SEAL'd Perfection The Complete Collection: A Navy SEAL Romance (10 page)

“I mean, Hilda, it was…” I cut off again, looking over at Jax. “It was insane.”

“Say no more, dear,” Hilda said, throwing me a wink. “I
told
you he’d be a good match for you. Just the kind of man you need around to make you smile and curl your toes.” She winked.

I laughed. “No, no. It was a mistake—granted, a fun mistake—but I can’t go there. Not with everything else going on. Besides, he’s like twenty-five! I know I’m not
old
, but to me, that feels a little too young. Although…you should have seen the way Mitch looked at him,” I giggled, remembering the mix of horror and shock on his face. “Thank God he didn’t have his jacket off. If Mitch had gotten a look at all that ink…oh my God. I can’t even imagine!”

Hilda frowned at me. “So, what? That’s it? Just like that you’re gonna give up?”

My smile faded from my lips. “I don’t see what choice I really have. I can’t do anything that will make Mitch question whether or not I’m a good mother. You know what happened last time, with the court. His lawyer steamrolled everyone who came to speak on my behalf.” I shook my head. “No, it’s better this way. I need things to be simple right now.”

A timer went off in the kitchen, and Hilda went to go see about dinner. I knew the conversation wasn’t over, but for the moment, the pressure was off.

Overnight, my life had turned into a circus. The camera crew for my reality show, Inked by Jace, arrived Tuesday morning to begin filming, and by Thursday afternoon, I was ready to lock every member of the production team in a closet. It had been at least six months since the first season had wrapped, and in that space of time, I’d forgotten how much of a pain in the ass it was to constantly be followed by cameramen, sound people, and that one guy with the stick that always managed to be in the way whenever I stood up.

My only escape was going across the street to the diner. At the beginning of filming, I’d let the crew know that space was off limits, and luckily, the diner owner had held out on signing the release papers to allow filming inside anyways. Before filming began, going to the diner had already been the bright spot in my day, but with filming, it had become an outright oasis.

The only problem was that Kat was getting farther and farther away with each passing day. After our conversation on Monday, I’d reluctantly agreed to back off from pursuing her—no matter how much it killed me to see her and not be able to touch her. It was like getting to lick the frosting from a cake, but not being able to experience the whole thing. Torture. I’d consoled myself with the fact that she hadn’t declared a friendship off limits, and had decided that if I couldn’t have her the way I wanted, I could at least be her friend, and wait for her to reconsider. However, she apparently was working from a completely different playbook and had all but ignored me in the days following her declaration that we weren’t able to be together.

“I’m going to get lunch!” I shouted at the director, not pausing for an acknowledgment before storming out of the shop, nearly tearing the front door from the hinges.

The director, John, turned out to be a real dick. I hadn’t worked with him on the first season, and if I had, there would’ve been no way I would’ve agreed to a second. He critiqued everything from the lighting of the shop and the speed of my work, down to the color of my shirt. It appeared that no one was immune to his irritation. As I headed across the street, I was fairly confident that by the time I got back from lunch, there’d be a crime scene in my shop.

Not that I gave a shit—that would take one massive pain in the ass off my plate.

My eyes found Kat immediately, she had her back to me, taking an order, but turned as though she sensed my arrival, and my heart twisted into a tight knot in my chest at the small smile, that quickly fell from her full lips as she registered my arrival. I stalked to my normal booth and threw myself down on the seat. After staring at the menu for a few minutes, she finally came over to take my order, which I gave with no embellishments.

When she came back with the food, she set it down, and turned to walk away. I grabbed a hold of her arm. “Kat, wait.” She paused and looked at me expectantly, as though I were taking her away from her duties, even though only three of the other tables had customers. “What’s going on?”

She shrugged free of my grip. “Nothing, everything’s fine.” Her tone was clipped and my mind hit an internal rewind button, wondering what I’d done to offend her. I was about to ask, but she slipped away before I got the chance.

By the time I paid my bill and trudged back across the street, I was wondering what the hell I was doing—moving to this town, Kat, the show. At one point, for a very brief moment, it had all looked like it was going to make sense, but then something changed, and nothing fit together anymore.

It was beginning to feel like a waste of time—and the itch to cut and run was starting to nag at me somewhere in the back on my mind.

* * * *

“We need
better
clients, Jace. The audience isn’t going to connect with this shit!” John railed. He had just finished showing me some clips of raw footage from the first week of filming.

“And you think I have control over who comes into the shop?” I fired back, a hollow laugh slipping from my lips. John had cornered me on my way out of the shop, Saturday afternoon, and insisted we have a private meeting while the crew got lunch. Getting across the street to the diner was becoming harder and harder. John always managed to come up with some reason why I needed to stay back, and I knew it was because he wasn’t allowed to film in the diner. Every time I crossed the threshold, I felt like raising my arms and calling out, “Sanctuary,” as the doorbell chimed in the background.

“You might not hand select the clients, but you’re the one who moved to this town in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere!” He continued, undeterred by the sarcastic expression on my face. “Your first season had so much flavor. People from all walks of life, more stories—better stories! Not to mention your staff. You had a whole show just in that group of screwballs! But what do you have here? Nothing! Not one fucking thing! You have a mousy receptionist who doesn’t bother showing up most days, and when she
is
here, she runs outside for a smoke every ten minutes, so if she’s secretly interesting, we’ll never get her on camera long enough to find out!”

I shook my head, waiting for him to run out of steam. “Is this funny to you, Jace?” He asked, his fingers knit together on the desk, as though he had to keep them that way to avoid ripping off my face.

I leaned forward, matching his dark sneer. “Tell ya what, John. I wish I had a handful of fucking glitter to throw for you in celebration of that little shit-fit you just threw there,” I snarled. “At the end of the day, this isn’t my circus. My contract states that I’m here to do my job and let you follow me around with your crew. That’s it. The rest is
your
deal.”

John’s face turned a shade of purple that I didn’t even realize was physically possible. I was about to get up and walk away, when his face rearranged, and the color drained away. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice was calm, almost pleasant. “You’re right, Jace. I’ll try to keep that in mind. Why don’t you go get some lunch, I’ll come up with a game plan on my own.”

I considered him for another moment, mesmerized by his transformation. The space between us was still sparking with tension, and the darkness in his eyes told me this was far from over, but I’d fired my shot, said my piece, and got up from the table and left—without another word.

I only had to wait until the following afternoon to find out what his return volley was. After taking a mid-morning break to run some errands, I returned to find a beaming John waiting in front of the shop. “Good news, Jace. We found some clients today that I think will make a fantastic episode.”

I studied him with a wary eye and made my way into the shop, stopping in the doorway when I saw three faces I never thought I’d see again.

Sitting on the long leather couch were three sailors I’d served with side by side, in Afghanistan, a few years ago. All three had been injured on the same mission when an explosive had taken out their convoy, leaving one dead, and three in various state of injury. I’d seen them again after returning home from the war, but after I’d said goodbye to them that day—I never wanted to go back.

My eyes seared into John’s, wondering if he had known about it. I didn’t think it possible, he’d probably just figured it would make for good TV, but there was something heinous in his dark smile…

“Winslow!” One of them yelled as soon as I entered the shop.

I smiled as best as I could, taking in each of them in turn. Richard Lambert was in the worst shape, left without the lower portion of his legs and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life due to additional nerve damage. Carter McNeil’s face bore the scar from where he’d been grazed by a bullet trying to get Richard out of the line of fire after the explosion. And Kenny Lawrence, while healed on the outside, anyone who knew him, could see the deep scars he carried with him on the inside.

“Hey you fucks!” I said as enthusiastically as I could. They were my brothers, and just by looking at them, I was overwhelmed with a landslide of emotions. Everything from guilt, shame, sadness, despair, and bittersweet memories of better times, bore down on me as I tried to keep it together. “What the fuck drug you squids all the way out here?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Richard chimed up first, “We heard you could make us famous, bro.”

They all laughed and I joined in. I’d taken more than a little ragging for becoming a reality star after leaving the SEALs, but I knew it was all in good spirits.

John stepped in and cleared his throat. “Jace, these gentlemen are here to get a memorial tattoo for Ryan Peterson, and they would like you to be the one to design and do the honors. I think this will make a great, two-part episode, where we can really highlight our soldiers and talk about your background as a SEAL as well.”

Inside, I was growling like a hungry wolf, ready to rip him a new asshole, but on the outside, I smiled and thanked the three vets for the opportunity and honor.

* * * *

Six grueling hours later, as the last crew member shuffled out for the night, I released a pent up yell that carried off like steam releasing from a pressure valve, until there was nothing left in my lungs. I sucked in a harsh breath, and punched the wall behind the desk. I growled at the pain shooting up my arm from the impact, and after pacing a few minutes to shake away the sting, dragged myself back up to my apartment to get my tool kit to fix the hole I’d left in the wall. I didn’t need anyone asking questions about it the next morning when the rat bastards from production arrived.

“Come on Jace, don’t go there again,” I snapped at myself as I began the patch job. Seeing my brothers—the seamen—had been enough to shake up the ghosts from my past, but spending all day trying to fight those ghosts off until I was alone, had drained me of all energy, and I was too tired to try anymore.

The three vets had been in another unit while we’d been overseas together, but whenever something like the explosion happened, it sent shock waves through all of us. Everyone felt the terror, grief, and the guilt over not being able to stop it. No matter how
illogical
that might seem to others looking in from outside the situation. It was something only the sailors—my brothers in arms—could fully understand.

I heaved myself up from the floor after re-packing the tool kit, and went outside to get some fresh air to clear my head before the walls shrunk in around me even further. It was too late for the diner to be open, and as soon as I stepped outside, the dark windows confirmed my suspicion that everyone had gone home for the night. I turned and began walking down the sidewalk, when the soft chirp of the diner doorbell rang out into the street. I whipped around and saw Kat standing there, a brown paper bag tucked under her arm. I watched as she turned back to lock the door, and then started across the street towards my shop.

“Kat!” I called out, taking a few steps into the light.

She jumped. “Shit! Jace, you scared me!”

“Sorry,” I replied softly. I looked at the bag in her arms.

She shrugged it off and looked down the section of sidewalk I’d been following before her arrival. “Are you going out?”

“No.” I shook my head and pocketed my hands. “I just needed some air, that’s all.”

“Rough day?” She cocked her head sympathetically at me, her eyes wide with concern.

For a moment, I wondered if she’d missed me, but immediately dismissed the idea. She was the one who’d told me we couldn’t be anything more than friends, and then she’d put up even thicker walls than the ones she’d had up the first day we met. I hadn’t been the one who’d backed off, that was all her, and you couldn’t miss someone you were running away from, could you?

“Jace? Is everything okay?” She asked.

I snapped back to attention, wondering how long my mind had been drifting. “Yeah,” I lied. “Everything’s fine. Were you coming to see me?” I asked, wanting to throw her off track.

Her eyes followed my gaze as though she’d forgotten about the bag. “Yeah, um, you looked busy over here, so I thought I’d bring you some dinner. It’s not much, just some leftover pot roast and potatoes. The garlic ones you like.” She tucked her chin under, and I wondered if she was regretting her kind gesture.

“That’s really nice. Thank you,” I said. “Do you want to come in?”

“No, thanks, I should get going,” she said. “I have to go get Jax from his dad’s. If I’m not there on time, my ex will—” she stopped short, as though hearing herself and realizing she was giving out too much information. “Here—” she pressed the bag into my hands, “—I’d do the meat at 350 for thirty minutes and the potatoes on the stove. Or, ya know, just nuke it all, I guess,” she laughed nervously.

“Right,” I said, smiling—probably for the first time all day. “Thanks again. You knew just what I needed.”