Chapter Eighteen

Macs

Here’s the thing, when you have something you care about you want to keep that thing next to you at all moments. You want to protect it. You want to shrink it and put it in your pocket incased in a steel bubble. And any time you want, you can put your hand in your pocket and feel it there. It’s reassuring. When the thing you care about is a person, you can’t keep them in your pocket. You can’t keep them at home either. The key is under my doormat, but Teala’s car is gone. I curse at the top of my fucking lungs.

A woman is the very last thing I need to worry about right now, but wouldn’t you know, she’s the fucking first—the only thing I can think of after the fucking terror attacks erupted. It’s war. We’re going to war. Not the kind of war you see on the news in far off deserts with a definitive line between good and bad, either.

When we got to work, we were introduced to intel that warned of terror attacks that would span the whole fucking planet. By the time the intel reached us, the first attacks were already happening. Widespread. Death. Destruction. Life-altering, world changing attacks on humanity. They aren’t concepts that are unfamiliar to me. IED explosives, car bombs, suicide vests, M4 wielding bad guys spraying metal into crowds of innocents, but the spotty footage of the terror was something I will carry with me until the day I die. I watched it happen on US soil. I heard the screams of civilians crying for help. They were confused and rightly so.

Multiple bombs in San Diego alone. Two at shopping malls affected so many of the guys that after the reports came in everyone dispersed. It’s fucking melee. Cell towers are down and traffic is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I wanted to take a motherfucking chopper to my house, but those were all being used, go figure. They sent us to check on our loved ones, because even in my line of work family comes first, but I know we’ll be shipping out to spots around the United States to protect our citizens from the monster that lurks within.

That’s the worst part. The terrorists weren’t obvious. They were neighbors, friends, unsuspecting men and women who planned this for God knows how long and by what means. For them to skirt our intel and pull off a feat at this scale, means there were some big financiers behind this. People who pose as our friends. The death toll was in the hundreds of thousands when I left our compound to find Teala. Tahoe and a few of the other single guys stayed back to formulate plans and get everything ready. The confusion isn’t something I’m used to. No one ever thought it would happen here. In the land of the free and the home of the brave. Tactics will have to change. Everything we knew about being SEALs will be turned on its head.

I listen to the scratchy radio in my car as I speed toward her yoga studio using back roads. I dial her at least five times as I go. Her cell is going straight to voicemail and the studio line beeps back at me in a busy signal. The news anchor has replaced the radio DJs and they’re reporting on the attacks. They list the US cities first, and I match them to the corresponding states and realize I don’t think any states were left untouched. They move on to the international attacks, and I find myself gritting my teeth and surrendering to the pure rage coursing through my veins.

Some get scared. Hell, I saw fucking terror on several of my brothers’ faces. Others process things of this magnitude in a more ambiguous manner. They’re methodical. Tell them what to do and they’ll do it.

The news anchor does a recap that’s meant to be swift, but it’s anything but. “Sixteen elementary schools, fifty-five shopping malls, four theme parks, one hundred multi-level parking garages, three cruise ships, eight beaches, two hundred and still counting restaurants, commuter trains, airports, and tourist destinations.”

I have to switch it off. It’s all information I know and hearing it twice gives me the equivalent of rage goosebumps. I swerve in and out of traffic and cars stopped lining the highway. They’re either afraid to continue or they’re so absorbed in the news anchor’s words they can’t focus on driving as well. It makes for a trip longer than it should be.

When I finally pull into the parking lot, my satellite phone rings on my passenger seat. Thank God for technology. I answer with a swift, “Newstead.” And listen to Moose rattle on about our plans. He’s calling me from his car and tells me that Smith’s girlfriend was likely affected by the attack at the mall here in San Diego. My stomach goes sour and I find it hard to reply to that. It’s my biggest concern. I reached my parents earlier and they reassured me that our family was safe. Logically I know Teala is only one of three places, but not knowing is driving me fucking batty. Hearing about Smith’s girlfriend only adds to that anxiety. I ask if our hospital was affected, and he confirms it hasn’t been hit, but it will be overloaded and understaffed. I rattle off a few things I need from my cage to complete my go bag, and he agrees to get them for me if he gets back to base before I do. He asks if I’m going to Teala’s, and he knows, because everyone fucking knows without me saying a thing. I’m in love with her and I never told another soul. I didn’t even tell Teala. I roar out a string of swear words that would make my grandmother roll in her grave and wish him luck. I don’t answer his question about where I’m going. There’s no need.

The door to her studio is locked when I get there, but I spotted her car in the parking lot from the street. She’s here. Teala is somewhere and all of a sudden this fucking plaza doesn’t feel safe. It feels like a trap. Real life feels like a trap. My gaze scans the parking lot as I’m comforted by the weight of my weapons on my hips. People are erratic. There’s no way to judge a person when the state of panic is so severe that no one is thinking clearly.

It’s hysteria and the fact it isn’t just confined to one shopping plaza makes it all the worse. This is happening all over the world. It’s only a matter of time before the president hands down the order for martial law. Our entire country has already been declared in a State of Emergency. I shiver. I won’t be here by then. My steel ball in my pocket will be rolling around all on her own. I bang on the glass of her window, peering in. She has to be inside there. She wouldn’t be dumb enough to go anywhere else. The attacks hadn’t stopped when I left work. The larger attacks were fading, but the smaller ones in grocery stores and gyms were gaining momentum.

I see Teala’s terrified face peek from the corner of the yoga room. My heart hammers out a staccato similar to when I’m getting ready to kill someone. It feels the same. It confuses me even further. I can forget everything else for the moment by the sheer look of relief that washes over her face when she sees it’s me.

She unlocks the door and pulls me inside and she’s folded around me in her next breath. I lock the door because she failed to and relish the weight of her in my arms.

“You’re okay,” I whisper into her hair.

Teala pulls away to look at me. “What’s happening, Macs? What the fuck is happening out there? It’s not real, right?”

Tears streak down her cheeks and her eyes are wild. Like a wild animal trapped in a cage. That’s what she reminds me of and I feel guilty for thinking it, but I’m too glad she’s unharmed to worry about the train of my thoughts.

I swallow down my vanity and prepare to be the person who tells her it’s real life and everything she’s hearing is truth. “Teala, I’m going to find the people who did this.” That’s a truth I can give her.

“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe this is real. I can’t get ahold of my mom, Macs. I have no idea if she’s okay. The mall. Carina went to the mall. I don’t know if my friends are okay. The phones aren’t working!”

Her lips are trembling, and that’s all I need in the way of invitation. I kiss her, pulling her to me and slanting my mouth over hers. She responds immediately and this is a place where we’re okay. Nothing else matters for the seconds or minutes when we live inside this show of emotion. An emotion that isn’t anger or rage, or fear. It’s the purest thing I’ve ever experienced.

“It’s going to be okay. Everyone is okay,” I whisper against her breaths.

There’s so much death in the air that a body count won’t be readily available for weeks, maybe even months. Smith’s girlfriend is Carina. Fuck. I slide the satellite phone out of my pocket.

“Call your mom,” I say, extending it to her.

Her eyes light up. “I need to go to her,” she wails.

I shake my head. “You can’t drive out there, Teala. It’s not safe.”

Nothing is safe. How will I protect her when I leave? I wonder if she could fit in my dead hooker bag. I’d give her food and water and take her with me wherever I went.

“I have to. She’s by herself, Macs. She’s probably freaking out. What if she’s driving to me right now? How are the roads?”

She’s pacing with the phone pressed to her hear. I notice she knows the number by heart and doesn’t need to check her own phone.

The lights flicker in the studio. Fuck. The power plant. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This isn’t good. She doesn’t seem to notice.

“Mom!” she screams. “Are you okay? I’m fine. I’m fine,” she says, responding to her mother’s harried shouts.

I stand by the glass and try to tune out Teala’s voice because hearing the pain that resides there makes me feel sick. I can’t do anything about it and I surely can’t fix it. My hand automatically slides down to caress my weapon. Yes. There’s one thing I can do about this situation.

I stretch my arms over my head as I eye everything taking place in the parking lot. The lights flicker again, and then go out completely. Teala’s apartment won’t be safe. Not in the city, that high up, with a parking garage. That won’t do. My house is in a neighborhood too clustered. Maybe her mom’s out of the city would be the best place to stash her while I’m gone. I pull another cell phone from my back pocket. It’s slow, but I’m able to stay abreast on the attacks as they’re reported. By this time the news is about an hour behind. I see every gruesome target before anyone else knows and I’m helpless.

“It’s not even over yet,” I whisper. “How in the fuck did we not know?”

“What did they say at work, Macs? Are you leaving?” Teala asks, the phone pressed to her ear, but eyes trained on me.

I nod. “I’ll have to go. The primary focus will be securing the US, but I’m not sure where they’ll send me first.”

I skip the logistics part because she doesn’t want to know what I’ll be doing. No one does until it’s finished and over. Then the news eats it up for breakfast and misrepresents everything. People will write books about this and they won’t have to make up any details because this is larger than life all by itself. With my thumb I wipe at a tear on her cheek, right on top of her beauty mark.

“You should go to your mom’s. I’ll drive you.”

“I need to get my stuff,” she says.

Shaking my head, I squash that thought before it goes any further.

“Mom, I’ll see you soon. Please stay safe,” Teala says. “I love you, too. I love you,” she says, but she’s looking directly into my eyes.

It’s too much. I look away.

“I don’t have anything with me,” she says.

She trusts me so implicitly she doesn’t ask questions. Maybe she doesn’t want to know, but she doesn’t strike me as a woman who wants to live in the dark for sake of her feelings. She’s the type of woman who wants to know everything and stand among the devastation proudly. I nod to the rack of clothing she has for sale on the wall.

Without another thought, she pulls all of it off and shoves it into a tote bag with her studio logo on it. She goes under her desk and hunts out the zipped cash envelope. “What else?” she asks, meeting my eyes.

“The computer,” I reply, glancing around. My gaze lands on her plants. “And anything you don’t want to die.”

She looks at me. “Then you’re going to stay at my mom’s, too? You’re the one thing I want to keep breathing.” Her eyes turn down in the corner and it breaks my heart into a million pieces—a feat I would have laughed at if you’d told me it would happen only several months ago.

“I’m too stubborn to die,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light. Death isn’t something anyone wants to talk about, but in my line of work it’s a reality, and with what’s happening right outside this door, I don’t see a need to beat around the bush. “I’m always safe. Okay?”

She frowns, nods, and throws herself into my arms. It forces me to take a step backward. “My car is fine here?”

She can’t see my face because she’s wrapped around my body, which is good. “Take whatever you want out of it.”

She inhales deeply and my eyes flutter closed at the intense longing I feel at the simple gesture. I want to fuck her until there’s no doubt in her mind that I’m coming back for her. She’s mine. Nothing is taking her from me. Not my own ego, or what my brothers think of my reformed ways, and definitely not some fucking terrorists who want to steal everything. No one is touching her. The first thing I thought of when I watched a split screen of the conferences confirming this nightmare was her. I realize what that means.

I swallow down my flailing emotions and whisper, “Let’s go.”

Directing her to stand behind me feels odd. I’m in uniform, which usually gains respect, but right now it puts a target on our backs. As we exit her studio, a woman runs directly into me in a blind frenzy of tears and screams.

“They killed him!” she says, her eyes red-rimmed and wide. “They killed him!” the woman repeats and then runs off.

Teala clutches my back, and I’m made aware she’s sobbing. I can’t afford to comfort her right now. I may never be able to comfort her properly, but I’ll keep her alive.

She told me before we locked the door she didn’t have anything in her car she wanted. Teala is holding two bags with everything she collected from inside. I open the passenger side of my car and push her inside a little more roughly than I mean to. Teala doesn’t say anything else, but she does whimper before I shut the door.

My phone rings when I take my seat behind the wheel. The doors are locked and we’re safely stowed away, so I’m confident enough to answer the call from my friend. “I have her,” I tell Tahoe before he can ask.

Teala peers at me with an indiscernible look of frantic love. It hits me so hard I take her hand in mine and rub my fingers over her knuckles. She soothes under my touch and her bravado returns. I hand her a water bottle from the back seat and return my hand to hers. I reply to Tahoe at the appropriate times and try not to belie my true feelings. This is worse than anyone thought. I end the call.

This is WWIII.

I untangle my hand from hers and drive toward the freeway and try to remember the directions Teala gave me only moments before. She silences the static filled radio and looks out the window as we go. She asks me questions as I drive. Not about anything she knows I can’t answer. Simple things. Like where will she get food and clean water and what about electricity and normal living things, and her bank and money, and her apartment. I make up responses the best I can. She believes every single one even though they were only things said to placate her. It’s what I do for my parents and maybe she knows I’m doing it because she’s seen it firsthand, but she doesn’t remark. She squeezes my hand tighter and leans her body as close as she can to mine.

Her mother’s road is bare of cars when we arrive forty minutes later. I was right in my assumption. The melee isn’t as severe out here. Or at least I tell myself this as a comfort tool. “You’ll be safe here,” I explain.

It’s not a steel ball, but at least they’ll have each other. The neighborhood is filled with older houses. This blessedly means residents have more property and can’t hear their neighbors fucking like animals. She points to a tall red brick Tudor with a high, rod iron fence surrounding it on all four sides. The gate is locked and there’s a box to buzz. Viola must be watching for us because the gate opens before I lean over to punch in the code Teala rattled off.

Her shoulders relax and her breathing evens as we roll down the long, black winding drive. Trees line it on either side and they meet each other at the top. A tree tunnel. “I like this more and more,” I say, mostly for my own benefit.

I’m nodding when she asks, “Why?”

“There’s only one point of entry and it’s locked. It doesn’t mean people can’t get in, but it may detract them.” I have no idea what to expect and no one knows the extent of the damage still ongoing. I pull the car behind a red sedan and throw the shifter into park. Sighing, I face her. “I don’t want to leave you here and I don’t want to tell you what to do.”

Teala is antsy. I can tell she wants to get inside to her mother. That’s what I need. “I won’t leave here. If you tell me to stay, I will.”

I glare at her. “Not like this morning?”

She looks down at her lap, a small smile playing on her lips. It vanishes quickly. “I had no clue when you told me then. Had you said the world was ending I probably would have listened,” she explains, using her hands. “Or better yet, demanded you take me with you.”

There it is. She wants what I want. Something I can’t accomplish.

“I wish I could take you with me, Teala. The president is drafting orders as we speak. Martial law will go into effect shortly.” I explain the basics. About how typically there will be a curfew and checkpoints on roads. No one will be allowed out at dark and our military takes over completely. It’s scary for civilians. Congress has never declared martial law. My mind whirs in a million different directions as I sort the information.

I help her out of the car and into the house. Her mother gives her a tearful hello, hugs me, and disappears out of Teala’s room to leave us alone. My phone rings three times while I’m in the house. Each time it’s someone telling me more bad news. I try to keep my composure for Teala’s benefit. It’s business as usual. I repeat that several times. I close the door behind us.

Teala is pacing back and forth in between her bed and the window covered in white, gauzy curtains. It’s her childhood bedroom and it looks as if it’s untouched by all the years in between eighteen and now.

“Look at me,” I say, my voice thick.

She stops pacing and spins on her heel. “How is this real life?” she asks. “I’m practical. I’m going to do the things you told me. I’ll be okay. I will. That doesn’t mean I can’t wonder what in the ever loving fuck happened, Macs. I think God is punishing the world because I’m happy. Why am I happy right now despite the amount of death?” She waves her arm to the window. “Don’t leave me here, Macs. Please.”

I swallow hard.

“God has nothing to do with this,” I say. “Bad guys do. Ones that I have to take care of. If I don’t, who will?”

“Someone else can. It’s selfish and rude and I feel like a heathen even requesting it, but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t ask. Do you understand? I want you to be with me,” Teala says. “Don’t leave me. Not like this.”

Tears are pouring down her face and I’m more uncomfortable in this social setting than I have been in a really long time. Explaining won’t do any good when her emotions are so heightened. She wouldn’t understand, and I can’t fault her for that.

“I’m scared, Macs. Don’t leave me.”

I cross to her and take her in my arms. “You’re going to be okay,” I lie.

How can anything possibly be okay after this? Nothing will ever be the same. Catastrophes change people, which in turn shape the world. Instead of spinning in a nice round circle, it might hiccup here and there. It doesn’t go away. It’s a forever change.

“You’ll be safe here,” I amend.

I breathe in her hair. I kiss her neck, her collarbone, the place where her ear meets her cheek. The truth is when I leave here I have no idea when I’ll be back. If ever. I love my country. I agreed to die for it. If I only get to feel this for the short time we’ve had, I’ll die a happy man. She leans back to peer into my eyes—my soul.

Teala’s stopped crying, but her face is wet and I lose my breath. Her tears are for me and that changes everything. She strips her tank over her head and steps out of her tight pants. I wasn’t planning on having sex with her, but she’s so sad and it might be the last time, so I don’t fault myself the delay. She hits her knees and unfastens my belt and unzips my pants.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck a man in uniform,” Teala says.

She’s hiding from the truth, and I won’t deny her. Hell, I wouldn’t deny her anything I could feasibly give her. It doesn’t scare me anymore.

“And I just want you. Always, only you,” I reply, cradling the sides of her face. She slides my boxer briefs down to my ankles and pushes me to awkwardly walk backward until the back of my legs hit the bed.

Teala crawls up me, her naked body a swath of warm, delicious skin, and I make a point of erasing my mind of everything but her.

It surprises me how easy it is. She is peeling off my skin, separating muscle, coiling around the untouched places reserved for darkness and depravity. Her light is inside me.

That makes her mine.