Page 20 of Luck Be Mine
“Job. All of it.” Not pleased the man had read his file, Hunt toyed with how to answer. If he did get Scott’s position, this was one piece of information he did not want to have.
“It’s how you choose to lead missions and your people – that’s what shapes your team.”
Not a choice. It was a standard: precision in tactics, excellence in performance, and the trust that bound men together. All hard-earned.
Stemmons wanted to trade up and not have to take all the steps by learning how to do the work to a higher standard. None of this was the way his SEAL Team worked. “I repeat. It’s not my decision.” He shifted his go bag to the other hand. It was going home to be unpacked and repacked.
Stemmons gave him a smile and slapped his shoulder. “It would be if you’re in Scott’s position.”
Hunt shook his head. “I’d have input, not the final decision. Frankly, like I said, I’m still not sold on any one direction.”
Captain Morrison’s leadership style was another problem. The man had a reputation for control using tight reins and top-down decisions. Worse, Morrison had been SEAL Team Seven’s commander during the whole mess in Iraq. Two full squads lost their command structure to court-martials for everything from drug use to assault. Hunt still didn’t understand how Morrison walked away without a mark. That type of command? He wanted no part of.
Stemmons smirked. “Lieutenant Commander rank, coming at you like a freight train. Better figure it out.” The man walked past him to the end of the lot and got in a tricked-out truck. Those flashy additions cost more than the truck and caused Hunt to ask questions he had no business addressing.
The man pulled to a stop next to him. “Good talk, Hunter. Think about it.” He drove out at an easy pace.
“Not if I can help it.” He clenched his fist around the handle of his bag and got in his normal silver truck. Hunt had never wanted to upgrade. He wanted a normal life, too, and Cait coming into his had made him assess how far off the mark he was.
He started the vehicle and sat with his hands on the steering wheel. “What did you learn, Hunter?” He joined traffic getting off base.
“Stemmons’s team has problems I want no part of.” He changed lanes and entered the freeway.
“Scott’s job has headache waiting to happen stamped all over it.”
He stayed silent until he took the exit home. “I’m in the crosshairs and don’t want to be.” He was already struggling with how to be the husband he wanted, and he kept compromising when he chose Cait over duty. A job like Scott’s would give him no time with her.
He snorted. “My job gives me no time with her.”
Nothing in him was ready to get out, not yet. But would staying keep him from building the close relationship he wanted with his wife?
He didn’t know. Maybe Cait did.
Everybody knew SEALs were the toughest out there. But normal worries of everyday life remained. Managing the demands with a risky profession required careful steps with focus on it about five percent of the time. Those steps would be trial and error. He hated trial and error.
§§§§§§§§§§
Eleven Weeks Since Injury
◊ Physical Therapy Isn’t for Sissies ◊
Three more therapy sessions checked off.
Cait paused half-way up the fifteen steps to the apartment and counted how many left. Admittedly, this trek was easier when Hunt carried her. Set aside the fact she hated the necessity, she was okay with sitting and waiting for him. Hanging out on the stairs didn’t sound like such a bad thing.
The beautiful day had been made ruin by physical therapy. The exercises accentuated how far she had to go to recover. She might be walking, slowly, but she wasn’t even at turtle speed. Honestly, after two weeks of therapy, she wanted to be better than this. It was a stupid expectation and disheartening.
Rest all morning had anchored her descent of the stairs. Adele had driven her to her appointment and helped her inside the rehabilitation hospital.
She’d suffered through a torturous routine of therapy. Even though the therapist said it was a light workout today, it felt like an elephant was sitting on her pelvis, and her shoulder was wrecked from doing nothing.
She hobbled up a few more stairs with Adele at her elbow, and it occurred to her. She blurted the thought without censure.
“We should move. Get on a ground floor. This is ridiculous.”
“I was going to suggest a move, but I didn’t want to butt in. Now would be a good time when you have little furniture.” Adele swung an arm around her waist and lifted her to the next step. Cait had gone past tired an hour ago.
“The boys just carried the sofa upstairs. They’ll kill me for suggesting it.”
