Izzy nodded. “Grunge and I did our first WestPac together as E-3s. In fact, we hot-bunked on a tiny, low-tech, about-to-be-decommissioned destroyer—this was back before he followed the shining light over to Officers’ Territory and before either of us did BUD/S.”
“I think I got some of that,” Lindsey said, still rubbing her giant baby bump. “E-3’s the rank—or is it rating—of someone who’s still pretty newly enlisted?”
“If you’re talking enlisted, it’s called rating,” Eden said.
“Yeah, I got very little of it,” Adam said. “BUD/S. I know BUD/S—but everyone knows BUD/S is where Navy SEAL wannabes audition to get into the Teams.”
“It’s a wee bit tougher than an audition,” Izzy said.
“You’ve never tried out for a Broadway show,” Adam shot back. “That shit is cutthroat. Anyway, I’m massively discouraged, because Tony’s been teaching me to speak Navy, and I thought I was doing at least moderately well.” Like Lindsey, Adam’s life partner was also a SEAL in Izzy’s Team. “Argh, matey, lower the mains’l. Fuck, I just realized—he’s been teaching me to talk like a pirate!” As they all laughed, he added, “But seriously, someone please translate what Izzy just said.”
“Back when they first enlisted in the Navy,” Eden told him, “they shipped out on something called a WestPac—you float around in the Western Pacific for six solid months. In Izzy and Grunge’s case, they were on a really old destroyer that was so crowded they had to share the same bed. They had different shifts, so they slept at different times.”
“It’s called hot-bunking,” Izzy said, “because he’d roll out and I’d roll in, and the mattress would still be warm from his body heat.”
“So you’re, like, one of his oldest Navy friends,” Adam surmised. “And he never mentioned that he had a daughter, not even while you were hot-bunking—and oh, the things I’m not saying about that.”
“So…not even any baby pictures taped to the bunk?” Lindsey asked.
“Nope.” Izzy shrugged. “But we weren’t exactly friends back then. More like partners in mutual misery.”
“But you’re friends now,” Eden pointed out. “I think of him as a friend. I mean, he’s quiet, sure, but…”
“Yeah, I dunno,” Izzy said. In the foggy and fun-filled years since the USS Bergeron, he and Grunge had both become SEALs. And in the past year or so in particular, despite the officer/enlisted divide, they’d gone from respectful teammates to real friends.
Or so Izzy had thought.
“Did he even know he had a daughter back then?” Lindsey asked. “There’s a trope in romance novels called secret baby, and—”
Izzy laughed. “I’m sorry. Secret what?”
“Baby,” Eden said. “The hero gets someone pregnant, but she doesn’t tell him about it, and then anywhere from one to twenty years later, surprise! The secret baby needs a kidney, and the hero and heroine reconnect to save her life and they fall in love and everyone lives happily ever after.”
“Well, that’s intense,” Izzy said.
“But the female character’s not surprised, right?” Adam interjected. “Because that’s the story I’d want to read.”
“Whoa, me, too,” Izzy said. “Hey, what’s that stuck between the cushions of the sofa? Holy crap, I must’ve had a secret baby last night when I fell asleep watching Netflix!”
Adam laughed.
“Don’t mock it, boys,” Lindsey told them sternly. “It’s a popular theme in a very popular genre.”
“I can see how it would be,” Izzy said. Eden was a huge romance fan—blazing through several books a week. “With lots of complications and entanglements and angst. But I’m pretty sure Grunge knew he had a daughter from the start. He just didn’t tell me about her.” He gasped. “Which suddenly makes sense if I’m the hero of this secret-baby story, and it’s not a romance, but instead a tale of deep friendship. Are there secret-baby buddy movies?”
Lindsey had already returned her focus to Maddie’s laptop. Eden, however, was smiling broadly at him, except then she frowned, put the laptop on the coffee table, took her phone from her pocket, and then gasped. But unlike his, her drama was not feigned.
“Maddie just texted me!” she said, her own thumbs flying over the tiny keyboard. “She must’ve unblocked me, but—No! She’s already blocked me again!”
“What’d she say?” Lindsey asked as Adam chimed in with, “Read it! Read it!”
“Tell my stupid father that I’m OK,” Eden read Maddie’s text aloud. “I’m safe, I’m with a friend. I need some space to figure some ship out. Thank you, autocorrect. Respect my needs—ooh, this girl’s learned the power of therapy-speak—and I’ll come back when I’m ready. Don’t, and I’m gone for good.”
“Dahn dahn dahhhhhn!” Izzy sang an appropriately dire soundtrack, but then said, “Except, if I know Grunge, he’s not gonna be moved by a threat from a fifteen-year-old.”
“Except, you don’t know Grunge,” Lindsey pointed out. “Apparently no one knows Grunge, so we really can’t predict what he’s going to do.”
“I’m texting him with a screenshot of Maddie’s message,” Eden said, even as headlights shone in through the front window because a car had pulled into the bungalow’s narrow driveway.
“Is that him?” Adam asked.
Eden stood up. “Maybe Maddie’s friend had a moment of clarity and brought her home. Please, God.”
Izzy looked out the window. “Nah, it’s Grunge. And…a woman.” Yes, that was definitely a female human who’d driven the lieutenant home. She got out, and stretched as if they’d been in her little car for a while. She was decidedly not unattractive, if a lot less fancy-clothes-big-hair-and-mondo-makeup than the women G usually hooked up with when he went to the LadyBug. She was older than his typical “date” type, too.
Her body language was friendly and comfortable—maybe a tad overattentive, but Grunge had that effect on just about everyone. His charisma was through the roof—and most people couldn’t look away.
He was standing as if he wanted something, though. And maybe that urgency came from his burning need to find his daughter, but it seemed like there was something more to it from the way he was leaning—just a little—toward the woman.
Eden came to look, too, as the woman and Grunge continued whatever conversation they were having over the top of the car. The window was closed, so they couldn’t hear more than the murmur of their two voices. But whatever Eden saw made her ask, “Does Grunge have a grown-up lady-friend that we don’t know about?”
Izzy looked at his wife. “Babydoll, your guess is as good as mine.”
“I’ve always thought he must have,” Eden said. “You know, at least a friends-with-bennies booty-call recipient.”
“I’ve heard the opposite,” Adam said. “That he’s into the transient, you know, one-and-done?”
“Yep. He’s a SEAL groupie-doer,” Lindsey put it bluntly.
“Ew, really?” Eden said.
“Don’t judge,” Adam chided.
“Heads up!” Eden pulled Izzy back, away from the window. “She’s coming inside with him, whoever she is. Act normally, everyone.”
Act normally? Izzy started to laugh, because this was normal. Ergo, the upcoming was going to be interesting.