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She slaps my arm jokingly. “Tell me, any wild stories from your Navy days you could share, soldier? You never talk about your time overseas. How was that, serving?”
I chuckle. “Well, missions are classified, but maybe I’ve got a couple of good memories I can share with you.”
Her eyes flash excitedly. “Oh, tell me! I bet you have all kinds of badass black ops secrets.”
I laugh, shaking my head at her dramatics but launching into a selective account of squad drama during my first deployment in Yemen. I entertain her with stories of silly pranks the squad would pull in between brutal training sessions, like the time we switched out Johnson's foot powder for glitter dust. Maddie howls hearing about our scowling sergeant glowing like a twilight vampire for days. I embellish only slightly for her amusement, avoiding any mention of the darker moments.
As the moon casts a golden haze over the waters, our chef reemerges from the galley, balancing two steaming plates. My nose fills with rich aromas of cedar plank salmon, grilled asparagus and garlic rosemary roasted potatoes.
Maddie's eyes grow wide as the food is placed before us. “You weren't kidding about that gourmet meal.” She smirks as she carefully unfolds her navy cloth napkin to place in her lap, beaming with delight.
I lean back while the waters slowly rock us. “To a splendid night, Little Bird.”
Maddie beams radiantly, toasting after me and taking a long first sip. Soon, we launch into easy stories and laughter as we savor the delicious food.
“Mm, I don't know if it's the wine, the earth-shattering orgasm, or the water rocking us, but that was the best meal I've had in ages.” She dabs her lips and bats her lashes. “So, what do you say, soldier, feel like giving me an exclusive tour? I bet it beats your typical hotel room.”
“You could say that.” I smile as I guide her toward the polished walnut door leading below deck to the sleeping quarters. Inside, low ambient lighting reveals a decadent California king draped in Egyptian cotton sheets. Flickering faux candles cast the cozy space in a romantic glow, echoed by real stars visible through the skylights strategically angled for stargazing from the bed. Her overnight bag rests on a chair.
Maddie gives a dreamy sigh, running fingers over the intricate carving of the headboard as she toes off her pumps.
“Now this is way better than a standard issue Airbnb.”
* * *
I wake up disoriented, heart racing and explosions still echoing. The Arabian Sea is churning violently under our inflatable dinghy, darkness surrounding us.
It was supposed to be a quick, eight-man SEAL op apprehending an Al-Qaeda target docked nearby. But the insurgents are waiting, militarized fishing boats concealed before swarming us. Our heavily armed squad is clearly outmatched. Johnson takes a missile straight on, granting the rest of us milliseconds to realize we are outgunned.
Through the smoke, I watch Alex get pierced with rounds as he tries to radio for backup before our craft capsizes, blood pluming out into the bubbling blackness. Hands grab at me roughly, and I fight back. Angry yelling surrounds me as they try to rip my hands off an insurgent.
Breathing hard, I register Maddie frozen under me, her eyes saucers as she gasps my name, gripping at my hands wrapped around her throat.
“Jack, it’s me. Jack! Stop!”
I jolt awake, realizing what I’m doing. NYC high-rises are visible through the porthole as I catch my breath. She sits up in bed, terrified, taking in my frenzied state and rubbing at her neck in confusion. Immediately, horror washes over me as I realize I could have killed her in my delirium.
“Hey, I'm sorry,” I rasp, cautiously reaching toward where she sits rigidly, looking like she is ready to bolt. “In my mind, I was back to being captured in Yemen waters, watching my squad mates get killed, helpless to stop it,” I grind out through the bile clogging my throat. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”
Maddie blinks warily like a doe prepared to flee.
Seeing fingermark imprints on her slender neck fills me with shock and self-loathing.
“Maddie . . . I could have really hurt you,” I say hoarsely. Nausea churns at the thought of my hands, trained to quickly maim in close combat missions, wrapped angrily around her delicate throat. It's profoundly disturbing realizing my subconscious could mistake her for the enemy.
Tears are pooling in her eyes. I punch the mattress in frustration and anger at myself for exposing her to this darkness.
She reaches for my clenched fist, ready to comfort me despite being the one who was endangered. But I can't meet her eyes.
“I thought I was okay, but clearly that’s not true. I can't risk this happening again. Your safety has to come first.”
Straightening my spine, I finally meet her wide hazel eyes, shattered with the harsh realization of what I’m about to do. With a small broken noise, she lunges at me, fiercely wrapping both arms around my waist, as if clinging to me tighter could sway me.
I gently remove her hands. Then shoulders squared, I turn my back on her muffled pleas as I put on my discarded clothes and walk out.
15
WALSH WOES
