DIRTY SEAL
By Alycia Taylor
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Alycia Taylor
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Chapter One
Grant
“So, how do you go from being a Navy SEAL to working in real estate? Do you actually enjoy this job?”
I tried not to show my annoyance, which wasn’t too difficult because I’d grown fairly good at keeping a deadpan face over the years. But the question still annoyed me. I hadn’t been a Navy SEAL in a long time, and I’d already been at this job for almost a year. Surely by now I should be accepted as just one of the guys, rather than some prize monkey in a cage?
“Well, do you enjoy it?” I asked hoping to turn the conversation around to Peter.
Peter sighed. “Not really. I mean, when I manage to sell something decent, then yeah, I guess so. But for the most part, it feels like too much admin and too much running around. And it’s sort of depressing selling houses that are so much better than the one that I live in. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this job. I’m too honest.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Peter was by far one of the most honest men that I’d ever met. Sometimes it was refreshing, and other times it was frustrating. But he was a good kid who meant well, and it was hard to stay mad at him.
“Tell me about it. When they’re asking me all these questions about the house I feel like they can totally see through all my lies. I’m not good at exaggerating like some of the other guys here.”
Peter looked around at the other men and women in the office, most of whom were on the phone or typing furiously into their computers. They were the sort of people that gave estate agents a bad name, because they would do anything to sell a house. I didn’t get along with any of them. Peter was the only one that I actually enjoyed being around, even when he was a pain in the ass.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “They’re all sharks. They were born to do this job. But if I don’t make a sale soon, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to continue here.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “You thinking of leaving?”
He nodded. “I am. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time now. My wife has been nagging me to leave. She can see I’m unhappy. I don’t think I’m good with commission-based work. I need to find a place with a solid and dependable salary.”
“So, what are you thinking of doing?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem. But I’m definitely keeping my eyes and ears open for something else. I have to. And, I’ll be honest, Grant, I think you should, too. No offense or anything. You just don’t seem happy here. Ah, that’s my phone; maybe I sold a house!” he said and ran off.
I could tell by his facial expression that the person on the other side of the phone was not a client, but more than likely his wife. For a while, I sat staring at my computer screen. We got a small base wage, but the rest of what we earned was based on commission. And so far, I hadn’t been doing very well. But I knew that the fault was with me. I just didn’t feel any passion for the job. I didn’t go after the sales like the rest of the staff seemed to do. And Peter was right; I wasn’t happy. I’d overheard one of the other staff members talking about me once. They’d laughed about how miserable I always was. Apparently, I walked around with a permanent scowl on my face. I’d walked passed the mirror once and realized that they had been right. I really did look miserable.
But going from being a Navy SEAL to a realtor had not been good for my general state of my mind. Every day I made my way to work and wondered what on earth I was doing. I felt as if I was just floating through the days without a sense of purpose. And while that was not how I wanted to live my life, I also had no idea how to fix it. I needed a job, and I needed something to occupy my mind.
I spent the rest of the day trying to focus on the job at hand, and by the end of the day I’d set up a few appointments for the upcoming week. It was hardly enough to make me feel good about the job, but at least it was something. Perhaps if I just applied myself more, I’d be better at the job. I was sure that if an old friend hadn’t set this job up for me, I wouldn’t have actually been accepted into the company. I was sure they were already regretting their decision.
As I was leaving for work that day, Peter waved goodbye at me and said, “Give some thought to what I said. I think it’s time we changed our lives for the better.”
I nodded and walked away without giving it much thought, and tried to shove the conversation to the back of my mind. Peter might be right, but I had more important things to think about that day. For one, I had to visit my father in the hospital.
My father, Paul Maxwell, had taught me how to be tough. He was a good man who loved his bikes more than anything else in the world. The only thing that came close to his love of motorcycles was the love that he had for his five children, although you wouldn’t always know it from the way that he acted. But I’d always been close to him, and I was probably the only one out of all the brothers who didn’t mind showing that love to him. He might have shown me how to be tough, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t be close. I sometimes felt that he was the only one who could see through my toughness, and I assumed that was because I could see right through his.
The day I found out he had cancer had been a dark day for me, but I was grateful when the doctor had pulled me aside to let me know that it was treatable. Still, he had to go through a round of chemotherapy, and I knew that this was going to be hard on him.
I made my way to the hospital and found the cancer treatment facility where my father was staying. It was my second time going to meet with him, and even though he kept telling me that I didn’t need to visit, I knew he appreciated it.
“Grant, I didn’t know you were coming today!” he said. “It’s good to see you, son.”
I could see the smile on his face, which was good to see. Because, other than the smile, he was looking a little gaunt and a little more tired than usual.
“It’s good to see you too, Pop,” I said. “So, how’s it going? They treating you nicely here?”
He nodded. “They are. The food is great. Better than home cooking.”
I laughed. My father lived by himself, and he’d never been good in the kitchen. “That’s because your home cooking is terrible.”
“Ha! How can you say that you to your own father?”
“It’s the truth. And don’t worry, the same can be said for me. I think it was pretty clear that none of the Maxwell brothers were going to be chefs. A good old cheese and tomato sandwich and I’m good to go.”
“Sounds like the food in my house, too. I didn’t mind, but now that they’ve introduced me to real cooking, I’m not sure that I can go back to that. I might actually have to learn a few things.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Well, you can invite me over for dinner then. So, other than food, how are things?”
“Ah, you know, same old. I’m feeling okay. They said this first part would be rough but that after that I should feel more like my old self. I only have to stay here a few days at a time. At least I can come into work every now and then. I hate being away from it.”
I chuckled. That didn’t surprise me one bit. My father was a workaholic whose whole life had been dedicated to his motorcycle garage. On top of the shop, he was also one of the leading members of the motorcycle club. His whole life revolved around the shop and the club. The only other person in the family who was quite as dedicated to being in the motorcycle business was my brother Ian, who worked at the shop.
“Oh, you’ll be back in no time. And don’t worry it. I’m sure Gunner’s doing a great job. You know he’s good at what he does.”
“Do you ever call him by his real name?”
I laughed. All the members of the motorcycle club had a nickname, and I’d been calling Ian ‘Gunner’ for as long as I could remember. It would be strange to call him anything else.
“Nope. Just like I call you Pop and everyone calls me Patriot. It feels more . . . normal.”
“Hmm, well you’re still Ian and Grant to me. Did you hear that Ian was in the newspaper again? That boy is giving me gray hairs.”
I sighed. Ian and my father were more alike than either of them cared to admit.
“Look, I was also angry when I saw that he was in the paper. He shouldn’t have hit that guy. But it’s not his fault. I spoke to him. Ian has met the nicest girl. Her name is Eliza, and she’s nothing like the girls he is normally with.”
“I know. I met her. She’s adorable.”
“She is. But she has an abusive ex-boyfriend that has been looking for her. You can’t blame Ian for punching the guy’s lights out. Come on; you know that you and I would’ve done the same in his position. And it’s not his fault he was put in the newspaper for it. The media hates the motorcycle club and will do anything to tarnish our name. Did you see that the paper barely mentioned the other guy even though he was the one that was causing trouble? It’s not Ian’s fault.”
“I don’t know. He should’ve just walked away. He knows that we have the club’s reputation on the line. I don’t know, Grant. I’m starting to regret putting him in charge of the club. He’s great at his job, but I don’t want to see the club fall apart because of his poor decisions.”
I sighed. Ian was the perfect man for the job, and once my father retired from the position, I wanted to see Ian take over. Nobody else in the club cared as much as he did. Hell, even I didn’t. I was a member of the club, but I barely went to any of the meetings. I’d only been going recently to stop me from going mad sitting at home alone with just my thoughts.
“Pop, Ian is great for the job. You know that as much as I do.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should be the one that takes over.”
“I’ll help as much as I need to while you are here. But don’t count Ian out too quickly. He needs you. And he’s a born leader, just like you are. He just doesn’t realize it yet.”
My father grunted and said he’d think about it, and I quickly changed the subject. I had no desire to be in the club anymore, and I needed him to start seeing Ian’s potential.
Afterward, I walked out of the hospital feeling confused. I loved my bike, but I just wanted to ride it. I didn’t want to be too involved in the club, and I didn’t want to work in the shop. It was clear to me just how much my father and my brother loved what they did. Every single day they woke up excited for the day ahead. But I just went to work and wondered why anyone would care so much about real estate. I stared at a screen and willed the day to go fast. I didn’t want to be involved in the motorcycle world, I didn’t want to be involved in the real estate world, and every day I came home to an empty house with nothing to do but think.
Peter’s words came rushing to the forefront of my mind as I climbed onto my bike and headed home.
I think it’s time we changed our lives.