It meant so much to him, being a SEAL. It was his life, the career he’d chosen for love of country and love of the brotherhood. He’d wanted this, had it, and had no regrets. Back then it hadn’t been a choice between Charlie and the Navy. It wasn’t now, either. He was a SEAL. He’d find a way to have both.
“The only easy day was yesterday,” he said to his reflection, then trotted down the stairs.
“You look very nice,” his mother said, brushing at the backs of his shoulders. She wore an elegant suit in a shade of lavender that matched his father’s pocket square. He’d learned to love and respect the uniform from his father, who substituted a sharp suit and wingtips for the police chief’s uniform when he retired from his first career and started his second in politics. That’s how he knew this could work. He’d seen it done, even if Charlie hadn’t. All she had to do was what was hardest for her to do: trust him.
He rode with his parents to the Garden Club’s Art Deco building, situated in the middle of the park they maintained for the city. The beds lining the brick walk to the front doors were in full bloom, riotous color sprawling at ground level and rising along trellises. His mother stopped to greet Helen Powell, holding court in a cluster of people he actually knew from the present day. Helen’s grandson—Jamie’s right-hand man and fellow Navy SEAL, Jack Powell—was already there, with Jack’s best buddy on the team, Keenan Parker, in the cluster of people around Helen.
“How’s it going?” Jack asked, holding hands with a woman sporting a serious case of road rash under her fancy wrap. Jamie blinked. He’d never seen Jack hold hands with a woman before.
“Fine. You?”
“Great,” Jack said, beaming. “Couldn’t be better. This is Erin Kent.”
“Ma’am,” Jamie said.
Keenan Parker appeared with his fingers wrapped around four bottles of beer, which he distributed to Jack, Erin, and a woman who could only be Jack’s sister and Helen’s granddaughter. Keenan wore a navy suit and a tie. He draped his arm around Rose’s shoulders and gave her a quick kiss. Jamie raised an eyebrow.
“Turkey,” Keenan said succinctly. “I’ll tell you about it later. Take this,” he added, offering Jamie his bottle of beer.
“Thanks, but keep it. I’ll get one of my own,” Jamie said, scanning the crowd. The average height of females in attendance skewed to the tall side, thanks to the current and former basketball players, but none of them were wearing a standout shade of fuchsia. He turned to scan the far end of the party, stretching through the flower beds and tulle-draped trellises, and saw most of Charlie’s players, but not Charlie.
“Looking for someone?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” he said, then turned back to the entrance again.
His heart stopped. Charlie stood on the wide-plank patio stretching the length of the building. Her hair, normally a pretty blonde, caught the sun like someone had streaked gold along the strands, and hung in tousled sexy waves around her face. She’d done her makeup, too, a little more mysterious than he’d seen back at the high school, something with her eyes that turned them violet, a barely there shade of pink on her lips.
Jack was talking, then Keenan, and he knew from the tone whatever they were saying was at his expense, but he was out of fucks to give because a big, powerful fist had reached into his chest and squeezed, heart and lungs and diaphragm and stomach all crammed together, none of them working the way they were supposed to. He loved her so goddamn much. If this month didn’t work, then he’d come at it again, come home every leave he had, even if the travel time left him with twenty-four of a forty-eight with her. He wasn’t quitting until she was his, forever.
“Who’s that?” Keenan asked.
“That’s Charlie Stannard. She was a starting point guard on the championship team, and coaches the Lady Knights now,” Jack’s sister, Rose, said.
“Hm,” Keenan responded politely.
“Starting power forward,” Jamie corrected absently. “She could clear space under the basket like nobody’s business, and holds the school record for rebounds, boys or girls. She won the NCAA championship her junior and senior year in college, and started on the French team that won the European championship a couple of years ago.”
“Hm,” Keenan repeated, this time with the respect Charlie deserved.
Making his rounds of the assembled local dignitaries, retired teachers, administrators, and coaches, Jamie snagged a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing server and found Charlie under a rose trellis, Grace and the tall, silent Lyssa at her side. Grace tugged Lyssa away, leaving Charlie and Jamie alone.
In place of the kiss he wanted to give her, he handed her a glass of champagne.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You look amazing.”
“I can do makeup and hair,” she replied. “I just don’t usually do it. Have you been catching up with the guys?”
“Yeah,” he said, distracted by the novelty of looking up into a woman’s face. “I lost touch with most of them after we all graduated.”