Page 2 of The Night Ride (SEALs on Wheels #3)

Chapter two

N aval Station Norfolk, Virginia

Push it.

Just a little further. Just a little faster. I lengthened my strides.

Oxygen heaved from my burning lungs. Determination fueled every step. Today’s the day. I could feel it in the air. I’d beat my previous speed. My feet pounded against the pavement.

Sweat poured down my back, plastering my Navy issued tank to my skin.

My place was dead ahead at the end of the cul-de-sac. It’s one of the numerous cookie cutter townhomes on base. The tan siding had become slightly worn in places—and I really needed to clean the fucking gutters—but it was home and as good as any other on base.

The finish line neared. Once I reached my sweetheart, the black 1968 refurbished Shelby Mustang GTO parked in my driveway, my morning run would be finished.

The black and chrome beast glimmered beneath the early spring Virginia sun from the wax job I’d given it yesterday.

I loved that damn car. In between deployments, I rebuilt her from the ground up.

It took me almost a decade to complete. But it had been worth every hour spent.

Seeing her in my driveway fucking thrilled me every time.

And while I made sure the exterior body was a replica of the original, I upgraded the interior and the engine so that there were modern amenities with all the bells and whistles.

The engine fucking purred and was the sweetest ride.

It’s why I called her my sweetheart. It might not be logical to be so enamored of a car, but I didn’t give a shit. I loved my Shelby.

Pushing my body, I powered through my exhaustion. With laser like focus, I further lengthened my strides for the final stretch, huffing and gasping for breath, but my body had been built to go the distance, to stretch myself in ways most people never even fathomed.

And really, it was just an average day in life as a Navy SEAL.

SEALs push our bodies, our brains, and control our emotions. We test our limits and barrel past every boundary, defying death while giving it the finger. SEALs get dropped into hellholes that others would piss themselves over.

We do it for our country, for our family, and for the soldier at our side.

I tapped my hand against my Shelby, mindful of her latest wax coat, and stopped the timer on my watch. Then veered off to the side into the small patch of grass that served as my lawn while I slowed to a walk to stretch my leg.

Four seconds.

I beat my best time by four seconds. It might not seem like a lot of time.

I did a six-mile run every morning since surviving BUD/S, but that was eighteen years ago.

I had two years left until retirement. And I had honed my body into a high functioning machine built for war, for handling the most difficult tasks and capable of surviving the most unforgiving terrain imaginable.

Military life might not be for everyone, but I fucking loved being a SEAL. It was who I was at my core.

Not that I knew what I would do outside of the military.

I’d been in it since I was eighteen. There were a couple of possibilities, of course, but I don’t want to go into law enforcement.

The CIA and FBI had been sniffing around.

I wasn’t sure about heading to Quantico, but the CIA might be interesting.

It would keep me on my toes as a field agent, though I wasn’t certain I wanted to hand the rest of my life over to the U.S.

government. At thirty-six, I’d spend my adult life under that umbrella.

It’s a valid lifestyle choice. I just didn’t know if I wanted to continue working for Uncle Sam in any regard.

Which left me wondering what the hell I might want to do that would provide me with the same thrill.

But it was a problem for another day.

Stripping my soaked shirt off on my way indoors, mentally I proceeded through a checklist of items on my to do list. I needed to make a grocery run because I had next to nothing left, unless you counted the jar of pickles and barbecue sauce.

Wouldn’t hurt me to run by the auto-body store either.

I was running low on my favorite car wax that made my sweetheart shine.

Although I might need to grab some oil for my Harley—the other love of my life.

Especially since I hadn’t been in a committed relationship with a woman in years.

Military life was hell on your personal life when you’re gone for months at a time.

Which left me with casual hookups, but even those had lost their gleam.

Marching straight to the fridge, I grabbed a cold bottle of water.

It’s the little things like ice cold water that I miss when I’m deployed.

Tossing the cap on the beige counter because they couldn’t seem to decorate these houses in anything but neutral colors.

I chugged half the bottle, reveling the cool glide of moisture down my parched throat.

The song Welcome to the Jungle blared from my phone lying on the kitchen counter.

It’s the ringtone I set up for military numbers. The moment I heard that music, I knew shit’s going down, and that I was likely being shipped half a world away for some deep undercover op.

Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, my stance changed to one of readiness.

The pieces of myself that I shed every time the Navy shipped me overseas fell away.

I always picked them up when I returned.

Although it took a hot minute to slide into the rhythm of being stateside.

Yet with time and patience, it did happen eventually.

We received calls at all hours, day and night, with orders to report in for our latest mission.

It made relationships with women a tricky minefield.

When you’re called into action on a moment’s notice, not told when you will return or where you will be, it makes them difficult, especially for a woman with trust issues.

It’s why my marriage didn’t work.

Sarah couldn’t handle my lengthy deployments. Eventually, she found solace in the arms of another guy. It was why I got divorced by the time I was twenty-two.

Shaking off the past like a snake sheds its skin, I grabbed my phone. Wyatt’s number appeared on the screen. He was our ragtag group of SEAL Team eight second in command.

Looked like it was go time.

“Sup dude. We get assigned somewhere?” With a pivot, I changed my to do list. Park the Shelby in the garage. Pack my bag. Unplug appliances. Toss out any produce and takeout cartons. I learned the hard way not to leave that shit in the fridge.

“No. It’s about Evan.” Wyatt’s deep bass carried a hard edge and was all business.

Evan Ryder was our former commander. He was reassigned a month ago to another team and was stationed in the Middle East. In fact, we were all getting reassigned to new units since we were the last few members of our original team. “What about him? Will he be stateside soon?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“In a manner…what the fuck are you talking about?” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Sometimes Wyatt could be annoyingly obtuse and take forever to reach his point.

“Evan’s gone. Command notified me an hour ago. I’m making the rounds and letting everyone know.”

Gone? Motherfucking shit!

My heart seized. All the air expelled from my lungs in a rush. It felt like Wyatt had sucker punched me in the gut with his words. Evan was dead. I couldn’t wrap my head around the news. It didn’t seem possible. No one lived larger than Evan. He loved being alive. How the fuck could he be gone?

“How?” I croaked, wrenching the word from my throat, barely able to speak past the sudden onslaught of eviscerating grief.

There’d been too many friends whose graves I had stood beside.

Evan’s would be added to the tally. This was why anytime I thought about continuing past my twenty, I just didn’t think I had that much more in me to give.

Even with the slogan, The only easy day was yesterday, playing on a recorded loop in my brain.

“Suicide.”

It dropped my heart through my chest like stepping on a trip wire. The single word shredded me into a thousand broken shards.

“Fuck.” I hung my head. Tears formed behind my closed eyes while I fought to maintain control. I couldn’t lose my shit. I wouldn’t allow it. I knew better than to give in to my emotions. All they did was fuck me up.

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll text you all the info on the funeral. It’s in two days up at Arlington.”

“Okay. Thanks for the call.” I hung up before Wyatt responded.

I took one step away from the counter. Then two. My knees gave out. Grief bombarded my battle weary soul and swallowed me whole.

Evan and I were tight. Over the last few years, our relationship had been strained. Totally my fault. I overstepped and broke our unwritten code. Ever since I fucked up, there had been distance between us. Try as I might, I knew Evan never forgave me for touching his sister.

In my defense, I hadn’t recognized her because she had been all grown up and drop dead gorgeous. We shared a single kiss. But I damned myself in more ways than one that night. Because I never forgot that kiss nor the way she felt in my arms and Evan hadn’t been known for forgiveness.

I’d see her again.

Beth Ryder.

The only woman who, in a single night, made me contemplate the institution of marriage again.

I knew it sounded insane because it had only been one night.

Yet the moment I spied her sitting alone at the bar with an empty chair beside her, I’d been drawn to her like a magnet to metal.

When I asked if the seat beside her was taken, she smiled and told me that, of course, it belonged to me.

The ground had shifted beneath my feet the moment she flashed that stunning, mile wide smile at me.

And I would see her at Evan’s funeral in two days.

Evan.

Fuck. Why’d you do it?

I sat back against the cabinet, lowered my head, and did something I hadn’t done in years—I cried.

***

Two Days Later