Page 9 of Single Mom's Navy Seals
He yawns widely, stretching his small arms above his head. “Can I stay here?”
“Not this time.” My voice is gentle but firm, fighting the urge to give in. I won’t risk losing sight of him, not even for a second. “Come on, we can get snacks inside, too.”
His eyes light up at the mention of snacks, chasing away some of the lingering shadows from his face. “Okay.”
I hold his hand as we cross the cracked asphalt, the fluorescent lights humming loudly above us. The small convenience store attached to the station is nearly deserted, shelves stocked haphazardly, candy and chips scattered among automotive supplies and cheap souvenirs.
I slip my debit card into the ATM, heart sinking as the balance flashes on screen. Five hundred dollars. Barely enough to get us far, let alone start over. Swallowing my disappointment, I shove the cash into my wallet, aware that Eli’s curious gaze follows my every move.
“Mommy, can I get candy?” he asks hesitantly, eyes flicking toward the brightly colored display at the end of the aisle. Usually, sugar is a treat reserved for birthdays or special occasions, but tonight feels painfully different.
“Sure,” I say, forcing a smile. “Pick whatever you want.”
His eyes widen in disbelief, but he doesn’t question it, scampering toward the candy display with quiet excitement. I watch him for a moment, guilt tightening my chest again. It feels wrong to reward him with sweets when I’m the reason we’re here, running from shadows I can’t escape.
Eli selects a candy bar and a small bag of gummy bears, holding them out proudly. “These okay?”
“Perfect,” I tell him, taking his hand again. “We’ll need some water, too.”
We gather a few bottles, and I grab a handful of granola bars, my mind already calculating how far we can stretch the money. As we head to the counter, Eli peers up at me, voice small but curious.
“How long will our adventure be?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit honestly, placing our items in front of the tired-looking cashier. “Adventures can be unpredictable. But that’s part of the fun, right?”
He considers my answer for a moment, nodding thoughtfully. “Will we meet new people?”
My stomach twists at the innocence of the question. He deserves friends, stability, and a home that doesn’t change overnight. But I can’t promise him any of those things, not right now.
“Maybe,” I say, trying to keep my voice hopeful. Meeting new people honestly sounds great. “It’s always possible.”
He smiles faintly, satisfied for now, and I hand over a portion of our dwindling cash. The cashier bags our items wordlessly, barely sparing us a glance.
Moments later, the tank is filled and we’re back on the road. The GPS illuminating once more, casting eerie blue shadows across the dashboard. My gaze flicks to the mirror again, the gas station already fading behind us. Eli unwraps his candy bar, careful not to drop any crumbs.
“You okay?” I ask, meeting his eyes briefly in the mirror.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, offering a tiny smile. “Adventures are fun.”
“They sure can be,” I whisper, tightening my grip on the wheel. My eyes stay locked forward, fixed on the endless road ahead, darkness closing in around us.
This isn’t the adventure I promised him. It’s not the life he deserves. But for now, it’s all I can offer—uncertainty, fear, and a desperate hope that this time we might find the safety I failed to give him before.
4
LIAM
My office is silent except for the low hum of computers lining the far wall, screens filled with encrypted files and surveillance feeds blinking in muted colors. Each one represents a mission, a client, a life either preserved or ended. I lean back in my chair, my fingers steepled under my chin, eyes tracing the routes mapped out across the screens. Precision matters. Control matters more. Every detail accounted for, every scenario planned. That’s how we survive. That’s how we thrive.
And thrive we have.
It wasn’t always like this. When Cole, Jax, and I first left the SEALs, we had nothing but our skills and the unspoken trust that bonded us through blood and fire. The government trained us to be lethal, but it never trained us to survive after they discarded us. So, we built this life ourselves.
When we first started, it was about taking any job we could find to pay the bills. But that was over ten years ago. What we have now is nothing short of a multi-billion-dollar business. These days, we have the privilege of choosing our missions. We nolonger have to chase paychecks. We can chase purpose. The kind of purpose the military hinted at but never delivered.
We still haven’t quite found it, but each job gives us a taste, if only for a while.
My gaze drifts to the window, reinforced glass tinted dark enough to keep prying eyes out and secrets in. Our warehouse sits in a nondescript corner of New York, converted into an impenetrable fortress beneath the veneer of industrial normalcy. The upper floors are our condo, a secure and unassuming space designed for discretion as much as comfort. It’s our base of operations, our safe house, and the closest thing to a home any of us has ever had.
