Page 27 of The Forgotten SEAL (The Real SEAL #1)

I follow her in, closing the door behind us.

It smells musty and unused. Not that it bothers me.

The places I’ve slept and lived in overseas are more disturbing than an empty house in America will ever be.

I once slept on sand, without a pillow, for two weeks straight.

I used leaves to wipe my ass and ate meals out of pouches for more days than I can count.

Sighing out a deep breath, I take in my surroundings. “I don’t know. I bet if you had someone come in more frequently, you could sit on it for as long as you wanted.” Anything to stave off her having to deal with more hassle and pain. “I can handle the sale if you want.”

She turns around, both hands on the kitchen counter behind her.

“You don’t have to do that. I can handle this, Smith.

You don’t have to worry about me, okay?” Walking toward her, I realize she’s right.

There are no tears or any sign of an internal struggle.

“I mean it,” Carina says. “Having you has changed everything for me.”

I shake my head and take her face in my hands. Her skin feels like velvet against the palm of my hand. “I can’t fix you, Care. I can’t. I’m flattered you think I can, but I know for a fact that only you can fix you.” I sound like I’m quoting the text written by my own psychologist.

She leans up and kisses me and wraps her hands around my neck. “Maybe I fixed me. Because of you,” she says.

My heart pounds against my chest, and Moose’s words come to mind. What is important?

I take another small step to press her back into the counter. Mounting her in this kitchen won’t solve anything. “I want you. You’re so important to me,” I growl, taking her bottom lip in between my teeth. “Just you. ”

I can taste her lip gloss and smell her skin—that scent that no one else has.

It’s like makeup and her natural scent combined into one intoxicating flavor made just for me.

I inhale greedily as she tilts her head and leans into the kiss.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” she says on a breath.

“Erase the memories that inhabit this place.”

It takes a great deal of willpower, but I push away from the kiss, keeping her in my arms. “That’s what this is then?” I ask.

She lets me keep her at a distance and then leads me out of the back sliding glass door into the yard. “No. It’s not, but if I can kill two birds with one stone, I can’t see how that’s a problem. You’re a practical man. What do you think?”

After she asks the question, the shed in the far corner comes into view.

Bile rises up my stomach, and my feet are leaden as she guides me to it.

There’s no pause as she walks, but I do feel her tighten her grip on my arm as we near it.

The padlock dangles to the side, unfastened.

“I think that this is a horrible idea,” I say, honestly.

I feel my pulse in my neck as the stories she told me about what took place in this shed surface.

What must she feel like in this moment? “I’m here for you.

I’m here,” I say. Support. That’s what she needs. Not my opinion on the matter.

Carina lets go of me to toss off the lock and throw the door open. A shiver, completely visible, rolls up her entire body. She throws a hand over her mouth, the first sign of distress she’s shown since we arrived. “My god,” she says.

Dust wafts as the empty shed sees light for the first time in who knows how long. It smells like old, mildewed wood and the earthy scent of dirt. Somewhere behind us a bird chirps out a melodic song, and a car horn honks. I hold her upright. Even if she doesn’t want my support, I need to give it.

“It’s so much smaller than I remember it,” Carina whispers, leaning her head back into my chest. “It doesn’t smell the same either, but it kind of does.”

I nod, knowing she can feel my response.

My arms drop by my sides as she takes a step toward the small, painted-over window and stoops down to jiggle one of the floorboards.

Carina is actively crying now, and it takes all my power not to pull her out of this shack and torch the motherfucker to the ground.

Hell, maybe I’ll set the whole house ablaze while I’m at it.

I know what she’s looking for, so when she stands with an almost black children’s book clutched to her chest, it takes a second for me to catch my breath.

“Got what you came for then?” I ask. My tone is low and gruff.

It’s angry. I exit because I can’t take one more second of the putrid air.

The air that stole her oxygen. The air that stole her life.

The air she breathed for days on end when Greg was abusing her in every single way.

Somehow it feels like breathing this air makes me closer to him.

Closer to the devil incarnate. Farther away from Carina. I don’t like it .

She nods, walks backward, and jumps when her shoes hit the step outside of the door.

I steady her with one hand and close the creaky door with the other.

“Let’s get the hell out of here. Or did you want to see my childhood room?

” she asks. Her face is tear-streaked, but there is a sense of relief washing over her features. “I did it.”

“You did,” I reply. “I wanted to see it, Carina. I did. But now that I know, now that it’s real, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get over this.

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” There’s nothing else to say to her.

She looks like a ten-year-old girl clutching her favorite book, broken.

Her skirt floats in the slight breeze as we make our way across the lawn, back into the house, and to my truck.

Once we’re seated, she tells me another story.

A happy one about her grandma visiting and teaching her how to crochet.

I tell her I want her to crochet me something.

She laughs, a painful sound through her sobs, but I see her face contemplating the request. Finally, she agrees and leans her head onto my shoulder as I make our way back home.

“Thank you for showing me,” I say. “I feel selfish now.”

“No. No. I needed that, Smith. It’s different now with you. You didn’t change me, but I think you’ve fixed me. The awful memories are still there, lurking in every corner, but loving you and having you with me dulled the pain,” she says.

I turn quickly to look her in the eyes. I force my lips into a smile .

“Sometimes, regardless of what you think, knowing someone gives a new clarity—a true sense of what matters.”

“And what matters?” I ask. Gripping the steering wheel, my heart lodges in my throat.

“Letting go of the past completely and admitting that I’m worthy of a future.

Our future. I’m worthy of you and your love.

Despite what I’ve been through, I know I can be good for you.

What matters is that I can trust myself and my love for you.

I love you.” I can’t take my gaze from the road, but from my peripheral, I see her clutching that weather-torn copy of the book she loves and hates in equal measure.

I resolve to trust my gut. Carina is what’s most important to me. “I love you, Care,” I say, squeezing her leg. “You’re all that matters to me.”

She sniffles. “Doesn’t seem very honorable and moral to say that,” she says. Her tone is light and joking.

But her words hit me directly in the chest.