a tone she imagined he used with the men he commanded, “Whatever
you’re planning on doing tonight, don’t talk yourself out of it. I’ve seen a
few more years of life than you, Maeve. And I’ve seen a whole lot more death. Don’t
let things go unsaid.”

Especially not now, Maeve knew he was
really saying. With Jack headed out with the SEALs, now was not the time to
hold back anything.

So she had grabbed her keys the moment
she stepped in her door and drove to Jack’s. He was still at O’Toole’s, she figured,
and she only hoped he would come home alone, or it would make her loitering on
his hammock even harder to explain.

Deep breaths. In. Out.
She urged herself to be calmed by the peacefulness
of the late night. She could hear the Northern spring peepers singing their
song—such a lovely sound from a frog, Maeve always thought. More melodic
than crickets, the sound lulled her as the hammock rocked in the wind. She
dared to shut her eyes, drifting, dreamless…

…till Jack’s voice awakened her.

 “Maeve? Wake up.”

Confused for only a moment, Maeve
wondered how many minutes or hours had passed. “Jack. You’re home.”

“And you’re sleeping in my hammock. Are
you okay?”

“Yes.” For a brief second, courage left
her and she struggled to come up with an excuse. “I mean, no. I mean—I
really need to talk to you.”

He looked quizzical… and tired. She
imagined he hadn’t planned on having company over at this hour after a long
celebration with friends and family downtown.

“I could come back some other time,” she
offered.

“No. Now’s fine. Come on in.” He led her
inside his apartment and cleared a few things from his couch so she could sit
down. “What’s going on, Maeve?”

“I—I’ve felt really badly about the
other night.”

“Maeve, don’t. I’m over it.”

“No, stop. Don’t give me a way out. I
have to tell you this, and it’s hard enough.”

“What is it?”

“I haven’t been honest about why I didn’t
want a relationship with you, Jack.” She started to stand wanting to put some
distance between them, but felt weakness in her knees and sat back down.

“Do you want something to drink? Some
water?”

“No. What I want is to get through this
speech I’ve got planned, but I can’t seem to even start.” She swallowed hard. “I’m—I’m
not the same person I was eight years ago, Jack.”

“I hope not. Me neither. It’s a lot of
years.”

Maeve didn’t know any way of saying it except
in one breath. “I’m a cancer survivor.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Breast cancer. I was diagnosed with
breast cancer about five years ago. I had a double mastectomy, radiation, three
rounds of chemo, reconstructive surgery.”

“Oh my God, Maeve.”

“Yeah, so I’m—you know—not who
I once was.”

Jack sat in silence a moment, bewildered,
till he finally broke the silence. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I liked—us, you
know? I liked the way things were. I liked having you think that I was still
that 29-year-old. You know. Perfect.”

“Is that really what you think of me? You
think I’d care?” He took her hands in his own. “God, Maeve, do you really think
that I’m attracted to your beauty now? I mean, when I was 22, by God, I’ll
admit that’s all there was for the first night. But even back then, it didn’t
take me long to figure out that the best part of you is in here.” He touched
his hand to her heart.

Her breath caught at his touch. “Yeah,
but look at you, Jack. You got better with age. Geez, you’re twice as wide, but
in a good way. And I don’t even think that qualifies as a six-pack anymore. More
like an eight-pack. And I got—”

“Better,” he finished for her. “Stronger.
More compassionate and sensitive. Smarter. You’re a survivor now. Do you know
how sexy that is?”

Maeve was unconvinced.

“Let me show you something.” He took off
his shirt and her heart rate tripled. He turned to reveal his back, pointing to
a scar she had never noticed before among the ripples of muscle. “From shrapnel
in my side. My first Purple Heart when I went to Afghanistan.”

“I didn’t know you got a Purple Heart.”

“It’s on my uniform. And this one,” he said,
leading Maeve’s hand to his side, “was from that day on the sub. Now I can say
I’ve got a Silver Star to go along with my kick-ass scar.”

Maeve bit her lip, not anxious to lift her
hand from his body.

“This one,” he began, pointing out one on
his lower hip, just low enough along his waistband that Maeve’s eyes couldn’t
help drift a little further downward. “Ordnance accident while I was in
training.” He sat beside her again. “Call me crazy, but I’m pretty damn proud
of my scars. And I’ll tell you, women seem to find them sexy as hell.”

She could imagine. And she preferred not
to.

“So I showed you mine. You show me
yours.” His words were playful, but there was nothing but seriousness in his
eyes.

Pressing her lips together, she fought
the urge to flee. She wanted to do this, wanted to show him what the years had
done to her. She wanted to gain strength from sharing with a man she cared for
so deeply.

Tentatively, she pulled the scoop of her
dress’s neckline down to reveal a small scar just above her breast. “This is my
port scar. It’s how they delivered the chemo.”

Jack touched it reverently, and leaned
forward, pressing his lips to the scar and holding them there a moment. “I’m so
sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Maeve’s heartbeat quickened in her chest.
Show him, a voice inside her urged. Taking a deep breath, she turned, unzipping
the dress halfway, revealing her back. She felt awkward, vulnerable. “Uh, this
is where they took some skin for a graft for the reconstructive surgery.”

“God, Maeve.” He traced a line of kisses
along the long faded line of the scar. “It kills me that you went through
this.” He splayed his hands along her back and stroked her, moving his hands
slowly to her sides, and then to her stomach.

Every muscle in her body seized up at his
tender touch, and her back arched instinctively.

He kissed her back again, letting his
lips linger longer this time, before he lifted his head to speak. “But it only
makes you more beautiful. Don’t you see that?”

His warm breath as he spoke tickled her
back, causing every cell in her body to spark to life. She turned to him now,
and his hands never left her body as she slipped her arms out of her sleeves.

With only her bra as a barrier, scars
peeked out from beneath the lace. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, which were
transfixed on hers waiting for her next words. “The rest are—” She raised
one hand to her chest “—here. It’s um, a warzone under here.” She let out
a feeble laugh, trying desperately to make light of the situation.

He stroked her cheek, and touched her
bottom lip lightly with his thumb. His touch ventured down her neck, down her
chest till he caressed her breasts, fingers tracing the barely visible scars. Lowering
his head, he kissed each tiny pink line of flesh with such gentle pressure. She
had lost most sensation in her breasts because of the nerve damage from her
surgeries, yet somehow, the warmth of his lips aroused her in a way unlike she
had ever felt, sending shivers down her spine.