“Resignation?” Shay said. “Oh, my God, is that why you went to the Navy Base today?”
“I went to float the idea,” Grunge admitted. “Nothing’s been decided. Zanella, are you calling for a reason other than you simply wanted to fuck up my day worse than it was already fucked up?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Izzy said. “When I arrived at the Dingler house in Van Nuys, the owners were home, much to my great surprise. Hey, it’s both a report and a poem. Huh. I wonder if I can work in can’t believe my eyes and/or I donned my disguise.”
“The owners are home?” Grunge demanded.
“Mr. and Mrs. James and Mary Dingler,” Izzy said. “We had a little tête-à-tête, and it’s been a full year since they’ve seen their wayward son, Richard. Judging from Jim Dingler’s heavy scowls and mumbling growls—ooh, I did it again!—it’s unlikely our boy Dingo’s going to be bringing his seriously underage girlfriend around for a visit with Mummy and Daddy any time soon.”
“Did you warn them about—”
“I did,” Izzy said. “Mr. D seemed positively psyched at the idea he might have to fight off a home invasion. I think he was hoping to rack up a body count. Mrs. D was significantly less thrilled.”
“I bet,” Shay said.
“I also asked them to call you if their son—or anyone who might want to murder their son—did appear.”
“Good,” Grunge said. “Thanks.”
“So, whaddaya want me to do now, G?” Izzy asked. “I’m parked on the street and I can sit here, watching the house, for as long as you need me to. I just think it’s a waste of time.”
“I agree,” Grunge said. “Get back to San Diego.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“And Z?”
“Ooh! Ooh! Let me guess! Let me guess!” Izzy said. “Fuck you?”
“Sideways,” Grunge agreed.
“Awesome! Thanks, and you’re welcome, sir!” Izzy sang cheerfully as the lieutenant cut the call. He got into his truck and headed south to San Diego.
“Grunge,” Shayla said as Pete ended the call with Izzy Zanella.
He glanced at her as they drove relentlessly north, with the sun starting to set out the left window of his truck. “Yeah.”
“It’s your nickname,” Shay said. “Like Seagull or Timebomb.”
“It is.”
“Or Dingo.”
Ouch. He winced at the idea of being in the same Venn diagram circle—grown-ass men who have dumb nicknames—with Dingo. “Yep.”
Shayla took out and opened her laptop. “Let’s have it. The story. I’m sure Maddie would love to know.”
“It’s not all that exciting,” he said. “The official story is that there was an incident with a Dumpster, shortly after I joined the Teams.”
“With a Dumpster?”
“Inside of a Dumpster. The tango—terrorist—we were pursuing thought he’d try to hide, and I said nope and went in after him. When it was over, no one wanted to get too close to me. I’m lucky I didn’t get called Stinky.”
“So what’s the unofficial story?” she asked.
He glanced at her, and she was looking steadily back at him.
“You said that was the official story, which means there’s an unofficial, i.e., real story.” She smiled. “So spill.”
Pete sighed. “I heard that coming out of my mouth and I knew you’d catch it.” He shook his head. “You know how Lisa used to call me Goldilocks?”
“Uh-oh,” Shay said.
“Yeah, a nickname like that would’ve clung worse than Stinky.” He laughed. “Okay, it’s stupid but…I got, I don’t know, maybe one email from Lisa the entire time I was doing a six-month WestPac cruise, right after I enlisted, and in it she called me G. Someone saw it and wanted to know what that G stood for, and I mumbled something like It’s a nickname. They pushed to know what my nickname was, so I said the first word I could think of that started with G that wasn’t giraffe or grapefruit—or freaking Goldilocks.”
“Not G for Greene?” Shayla suggested, her eyes dancing with amusement.
“I panicked,” he admitted. “There was music playing, so I just said Grunge.” He smiled ruefully. “The Dumpster happened, but it was long after the fact. It definitely helped cement the Grunge thing, though. Which was fine with me. Way better than carrying Goldilocks until the end of time.”
Shayla laughed as she finished typing and finally closed her computer. “You’ve probably got more in common with Dingo than you think. I’d bet he made up his nickname, too, to steer people away from calling him Dingle or, God, Dingleberry.”
“Yeah,” Pete said dryly. “Me and Dingo. Two peas in a pod.”
She laughed, and then fell silent for…
Three…
Two…
One.
“So what’s up with the resignation?” Shayla asked him, right on cue. The question about Grunge had been just a warm-up. “I thought you loved being a SEAL.”
“I do,” he said. “I just…I see it getting more complicated, not less.”
“With Maddie,” she said.
“What else is there?” he said, but then realized how callous that was.
But she didn’t flinch or even blink. “Of course,” she said.
“You and me,” he tried to explain. “I see that as extremely simple. I mean, it’s sex.” Okay, that didn’t come out right, either.
This time she shook her head slightly as she said, “Can we please focus on the Navy and your plans to leave it because…? Why exactly…?”
“I intend to tell Maddie that I’m willing to move to Palm Springs,” Pete explained, “if she wants to finish high school there. And in order to do that, I’ve got to leave the Navy. I mean, I can’t be a SEAL and live in the desert.”
“She’s a child,” Shayla pointed out. “She’ll live where you need to live.”
“Said the woman who’s terrified of earthquakes who moved to California so her kids would be closer to their dad.”
“That’s different,” she insisted.
“Not really.”
“Yes, it is. You’re comparing my overcoming one little fear to you blowing up your entire career.”
“And how does your fear fit with your career?” Pete asked.
Her reply was glib. “Quite nicely, actually. A rampant imagination works well for a novelist.”
“So why aren’t you writing?”
Shayla looked at him hard. “I’m sorry,” she said sharply. “Are you really that insecure that we can’t have a conversation about something that’s of vital importance to you, without you lashing out and attacking me?”
“Whoa,” Peter said. “I was asking a simple question—” he exhaled hard “—that, yeah, I’d already figured out was a hot button for you. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Shayla looked at him.