Page 18 of Single Mom's Navy Seals
Ava Haynes is trouble—I just haven’t figured out exactly what kind yet.
It’s been twelve hours since we met, and somehow she’s managed to wedge herself under my skin in a way that’s irritatingly unfamiliar. I don’t do complications, and I definitely don’t do attachments. Yet here I am, glancing at her for the fifth time in as many minutes, wondering what the hell is behind those tired, stubborn eyes. Not that it matters. She’s a job—her and the kid. My job is to keep them alive, not dissect why I’m even noticing her in the first place.
Still, my eyes wander her way, even though she’s doing the same thing she’s been doing for the past twelve hours. The curve of her profile, the fierce set of her jaw, the way exhaustion clings to her but doesn’t break her—it's all too damn compelling. I don’t notice women like this. I don’t notice anyone like this. She’s staring straight ahead, eyes stubbornly open despite her obvious exhaustion. She’s blinked out a few times, but she always seems to rouse herself back awake.
I honestly respect it. That kind of watchfulness from a civilian is impressive, despite the fact that it is unnecessary in this situation. I don’t bother telling her that, though. I know she stays awake because she isn’t quite at the place of trusting us long enough to close her eyes.
Eli doesn’t have that problem.
He’s snoring gently in his booster seat, mouth hanging open in the kind of deep sleep only a kid can manage after nine hours of relentless questions. The kid’s a damn trooper. He stayed awake for most of the twelve-hour drive, determined not to miss a moment of his “adventure.”
I glance again at Eli, slumped peacefully against the window, and something tightens in my chest. The kid is sweet, painfully innocent. He laughs easily, trusts even more easily. The kind of pure heart that makes a man feel protective, makes him ready to fight the whole damn world if it means keeping that innocence intact.
But Ava...she’s something else entirely. Strong in ways most men wouldn’t recognize, fragile in ways she tries so damn hard to hide. She would clearly die for her son, no questions asked.
My own mother floats unbidden through my thoughts. She’d never been like Ava. She’d stood by silently as my father molded me, shaped me through bruises and cruel discipline. She bandaged me up afterward, yes, but she never once stepped in front of my father’s blows. My mother was a victim herself, caught between fear and loyalty. It left me with an ache that had never healed, not even when she died of cancer a decade ago.
But Ava is no victim, and she is no bystander either. There’s tension always coiled beneath her deceptively soft exterior. Avamight be running from something, but she’s sure as hell ready to fight it head-on if it catches up. That fierce maternal instinct is fascinating to me, dangerously so.
That’s why I’m interested in her.
At least, that’s the reason I tell myself to justify the fact that I haven’t stopped glancing her way since we got in this car.
The SUV rolls off the highway, tires humming against cracked pavement, before gravel crunches beneath the wheels. We’re pulling into a parking lot that’s seen better days, potholes scattered like landmines, a flickering neon sign glinting in the sunlight. The old motel squats at the edge of the tree line, its weathered siding peeling in places, paint dulled by years of neglect. A single pickup truck sits in the far corner, rust visible on its butt. No signs of trouble yet, but habit keeps me cautious anyway.
My grip tightens on the wheel as I watch the motel’s neon sign flicker weakly in the background. I’ve deliberately mapped this route through back roads, far from anything resembling civilization. Randy has money, power, resources—but so do we. The difference is we know exactly how to stay invisible. Even if he tracks Ava to Indiana, no one comes to this backwater town unless they have to.
I put the SUV into park, the engine idling for a second as I scan the shadows around the perimeter. Ava’s eyes flick toward mine, exhaustion and tension clear in the slight crease between her brows.
“We’re here, finally?” she observes with a stifled yawn.
“God, my legs are killing me,” Jax mutters behind me.
“Stay put,” I instruct them, keeping my voice low as well so we don’t wake Eli. “I’ll handle check-in.”
“You don’t want backup?” Cole from the back seat.
I shoot him a look. “Think I can handle an empty motel lobby, Cole.”
Cole raises an eyebrow, utterly unbothered. “Just offering.”
“I’ll manage,” I mutter, climbing out of the SUV.
The gravel crunches under my boots as the chilly late morning air tightens my muscles. I cross the nearly empty parking lot, and my eyes do another quick sweep out of habit more than suspicion.
I push through the lobby door, the bell above jangling. The familiar scent of black-and-milds, ass-quality coffee, and pine cleaner fills my nostrils. It’s comforting in a strange, fucked-up kinda way. This isn’t my first stay here. Hell, the owner is practically family at this point.
“Liam fucking Williams,” a grizzled voice rasps, and I grin despite myself. Leo Hart stands behind the counter, his scarred face breaking into a rare smile as he reaches out a calloused hand.
“Leo,” I greet, shaking firmly. “Still running this dump, huh?”
“Until it collapses around my ass,” Leo replies with a chuckle. His gaze sharpens, scanning behind me. “Who are you running from this time?”
“Just need a quiet place for the night,” I say evenly, sliding cash across the counter.
Leo waves off half the amount, pushing it back toward me. “Keep it.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re not running a charity, Leo.”
