SEAL Forever (17 page)

“I knew it.” She splashed him and then spit water in his direction. “When I did parkour movements and gymnastic routines, I found my balance again, like this is how my body is supposed to move. In gymnastics, I forced my body to handle certain positions, and with the parkour, I used the movements my body has to propel forward. It helped me find myself and love the gym again.”

He splashed her back. “I love the water. One of the reasons I wanted to be a SEAL. Being here makes me feel alive.”

She swam closer to him. “Did you think you lost this?”

He floated onto his back. “Maybe. I believe I felt like I was losing myself. That without my leg I wasn't a whole person, and that I could never be that again. But here I am. I'm me. It's reassuring to know that.”

* * *

Ah, blessed sex! Back at the apartment, salt water washed off their skin, she could hardly wait to make love. It was easily the happiest part of the day.

“Oof!” she exclaimed as the air whooshed out of her body. “Shift over.”

Declan's body was so large, it pushed her body into the bed and denied her air. He moved slightly to the right to take the pressure off.

They kissed and played for a while, until need took over. He pulled on a condom. In the middle of lovemaking, something changed. She could feel the shift in him, as if a big wall slammed down between them. She sought his gaze.

The look in his eyes was distant.

“Declan,” she said softly, but his eyes didn't connect with her.

Instead it felt mechanical as his finger brushed over the tips of her nipples and then swept over her belly.

His face buried into the side of her neck as his fingers probed, making sure she was wet for him. She was. For him, she was always ready. But it didn't change the fact there was a disconnection in the moment.

“Declan,” she said more forcefully. Her fingers trailed along his back in an attempt to soothe him and bring him back to her.

There was no response. It was as if he wasn't even there.

He entered her in one movement, and the sheer size of him made her catch her breath.

Her nails dug into his skin and he stilled for several seconds. “Declan,” she whispered.

He moaned. “Maura. I need…you.”

She hugged him close, whispering in his ear. “I'm here. Stay with me.”

As her grip loosened and her body adjusted, he began to move. Slowly. Erotically. And she moaned softly in his ear. “Yes. That's it.”

“My Maura. Beautiful, sweet Maura.”

“My Declan.”

He stilled. His whole body tensed as if he were seeing something else. Someone else.

All at once, his manner changed, and their lovemaking turned hard and aggressive. His head was positioned over hers, but his eyes were looking past her and seeing something else.

She grabbed his shoulders. “Declan, wait.”

He kept going and she felt herself fighting him. Pain pushed through her senses.

“Declan!” she yelled, cupping his cheeks with both of her hands.

His eyes moved down to her, and his actions stilled. “Maura?” His eyes focused on her. He seemed confused. “What…”

“Declan, where were you?”

He looked past her, his whole body tense. “I…I don't know.”

“No, look at me.”

His gaze refocused on her again. He cleared his throat. “I'm here. Sorry. Memories of the Op. Today. The rehab. Kellogg dying. It all slammed into my brain at once in the middle of the peacefulness and pleasure I find with you. I didn't mean to…the frustration and pain…the world just blotted out for a minute.”

“It's okay.” She moved her hands to his shoulders. Well, sort of okay. Truly it scared her. But she didn't want her fear to be the issue of the conversation. She needed Declan to focus on himself and work through the experience. “What can I do to help?”

He shook his head. “I don't know.” He rolled off of her and onto his back. “Maybe we should stop.” He put his arm over his eyes.

She pulled it away. “No. No more hiding and allowing other stuff to take away
our
celebration of life. Tell me what's going on.” Looking at him, she saw him as he must have been as a little boy—vulnerable and sweet and so very fragile—and then a shadow fell over his eyes that had nothing to do with innocence.

Climbing on top of him, she forced him to face her. “I'm not moving until you talk to me, so spill it.”

He nodded his head. “Fine.”

“Don't give me that acronym. I have brothers. I know it means freaked-out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional. Tell me what's happening.”

His chest lifted her as he took several deep, long breaths. Finally he spoke. “I've been remembering more about the Op. What happened and the exact moment I lost my leg. So much went wrong so quickly. It's hard to pinpoint the exact moment the events became irreversible, and yet I see the explosion over and over again in my brain, mainly in daymares. The pain… Physically, I knew it was there, but mentally…I had a hard time with it. When I compare that moment to the life Kellogg was leading, I feel like an asshole. I have more of everything…agility, opportunity, health, and you… I'm lucky, Maura. It's just hard to get my brain to understand it.”

Tears sped down his cheeks. His eyes held hers. He wiped his face on the side of the pillowcase. “My legs have always been tools, something useful to help me get to where I was going. I've abused the crap out of my body for over twenty years, and my body took it. Now what?”

She waited for him to finish the thought. When he didn't, she prodded him. “Now…you're mourning.”

“I'm what?” He looked annoyed and somewhat baffled. “That doesn't make any sense.”

“Sure it does.” She propped herself up on her elbows. “It's the five stages of grief—check out the Kübler-Ross version—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Everything is clear, if you consider that you were in the accident and felt the denial at the hospital and now you're angry. I can certainly attest to that emotion.”

He looked away and then caught her gaze again. “I'm sorry.”

She leaned down and kissed him on the lips. “I know.” She kissed him again. This time, she lingered, teasing him, bringing him back to her. “Do you want to keep talking?”

“No,” he admitted. “I have a lot of food for thought. Later is better than sooner.”

She laughed. “Good to know that I haven't lost my charm.”

“Never,” he said, placing his hands on his hips. “And since you're lying on top of me, why don't we…”

She moved back, positioning herself over him. “My thoughts exactly.” Her hips lowered down until he was deep inside of her. “Keep your eyes on me, SEAL man.”

His hands gathered the wealth of her breasts. “Yes, ma'am.” His thumb stroked tenderly over her nipple.

She sighed as waves of pleasure rolled over her. Though she was tempted to close her eyes and give in to the electricity building in her body, she kept her eyes locked to his. Those steely, very male eyes, so unfathomable a short time ago, had glints of desire, letting her know his participation was one hundred percent.

Her body grew warmer, slick with sweat, and begged for more as she tried to hold back. His agitation beneath her was a heady drug indeed.

Increasing her pace, she felt an orgasm building inside of her. The electric play inside of her womb was so intense that she felt herself cry out as her body flew over the chasm and climbed once more to new heights.

“Maura.” His voice was strained. His body was wet with the same perspiration now as drops merged together where they connected.

“Declan,” she moaned.

His breath was coming out in short gasps. His hands ran up and down the sides of her body, urging her, his hard gaze alive with pleasure and holding her own captive.

“One more second…” Holding there, on the precipice of the climax, she felt a wash of power and something so thrilling. She plunged headfirst down the cliff, feeling the waves of climactic release, drinking him clean of all energy and release.

“Maura.” He sighed. Relief was written clearly on his face. “I'm sorry I was distant.”

Collapsing on top of him, she snuggled her head under his chin and felt his arms encircle her. “I understand. It's just…when we're making love, I need to know you're here.”

“Yes.” His voice was low and deep as he murmured his agreement. “You have my full permission to call me on my shit. I like that you have the guts to speak up and respect me as you're doing it.”

“You're my hero,” she said.

His body stiffened. “I'm no one's hero. I'm just a man who's doing the best he can, and who loves this woman.”

She lifted her head. “I love you, Declan.” She kissed him. It was the first time they'd spoken the words aloud, and she was so overwhelmed by the emotion that tears filled her eyes.

His fingers brushed away her tears. “Hey, no crying. This is supposed to be a happy moment.”

“It is.” She laughed. She hugged him and then kissed him again. “I'm very happy. I love you.”

His hand settled at the nape of her neck. “I love you too, Maura.” He drew her head down and kissed her.

She returned the kiss with every ounce of joy in her heart. This had to be the greatest moment of her entire life.

Six weeks had passed, and Declan was healing in record time. As his body gained strength, though, his damaged leg hurt like the bone was being stabbed with needles every time he put weight on it. He had to do something about it.

Visiting any doctor for an injury was at the top of his least-favorite-items list. He actually loathed it. As he pushed open the door, he was surprised to see the room was filled to capacity. Active-duty guys—their youth giving them away—who had lost limbs were everywhere. A few wives were scattered around, but it was mostly servicemen.

The room's sand interior was meant to be soothing and warm, with its earth-colored chairs and array of brightly colored magazines, but it didn't lower the tension of the patients in the room. The emotions could be cut with a knife and carved into a pretty swan. Everyone was itching to scram, and yet none of them would be here without the docs.

“Swifton,” called the nurse at the desk. “Dr. Ekkert is ready for you.”

Declan stood. He wobbled momentarily, making him grateful that Maura was home. She tended to make little noises or try to grab him. Truthfully, most men would rather fall on their faces than be fussed over constantly.

Making his way slowly to the open door, he nodded at the receptionist and followed the nurse to an examination room. She didn't say anything, no chitchat or small talk, just pointed and then closed the door behind her.

Surprisingly, it was only about five minutes before the doc came in, a grin on his face, and asked, “So, how's it going, Master Chief?”

Declan nodded his head. “Fine.” He smiled at the memory of Maura knowing that particular piece of Navyspeak. FINE: fucked-up/freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.

“Any fevers or chills?” The doc listened to his heart and took his temperature and blood pressure. “No? Okay. Let's look at your leg.”

Declan pulled up his pants leg, removed the prosthetic limb, and waited while the doctor poked and prodded him.
I'd rather get waterboarded.

The doctor made a few noises as he looked at his leg. “I'm not thrilled with the look of this. You have an ulcer from an ill-fitting prosthetic, though it's possible there is not enough muscle coverage at the end of the bone.” He let go of Declan's stump and looked him in the eye. “Typically, skin breakdown and pain are the symptoms. But my guess is that even if you felt it, you wouldn't say anything.”

Declan nodded his head.

“Treatment could be as extensive as revising the whole stump—cutting more bone off so there is more muscle coverage—or getting a better prosthesis.” The doctor pulled out a device that helped him measure Declan's stump. “Yeah, I don't like how this is fitting. It's not unusual to have to replace a prosthetic several times…”

Dr. Ekkert grabbed his leg hard and squeezed, making Declan grimace in pain. “Just as I thought. I knew there was a HO.”

Trying to recover from the surprise attack, it took Declan a few moments to get his question out. “Can you explain the, uh, HO?”

The doc was scribbling madly on Declan's chart. He paused and studied Declan. “A heterotopic ossification, or HO, can usually be prevented by taking medication, but sometimes a muscle will be traumatized by an abnormal bone formation. When it sticks out, it's painful and obvious as it rubs against the skin, wearing down the layers. If we let this go, it will be so hard, it'll feel like a bone is growing from your leg.”

He tapped his pen against the chart. “Recently, I had a guy who had an incision from chest to pubis and then developed HO under the whole thing. Had to cut it all out because he could not sit up. Felt like a turtle shell.”

“Nice, doc,” said Declan, not really interested in hearing about anyone else's pain. “So what do we do to fix this? Take a pill?”

“Well, we could try that route, but we'd probably be denying the inevitable, which is that if we take an inch and a half from the bottom and rewrap it with muscle, you'll get a sounder cushion and at the same time, we can remove the HO. It would solve the issue faster.”

“Will I be able to run and bike?”

“Like it is now…no. But with the surgery, there is a higher likelihood.” He went to the computer and typed in a code, then brought up a calendar. “Our surgical unit has an opening in three weeks. You'll have to recover and do physical therapy again, but that should fix the issue permanently.” Dr. Ekkert looked over his shoulder. “I'd take it, even if you decide to cancel at some future point. There isn't another appointment for eight months, and you really shouldn't wait that long.”

“Sold.” Declan ran his fingers through his hair, scrubbing his scalp. His stomach gave a roll of discomfort, but he didn't care. Ekkert really knew his business. The thought of recovering again sucked, but if it meant he was no longer in pain and he could possibly be more active in the future, he owed it to himself to do it.

“You'll be hearing from my assistant about necessary blood work for surgery in three weeks. In the meantime, watch those sores.” Dr. Ekkert didn't even look up. As Declan pulled on his prosthetic, the doctor typed in the necessary info, gave him a prescription and an appointment-reminder card, and sent him out the door with a nod. Not the most fun he'd ever had at a doctor's office, but not the worst either.

Pulling out his phone, he set a reminder. Then he texted Maura: “One stop done.”

* * *

The next stop was the base. He slid his ID in front of the scanner, entered the Team FIVE Quarterdeck, and then keyed a code into the dial box to unlock another door. He thought about what he was going to say to the XO and CO of Team FIVE. The talking points were blazed into his brain, and he hoped he'd have a chance to say his piece before they gave him a parting speech.

When he reached the door of the CO's office, it was closed and he could hear voices raised in a heated discussion. That wasn't a good sign as far as he was concerned. Taking a seat, he looked next to him at a Seaman who looked so new to the Teams that he practically had “fresh from the box” stamped on his forehead.

“Master Chief,” acknowledged Seaman Albert, his last name stitched on a patch across his chest.

“Seaman,” replied Declan, sitting down across from him. “What brings you here?”

“My younger brother rolled from my BUD/S class due to medical. I'm sort of losing my footing without him.”

Declan turned his head to the side, studying the Seaman. “Why?”

“Don't know,” said Seaman Albert, looking at his feet.

“Helluva cop-out, Albert. What's really going on? You obviously have the strength to have made it through BUD/S on your own and with your class.”

“Yes,” said the Seaman, looking up. “I just…just can't…”

“Can't what?”

“Having my brother by my side made me feel stronger, as if I could conquer everything, and now I just keep messing up. I didn't store my gear correctly, and another SEAL got hurt tripping over it. I screwed up at the gun range, and I've been shooting since I was ten years old.” Seaman Albert's face was splotched with red and freckles.

“How did it make you feel?”

“Like a fool! That's not me, but I can't seem to get over that my brother's not here, and when he calls me, he bitches me out for making it through when he's stuck in the hospital with a broken femur.”

A light went on in Declan's head. “I see. So when you don't hear from him…”

“I'm fine.” Seaman Albert started to catch on. “When I talk to him, I fuck up. Pardon me the, uh, swearing, Master Chief.”

Nodding his head, Declan said, “No problem. You know that you've got a whole community of brothers now, right?”

“Uh, I guess I never thought of it that way.” Seaman Albert looked at the door. “Damn, I don't want to get kicked out.”

“Me neither,” mumbled Declan.

“What did you say?” asked Seaman Albert, standing on his feet and looking at the closed door like a man on a mission.

“Uh…what are you going to do about it? More importantly, why did you want to become a SEAL? Start with that,” Declan advised.

“Yes, Master Chief. Thank you, Master Chief,” said Seaman Albert as he walked boldly up to the door and knocked on it.

The XO opened it and nodded at Declan. “Be with you shortly, Swifton. Seaman Albert, come on in. We were just talking about you.”

As the door closed, clapping sounded in the hall. The Commanding Officer of BUD/S, Commander Martin Parks, came around the corner.

Declan stood and shook hands. “Parks, it's been a long time.”

“Sure has. Nice chat with that Seaman. Let's step into the conference room a minute.” The Commander gestured with his hand.

They entered the room and sat down in chairs along the side.

“You were pretty good with him,” Parks began.

“Just some psychobabble I learned a while back. I think it's called the velvet steamroller. Comes in handy.” Declan was curious why Parks wanted to chat.

“You're two courses short of completing your coursework for your bachelor's degree in counseling. How long would it take you to go on and get your master's?” Park's question was a leading one that could move them back into talking about the Teams or have Declan jumping into civilian life. The choice of direction was a no-brainer.

Declan recognized it and nodded his head. “I plan on finishing it up next spring. I could start the postgrad work the following semester.”

“You have a lot of self-motivation.” The statement didn't need a response. “I heard about the last Op. You know how news travels.” Commander Parks rubbed his chin. “I came here today specially to ask the CO about you. What's going to happen to you medically, etc. You know that Diego is retiring in four months, and there is no one at your level that isn't already slotted in, so I'd like you to fill his shoes. He oversaw Third Phase. A new part of the duty is an additional program. You'd coordinate with a couple of retired frogmen who work in conjunction with a few headshrinkers and career-placement counselors, helping the tadpoles who ring out move back into the regular Navy. In a pinch, you might oversee the changeover of instructors for Conditioning/First Phase and Underwater Combat Skills/Second Phase responsibilities too. Pick up any extra slack. You know how it is.”

Declan knew very well how it was. He'd done his stretch at BUD/S before, but only as an instructor. Now he was being asked to be a coordinator of not one, but two programs: Third Phase of Land Warfare Training and the Transition-Out Program. He laughed silently.

“What?” asked Parks, with a curious expression on his face.

Declan couldn't resist saying what was on his mind. “Damn, you want me to be a Gich.”

“Christ, there's only one of those. Thank God.” He laughed, a bass-sounding chuckle. “But yeah. Pretty much.”

“If it means I can stay in the Teams, well, hell yes, I'm game.”

Commander Parks stood. “Good to hear. It's damn hard to train people to do what comes naturally. Other branches keep trying to stick their folks in here, and none of them get it. SEALs need SEALs to train them; we're just different. Let's go talk to your CO and get this moving.”

Declan stood. As he started for the door, he paused. “My CO put you up to this, didn't he?”

Parks didn't speak for a few seconds. That was as much a confirmation as an actual reply. “He wouldn't have recommended you if you weren't perfect for this position. I, of course, completely agree.”

“That's pretty flattering,” said Declan, feeling the emotion well inside of him. He thought of all the platoons of men that make up a Team and knew others who were in his boat, having lost arms and legs, eyes and ears, or had all sorts of injuries, and he felt damn lucky for an opportunity like this. Whatever it took from his end, and he had a strong notion of what that would be, he would move heaven and earth to make it happen.

* * *

Declan had had a full day. The doctor, the Commander of BUD/S, and then the meeting with his CO. It was full of highs and lows and a lot to take in.

Sitting on a sand dune overlooking Gator Beach was the ideal spot for Declan to contemplate his next step. The surf was good and a few SEALs were taking advantage of the afternoon waves and some extra downtime.

The stressors that had been bouncing around his body since he lost his leg were gone. According to his meeting with the CO, the odds were good that he would be rolling into a new assignment in a couple of months. It depended on his medical fitness and readiness. He knew he could make that happen.

Being in the Teams for over twenty-one years, most of his adult life, had taught him a lot about combat, for sure. But the main thing it had taught was courage and compassion and how to honor himself and his Teammates. He was the man that he wanted to be. It was hard to explain to outsiders what being in the military did for his life and how he was going to take that experience with him everywhere he went.

Looking up at the sky, he knew that Maura would be making her way to the balcony soon, waiting to watch the sunset. He liked that romantic part of her that loved nature.

He stood a little uneasily on the sand and took a step. The next thing he knew, he was sliding down the bank very ungracefully. He laughed, knowing it was easier to laugh at himself than to hear it from anyone else. “Well,” he said to the empty sand, “guess I had better get that new prosthetic handled before I fall on my face in front of the tadpoles.”

Then he pulled off the leg, dumped the sand out of the cup, and put it back on. He made it the twenty feet to Maura's car, opened the door, and sat down. His phone beeped again, and he checked it. Maura wondered where he was. She was hungry.

Looking at his own midsection, he knew he needed to watch his intake. Since he was planning on teaching at BUD/S, he wanted to set an example, and that meant taking off the ten or so pounds he had put on while he was contemplating his life, or rather scratching his navel.