Logan
Full disclosure. That was what should’ve been given to me before I took on the mission of Maya Bexley. Just looking her up on the internet had not been enough. It didn’t provide me access to her flirtation and alluring ways. There was no way for me to be prepared for all of that. Going out on missions was far easier than containing myself when I was around her.
First of all, deployments never involved women specifically. We may have rescued a few females but they were not strutting around in fitted clothing and smiling. They most often were in fear of losing their lives and couldn’t care less about wooing us. However, generally no one saw us coming or leaving. My team mainly entered wherever we needed to be via water since we were all highly skilled at swimming. Yes, SEALs are all good swimmers but then there are exceptional swimmers who most of the time find themselves in water. All three of my missions involved water access and my buddies Fin and King were also considered elite swimmers on their own teams.
I may have failed to mention that I knew Fin and King long before becoming SEALs, back when they were just Barlow and Roman. We all went to the same high school and were on the swim team. Many of my fellow swimmers talked about being SEALs. It seemed like the thing to do and to challenge ourselves we did beach training every summer. Then we got the wild idea to swim to Catalina Island as a challenge as well as a charity event which raised money for ataxia. It was a crazy experience—twenty-six miles, thirteen swimmers, one-mile relay, and two miles each. We were all sure we could do it since we all swam yards and yards daily for high school in season and club when not competing for school.
Swimming in the ocean was a completely different beast. There were no walls to push off. The water temperature was colder than a regulated temp. Not to mention, you wanted to avoid taking in salt water and spitting it out like we often did in the chlorinated pool. Then there was the element of fighting the currents and stroking over waves. And there was the mental part of hoping a shark wasn’t hungry for swimmer flesh. It was not easy. By the time our turns were over, our bodies were shaking and we were exhausted. But when our time was up again, we jumped back in and gave it our all.
I think that accomplishment was what cemented the idea of becoming Navy SEALs for three of us. Barlow “Fin”, who was a senior at the time we made the trek from Long Beach to Catalina, was the first to apply. Roman “King”, a couple years behind Barlow, joined up second. I followed years later after they had already been deployed a few times since my parents refused to let me join up without finishing college. In fact, by the time I was finally ready to deploy, Barlow was already out and Roman was at the end of his service. Roman and I, actually, went out on one mission together when our two teams joined forces before he left me behind.
The annual film festival was what brought us back together after my royal fuckup and early retirement. We all seemed to agree that the most chill part of the week was watching the films—some good, some horribly painful to stand through—as we stood guard at the back of the theatre. Listening to the questions and answers portion after each film was often more interesting than the film itself. I guess that proved it wasn’t always easy to depict your visions. Like reading a book and seeing its counterpart brought to life before your eyes—not that I read much—and waiting for things you wanted to see a certain way. To be honest, the festival provided me with my fill of movies for the year.
It was a bit different sitting in a seat next to the star of the film. I was seeing a completely different person…creature…character on the screen. The beauty of make-believe. The beauty part was real. The inside, personal stuff I had only seen a hint of between her appearances. She hadn’t completely let down her guard or even told me what had her needing me constantly at her side other than when she slept.
I hadn’t planned on a middle of the night scream to reveal the mystery behind my protection detail. But I did what I was trained to do; dressed within seconds, grabbed my gun along with the passkey for her suite and was rushing in to find a sobbing Maya on the floor by the door I had just come through.
She was mumbling. “Delivery. Feathers. Blood. So much. Note. Candy box.”
I wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell me, but I wanted to make sure no one was in her room. “Stay right there, Maya. Don’t move.”
She nodded her head and I moved away from her, checking the room we were in and the adjacent dining room area before checking the empty bedroom where her assistant should’ve been and then the room Maya was sleeping in along with the bathrooms in all rooms. It was when I took a closer look in her room that I noticed feathers on the floor and began to investigate.
What looked like a fancy candy box was upside down near the feathers. That had to have been what she was talking about so I reached down to pick it up, using a wad of tissues from a box next to her bedside—I should’ve grabbed plastic gloves before I rushed to Maya’s room.
“What the fuck?!” Inside of the velvet-lined box was a bloody bird with its beak gaped open and its wings missing. It was when I read the note that I understood the relevance to the poor bird and why she wanted my protection:
You can’t fly!
I’ll clip your wings yet.
I told you I’d see you in Palm Springs!