Chapter 1
Navy SEAL Trace Bennett sat down on one of the benches at Gunny’s Gym and picked up a thirty pound barbell and started his reps, focusing on a straight back and neck, or he’d pay for it later tonight. He’d been told it was mandatory to do daily PT when they were between deployments. Unless he wanted to do a cool ten-mile run or a swim in the inlet, it was Gunny’s, and it was a great place to get to know some of the other guys. Since the Team had just come back from a short mission to Baja California, they weren’t likely to be sent out again for several months, unless something flared up. And that was happening a lot lately.
Being the newest member of Kyle Lansdowne’s squad on SEAL Team 3, his transfer from Team 8 had been hastened by a messy divorce and a bad write-up on his interim evaluation. He’d told his LPO that he just needed a change of scenery.
“Lansdowne runs a tight ship. They watch for cracks. You wanna stay in as a SEAL, you better not have one,” said Sr. Chief Masterson.
That had brought a smile to his lips.
“Fuckin’ pervert! I didn’t mean your butt crack. I mean your head’s gotta be right, but I’m with most my peers in this. If you can’t fuck you can’t fight. So I guess I should feel grateful at least you have a sense of humor and a dirty mind. That’s a good sign.”
“Yessir.” He stifled his snicker and gave him a sigh instead. “I just need a break with all the memories here.”
That had been part of the reason. The fact that Shayla took up with another Team Guy on Team 4 didn’t help things at all. It was a hell of a thing to come back from deployment and find someone else in your brand new king-sized bed that hit your credit card while you were sleeping in a sandy cave overseas.
So here he was, pumping iron and trying to fit in. Except that the guys on Kyle’s team looked like they were right out of high school. At thirty-four years of age, they’d already started calling him “Grandpa.”
Well, he was here to show them he could probably bench press more than anyone, and had taken probably a thousand more halo jumps in his career. He was going to make it to fifteen years, which would happen in two years, and then he’d see if he had the stones to stay in a full twenty, although sitting behind a desk never really appealed to him. Older guys who became too senior didn’t do the active deployments. Right about ten years, most of them started moving on to something else, if they didn’t do it at six years, which is where most of them left at.
But one thing Trace was, if he was anything, was stubborn. He’d leave on his own terms, as long as his body didn’t give out on him. Every jump had his LPOs holding their breath, even though he felt fine. They’d give a younger guy time to heal if something happened. Not a thirteen-year man.
The tall medic, Calvin Cooper, came in with a short ugly dude they called Fredo. They were about as opposite as friends could be, but word had it that they were tighter than the ass on a chipmunk. Fredo kind of looked like a small furry creature himself, with his unibrow and the wide, flat nose like an Ewok. These guys were seniors, he was told. He should show them the respect they deserved. They had a few years less service, but they were well thought of, and if they liked you, you were in with the rest of the squad.
“Hey, gramps. You take your Metamucil this morning?” the shorter one asked him.
“No time. I was doing the tat artist and she took her time with me, too.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Coop. He’d received intel Coop had been sweet on the little lady with tits the size of balloons. He’d let her do the frog prints up his right arm, like all the rest of the guys on Kyle’s team.
Coop didn’t react, but Trace could almost hear the cracking of granite inside the tall SEAL’s chest. So Trace had to rub it in and displayed his arm, still with the plastic wrap attached, showing off his new reddened frog print tattoo.
Fredo swore in Spanish. “He’s a clown this one. Coop, we’re gonna have to watch out for him.” Coop still said nothing. Fredo continued, “Besides which, you’re a fuckin’ liar. She wouldn’t want anything to do with the likes of you. She’s got herself a homicide detective who brings his own cuffs, right Coop?”
“That’s right. I still got the scars,” Coop said, fingering his wrist.
Trace stood up so they could see he was nearly as tall as Coop, who was the tallest man on the squad. “You’re right fellas, she only gave me a blowjob.”
Coop smirked and still didn’t rise to the bait. Fredo did it for him.
“You gotta dirty mouth, Bennett. You better hope you pack your own chute from now on.”
Trace worked alone and vowed to find a training buddy, or they’d assign him to someone who would be annoying.
“I’ll spot you if you trust me,” Coop said in his soft Midwest drawl.
Trace thought about it for a minute and nodded, rolled on his back and under the bar he’d set at one hundred pounds. He gripped the bar and extended.
“Hold it right there for ten seconds,” yelled Coop.
Trace was fine until the slow count of twelve, but he wouldn’t give up. Coop got to thirteen and then counted ten, and Trace lowered the bar. Coop took it from him and set it gently on the bar catcher.
“That was a nice one, Trace. You’re one strong motherfucker,” said Coop.
“Guess you won’t be calling me grandpa again, then?” Trace said as he lifted the bar a second time, holding it straight-armed to a genuine count of ten, and brought it back down, where Coop rested it.
“That’s a function of age, not strength. But hell, if you got it, you’ll earn your spot here fair and square,” added Fredo.
Amornpan, the gym owner, wafted back into the room. “Hello fellas. You got a new guy with you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Trace said as he sat up. “I’m Trace Bennett. On Kyle’s squad.”
“Oh you don’t have to tell me that.” She slapped her forearm to show she’d noticed his tat. She put her glasses on and started working on the computer. “I’ll have some paperwork for you when you’re done, Mr. Bennett,” she said without looking at him.
They went through several routines, and the three of them worked in together nicely. Afterward, Fredo poured cold water on a towel and wore it like a hoodie. Coop’s face was bright red. Trace had worked a bit longer and harder than he’d intended, but he wanted to impress the stalwarts of the team.
“So we got a vacation coming up. You up for a little sun and fun?” Coop asked him.
“Not sure what you mean. I just got here. Nothing wrong with San Diego’s sun and fun.”
“Nah, man. I mean Hawaii.” Coop had his towel around his neck, sweat rolling down in rivulets all over his face and chest. “Bunch of us are going in on a big house on Kauai with like eight bedrooms. Got it for the week. We’re bringing wives and girlfriends, so you’re welcome to if you want. We’re asking everyone for a five hundred, and that will include everything but the bar tab and eating out, and the air fare of course.”
“Sounds good.”
“Put you down for one or two?” asked Fredo.
“Just one. I’m solo right now.”
“Okay, you’ll probably get the couch, then.” Coop continued, “Fair warning, there are a few babies coming, but no kids. Some have babies they can’t be separated from yet. You get the idea.”
“Yeah. Breast feeding.”
Fredo burst out laughing. “You’re all right, Trace! He comes already packaged for the program.”
“You gotta understand, this isn’t my first picnic, and I’ve been on Team vacations before. I know the drill.” Trace didn’t want to dwell too much on some of the trips he and Shayla had taken in the past. There was a lot of naughtiness, some that got couples in trouble, and of course a whole lot of drinking. This time he was single, and was kind of looking forward to it.