Page 11 of Captivating Nash

Her capability and confidence in herself had only served to remind him of the men he had lost. Of how capable they had been too—until they weren’t.

A flash of memory had hit him hard, unbidden: his SEAL team moving through the dense jungle on that final mission. His heart pounding in sync with the steady rhythm of their boots on the wet ground. The explosion. The screams. The smoke. It all flooded back in an instant, nearly overwhelming him. Nash had clenched his jaw, shoving the memory away with a force that had left him almost breathless.

That had been in the past. He wasn’t that man anymore.

But no matter how hard he tried to keep the memories buried, they crept back up at moments like this, where every decision felt like life or death. The storm around him wasn’t the only one he was fighting.

“I think I’ve got it under control,” Deanna’s voice had cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. There was a note of defiance in her tone, and it snapped him back to reality.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he’d muttered, his eyes locked on the horizon.

But he couldn’t deny it—she was handling herself. Deanna wasn’t some helpless passenger; she was holding her own in a situation that would have had most people cowering below decks, panicking. And, in some twisted way, that had annoyed him more than if she had been falling apart. He was used to being the one in control, the one people relied on in a crisis. And here she was, reminding him that he wasn’t the only one capable of making quick decisions under pressure.

Another sharp wave had crashed overThe Reverie, and Nash had felt the boat lurch beneath him. He’d adjusted again, riding out the swell, his hands steady on the wheel. The island they had seen earlier loomed in the distance, its rocky cliffs barely visible through the thick sheets of rain. If they could just make it back there, he could anchor them safely until the worst of the storm passed.

She’d turned back to him, her eyes blazing with annoyance. “You don’t have to do this all by yourself, you know.”

The words had hit him harder than they should have. There’d been something in the way she’d said it—not just the words, but the way she’d looked at him, like she saw more than just the storm and the boat. Like she saw him, the man beneath the armor he wore so tightly.

Nash’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He didn’t have the words for it. Not now. Not with the ghosts of his past clawing at the edges of his mind.

He’d turned back to the wheel, guidingThe Reveriethrough another violent wave. But Deanna’s presence was there beside him now, steady and unwavering. And for the first time in a long time, he felt something he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel—the weight of not being alone.

“Fine,” he’d finally said, his voice gruff. “Just stay sharp.”

She shot him a look, one that was equal parts exasperation and something else—something softer. “I always do.”

As the boat plowed through the angry waters, Nash hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that this had been more than just a storm. It had been a reckoning. A reminder that the past wasn’t as far behind him as he’d wanted it to be. And now, Deanna was here, reminding him that he had no choice but to confront not just the dangers around them, but the ones within him.

He just wasn’t sure which one scared him more.

They’d managed to sail into the cove with relative ease. The way the cliffs wrapped around the cove acted as a buffer and the cove was deceptively calm asThe Reveriehad glided into the shelter of the island, the waves smoothing out as the boat left the open, tumultuous sea behind. Nash slowed the engine, eyes scanning the rocky shoreline, where jagged cliffs loomed high above the narrow stretch of beach. The island, small and seemingly isolated, was quiet. Too quiet. Unnaturally quiet.

“You all right?” he’d asked, his voice quieter now.

Deanna had nodded, her breath still coming in quick bursts as the adrenaline slowly ebbed from her body. “Yeah… just wasn’t expecting that.”

Nash had given a slight nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment. “Storms can come out of nowhere in these waters. We’ll wait it out here until it passes.”

Deanna’s shoulders relaxed and she’d sunk into the seat behind her. The island loomed around them, rugged and wild, its rocky shore offering shelter but also a sense of isolation. There was a sliver of beach, framed by jagged cliffs and lush greenery.

“Where are we?” she’d asked, her voice sounding small in the sudden stillness.

“One of the smaller islands off the main route. Mostly uninhabited,” Nash had replied, his eyes scanning the cliffs. “It’s remote. Quiet. We should be safe here.”

But Nash had learned long ago that stillness didn’t always mean safety. He glanced down at the Doppler radar and could easily see that the open sea was no place to be, especially as night closed in. He checked his satellite phone and the ship’s emergency radio—he couldn’t get a signal on either. Of course, he could activate the EPIRB beacon, but that was for emergencies only and this wasn’t an emergency… yet.

As he cut the engine and dropped the anchor, the boat swayed gently with the lingering current. Deanna stood next to him, catching her breath from the storm, her hair still damp, her expression a mixture of relief and exhaustion. They had made it through the worst of the weather, but something about the island set his instincts on edge.

Nash swept his gaze over the beach and the dense foliage beyond, his eyes narrowing. There was something wrong. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but he felt it deep in his gut—the same gnawing feeling that had saved his life more times than he could count during his SEAL days.

"Something’s off," Nash muttered, mostly to himself.

He felt Deanna’s questioning eyes on him, but she didn’t say anything. He didn’t like that. If she had a question or concern, she needed to verbalize it.

“Question? Concern?” he asked.

She shook her head.

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