Blue hit the water, feeling like he could breathe it into his lungs. Needing to get away from everything trapped inside him. The memory of him seeking out the water as solace after what had happened to him when he’d been a boy had built a strong correlation to sanctuary.

This woman, this beauty, was pushing his buttons. From the moment he’d seen her on the plane, his uncontrollable reaction to her had kept him aroused on and off for days. He wanted her to watch him jack off. He couldn’t get the thought out of his head. It permeated his waking and sleeping moments. He didn’t want her to see him, his scars still so red and terrible that he couldn’t even look at himself. The shame of not being in control of something so fundamental and outside of societal norms only made him feel even more deviant.

He’d never talked to a woman like that in his life. Was it that he’d had too much to drink? Was it the way he was feeling…ousted, banished, and betrayed? He no longer had the brotherhood and his place in the SEALs to ground him. All of a sudden, after being in such a close-knit group, he was on his own with nothing but a therapist to talk to, a stranger.

The salty scent of the ocean, the life, even the decay, all part of the circle filled him with a sense of the vastness not only of the world but the void in him that was as massive as the universe.

He got lost in the blackness hanging on him, the color of Natasha’s eyes, the color of shame and revulsion. A darkness so deep maybe he couldn’t pull himself out. Maybe he could just let the ocean take him into her, and there he could forever sleep.

“Blue!” the woman’s shout knocked him out of his thoughts. He was in the warm surf in nothing but his briefs.

He turned around, and she was standing in the sand, her chest heaving, her eyes wide. “Stop this now. You’re coming home with me, and you’ll be all right.”

He wanted to believe those words. Her face was pinched tight after she said them, as if they affected her as much as they affected him. What was her trauma? Like knew like, and he saw the darkness on her as easily as she was seeing it on him. Kindred souls. Broken people.

He hated being shattered, pieces of him all over the place, and he couldn’t seem to pick up the shards fast enough. But the worst part was he knew he could never go back. Speed was gone, and there was nothing he could do to change that either. Elena had made the ultimate sacrifice for him, and he’d been violated in so many ways. Ways he was trying to understand and come to grips with, but his mind kept spinning and he couldn’t seem to get a hold of the wheel as it whirled in his head. Important places zipping by without an ability to stop the spin, to examine those bruised and battered places. How could he figure this out if nothing stood still?

“It would be fast and peaceful,” he said above the surf.

Her chin lifted. “It would be a fucking cop out,” she said, and that snapped him to attention. She marched right into the surf and wrapped her arms around his waist. With the force of a linebacker, she pushed him onto the sand where he lost his balance, ending up on his ass. “I don’t know you very well. I have no idea what you’ve been through, but you don’t give the hell up. You fight until you get out of it. Now get your ass up. You’re coming home with me, and you’re sleeping this off. Then if you want, we’ll talk.”

Instead of platitudes and pleading, she gave him attitude, and fuck him, if that didn’t make him want to see what else this cute little package had inside of her. If it was anything like the external, it would be a second mind blown moment.

His head spun, and he closed his eyes, the sand still sun-warmed against his back. The disconnection he felt swirled with the whirling in his head, as if he could slingshot into the velvet blackness and get lost in a dark sky without stars.

He’d never felt so unsubstantial in his life. He swallowed hard, his stomach protesting. He should have eaten something. When her hand curled around his wrist, he simply reacted. Coming upright, he shoved her away from him. She sprawled into the sand, the surf rolling over her. He crab-walked backward until he lurched awkwardly to his feet. “Don’t touch me,” he said, low and lethal. His heart pounded, and he was sweating.

His chest heaved as the uncontrollable fear rushed through him along with an arousal he couldn’t control. He closed his eyes, laboring to get ahold of himself. He bent over and put his hands on his knees and breathed in the briny air.

When he opened his eyes, she was standing again, his clothes in her arms. “Blue?”

His gaze slammed into hers, and in her eyes, he saw…sanctuary. She didn’t seem to be affected by his actions. His head hurt and felt full and thick. She looked at him with those pretty blue-green eyes. A huge lump in his throat made it hard to breathe. “I’m okay,” he said, backing up another step. She smelled so good—clean with a tangy scent. Nothing like Natasha. That cloying smell even now made him sick to his stomach.

She started up the beach, past him, and he followed her, his brain fuzzy. When she stopped and went into an apartment complex, she turned, and he swayed. “Can I help you up the stairs?”

He pressed his hand against the doorjamb and knew that climbing stairs was going to be a challenge. “Elevator,” she intoned, and before he knew what was happening, she slipped her shoulder under his armpit as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Her hair smelled even better, and he found himself breathing deep of the tantalizing scent. It reminded him of his meditation room.

She directed him toward the elevator and up they went. He was beginning to sag a bit by the time they got to her door. She pressed him against the wall, and he murmured, “Don’t touch me.”

He heard the sound of the lock releasing, then she was moving him again. When she stopped, she pushed on his chest and he sat down on the edge of the bed. She dropped his clothes on the floor. “Lie back,” she said. I’ll be right back.” He drifted until a touch on his shoulder startled him awake. The room was dim, and for a moment he was back in Kirikhanistan, Natasha forcing him, and Boris—that fucking sick creep—watching his wife rape him under the influence of drugs.

“No,” he growled and flailed madly, knocking against something. He vaguely heard the sound of water splashing and a short cry from a woman.

“You have to take some water. I brought you some ibuprofen.”

He was losing her as she wavered in and out of his vision. Before he knew it, she was back, and she slipped her hand under his nape, helping him to take the tablets and sip the water. “Drink it all.” He gulped as the cool water ran over his tongue. “Get some sleep.” She prodded him, and he twisted and turned until he was under her covers.

Then he slipped into sleep.

He had no idea how long he had been asleep when he woke up. It was still pitch black, and he had no idea where he was. There was a soft glow under the door, and he followed it. When he silently pushed the door open, she was toweling off.

She looked up with a gasp, and he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Elena,” he whispered. He entered the bathroom as she took a step back. She said something, but he was intent on touching her, his heart breaking, and he couldn’t figure out why. Elena was here, and she was okay.

Her hair was a wet mass of darkness falling on either side of her face, and he cupped her chin in his hand and said, “I thought I had lost you.”

She made a soft sound and a protest, but he was overcome with his guilt and his need to feel her against him again. With heat settling in his groin, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth against her softly parted lips, giving her an aching, deep kiss.

“Elena,” he said again, his voice breaking because he knew this was wrong, but not understanding how she could be here. “Don’t leave,” he whispered desperately. Her arms went around him, and he was pressing against her naked flesh. His hands slipped down the small of her back, over her buttocks. “I missed you. Thank you for saving my life. I’m sorry you were injured.”

He tried to hold on to the feeling for as long as possible. Then she spoke. “It’s all right,” she whispered, her hand cupping his head, then soothing down his back. “It’s not your fault.”

Something snapped in him, and he clutched her closer, her warm body and scent filling him up. “It was my fault. If you hadn’t picked me up after the explosion, I would have died out there alone and wounded. You risked everything to shelter me and nurse me back to health. And I destroyed everything, including you. I’m a medic. It’s not what I’m supposed to do. I’m a SEAL. I don’t put innocents in harm’s way. It’s part of our code.”

“I’m sorry all this happened to you. Why don’t you lie down again and go to sleep?” She didn’t sound like Elena. She didn’t have her accent, but she had Elena’s face.

“Will you come with me? I just need to hold you.”

“Yes,” she said and took his hand. “Come on.”

She led him through the darkened house. When they got to the bed, he slipped in and she joined him. His body responded to the warmth and softness of her supple curves, hardening him in a scalding rush of need.

He buried his face in her neck, the comfort unbelievable.

“They hurt me bad. The navy prepares you for being captured. But it’s not nearly enough. I didn’t understand the fear. I didn’t anticipate Natasha’s need to break me completely. She tapped into something I’d buried, and I feel completely lost. They took something from me,” he stammered out, unable to keep his voice from breaking with the force inside him, the pain pulsing as if alive. “I don’t know how to get it back.”

She clutched him to her, rocking him, and the comfort was a boon to his soul. He needed someone who knew how to wield a blow torch, who could weld him back together. “You’ll figure it out. I’ll help you.”

He rested against her, the flat of his hand on her ribcage just below the rounded plump of her breast, absorbing the beat of her heart. “I was so scared, Elena. For you. For Speed. For my team. For myself. But I had to overcome it.”

“I know,” she whispered, then she murmured, “Why?”

“It was my duty. I would have brought you back to the US with me. I would have given you that, so you were safe. I promise.”

“I know, Blue. I know you would have if you could have.”

“But I failed you, and I failed Speed. I lost myself and everything I knew seems like a dream. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know anything. I feel like I’m fading.”

She held him tighter, rocked him harder. “Oh, God, Blue. I’m so, so sorry.”

He buried his face in her neck and breathed deep of her scent. She didn’t smell anything like Elena, and for a moment he was confused, but she stroked his shoulder and arm rhythmically. Her breathing matched his, and he was so comfortable for the first time since that explosion had ripped his world apart and he’d fundamentally lost who he used to be.

He slipped his hand down to the flat of her stomach and curled deeper into her embrace as she held him until he drifted back to sleep.

---

He came awake slowly. The pounding of his head told him he’d exceeded his threshold again. He kept his eyes closed, trying to orient himself for the day, trying to think what he had to do. He blinked his eyes open and then frowned. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, he felt gritty and salty as if he’d been swimming in the ocean. He couldn’t seem to remember much of last night, except the dream with Elena and how he had told her everything he’d wanted to say. He shifted, not remembering his mattress being this comfortable, but when he turned over, he found he wasn’t in his bed, but in an unfamiliar room. Beside him, the woman from the dive locker was asleep.

The sheet was half off her so that the sleek, naked curve of her hip and well-toned leg showed, along with a beautifully rounded breast topped with a satiny pink nipple. He stared at her for a long time, his dick already rock hard from waking up. He studied her face, the pixie quality of it, the light sprinkle of freckles across her nose, the thick black lashes like dark half-moons on her cheeks, the tanned, toned skin as if she worked outside a lot, and the mass of black silk waving across the pillow, strands of it sliding over his shoulder as he moved to get a better look at her.

Jesus. What a babe. But what the hell was he doing here, and how was she naked and he still in his briefs? Did they have sex? If he was drunk with this woman and they had done it, wouldn’t he be naked, too?

He immediately got a sick feeling in his stomach. Had she seen his scars? Then her eyes opened, and she was staring up into his with the most self-possessed, unabashed boldness he’d ever encountered with a woman.

“Good morning,” she whispered. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused,” he said, then he froze at the sound of her voice. Elena. Last night. He hadn’t been dreaming. He’d mistaken this woman for her. Fuck. He’d spilled his guts, clung to her for comfort, and he would be more freaked out about it if not for the fact that she had given it to him without any qualms.

“Would you like some breakfast?” she asked. As she rolled away from him, he got the full view of her delectable body and heart-shaped ass. She reached for her robe and shrugged into it, the sleek muscles across her back flexing. Damn.

She rose and tied the sash and turned around. Her hair was a tousled dark mess around her shoulders, and he noticed her freckles were barely visible. She stood there waiting for his answer.

“Breakfast? What the hell? How did I get here?”

“You got drunk last night in Flight of Seagulls, and I broke up an almost bar fight with a jerk who thinks a drunk Navy SEAL would be a good opponent to take on because he’d be much too scared to take you on sober. Then you wouldn’t or couldn’t tell me your address. I couldn’t in all good conscience let you roam the streets drunk off your ass, so I tried to bring you home.”

“What do you mean you tried?”

“You decided that going for a swim was a good idea. Oh, and you owe me for all the drinks you swilled.”

That explained the gritty feeling and why he was in his briefs. Even in his inebriated state, he couldn’t reveal his scars.

“You let me think you were Elena.”

She stiffened. “I did not. I tried to tell you several times that I wasn’t her, but let’s face it, with the amount of alcohol you consumed last night, it wasn’t only your liver that was pickled.”

He looked away, the fact dawning on him that he’d told a complete stranger, one associated with the school, more about himself than he’d told anyone since he’d come home from Kirikhanistan.

“You should have stopped me.”

She tilted her head. “You going to have a tantrum now? If that’s the case, I need coffee. Without another word, she walked out of the room. He sat in her bed and fumed. She was so nonchalant. Like waking up next to a strange man didn’t faze her a bit. Who was this woman? Fuck. He didn’t even know her name.

He threw back the covers and called out. “Can I take a shower?”

“Wow,” she called back. “You do have manners?”

That stung a bit. He was well aware that he’d been a prick lately to everyone. Maybe he was entitled?

“You don’t pull any punches do you, babe?”

“Don’t call me babe and no, Blue. I don’t. Towels are in the linen closet to the right of the bathroom door. Help yourself. Eggs, bacon, and toast?”

“Yes,” he said, then added grudgingly, “please.”

“Oh my God, don’t get too polite. I might not know how to handle it.”

Her tone made him smile, and he was surprised at the amusement he felt. His life had been so…fucked up.

Inside her bathroom, he remembered catching her fresh out of the shower, her skin damp. This place was beautiful, upscale, and the bathroom reflected it.

He touched the switch on the wall near the vanity, and a warm, subdued light filled the arch, revealing a glassed-in shower, an open shelf full of soft, peach-colored towels, and the curved recesses of a large, jetted tub.

He slipped his briefs off and refused to look down at himself. He had no idea if he could even perform with a woman. The explanation of what had happened to his groin and dick would be something that a woman would want to discuss. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. This woman definitely would.

He stepped into the shower with his continued hard-on, remembering how silky her skin had been beneath his palm. She had allowed him to touch her, and he was again floored and humbled by how she had comforted him. An almost complete stranger. He wondered if she was the type to take in stray animals. A fixer. He immediately rebelled against that idea. He’d already shown his vulnerability to her without meaning to. He’d thought he was talking to Elena and that she was a dream woman. But damn, the way she looked this morning, he could have sunk down into all that beauty without thinking a single thought—except for his scars, he thought, shame twisting in his chest.

He wondered about his mystery woman. He still didn’t know her name. He stepped inside the shower and turned on the hot water. The steam from hot water loosened him up, helping with his pounding headache. She’d been so sassy at the airport. Taking his cab was a great way to tell him that she deserved his respect.

Damn if that wasn’t effective.

But from the moment he’d awoken to her shaking him out of that debilitating nightmare on the plane, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Not during his waking hours when his vigilance would drop, and he’d almost feel normal. And certainly not when he closed his eyes and the memory of her face burned behind his lids.

The water cascaded over him, and he couldn’t seem to help himself. It felt so good on his body. Every cell seemed enhanced since his torture, since that sadistic bitch had forced him to participate in his own humiliation while her husband watched her dominate him and get off.

There was nothing but triumph in her eyes when he begged her, and she would laugh and withhold until he thought he would go mad. The doctors had told him the drugs in his system were a combination of the date rape drug Rohypnol and a number of sexual enhancers. With the amount she’d given him, he didn’t have a chance in hell of resisting.

When he opened the body wash, it smelled like her, simple and clean like rain on a summer day. He breathed deep, and suddenly Natasha’s satisfied face disappeared and there was nothing in his mind but the sensual smell of the brunette and the feel of her body beneath his hands. He gripped himself and groaned softly when he stroked himself. In the past, it was as a result of a frantic need to show to himself that he had control. Drawing his hand back up, he imagined having her beneath him, pumping into her, his hips flexing and grinding.

His back went against the shower and his chest heaved, his heart pounding with the need to be deep inside her, giving her the kind of pleasure she was giving him.

A sound distracted him, and he turned his head, looking toward the door. She was standing there, her eyes caressing every inch of his body. Was she crazy? She didn’t even know him. He could be some kind of a psycho. Although, she’d seen enough of his crappy attitude to be wary of him, there was nothing but the wonder of discovery in her eyes, and it was like a mirror. He felt something come over him, something akin to lust and force. He wanted to know, to know if he could fuck her. Stay hard inside her.

“What do you need?” she said.

“Control. Power. You.”

“Come then, come and take me.” A power play, her way of challenging him to a dare. But she left the decision up to him, and that made all the difference in the world.

“Condom?”

“You don’t need one. I’m safe.”

It was all he needed to hear. He had that sense that she was a safe haven. “Turn around and face the wall. Don’t look at me. Lose the robe.”

She did as she was told, and his whole body trembled at her compliance. Her delectable form that he’d glimpsed this morning was on display for him to appreciate fully.

He was on fire, burning himself in the fervor of his need. The need to dominate felt so good.

But she was letting him take over, and he didn’t know what turned him on more, knowing her, but not knowing her. Finding himself in a strange place with a stranger who was as open to him as if he’d known her for years.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he skimmed his other hand down her stomach to the heat of her core. His fingers stroked her intimately, deeply, where she was all velvet softness and slick, wet heat. Her head fell back against his chest, and a low moan escaped her throat.

He stared down at her, the cascade of her hair across those delicate, but strong shoulders, the thick lashes covering her eyes, the plump promise of her lips, the tip of her tongue moistening her bottom lip in anticipation. Then the payoff, the gasp when he touched her. With a taut, aching need, he pressed his body against hers, pressed her into the wall, watched as her breasts flattened. He wanted to turn her around, but he couldn’t let her see him…he couldn’t deal with that now.

She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes hot and hungry, so full of life that the lust in him crested.

“God, I want you.” Her voice was nothing but a wanton whisper that drove him completely out of his mind. His dick full to bursting from thinking about her all over him for days broke whatever flimsy restraint was left to him.

He buried his face in the fragrant curve of her neck, drowning in sensation, his fears about performing gone. She was so soft beneath his hands, her body moving against his. Her soft panting and gasping showed her eager anticipation, wanting this. Wanting him.

Pressing his dick against the soft firmness of her ass, he gripped himself, guiding his dick to her like a heat seeking missile. His head found her slick opening, and with a long, driving thrust, he was where he ached to be. She moaned and arched her back, driving her gorgeous ass toward him, one hand splayed against the wall, the other clasping his hip. Reaching around her, he stroked her in the same slow, heated rhythm as his pumping hips. He was so fucking hard, he was about to burst.

“Blue,” she whispered in a trembling panic, her fingers digging into him. She was on the verge; he could feel it in her body as if he’d known her all his life, as if her body was sending him private signals.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “I need you to come for me.”

He increased his tempo until he was pounding into her, the feel of her hot, slick core driving him even harder. Then she splintered, sobbing as her body convulsed with the beginning of a powerful, intense orgasm.

With an unraveling groan, he jerked her hips tighter against him, thrust fiercely into her until his balls were tight, his pleasure cutting through him like a hot, sharp knife.

When he came, it was so good, better than he had experienced since Natasha’s brutality. Almost as good as it had once been.

He supported himself against her and the wall, his hand stretched out in front of him, bracing himself, barely remaining upright.

She looked over her shoulder at him, and he made eye contact with her, his heart squeezing as hard as hell, suspended by her beauty. She was glowing, radiant, flushed, and fuck if he didn’t want her all over again. But he had been an animal, taking her without any foreplay or any care. This woman who had no qualms about watching him in private. When he met her eyes, he could see her interest, but there was more there. Compassion and the sense that she knew exactly what he was going through and knew exactly how to help him.

She tilted her head and said, her voice husky, “Breakfast is ready.” She moved, and he grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his waist, hiding himself. She picked up her robe. He took it from her and helped her into it. She studied him for a moment, then turned and left, but he noticed she left the door open.

He waited a minute. He closed the door and leaned against it. Was there a part of him that really enjoyed her watching him jack off to the thought of being inside her? Did she get that it was her he was thinking about when he’d touched himself, the pleasure rolling over him until it was a full-body experience?

He gritted his teeth as he saw himself on his knees in front of her, his hands tied behind his back. He had no idea where that vision had come from, but he craved her touch, especially when he was bound, but he also feared it. Feared the way it would make him feel.

He didn’t know if it stemmed from the comfort she had so selflessly given him. Part of him wanted it until his teeth hurt, and the other part of him was desperately afraid.

He dried off and ducked into her room and stepped into his jeans, shoving the briefs into his pocket. He picked up his T-shirt and slipped it on.

He followed his nose to the kitchen to find her standing by the big window watching the boats on the bay. She was in full sun, a coffee cup in her hand, and he was transfixed. As the sun caught her hair, tones of caramel brown, espresso, and milk chocolate came alive. The soft strands slid across the back of her shoulders as she shifted to get a better view of something below.

He had that vision again, and his hands clenched, his wrists tingled, and he was damned if he wasn’t getting hard again.

He cleared his throat, and she turned her head, a smile on her face. He gave a slight smile, not understanding how she did that to him.

She pushed off the window and walked over to the stove and dished up his food, the toast already on the plate. He settled in at the bar. She leaned back against the counter top and sipped her coffee while he took his first bites.

It was damn good, and he didn’t realize how hungry he was.

“I can help you,” she said.

He choked on a swallow of his coffee and coughed. She walked over and went to slap his back, but he choked out, “Don’t touch me.”

She stopped in mid-motion. “Okay.”

He took another sip to help with his raw throat. Then he looked at her. “With what?”

Her brow rose, and she gave him an are-you-a-dumbass look. “Really. You spent an hour relating to me about Elena and what you’ve been struggling with.” She set the cup down and leaned on the counter, the gap in the robe giving him a tantalizing view of a plump breast.

He looked away. “I don’t need your help.”

“Navy SEAL, right?”

He nodded once.

“You seeing a therapist?”

“That’s a pretty personal question and none of your business.”

“You were mandated to see one, but you’re fighting it because showing any weakness scares you. You’re a man, Blue, before you’re a warrior. There’s no shame—”

“What the fuck do you know about it?”

She never even flinched. The girl was so damn confident in herself and didn’t apologize for how she was. Damned if that didn’t turn him on. “I know that you need my help. I feel the pain in you when I look into your eyes. I want to help you to find your way back.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you can help me.”

“How?”

“I’m lost, too. I have been for a long time. I need something to jar me out of my…numbness. I need you as much as you need me.”

He looked away, the eggs feeling tentative in his gut now. “What would this help entail?”

Her eyes dropped to his wrists where the scars from his bondage showed like a shame-filled secret.

“I want to tie you up.”

He got off the stool and backed up. “No way, lady.”

He turned, and she walked after him, still as calm as the day was long.

“I think it will help. Shibari isn’t the answer, you are.”

Almost to the door, he stopped and turned around. “Shibari?” He frowned. That was an ancient bondage that stemmed from the samurai. “How can that help me?”

“Specifically, mugnawa,” she said, and he narrowed his eyes. “It’s a practice of letting go. Letting go of comparing your here and now with your past or future. It frees you from trying to change it while holding onto your emotional and physical wellbeing. It’s all about deep trust. Vulnerability. Tying contrasts between surrender and power. When done as a form of discovery, it empowers intimacy, healing, and growth. I’m a master rigger and I want you to be my bottom or model. We can explore our feelings and emotions together. You understand,” she whispered.

He wasn’t sure about this. He could barely stand anyone to touch his wrists or him when he wasn’t drunk off his ass. But her argument had appeal and he understood the boundaries and how being bound had an energy all its own.

“We would have to develop a bond for you to trust me deeply, surrender yourself, and let go of whatever it is that you need to let go of. It frees you from doing, judging, and keeps you from listening to the insistent voice in your head. It’s a paradox, contrasted between holding your space and actively expressing your power. It’s a practice of deep listening and presence. It’s also about desire.”

He eyed her. “Desire? Do you mean sex?”

“Yes.”

“Is that part of the tying?”

“It can be. I find you very attractive, primal. Being bound is a common sexual desire, either the symbolic gesture of giving up power or the physical feeling of restriction. Some experience the play of power as part of their primal instincts.”

“You want to bind me with ropes and…what, do me?”

“No. I want to bind you with ropes and give you a place for you to explore yourself and your trauma. The sex is just icing on the cake.”

“What the hell is your name?”

“Charlie.”

“Well, Charlie, if I were to take you up on this, how would it work?”

“You could come here and stay with me for a while. We get to know each other, and we’ll move slowly. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

He turned back to the doorknob and clasped it, scared and hopeful at the same time.

“Blue, take the chance. I know it will turn out all right.”

She had a hold of him. He could feel the light pressure and having her tie him up excited him even as it scared him. He needed to get himself back. He needed it desperately or he might as well drop into the dark hell of his thoughts, lose his connection to reality, his place on the team, the brotherhood that grounded him. If he said no, he was sealing his own doom. “All right,” he murmured. “I’m in.”

It was all about getting back to the team. She was beautiful, and she had comforted him through some bad shit, stopped him from walking out into the ocean and ending his life. He would have to face his fears, but goddammit, he was a Navy SEAL and he lunched on fear. He could do this, finish out this damn mission and then get back to Coronado and to the brotherhood. Maybe if he could do this, he would deserve them, deserve the honor again. If only he could redeem himself.

The next morning, he entered his classroom and went to the front of the class. He turned to face the class. He froze. Charlie sat in the front row.

Fuck it!

She was one of his students.

This just went from interesting and weird to freaking criminal and complicated.