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My teeth sink into the skin of my cheek. Jim’s knees have buckled several times now, and though I don’t know what is going on, the signs of something bad—something he is too stubborn to admit to—are present. God, the man deserves a good spanking. Before I can stop it, the corners of my mouth curl up into a smile at the thought. I shake my head, chasing the thought away, and refocus on the seriousness of the situation. “My mother died when I was a child. Car accident. My father didn’t handle it well. There were signs he was suffering from depression, but I was too young to know what they were. Otherwise, I would’ve stepped in when he was too stubborn to get help.”

Jim’s lips press into a thin line. “I’m not depressed.”

“I know. But I’m not blind, either. I know something is going on. And when you’re ready to tell me, I’m here.” I rest my hand on his forearm and offer a weak smile. Do I feel a little bit like a hypocrite, asking him to open up to me while I keep my past hidden from him? Maybe. But my problems aren’t physical. And I can’t help but think we’re both safer with him not knowing. At least for now.

“I’ll be fine. No need to worry.”

I nod, not wanting to push the situation further. “By the way, just wanted to let you know I found a job. I’m the new waitress at Shaken & Stirred.”

“Taya.” He lowers his voice and reaches for my wrist. “You don’t have to take the job. Not when you have a degree. I can help you find something better.”

I pull my hand back and narrow my eyes as I glare at him. “There’s nothing wrong with being a waitress.”

He crosses his thick arms and puffs out his chest, one eyebrow raising.

“Fine, it’s not ideal.”

Jim snorts.

“You have no idea what it’s like looking for a job in the real world,” I say, kicking myself at those last two words. “I mean, in the world outside of the military. It’s hard. And everything here is new. Being married to you is new. I’m just trying to pull my own weight financially.”

Ineedto pull my own weight financially. Unless he’s reconsidered making an honest attempt at this marriage. That would be my first choice, but unfortunately, that’s not a solo decision. Without Jim onboard, I’ll be completely on my own a year from now. Everything happened so fast with Dad, that up until this point, I’d only been able to react as my life imploded. I’d have to take advantage of the relative security of the next three hundred-plus days here in Virginia Beach with Jim to form a backup game plan for my life.

Jim’s posture relaxes and his shoulders slump down a bit, his gaze falling to the sand. “The SEALs are my life. Don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t be one anymore.” He takes a step closer, his finger lifting my chin so my gaze meets his. “And I mean it. If you want to find something else, something you might enjoy more, I’ll help.”

Truth is, there is something I would enjoy doing more. I’d already reached out to the team leader of one of the Virginia Search and Rescue groups I know. It’s something I miss, and I’m ecstatic about the opportunity. The teams down here are the gold standard.

But most SAR personnel are volunteers so I need a paying job, one that has some flexibility so I can train. But I’m not exactly ready to share this with Jim, not after spending years being ridiculed by my stepmother for being involved. And not when I’ve witnessed other SAR team members dealing with resistance from their families.

His eyes roam over my face as he awaits my answer, our lips mere inches from each other. His breath kisses my skin as my own becomes shallow and my eyes begin to close. But he clears his throat, pulls his hand away, and steps back.

I reach down and pick up his surfboard, running my fingers over the waxed surface before handing it over to him. “I appreciate your offer. But I do need to get going. My first shift starts in two hours.”

“Have to run to base myself.” Jim’s brows furrow as his fingers scratch at his scalp and his gaze bounces all over the place. “One of my teammates is having a birthday party tomorrow. We need to go... together. Especially since we are part of the program. Not sure who will be there, but my commanding officer wants us to show we are putting one hundred-and-ten percent into the program. Will that interfere with your schedule?”

Shit.

I force a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He nods and tucks his board under his arm. “Have a good first day.”

I head toward home, my heart galloping in my chest. Forget first-day-of-work jitters. Tomorrow will be our first outing as a couple. Why didn’t I think that we’d be under scrutiny? This is a new program and of course everyone will be watching us, especially as one of the first matches.

A wave of anxiety washes over my body.

What if participation in this program doesn’t just shove us under the microscope but also thrusts us into the limelight? What if this program puts me on display? Even tagging me in an online photo for promotion purposes would be enough for Marco to easily find me, if he was looking. Or worse, Santoro.

I pick up my speed, allowing the steady pumping of my legs and the breeze in my face to soothe away my fears. Marco and Santoro haven’t come looking for me yet. What reason would they have to track me down now?

Chapter Nine

Jim

Some days Ikick myself for the choices I make. Like today. Not only did I almost kiss her, breaking my own damn rule about no sexual contact, but I faltered in front of her again. The sympathy in her eyes was just like that of the medical staff at base. And I don’t need sympathy. I need to be cleared for duty. I need to get back out into the field. Why can’t the damn doctors understand it’s just a minor TBI? And what the hell are all the over-reactive claims that a little rattling affected my judgement? Unless my superiors are just using the whole traumatic brain injury excuse to keep me here longer while they figure out how to make our Afghani counterparts happy.

But Taya also opened up to me, and in a way I didn’t expect. My own childhood was fucked up. Not that I lost a parent the way she did. In some way, I wish I had, since it might have been better than what I actually went through.

I lay my things, one by one, along the length of the workbench in my garage, careful to set them each so they line up. Keys, phone, wallet. The walls are lined with shelves filled with labeled bins, and the epoxy floor is sparkling clean. Everything neatly arranged, so that I can relax when I come in here to work.

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