Page 35 of The Forgotten SEAL

It brings him up short. He passes me several zip ties. When I take them, he says, “I hope you know what you’re doing, man.”

So do I.

It took a lot of convincing to get her to visit. My own internal struggle was pretty rough, too. It could change her mood and turn her off so completely that we may never have sex. I need to have sex with her, and a lot of it. It’s important to be here, though. To both of us.

Carina’s hand shakes as we turn the corner onto a dead-end street lined with trees and shady sidewalks. Shestares out of the passenger window in a trance.

“It’s right there. On the right. The white one,” Carina whispers.

It’s a plain, nondescript house. The grass is longer than the neighbors’, and the shutters look like they could use a coat of fresh paint. If I didn’t have firsthand knowledge of the atrocities that occurred here, I would think it a fine middle-class home in a nice neighborhood. Carina is shockingly silent when I pull into the driveway.

“It’s been so long. It doesn’t look the way I remember it,” she says. One hand on the door handle, she pauses, looks over at me, and blinks once slowly. A tear trickles down her face. “I need to close this chapter once and for all. Thank you for understanding.”

Scooting over, I drape my arm around her shoulders. “Hey, I wanted to come here with you. You’re brave, Carina. It shows your strength,” I say.

Turning her head to the side, she seeks out my lips. I kiss her because it’s the least I can do. I kiss her because I can taste the salt from her tears, and I kiss her because I love her, and you embrace the good and the bad.

This structure standing tall in front of us is her bad. All of it. It’s what set the course for her life and the string of abusive relationships. You see, it wasn’t just Roarke. First, it was Jake, a boy in high school who thought it was fun to fight and fuck, and then it was Eddie, who liked drugs and alcohol. By the time Roarke came along, he appeared as Prince fucking Charming. Sure, he wasnice when he wasn’t drinking, and for all outward intents and purposes, he was the perfect fiancé, but beneath the surface, he was the worst of all of Carina’s past relationships. He was responsible for verbal abuse so strong that his words set fire to the core of her personality. A beating was something she was familiar with—could withstand within reason. His words, that fucker’s words, tore her to shreds. Her confidence slowly returning, I see what she used to be—what he stole—and it’s infuriating.

Carina exits the car slowly, her gaze turned to the front door and her hands fisting the sides of her skirt. It has bold colors weaved into the pattern, and she told me it’s her favorite because it has flounce. Bunching in her hands, it looks like an overused dishrag. She removes the key from the lockbox, inserts it into the bolt lock, jiggles the handle a few times, and pushes the heavy door open. It creaks. Her heels echo as she takes the first step inside. I give her space. I let her walk in without disturbing her thoughts.

“I need to sell it. Before it rots from the inside out,” she says. Carina doesn’t turn around. Instead, she heads to the kitchen, her head held high.

I follow her in, closing the door behind us. It smells musty and unused. Not that it bothers me. The places I’ve slept and lived in overseas are more disturbing than an empty house in America will ever be. I once slept on sand, without a pillow, for two weeks straight. I used leaves to wipe my ass and atemeals out of pouches for more days than I can count.

Sighing out a deep breath, I take in my surroundings. “I don’t know. I bet if you had someone come in more frequently, you could sit on it for as long as you wanted.” Anything to stave off her having to deal with more hassle and pain. “I can handle the sale if you want.”

She turns around, both hands on the kitchen counter behind her. “You don’t have to do that. I can handle this, Smith. You don’t have to worry about me, okay?” Walking toward her, I realize she’s right. There are no tears or any sign of an internal struggle. “I mean it,” Carina says. “Having you has changed everything for me.”

I shake my head and take her face in my hands. Her skin feels like velvet against the palm of my hand. “I can’t fix you, Care. I can’t. I’m flattered you think I can, but I know for a fact that only you can fix you.” I sound like I’m quoting the text written by my own psychologist.

She leans up and kisses me and wraps her hands around my neck. “Maybe I fixed me. Because of you,” she says.

My heart pounds against my chest, and Moose’s words come to mind.What is important?

I take another small step to press her back into the counter. Mounting her in this kitchen won’t solve anything. “I want you. You’re so important to me,” I growl, taking her bottom lip in between my teeth. “Just you.”

I can taste her lip gloss and smell her skin—that scent that no one else has. It’s like makeup and her natural scent combined into one intoxicating flavor made just for me. I inhale greedily as she tilts her head and leans into the kiss. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” she says on a breath. “Erase the memories that inhabit this place.”

It takes a great deal of willpower, but I push away from the kiss, keeping her in my arms. “That’s what this is then?” I ask.

She lets me keep her at a distance and then leads me out of the back sliding glass door into the yard. “No. It’s not, but if I can kill two birds with one stone, I can’t see how that’s a problem. You’re a practical man. What do you think?”

After she asks the question, the shed in the far corner comes into view.

Bile rises up my stomach, and my feet are leaden as she guides me to it. There’s no pause as she walks, but I do feel her tighten her grip on my arm as we near it. The padlock dangles to the side, unfastened. “I think that this is a horrible idea,” I say, honestly. I feel my pulse in my neck as the stories she told me about what took place in this shed surface. What must she feel like in this moment? “I’m here for you. I’m here,” I say. Support. That’s what she needs. Not my opinion on the matter.

Carina lets go of me to toss off the lock and throw the door open. A shiver, completely visible, rolls up her entire body. She throws a hand over her mouth, the first sign of distress she’s shown since we arrived. “My god,”she says.

Dust wafts as the empty shed sees light for the first time in who knows how long. It smells like old, mildewed wood and the earthy scent of dirt. Somewhere behind us a bird chirps out a melodic song, and a car horn honks. I hold her upright. Even if she doesn’t want my support, I need to give it.

“It’s so much smaller than I remember it,” Carina whispers, leaning her head back into my chest. “It doesn’t smell the same either, but it kind of does.”

I nod, knowing she can feel my response. My arms drop by my sides as she takes a step toward the small, painted-over window and stoops down to jiggle one of the floorboards. Carina is actively crying now, and it takes all my power not to pull her out of this shack and torch the motherfucker to the ground. Hell, maybe I’ll set the whole house ablaze while I’m at it. I know what she’s looking for, so when she stands with an almost black children’s book clutched to her chest, it takes a second for me to catch my breath.

“Got what you came for then?” I ask. My tone is low and gruff. It’s angry. I exit because I can’t take one more second of the putrid air. The air that stole her oxygen. The air that stole her life. The air she breathed for days on end when Greg was abusing her in every single way. Somehow it feels like breathing this air makes me closer to him. Closer to the devil incarnate. Farther away from Carina. I don’t like it.

She nods, walks backward, and jumps when her shoes hit the step outside of the door. I steady her with one hand and close the creaky door with the other. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Or did you want to see my childhood room?” she asks. Her face is tear-streaked, but there is a sense of relief washing over her features. “I did it.”

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