Page 10 of A Very Grumpy Navy SEAL (Wolf Valley: Grumps #10)

TEN

Koa

Lula tenses at my words. I don’t blame her. I’m not thrilled about having to ruin our time together by talking about my departure. I wish I didn’t have to, but I can’t ignore the pit in my stomach. Not when every moment we spend together is a countdown ticking louder in my head.

“My room or yours?” she asks.

“Mine.”

She nods, waiting as I unlock the door. I follow her into the room, and the door clicks shut behind me.

I only have two more days in Wolf Valley, and then I’m gone. Back to base. Back to the structure, the orders, and the predictability of Navy life.

I clear my throat, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

Lula sits on the bed and tucks her legs beneath her. “Mess what up?”

“You. Me. Us.”

“Koa—”

“I just… I want to know what you want. Out of this. With us.”

Her eyes search mine, and I can see the gears turning in her mind.

“I want… this. You,” she says after a moment. “But I also want to stay here. I like it in Wolf Valley. I like the quiet, the space, the way people smile at you in the grocery store like they mean it. It feels like home.”

I nod slowly, trying not to flinch. “I figured.”

“What about you?” she asks. “How much time do you have left in the military?”

I let out a breath. “Two more years on my current contract. After that, I can re-up or let it run out.”

“And you’d be stationed where?”

“Still at the same base, most likely. Virginia Beach. Unless they transfer me.”

She nods. Her fingers fidget on her lap.

“It’s not just that,” I say. “I’ve been planning to make a career out of the SEALs. I always thought I’d do twenty years. Retire with a pension. Maybe move into private security or train recruits. It’s all mapped out.”

“Sounds smart,” she says quietly.

“It is. It was,” I admit. “Before I met you.”

She looks down, a crease forming on her brow. I reach across the space between us and touch her hand. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t squeeze back.

“I want you, Lula. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. But I’ve made commitments. To my team, to the job. I can’t just walk away.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she says, pulling her hand back gently.

“But you also told me you don’t want to live on a base,” I say. “You don’t want that life.”

“I don’t.” Her voice breaks slightly. “I can’t. I’ve lived it through Ledger. The deployments, the distance, the constant anxiety. I want roots. I want to build something that doesn’t disappear every six months.”

“If you stay here, we’ll be on opposite sides of the country. We won’t be in the same time zone. We’ll never see each other.”

Her head snaps up, and she glares at me. “And if I go with you, I’ll be in Virginia, all alone for half of the time. We still wouldn’t see each other!”

I curse, starting to pace. I try to keep my breathing steady. The silence between us stretches, heavier than anything I’ve ever carried in my rucksack.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?” I mutter, mostly to myself.

Lula doesn’t answer. She stands and grabs her laptop. “I need to fill out some more paperwork for the job,” she says softly. “They want it all back today so I can start on Monday.”

I nod, stepping back to give her space.

“I should…” She glances toward the door, hesitating. “The hotel fixed the lock. I think I’m gonna work over in my room for a bit. I just…need some space to think.”

The words hit harder than a sniper round, but I nod again because what else can I do? “Yeah. Okay. I get it.”

Lula hesitates in the doorway, her hand on the knob, and when she looks back at me, her eyes are glassy. She opens her mouth to say something, then snaps it closed.

And then she’s gone.

I stand in the middle of the room for a full minute, staring at the door like it’s going to swing open again.

It doesn’t.

I sit on the edge of the bed and press the heels of my hands to my eyes. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’ve never not had a plan. Even in the middle of a firefight, I know the protocol, the fallback options, the rules of engagement.

But this? This isn’t combat. This is my heart. And I’m flailing.

Who would I call for advice in any other situation?

Without letting myself overthink it, I grab my phone and scroll until I hit Ledger’s name.

He answers on the third ring. “Hey, man. Everything okay?”

“No,” I admit. “Not really.”

“What happened?”

I exhale hard. “I think I screwed everything up.”

“With Lula?”

“Yeah. And no. I don’t know.”

There’s a pause. Then Ledger says, “Start from the beginning.”

So, I do.

I tell him about the conversation. About what she wants. About what I want. About how those things don’t seem to match up. I tell him about the way she looked when she walked out. Like she was trying not to cry. Like she was trying not to hope too hard.

“She says she doesn’t want to live on base. And I get it. I do. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. The military has been everything for me. It’s the first place I ever belonged.”

“Is it still?” he asks.

“What?”

“Is it still everything to you? Or was it, until now?”

I fall silent, staring at the carpet beneath my feet.

“Look,” Ledger continues, “I know what the military has given you. Hell, I’ve been right there with you through most of it. But you’re allowed to change your mind, Koa. You’re allowed to grow.”

“I made commitments,” I say, jaw tight.

“Yeah, and you’ve honored them every step of the way. But you’re also allowed to want something more. Or something different. That doesn’t make you weak. That makes you human.”

I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “I’ve spent years building this career. Planning every step. I thought I’d be a SEAL until they forced me to hang it up.”

“And maybe you still will,” Ledger says. “But if that life doesn’t work for the one person who makes you feel more at peace than anything else ever has, maybe it’s time to re-evaluate the map.”

The silence stretches again.

“I still have two years. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to leave right now,” I point out.

“I know, but you could use the next two years to figure out a new plan.”

I blow out a big breath.

“Let me ask you something,” he says. “What do you want more? The military? Or to be with Lula?”

I don’t hesitate. “Lula.”

“Then figure it out.”

“Thanks for the help,” I grumble.

He huffs a laugh. “I’m not the person you need to be talking to about all this. Open up to Lula. Figure out a game plan that works for both of you.”

“Fine.”

“See ya.”

I end the call and stare at the wall.

Lula.

I’ve only known her for a few days, yet it feels like my soul has been orbiting hers for years, waiting for the right moment to collide.

I think about the future I had mapped out: another sixteen years with the SEALs at least, maybe a few more after that. Buying a place near the base. A quiet life of service.

Then I picture something else entirely: A house in Wolf Valley with laughter echoing down the hallway. Lula in the kitchen with flour on her nose. A yard full of forts and toy trucks and sticky little hands that tug at my shirt when I walk through the door.

I close my eyes as that vision hits so hard it nearly knocks the breath out of me.

I don’t have to figure it all out right now, but I know one thing for certain. I’m not walking away from her. Not now. Not ever. Even if I have to rearrange everything I thought I knew about my life, she’s worth it.

She’s my home.