Page 6 of Issued

Bear curses under his breath when the tires squeal as we round another turn. “Marge’s gonna kill you if you flip us. And God help the new Mrs. Stephens. Hope he created her with enough tolerance to deal with your level of OCD.”

Easing onto the brake, I inhale and count to ten, hoping to banish the tension from my body. Maybe focusing on something other than my current situation will work. “How are things with Hayden?”

Bear groans at the mention of his oldest daughter’s name. “She’s still a stubborn pain in the ass.”

“So, basically, a chip off the old block?”

His nostrils flare as he draws in a deep breath. “Shut the hell up.”

I fight back a grin. “Don’t snap at me. I’m not the one you’re mad at.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Cut the kid some slack. She’s just trying to find herself.” Hayden’s the only one, besides Marge, who can rattle the big guy.

Bear’s knuckles pound against the center console. “That ‘kid’ is almost twenty years old. How much is there to find?”

“So, you’re saying you had it together at that age?”

Bear snorts. “I’d been deployed by her age and had been in my first gunfight in a country whose people were looking to kill me. Wasn’t much room after that for weird hair and dumb facial piercings.”

Hayden is like a niece to me, and this whole situation between her and her father over her appearance doesn’t sit well. My own father would’ve used his fists, his belt, and even his words to remedy the situation—definitely not the controlled patience Bear exhibits. My best friend should be happy. His daughter is on the dean’s list. Who cares if she has gauges?

But she’s not my kid. I doubt I would be a good father. Bile claws its way up my throat. Kids won’t ever be a part of my future.

My fingers run along my jawline. I should shave tonight; my stubble is getting long, and I don’t need my commanding officer riding my ass about breaking regulations. Not after he appears to havesavedmy career. According to my C.O., being the first and only SEAL to participate—hell, pioneer—the military-wide Issued Partner Program is the only way to stay in the Navy. Taya’s the only way. The five-foot-seven firecracker who made my dick jump for joy the moment she pulled up on the Kawasaki green Ninja.

I suck in a sharp breath at the memory of how she’d looked climbing off that bike and pulling the helmet off of her head, sweeping back her hair like the star of some teenage wet dream. I’m not supposed to be attracted to her, but the glimmer of compassion I witnessed in the way she tried to protect my feelings about the god-awful room decor only stoked the already burning embers of interest.

“So, is the fact that you’re attracted to your temporary wife going to be a problem?” Bear waggles his brows, which remind me of flaming caterpillars. My best friend never holds back. Not during BUD/S. Not when he thought I was making the wrong decision marrying Raychel or when I fucked up in the Sandbox that one time, which ended with him taking a bullet in the ass.

“I can keep my dick in my pants.” After six months overseas, in the middle of the desert, I’m accustomed to jerking off. Would it have been nice to get one last no-strings-attached, sinful night with a random woman before officially signing documents to be matched with Taya? Of course. Not that I’m a man-whore. But it’d be a mistake to have sex with my new wife since she’s only temporary. Sex would only complicate our time together, and complications are the last thing I need.

My job depends on making this sham work for the next year. The job I’ve dedicated the last eighteen years of my life to. The one I’ve taken bullets for and buried friends because of. Which means, for the next 365 days—the time I promised my boss I would give toward this ridiculous program—my dick will have to continue being satisfied with the calloused skin of my left hand. Because cheating’s not an option. Never was and never will be. And having sex with Taya might cause her to have feelings, and as much as I don’t want to be married, I won’t intentionally play with someone’s emotions.

I press on the brakes and stop at a red light just as another unwelcome image assails me. Raychel, dark eyes narrowed, as she packs her bags to leave me forever.What did you expect? You’re never home. You have no aspirations to move up in rank. And with the injuries, Christ, you’ll never make admiral. Did you think I planned on being just some SEAL’s wife forever?

A brick sits in my stomach. The truck lurches forward and my hands clench the steering wheel. I’m barely a shattered version of my former self, plagued by headaches, dizziness, and a damn injured body.

We pull up to the light blue Colonial, and Bear unbuckles his seat belt. “Taya’s not Raychel. Give her a chance.”

“I don’t have to listen to your relationship advice. Contrary to what you believe, women see you as just an overgrown teddy bear. Your wife is the one we’re all afraid of.” I wave at Marge, who’s standing at the door.

Bear’s caterpillar brows pinch together as he exits the truck, then swings the door shut. I drive off, smiling for the first time after spending almost twenty hours yelling at a bunch of turd nuggets in the NUG program, and goddamn, more than half of them are nowhere near ready to apply for BUD/S. And, of course, the other trainers had to ask me questions about my issued spouse or give me shit for my participation in the program. I might as well have been one of thenew guys.

Pulling into my driveway, I take a couple of minutes for myself and attempt to fend off the incoming headache, even though I know it’s no use. They’re a part of my current medical condition, and since I refuse to take medication, I’ll just have to deal with the pain-in-the-ass cranial throbbing.

After rubbing my temples for a minute, I grab the manila envelope off the dash, flip open the tab, and pull out the larger of the two gold bands. Lead by example. I kick my fluttering heart into place as I roll the ring between my fingers. Slipping it on, I exit the car and head toward the house. A small rumble forms in my throat midway up the gravel walk path. Damn gardeners. Using the toe of my boot, I adjust one of the rocks back to where it belongs.

The fresh air does little to chase away the dull throb intensifying in my skull. Maybe I’ll take Taya to the store to return that admittedly god-awful blanket for a distraction, and she can pick out something she likes. I shake my head and close my eyes. Christ on a cracker, I should’ve opened the encasing before buying it.

I walk into the house and head into the kitchen. The windows are open and a thin haze of smoke lingers. Taya stands in front of the microwave, hair in a frazzled ponytail. The curve of her ass peeks out from beneath the edge of powder-blue shorts, and I clear my throat, focusing instead on the steady rise of smoke pluming around her and the acrid bite of charred bread. “What happened?”

Taya spins around and stumbles, almost dropping the plate of pancakes in her hand. Her eyes are wide, like a doe’s. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Again, what happened?” My fingers tap the tabletop as I await her answer.

Her lean frame shrinks. Placing her breakfast on the island next to a glass of milk, she pulls out a chair. “I forgot about the first batch of pancakes in the microwave. And had set it too high.”

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