Page 6 of What I Should Have Done

SCOTTIE

Typical blond-haired, blue-eyed surfer type of guy , I thought, watching his broad back vanish under the tent flap. He was full of himself, and when things didn’t go his way, he jetted out of the situation as fast as lightning. Of course, it was just my luck this type of guy had to be a part of the SEAL team that the brass assigned me to.

“The fuck is his problem?” I seethed, staring at the tent flaps.

The eyes on the redheaded operator widened, and he took a physical step back, bumping into a man the size of a grown bear.

“Don’t mind him. He’s got trust issues when it comes to women. He’ll come around,” one of the four remaining men said, responding with a slight hesitancy in his voice. Dark skin surrounded narrow eyes as it hit me that his gaze had yet to leave my face.

“Brash reaction for simple trust issues,” I grumbled, my stomach churning with annoyance as they all seemed to finally find their feet.

“Well, none of us were expecting…you,” he continued and grabbed the rucksack that blondie had dropped.

“Why? The colonel said he would be introducing my file to you guys before we met.” I tracked each and every one of them, studying as they all snatched up the bedrolls shoved against the walls of the tent and unraveled them in groupings of two as far as they could get away from me. Once again, I was a pariah, and they’d met me less than three minutes ago.

Typical. Why I’d ever thought things would be different outside of sniper school was immediately lost in the blind rage rolling through my veins.

“He did,” the redhead answered. His beady green eyes shot up to mine, a flash of shame coursing through them.

Frustration filtered through my body, and I turned away, feeling their stares like a thousand tiny mice crawling across my skin. Inhaling deeply, I crouched down beside my bed roll and dusted sand off the desert camouflage sniper case stuck to the side of the pad.

The silence was heavy, laying upon the entire atmosphere in the tent and with every breath drawn, it became more difficult to bear. They’d been chattering loudly as they approached the tent—I’d been able to hear them. So, the absolute stillness now was encumbering. The teeth of zippers sliced across their packs. The sound of feet shuffling throughout the tent met my ears.

Yet not a word was spoken. Whatever shock forced the blond one out seemed to be weighing on all of them.

A sudden race of shivers snapped up my spine and I spun around. Four sets of eyes darted away, looking at everything but me. Deliberately.

Maybe they already knew.

“Sooooo,” the redheaded one finally spoke, breaking the sludge around us. He knew they’d been caught staring. His green eyes returned to me, and I took the opportunity to quickly study him. Average height, red hair, rough around the edges despite a calm disposition. “I’m Bernie. Explosives officer.”

The rest of the team stopped moving and glanced at Bernie. But no one else said anything.

Inhaling deeply, I simply nodded once, scrunched my forehead, and knew I needed out. “I’m gonna get some fresh air,” I stated bluntly and, without a backward glance, ducked out of the tent. The tension immediately dissipated as I slowly wandered away from what was supposed to be my team—people who would risk their lives for me—over these next several months.

And I knew immediately that the moment they learned my nickname from sniper school, I’d be permanently scarred with it as a call sign. So, one teammate already didn’t trust me, and the rest what? Didn’t like me? Why? What had I done to earn such quick animosity?

Grunting reverberated in the clear sky, growing nearer as I walked around a corner of tents and emerged at the outdoor, makeshift gym and training area. Several men occupied duct-taped punching bags, sweat dripping down their shirts. Rusty barbells and plates probably weighing different amounts than what their labels read, clanged with the movement of other men lying on weight benches or ripping an absurd amount of weight from the ground. Crowded, as it should be, while every soldier—and now this SEAL team—waited for their next set of orders.

However, while my heart wanted to take me over to a barbell and work through the frustration, instead my attention was drawn to a couple men sparring off to the side. To one particular blond-haired man. He stood out as he wrapped an arm around his opponent’s neck and flipped him to the ground like he was nothing more than a paperclip to brush off a cluttered desk. An aura of calm surrounded him despite the violent nature of his training. His every movement seemed deliberate and calculated as the muscles beneath his shirt rippled while the fabric clung to his steel-cut frame.

I’d seen hand-to-hand combat before, but this was something else. It was effortless. He was in control even while fighting three different guys at once.

Inching around the edge of the fitness area, the garbled shouting between them became clearer the closer I got.

“Don’t dive in wild like that,” Blondie calmly said as he wrapped a hand around a fist barreling toward him. Instead of parrying it away, he caught it and pulled it closer to him, jerking the man into his body. “Leaves you open for this,” he growled, his voice low and much less lackadaisical than I’d expected it to be. And within a flurry of limbs and camouflage uniforms, Blondie was straddling the unsuspecting soldier, with the tip of a knife pressed against his throat.

The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed with a distinct swallow, dipping against the blade as he lie on the ground, his eyes widening with the knowledge that he would’ve been dead had this been something more than training. He didn’t say a thing as Blondie slowly slid off the guy and stood up, sheathing the knife back against his belt. My teammate’s chest rose and fell rhythmically, broad shoulders supporting a thick neck. And his blue eyes could be seen a mile away sliding across the compound, stopping as they connected with mine.

Every muscle in his body stiffened. A few casual voices called out to him, and he offered friendly nods without removing his narrowed gaze from me. His brow ridge, more prominent than I’d noticed previously, darkened the intensity around his eyes, and his thin lips pulled tight, proportionate with his wide, square jawline. Deep shadows carved out beneath his ears accentuated how intensely broad his face was. Honestly, it suited him as he rolled his shoulders as if brushing off hot coals from a fire he wasn’t in control of.

I shouldn’t have stared at him like I was, but I couldn’t help it. Everyone around him approached casually, as if he was already friends with them despite just arriving here. They all seemed to know him, and he was open and kind to them. Offering a smile that brought faint dimples to his cheeks.

To hell with trust issues. He’d reacted with such a blunt expression upon seeing me, whatever façade he put on for everyone else wouldn’t fool me. His response to our first encounter was more than likely his true personality. Either way, I would do my job, but opening up to any one of these so-called “team members” would not happen.

Shaking my head, I glanced away and locked eyes with someone who seemed vaguely familiar standing with a couple other soldiers at the edge of the gym. Short, rather skinny, his hard eyes dull and hollow. “Look who it is!” he shouted, his voice similar to a mouse, drawing the attention of the men training around him. “Nice to see you again, Squib!” Eyes all around darted toward me, sending a shiver down my spine that ignited the fuse of anger I’d held at bay for so long.

Squib.

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