Page 3 of The Forgotten SEAL (The Real SEAL #1)

“I am so sorry, ma’am,” I say, immediately stooping down to help her.

I grab a bright neon pink pen and hand it to her.

The woman mutters under her breath. Her shoulders are shaking, and she seems visibly upset.

She makes a reach to grab the pen from me, but I see the moment she sees my scarred hand.

Even in the dimly lit hallway, it’s obvious I’m not normal.

She pauses, her unpainted nails hovering inches from her writing device, and then flicks her eyes to my face. “Thank you,” she says, her voice whisper soft, yet clear. “I’m so clumsy.” After she studies my face for a couple of seconds, she swallows and quickly looks away.

“Hey, it’s okay. There was this one time when I tripped and ended up getting blown to bits.

You can’t possibly be as clumsy as I am,” I tease.

The woman is shaking harder now. She offers a small, false smile as she catches a tube of lip balm before it rolls farther.

I reach for a notebook that’s lying open and close it.

Her name is imprinted on the front. Carina.

Check. “It’s just a purse. No need to be upset.

We’re two tampons away from having the mess cleaned up anyway. ”

I put the tampons in her hand and wrap my hand around hers. It gets her attention.

She stops. I stop. She stands. I follow suit, leaving our hands sandwiching the feminine products. She doesn’t make a move to pull away, so I don’t either. Carina has brown eyes. They’re huge. She doesn’t need makeup to enhance her face. I noted this at first glance.

Her bottom lip quivers. “I’m so sorry. I told him it was a bad idea to come here on opening night.

It’s a madhouse. There are just too many people,” she says as she hugs her bag to her body, finally taking her hand away from mine.

“I’m so stupid for coming here. I’m sorry again.

You’re so kind to help me.” She makes a move to walk away, and I let her. Her fear is palpable.

Smiling wide, I follow her back out into the lobby. It’s quieter out here. “Carina.”

She turns, takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes .

“It helps if you talk to someone.” Anxiety was my friend when I first woke. I worried about everything. Mostly, that I would never get to do my job again. “Do you want me to go get your…husband?”

Shaking her head, she pulls the bag around herself. The large leather satchel is like a child’s security blanket. “He’ll be upset. I’ll send him a text and let him know I’ll wait for him out here. Thank you again…sir. How did you know my name?”

What kind of man would be upset? My hackles are up.

“Name’s Smith. Well, Carina, it was printed on your very full notebook. Are you a writer?”

Her eyes widen, and the fear is replaced by confusion. My distraction is working. She nods again, her mousy brown bangs covering one eye. She tucks it back behind her ear. “I am. Novels mostly, but I’ve branched out recently to write freelance articles, too.”

Self-consciously, I slide my hands into my jeans pockets.

I watch her eyes follow them until they aren’t visible anymore.

A year ago I wouldn’t have spoken to a stranger.

Fear ruled my world. This woman, Carina, she’s scared.

I hear myself in her voice. She speaks about her job, and I can’t help but smile at her passion.

I ask if I can buy her books at the bookstore.

She says I can, but she writes under a pen name.

“Well, are you going to tell me what that is? Carina the writer?”

Swallowing, she looks away bashfully .

“You wouldn’t want to read what I write,” Carina says.

My cell phone chimes. Megan.

Licking my lips, I glance Carina’s way. She’s already looking at me, her eyes tracing my scars. For a tiny moment I wish she were looking at my exterior before the accident. I don’t have time to ask why, though. I need to get napkins.

“You should go. I’ll be fine. Thank you. My real-life Marvel hero.” She’s joking, but the words hit hard. At one time I was a real-life hero.

Taking out her notebook, she slides a business card out of a pocket and flips it into my hand.

My heart rate accelerates, and a warm feeling hits me square in the chest. My phone buzzes again.

Megan. I let go of the balloon and sink back onto earth.

“Thanks,” I say, tapping the card on my opposite hand.

“My pen name is on there. My website, too.” Carina tucks her hair behind her ear one more time and walks away.

I look down at the card. Greenleigh Ivers.

Flowers dance around her name. I think how ironic it is that she uses a pen name.

Essentially my life these days is lived under a pen name as the accident stole my memory.

Well, parts and pieces of it, anyway. It stole my love for Megan and my childhood dog.

It took from me slices of a beautiful life.

It also took away pain and sorrow. The accident stole things of importance—because memories and experiences are what shape a person.

I’m not who I was before it. I have the same name, but I’m a stranger in my own skin.

I watch Carina’s retreating back for as long as I’m able to—intrigued, sad, excited, so many emotions vibrating in my mind. The volatility of the unknown draws me in.

“Smith, did you fall into the toilet? I was worried about you!” Megan screeches at my back.

As smoothly as I can, I sneak the card into my back pocket.

I’m not sure why I hide it from Megan. I’m not sure of anything these days, but I do know, for the time being, I want to keep the strange, beautiful, married woman a secret.