Page 23 of The Forgotten SEAL (The Real SEAL #1)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Carina

When the mess you get yourself into is no fault but your own, you can’t complain about it.

You roll with it with as much dignity and tact as you can.

Growing up with my stepfather, I learned that lesson quickly.

I made a mistake, I was punished for it.

Now that I’m out of his rule and living my own life, the concept is still similar, albeit a little less painful.

I fell for a taken man. The problem was he was only taken in a one-sided fashion.

I can’t stop putting myself in Megan’s shoes.

If I were the one to lose Smith, how awful the feeling must be.

I shake the bad feelings away and try to concentrate.

My Bose headphones cancel out all noise. I don’t have the music on, just complete silence. I’m at my small glass desk in my bedroom with the door closed. I’m pounding the keys, desperately trying to make headway on my manuscript.

As soon as we returned from his parents’ house, Smith got a call and had to head in to work.

He was not pleased. I’ve never heard him curse so much and so strongly as he did after he hung up the call.

Part of me is happy to have a little space from him and what he makes me feel.

Never in all of my years have I been so attracted to a person.

His looks aside, the personality that shines through in every single moment of his life is enough to knock me flat on the floor, delirious with lust and… love.

Currently, I’m deleting more than I’m writing.

It’s a fight to get words on screen tonight—so distracted by his kiss and then by his ex.

The thought gives me an idea. I pull up the chapter in which my characters have their first kiss, and I revise it.

I close my eyes and remember his lips against mine.

I write every detail, every feeling, every touch.

Our first kiss becomes theirs, and even on paper the moment jumps off the pages as truth.

“This is how it needs to happen,” I whisper to myself.

Reading over the scene makes my heart pound.

It’s so real. I need an outside perspective to know if it’s as strong as I feel it is.

Dialing Jasmine is easy. She’s speed dial number one on my cell phone.

Like any best friend, she picks up right before it goes to voicemail in no-man’s-land.

No one listens to voicemails these days.

“I have to read you something, and I need an honest opinion,” I say. I forgo a hello in favor of getting down to business.

I hear talking and laughing and then complete silence.

“I’m ready,” Jasmine says simply. There are no questions, no shit, because it’s the weekend and I’m working.

I remember she’s out with our friends. An invitation I didn’t accept because I thought Smith and I would be preoccupied with each other for at least twenty-four hours.

“I rewrote part of chapter ten,” I say.

“The kiss,” she replies automatically. Her agent hat has replaced her best friend cap.

I nod, glazing over the words in front of me with wide eyes. “Yes. I changed it…fixed it. I think. Here, listen,” I order.

With a quick click I make my font larger and begin reading.

I made the scene resemble our first kiss so fully that I moved it outdoors by a tree and changed the dialogue to gel with the moment that is seared into my mind.

Reading it back to Jasmine, I can look at it as a fly on the wall instead of breathing and loving in the moment, and it impacts me the same way: a sledgehammer cracking my ribs apart.

“A flower stands at its most beautiful just before it wilts away and dies. A black-and-white photo is timeless—it lingers in shoe boxes for generations. Words in black and white are eternal. This kiss, the one I feel in my soul, transcends any visual dimension the eye can see. It’s more than forever,” I read aloud the last part.

My breathing is more jagged, and my throat is clogged.

Tears sneak out of the corner of my eyes.

“Fuck, Carina,” Jasmine says. Her voice is raspy with emotion. “That is beautiful. You’ve never written anything more…real. You know I’m going to ask, th ough.”

“He kissed me, Jaz,” I say, grabbing my throat with one hand.

“And the world stopped cold. I fell so hard, and it only took seconds. It sounds real because it is real, and my life is strangely more appealing than fiction. How did this happen?” I’m doing this.

It’s down. My feelings and words are strewn about my laptop screen.

My truths. Our secrets. There’s no hiding them.

Jasmine swallows loudly. “This is unbelievable. If you can insert, no pun intended, more of your real life with Smith into this novel, the sky is the limit. I’m crying, and I don’t cry, Carina.

As far as first kisses go in books, you just devoured first through third place,” she says.

I can tell she’s breathing heavily, just as affected by my words as I am.

“Like maybe took over Jaime and Claire’s spot, for Christ’s sake. ”

I hit the save button and lay my forehead down on my desk. “This is what it feels like,” I whisper.

“Yes. You lucky bitch. I can’t even pretend to know what you feel, but your words? Those I can take and run with. Give it to us, honey. Give it all to us,” Jasmine breathes. She laughs. “The first time you fuck him? Give me a few hours’ heads-up. I want to grab a glass of wine and my vibe.”

“You’re atrocious. You think I’d give gory details about that?”

“Yes,” she replies. “As your agent, I expect them actually. ”

I grunt. “I thought we’d be making details right now, but he’s working tonight.”

“Working?” Jasmine asks. “At night? Sounds suspicious.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s working. I’m worried, though. Did you see the news? The attack at the shopping mall in NorCal?” A conversation switch is mandatory now that we’ve delved into my sex life.

“Sick fuckers. Don’t let fear run your life. Especially now that you have the hottest bodyguard on the planet.”

“He deploys soon, remember? I’ll be all by myself. Not that I’m worried about solitary confinement. Well, maybe a little bit.” I don’t even have to say his name.

“You haven’t heard from him or seen him since the day you left. What makes you think anything will change?”

Leaning back in my chair, I tilt my chin up to stare at the ceiling. It’s illuminated by the glow of my computer. “I have a feeling something bad will happen. I can’t explain it.”

Jasmine groans. “Then don’t explain. Don’t think about it. Just read me that scene again. I’m going to grab my glass of wine.”

I laugh. “Shut up. I’ll talk to you later. I’ll send over the finished chapters in the morning.”

“Good luck,” Jasmine rasps.

“With what?” I ask.

“Smith. When he gets home from work.” With a laugh, she says goodbye and ends the call.

Checking messages again without anything new, I toss my cell on the desk next to my notebook and headphones. I may need to move my desk into the empty bedroom. I’ve been working too late, and I think it’s because my workstation is located a few feet from my bed.

I read my new words a few more times and stand from my chair to stretch my tired hands over my head.

I throw on a nightshirt that hits high on my thigh, wash my face, and brush my teeth.

All through the mundane tasks, I revel in the knowledge that I’ve written our first kiss.

A kiss that will live forever in the pages of a book.

It’s freeing and terrifying at the same time.

I’ve gotten used to my friends reading my work and assuming I write nonfiction.

How will this be any different? Other than the fact that I’m dating the person who I’m writing about?

Early on, Smith and I decided that he wouldn’t read anything until I was finished—until it returned from the editor and the draft was final, final.

He’s got more willpower than me, that’s for sure.

If someone were writing a story about me, I’d have to know everything as it was written.

Especially if it were sitting right under my nose.

Smith doesn’t even glance at my marker boards. He says his momma raised a gentleman.

Our wooden floors creak underneath my steps as I head for the kitchen.

The old bungalow style of our house is brand-new to me.

It’s different than the house I grew up in and is much different than the house Roarke built for us.

Surrounded by these walls gives me a new lease on life in more ways than the obvious.

The water goes down easily as I stare out into the dark purple night, trying to quench a nagging thirst. A coyote calls out from the ravine several houses down, and lightning bugs dot across the window, flying so slow even I could catch them.

My eyes are heavy when I slide into bed and pull the cool sheet over my bare legs.

I click on the small side lamp on the opposite end table so it’s not dark when Smith comes home, and I close my eyes.

My mind still whirs with the thrill of his lips against my own and the way he looked at me when he gently pulled away.

Smith was starry-eyed. My stomach flips with excitement at the thought.

Once his face enters my mind, I can’t shake it.

It’s half tan and smooth and half red and scarred.

Even his body is a representation of before and after.

Pre-mortar and post-mortar. Or, in easier terms, Megan and Carina.

With no family of my own and the evil ghosts from my past plaguing me, this afternoon was a reminder of what will never truly be mine.

Smith lost a lot, but he still has so much.

My hope is that I can be a part of it for as long as he’ll let me.

I open my eyes once more, and the blue digital clock reads 12:07 a.m. I close my eyes for the final time, turn off my brain, and finally fall asleep.