Page 4 of Issued

Bear steps forward and my gaze bounces back to the center of the room to the huge island where Jim is standing next to a man, who must be the officiant, while he glares at me as if I just ran my key across his pristine truck. Why the hell did he volunteer to have a wife assigned to him since he seems pissed as hell I’m here? Or maybe it’s just me that rubs him the wrong way.

I focus my attention to my feet when my heart begins to bang against its boney prison. During the final interview, the member of the committee assigned to me explained how the military hopes the program will reduce the divorce rates among special ops personnel by pairing them with compatible spouses. I’m starting to think they have a few kinks to work out of their system, though. How else could they thinkI’ma good fit for him?

When I look up, everyone is staring at me. Guess this is it. Time to get married. I force a smile onto my face and walk over to stand next to Jim, placing my helmet on the countertop once I’m beside him. Bear stands across from us, arms folded, and the corners of his lips twitch as if he’s fighting a smile. Glad someone finds this amusing.

The man looks up from the paperwork splayed out in front of him. “Now that everyone is here, I just need both of you to look over the marriage license. Make sure your information is accurate. Once that is complete, I’ll have your witness sign it.”

“Witness? I didn’t bring one.” My voice cracks at the end.

“Senior Chief Stephens requested Lieutenant Commander Donaghue be present. But there’s no statutory requirement that witnesses be present at the marriage ceremony in Virginia,” the officiant says as he hands me the license.

I take it and glance over my information. Everything is perfect. Well, except for the fact that my former street address is now a vacant lot since the fire. My throat tightens and my palms start to sweat. Fire? That was far too kind. Arson. A monster, formerly one of my best friends, had burned my house to the ground, and that knowledge has haunted me every day since.

I can’t think about this now. I swallow past the lump in my throat and hand the license over to Jim to peruse. When he is done, he hands it back to the officiant.

Once he completes his section of the license and everyone signs off, Jim walks the men out. I follow behind but stop in the foyer as the rest of the group heads outside. My shoulders sag as I sigh, not sure if I am relieved or sad. This is my new life, complete with a new home and a new husband. If only it were under different circumstances. At least for me.

The Eldorado stone fireplace in the living room to my right captures my attention. Since I was a young girl, I’ve dreamed of a home where I could cozy up in a room warmed and illuminated by the flickering light of a fire, breathing in the scent of pine as it burns. I walk over, running my fingers along the richly carved mantel lined with various pictures of Jim, the largest frame showing him in uniform.

Navy.

My hand involuntarily lifts and I’m tempted to touch the thin gold line that trails down the cobalt-black picture frame. I hold back. Jim might not appreciate me touching his things.

Instead, I examine his face.

His expression is neutral, but his eyes are intense. I take a step back and his gaze burrows straight through me. I squint and lean in to examine the picture. Rows of service ribbons and medals adorn his uniform. The purple service ribbon and navy-blue service ribbon with a white center stripe grab my attention.

Purple Heart and Navy Cross.

Not every person shows extraordinary acts of heroism when the shit hits the fan.

“You can sleep in the guest room. I’ve moved most of my stuff out of there.” Jim’s baritone voice vibrates through the room.

I spin around and find him standing in the foyer, his gaze bouncing between the picture and me. Without saying another word, he pivots and begins to head up the stairs, pausing after a few steps to crane his neck over his shoulder, his large hand wrapping around the wooden banister. “You coming?”

My cheeks heat as I nod and make my way over to the staircase then climb up behind him. My gaze roams over Jim’s jeans, boot-cut and frayed at the seams. They’re worked in and worn, sitting on narrow hips. I swallow hard when my eyes travel lower. But then his smooth gait from moments ago falters and his cadence worsens with every step.

We’re halfway up when he pauses. His shoulders slump and he drops his head. His stance is achingly familiar. How often had I struggled to take one more step forward only for life to suck the energy out of me?

My gut twists and I remove my hands from my pockets in case I need to catch Jim should he falter. Who am I kidding? He’s such a goliath. Both of us would go crashing down to the first-floor landing. When Jim continues up the stairs, I follow without hesitation.

He leads me down the hall. His steps are smoother now, though he’s noticeably slower than he had been downstairs. I’m so intent on studying his gait to make sure he’s alright that the rooms we pass do so in a blur.

“This is it.” He opens the door midway down the hall and steps aside so I can walk in.

The curtains are white lace and look more like the doilies myemeeused to knit than actual window coverings. I chuckle. Maybe Jim’s own grandmother helped him decorate. A giant stuffed bear is stationed in the corner to my right and a garish pink lamp, glass crystals dripping from the lightshade, adorns the bedside table. I’ve never been much for interior design, but the inside of my bedroom looks like the crew of HGTV uses the space for ritual sacrifices once a month.

I blink rapidly, trying to take in the sight before me. “Dear God.” Millions of flowers and decorative designs compete for dominance on the quilted blanket covering the bed, but nothing can distract from that bold neon pink.

“I have the receipt. If you want to exchange it for something else, you can.” He’s still standing by the door, but he slouches and runs his thumbs across his fingertips, dipping his chin.

I want to laugh at the absurdity of the room but the vulnerability in his stance stops me mid-smile. Crap. This is unfair.

He crosses his arms again and tilts his head to the side, and I can’t help the small smile that spreads across my lips. God, my father used to cock his head like that whenever I took too long to answer.

Pain stabs at my heart at the memory. To hide my reaction, I step farther into the room and make a big production of placing my helmet on the desk over by the window. The quilt and all of its flowery glory is certainly an eyesore, but in the scheme of things, what difference does it make? I’d wear nothing but pink and flowers for the rest of my days if it meant bringing my dad back. Besides, I don’t want to hurt his feelings. The guy did make an effort to set up my room even if he was way off the mark. “No. I love it. Thank you.”

He nods and shifts from one foot to the other. He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Gotta get to work. My number is on the island in the kitchen if you need anything.”

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