Safe with Me (With Me in Seattle, #5)(38)

Just the thought of that makes me want to punch him in the throat.

“I didn’t say…”

“You deserve to be happy as much as anyone else, man,” he interrupts, hitting the nail square on the head.

Leave it to Matt to voice what’s going on in my head.

“And if you don’t claim her and those little girls as yours, someone else will be more than happy to.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter without any real feeling behind it. He’s right.

“Nah, you’re not my type,” he responds. “Thanks for the heads up, man. I’m gonna catch a few more hours sleep before I have to get Brynna and the girls.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

I hang up and turn down the windy road that leads to the training compound that I now work out of.

The only good thing about getting out of the Navy is now being self-employed. I choose my hours with Redwire, the independent civilian company that works with the military in war-zones. I’ve been training their newbies in weaponry and marksmanship for a few months. They know that I’m one of the best in the field, which is why I make way more money now than I ever did as a SEAL.

Men and women in the military are pitifully underpaid.

Another bonus of this particular job is working with men who were either on my SEAL team, or were experts in other branches of the military.

Only the best of the best work here.

The training compound is twenty minutes south of Seattle in a remote area, away from businesses and residential homes. I park my car and walk into the main building to check my mail and check in with the owner.

“What’s up, Mongtomery?” Jim Peterson nods from his office. He and I were on SEAL team five together ten years ago. He’s a scary man when he wants to be, and knows his shit.

“Hey, man,” I respond and shake his hand. “Sorry to leave you short handed.”

He shrugs. “It’s fine. Markinson is taking the classes on the days you’re out. He’s not as good as you, but we’re muddling through.”

“Thanks.”

He nods once and points to the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Why do I feel like I’m being called the principal’s office?” I smirk as I sit in the chair and cross one ankle over the opposite knee.

“How are things?” He asks, his face serious.

“Fine.”

“Bullshit,” he counters.

I sigh deeply and scrub my hands over my face. “Do I look that bad?”

“Worse,” he responds with a laugh. “I haven’t seen you look this shitty since Columbia.” His smile fades as we stare at each other, remembering the particularly dangerous mission in Columbia almost a decade ago, when we were supposed to rescue three American women who were being held hostage by the Columbian drug cartel.

The mission was FUBAR before we ever set boots on Columbian soil.

“Nightmares,” I sigh and shrug and Peterson nods in understanding.

“There are people to talk to about that, you know.”

I shrug and exhale. “I’m okay. I’ve been doing better. Last night was just rough.”

He stares at me for along moment. “Okay. Have you talked to Kramer lately?” He asks, mercifully changing the subject. Kramer is another former teammate who also lives in the area and trains military working dogs for SEALs now.

“Not in a while. What’s up?” I ask.

“He has to leave town for about a month for an assignment. He needs to find a place for Bix while he’s gone.”

“How is Bix?” I ask and grin as I think of the dog. Loyal, fearless and one of the best sailors I’ve had the pleasure of working with.

“He’s good. He’s not deployable.” Peterson grimaces and shakes his head. “But he’s good. Do you think you could take him for a few weeks?”

“I’ll see what I can do. I’d better get out to the guys.” I stand and shake his hand. “Thanks, sir.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

***

Brynna



“Show me,” Matt commands from behind the steering wheel as I settle in the passenger seat.

“Show you what?” I ask.

He cocks an eyebrow and watches me with those amazing Montgomery blue eyes, hands laced and resting in his lap.

“I won’t ask again,” he murmurs calmly and never breaks eye contact with me.

It’s unnerving.

I cast my eyes down and pull my red turtle-neck away from my throat, showing him the bruise and then quickly replace it and pull my seatbelt on.

“How did you know?” I ask, not meeting his gaze.

He starts the car, throws it into gear, and zooms out of the parking lot with more force than I expect, given his calm demeanor.

“Caleb called me,” he responds quietly and glances over at me. “Talk to me.”

“I’m fine.”

“Talk to me.”

His voice is firm, not to be reckoned with. I sigh in defeat and sag in the seat, dropping my face in my hands.

“It was horrible,” I whisper. “Scared me.”

He rests his hand on my thigh and squeezes reassuringly. “Has he had nightmares with you before?”