Page 11 of Ex-SEAL Bad Boy

That’s more than I hoped for, but sure, why not? I make feeble protests, but eventually give in and agree to let her drive me. I’ll come by for my car tomorrow.

As we drive the short distance to my family compound, I try to engage her in small talk but receive mostly polite but noncommittal responses.

When she pulls into my driveway, she sighs and puts her head down on the steering wheel of her sporty Audi coupe.

“What?” I ask, feeling at least a little concerned.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I respond, unsure of what’s coming.

“Can we, uh, go for a walk?” she asks.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” I reply, stepping out of the car.

We’re only about 50 yards from the beach, and so she takes off her flat sandals and heads in the direction of the water.

“Do you ever feel like you’re lost?” she asks, looking out over the ocean rather than at me.

“What do you mean?” I’m not catching on.

She stops and turns to me. She is a vision of loveliness, her form silhouetted against the ocean in the descending darkness, the stiff ocean breeze playing with her hair.

She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drag you out here, especially after you’ve had a few.” She turns and begins to slowly walk back to her car.

I break into a soft laugh. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really drunk. I just wanted to see if I could get you to open up.”

She’s close enough now that I can make out her features in the full moonlight. The scowl on her face collapsed into a thin smile. “You tricked me?”

“Well, sort of. I didn’t anticipate you driving me home. That was all Liam.”

I take her hand, almost without thinking about it, to guide her back down to the beach. To my surprise, she doesn’t resist.

“This may come as a surprise to you,” I tell her, “but I’m not as confident as I try to pass myself off as being.”

“You might think, being a SEAL, I’d have it all figured out. That’s what they taught us, you know, never let the people you command know that you don’t know what to do. Always project confidence, otherwise, you’ll kill morale. So, I fake it ‘til I make it.”

She studies my face, and I regret being so honest. That’s not like me at all. Maybe I am feeling the effects of the booze after all.

“I’m scared,” she admits. “Scared that I don’t have what it takes to make it ... or even fake it.”

“Everybody is scared of something,” I assure her.

She shoots me a skeptical look.

“I’m afraid of my parents, scared of what they might ask me to do. I mean, you’re aware of their reputation, and while I might sometimes color outside of the lines, there are places I won’t go.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure,” I explain. “I overheard my father on the phone with his lawyer. He mentioned my name, but I couldn’t make out what they were talking about.”

“So, you really aren’t like your parents?”

“Depends on who you ask, I guess,” I tell her, pausing briefly. “I guess my point is you’re still figuring life out. Don’t stress about it.”

She has an odd expression on her face.

“You know, I never did thank you for saving my life.”

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