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“Sorry, sir.”

I swipe a hand across my damp forehead. Is it hot in here? Because I’m suddenly sweating. A spouse-matching program? Seriously? When the hell did the military get involved in our domestic lives? Motherfucking grunts. This has to be related to all the stupid shit that’s been in the media lately, about soldiers entering into fake marriages to help nab better insurance and housing.

“Look, I realize this all comes as a surprise, but frankly, it’s a great opportunity for you. You’re lucky that the committee liked what they saw, and I know you’re the right man for the job. And according to this,” Redding taps the file with one tanned finger, “they’ve already found the ideal candidate to be your wife. A civilian.”

My mouth opens and closes a couple of times, but no words come out. I run my hand through my hair and stand up because there’s so much nervous energy pulsing through my muscles, I can’t possibly sit still. While I pace back and forth, my head spins, not just from the headaches, but the implications. The one rule I had for myself was to never get married again.

No wife. No children. No family.

Not after everything I went through with Raychel.

The reminder of that rule makes everything clear. I stop pacing and face my commanding officer. “Sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

I’m not even sure how they can ask this of me. Marry a complete stranger? Come on. Why don’t we jump back in time a century or two while we’re at it? Churn some butter by cranking a handle, use a chamber pot whenever we need to piss?

Redding cracks his pinky knuckle, which is a sure sign that he’s displeased with my response. “If you want to stay in the military, there is no other choice.” Redding pulls a new folder from his desk, opens it, and taps on a page. “This woman that they’re assigning you is the only option you have.”

Shit. I swallow hard but hold my ground. “No.”

Redding’s frosty eyes narrow to slits, making ice trail along the back of my neck. “I suggest you think hard before giving me your final answer. Lux filed a report about your behavior, you know. Along with the most recent medical reports, you’d be smart to reconsider.” He sighs and rubs his jaw. “Jim, you’re a great SEAL, and you know the last thing I ever want to do is see a good man like you sidelined. But there is only so much I can control.”

He slides the folder across the desk toward me and I thumb through the contents. At first, I’m so wound up that the words don’t penetrate, but after a few seconds, I settle in to skim. According to the description, the military is testing out a program to lower the divorce rate and cut back on the dumb shit some assholes are doing to play the system. Just like I fucking thought.

“Second page lays out the details of the program,” Redding says.

I grunt and flip to the second page. Blah, blah, just a bunch of garbage about how military personnel can be matched with other active-duty personnel or civilians, and how the committee screens us all for behavioral, mental, and personality traits. How all civilians in the program are thoroughly background checked. Like no shit. Nothing earth-shattering about that.

I flip to the third page and my heel starts bouncing against the floor. Fuck, agreeing to this program means an honest-to-God marriage contract. My eyes land on the middle paragraph and for the first time since I started reading, something like hope kindles in my chest. Interesting. So after a year, either party can ask for an annulment and, once filed, both parties will go their separate ways. No alimony, no court battles, no lawyer fees. Just a nice and simple split.

Must be the proverbial silver lining in what’s otherwise a complete shit storm.

Still. Even with the one-year expiration date, every cell in my body is screaming,hell no! Run away! Especially when I spot the every-other-month, couples-counseling requirement. I’m trapped, though. I’ve reached that point in a mission where there’s only one play. Only one way out that won’t result in complete failure.

Redding knows it too. I can tell by the way he’s watching me with that expectant lift of his bushy eyebrows. My gaze drops to the empty line at the bottom of the contract and my gut gives a sick little twist.

“Remember what we say, Jim—the only easy day was yesterday.”

The SEAL saying registers, giving me that last push I need. My fingers tighten around the pen and my hand shakes as the tip touches the paper. I scribble my signature in a swirl of blue ink, drop the Bic as if it were a heated branding iron, and step away from the desk. Hardly the first time I’ve put my name on an important piece of paper and yet, somehow, I feel like I’ve signed away my entire life.

That’s it, then. Guess I’ll be shacking up with a new Mrs. Stephens any day now.

That thought only turns my stomach even more.

Air. I need fresh air and the roar of the ocean to soothe the chaos churning away inside me. I turn and head toward the door, my head spinning.

A wife.

I’m being assigned a wife. Playing guinea pig for some shitty new government matchmaking program and being strong-armed into marrying a woman I’ve never met. By the military.

Redding calls out from behind me, interrupting my retreat. “Jim, remember, you need to make this work. For my sake, and for yours.”

I glance over my shoulder and nod at my C.O. before hurrying toward the door, eager to escape Redding and his cell-like office and the shaky blue signature I’d left on the paper on his desk, like I’d sold my soul to the devil. As I open the door and burst outside into a sun-drenched day, one question continues to cycle through my head. Over and over again.

What the fuck did I just agree to?

Chapter Two

Taya

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