Читать книгу Call To Engage - Tawny Weber - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

TO AVA MONROE, life was all about the simple choices.

Cardio or strength training.

Yoga pants or fleece.

A jog or a bike ride.

An egg white omelet or a fresh fruit protein shake.

She’d worked hard to simplify, to bring it down to choices as clean and easy as those.

She liked it that way.

Liked, too, that she’d structured her life so that she was answerable pretty much only to herself. She lived alone, with a month-to-month rent. She worked for herself. And she trained for herself—for her own goals, her own purposes.

It kept her responsibilities to a minimum.

And it meant that she didn’t need or depend on anyone else’s approval.

That concept had become her mantra when she’d escaped her old life in Mendocino to start over in Napa three years ago. Not only did Napa offer gorgeous views of green and gold, elegant wineries and ageless architecture; Northern California was familiar enough that she’d felt safe. Best of all, it was far enough away from Ava’s smothering parents that she could breathe easily, yet not so far away that they’d pack up their high-society life and follow her.

Not that she didn’t love her family. But she’d never again be the princess they expected, and she’d learned the hard way proximity didn’t mean dependability.

So Ava had simplified. And her life was great. So great that even she was surprised at how many people valued her skills enough to pay good money to attend a kick-ass workout class at seven in the morning.

Focusing on those people, Ava let the heavy beat of old-fashioned rock and roll pound through her system as she guided a group through a warm-up. She thought they’d use the gym’s smallest workout room for this session, assuming there would be a limited interest in a six-week Hard Rocking Bods course. But ten minutes before they’d kicked off the initial session, she’d had to move it to the largest room and offer sign-ups for a second course at a yet-to-be-determined time.

“Let’s step it up, folks,” she called out as she assessed the progress of thirty people finishing their warm-up. “Knees high, backs straight. Double time.”

“How much longer?” gasped one already sweating guy with an enviable tan, tight body and pathetic muscle tone.

“Warm-up? Another two minutes.” She flashed a wicked smile. “Then the fun starts.”

The groans filling the room warmed her heart. She figured if they weren’t moaning, she wasn’t doing her job. And that job was to build the best bodies. Through exercise classes, through training, through bodywork and massage.

It didn’t matter what shape they were in when she started, she had no doubt that if the person was willing, they’d end up with a better body in the end.

Ava firmly believed that with hard work, if you just gave it long enough, anything could change. She was proof positive of that.

Heavy on results, light on believing in anything that relied on others. The complete opposite of how she’d once lived—with her eye always on that fabled happily-ever-after so dependent on Prince Charming. Now she took one day at a time.

Today included hitch kicks, butt lifts and, oh yes, the dreaded burpees.

“Okay, people, let’s rock and roll.” Already warmed after her morning run and a round of intense circuit training, she took her students through their first set. “Grab your medium weight and begin with bicep curls. Squat on the curl, side kick on the release.”

After a brief demonstration, including modifications, she gestured for them to join in and began the count. Twelve reps, rest, three times.

By the time they’d hit the three-quarters mark, the heavy beat of rock and roll couldn’t disguise the heavy breathing and pained grunts of exertion sounding through the room. No matter how cool the air-conditioning was set, it didn’t prevent the sweat streaming off the bodies doing that panting and grunting.

Ava prized every bitch, moan and aching groan as a sign of success. Her own breath might be a little short, but her voice was clear as she called out instructions.

“Come on, ladies, lift those butts,” she called out, fully aware that half her class was men. But she’d learned that some things better motivated women—encouragement, commiseration, results. And some things motivated men—insults and questioning their virility. “Nobody walks out of here comfortably. I want you moaning, groaning, huffing and puffing. I want those muscles screaming because you pushed them to the max. Lift, release. Lift, release.”

She finished with a series of stretches.

“Arch, higher, higher, people. Stretch those muscles. Release the burn, let it go. You don’t want those babies locking up. At least not before you all make it to your cars.”

That snared a round of breathless laughter. Ava rode it out pulling them through the rest of the cooldown, ending with a little light meditation and a few body affirmations.

“Breathe, people. Pull that cooling air into your belly. Let it fill your body with soothing light. Repeat after me. I’m strong. I’m capable. I kicked butt today. I’ll kick butt tomorrow.”

And with that, she pushed to her feet. Ignoring the sweat that drizzled down her collarbone into the wicking fabric of her turquoise tank, she clapped her hands.

“Great job. You all kicked butt today.”

As always, Ava moved through the room making contact with students. A form correct here, a congratulations there. There were enough newbies in the class that she didn’t know everyone’s name, but thanks to years of what she called extreme socialite training, she was able to make everyone feel as if they were a friend.

“Ava, you’re the best.”

“So are you, Terri. You’re really mastering those burpees.” She patted the red-faced woman’s arm, smiling as she noted the developing muscle tone. “By the end of this course, I’ll bet you’re in that pair of jeans you bought.”

Like a lot of people who hit the gym, Terri had come with a goal to lose weight for an event—in her case, a high school reunion. Once she’d hit that goal, Ava encouraged her to reach for another one, so the woman was now fixated on fitting into a size-nine jeans.

Some people worked out for the love of it. But Ava knew the other 95 percent of the world needed incentive. She figured tapping into that was as much a part of her job as modifying a workout to fit a variety of needs.

“Thanks to you and this class, I bet I’m in them two months ahead of schedule,” Terri said, patting her hip as she headed out the door.

“You are the kick-ass woman, aren’t you,” rumbled a voice as big as the man framed in the doorway. As always, Ava smiled a little as she noted that Mack had to duck to get through without banging his shaved head. You’d think the guy would have built taller doors given that it was his gym.

“There’s a reason the phrase no pain, no gain is popular,” she pointed out, taking the towel he offered. Mack Prescott was a man the size of a bulldozer with a face to match, with the personality on par with a bear. Grumbly and gruff with most, but cuddly sweet with some.

“If the whining moans from your students are anything to go by, they’re gaining more than they bargained for.”

“Too much?”

“They sing your praises right along with those moans,” Mack said with a shrug as he moved through the room. She could see him doing a mental check of the inventory, assessing the state of the mats, the chill of the A/C and the quality of the speakers still beating with music. “You’ve got a way about you, Ava—that’s for sure.”

“I plan to make the world stronger, one hard body at a time.” Ava dabbed the towel at her throat, sopping up the beads of sweat still pooling there. “Resistance makes strength, my friend. You know that as well as I do.”

“I do, indeed. From the looks of it, all those resisting students are going to be in a whole lot of pain later,” Mack observed with a smirk. “Pretty smart, actually. First you pummel them in workout class so they’re so sore their muscles are crying. Then you lure them in for a massage so you can pummel them on the table, work the knots out of those muscles so they’re ready for your next workout class.”

“Perfect, right?” Ava laughed. “I even have Chloe handing out massage flyers at the door.”

She was only half joking. Chloe James, the receptionist for the gym, was perched at her desk right outside the door. And she did have flyers advertising Ava’s massage services. But she wasn’t waving them in the air.

Ava slanted a look through the glass walls and smiled.

Probably because the bubbly woman was otherwise occupied.

“Have you thought about my little proposition?” Mack asked as he straddled one of the workout benches lining the wall.

“You know, the propositions I get usually involve booty calls, naked workouts and offers to show off a guy’s most impressive muscle.”

Mack snorted.

“Sorry, sweets. You’re not my type.”

And that was the sad, sad truth for womankind. Ava had lost count of the number of complaints she’d heard over Mack’s preference for hard bodies of the male variety.

“Only one of the reasons I love you, Mack,” she said, at ease with him as she was with few men. “Another is your impeccable taste, of course.”

“You mean in wanting you to come on board as a partner? I’m serious about it, Ava. I need someone I can trust, and you’re my top pick.”

But she didn’t know if she ever wanted to be a man’s top pick at anything. Or if she wanted the responsibilities and stresses of being part owner of anything, even a business she loved. So she simply shrugged.

“I haven’t given it much thought yet,” she said.

“Well, I told you I’d give you until the end of the week before I asked anyone else—so take as much time as you need.” He got to his feet with a grace at odds with his size and offered a smile so reminiscent of his cousin’s that her heart squeezed for a second.

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t answer yet,” he interrupted. “Just think about it. If it’s the money, we can figure that out. If it’s the workload, we’ll hash that out. If it’s because you don’t want to make another commitment to a Prescott, well, that would make you a wimp. And we both know you’re not a wimp.”

Ava angled her chin, pretending she wasn’t insulted at the idea of returning to wimpiness after so many years of wallowing under the weight of her wimp crown. But she couldn’t ignore the tight knot in her gut at his reference to Elijah. She spent so much of her life acting as if Elijah didn’t exist that being reminded of him twice in as many seconds was a little much.

“I’m a good trainer, and excellent massage therapist. But I don’t I know that I want to be a businesswoman,” she said stiffly. Then, with a roll of her eyes at his sharp expression—God, the man could nag without saying a word—she lifted one hand in surrender. “But I’ll think about it, and we’ll talk next week.”

“Atta girl. You’ve done good, Ava.” Laying one beefy hand on her shoulder, Mack gave it a quick squeeze. “You should put some of that energy into your personal life now. You know, give one of those propositions a chance. Go on a date or something.”

She almost laughed. But knowing it’d be hysterical laughter tinged with horror, Ava managed to keep her response to a shake of her head.

The answer to that’d be a no.

Actually, that’d be a hell, no. Or even a hell, no, never, no way, not a chance.

But she didn’t say any of that aloud. Not because she wanted to encourage Mack, but because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. The poor guy had strong family loyalties, and her reasons for the multiple forms of no would slam right up against that devotion.

So Ava cleared her expression and gave him her best upbeat smile.

“I’m much too busy for dating, my friend. And from the sound of this plan of yours, just considering it will keep me even busier.”

“Maybe I should rescind the offer.”

“No way,” Ava objected, punching him in the arm. Since she knew it would be like ramming her knuckles into solid steel, she pulled the punch so it was more a graze of skin on skin. Still, her forearm sang at the impact. “Not if it means I have to rescind my no-dating rule.”

“Maybe I should make that a part of the deal. You know, all gym owners are required to have an active social life.”

Her social life was as active as she wanted. It revolved around work, fitness, hanging out with a few friends and... Hmm. Ava stopped to consider, but she couldn’t think of anything else. Which was absolutely perfect.

“That kind of talk will be factored into my considerations,” she warned.

“Forget I said it,” Mack shot over his shoulder as he headed out the door.

Ava was still laughing as she started cleaning the room for the next class. But she wasn’t changing her mind. Dating led to relationships. Relationships meant commitment. Commitment guaranteed heartache. She’d done her time, had her share. She was finished.

It was only after accepting that that she’d created the perfect life. It wasn’t the life her parents had outlined for her, it wasn’t the one her large, opinionated extended family expected of her. It wasn’t even close to the one she’d envisioned for herself when she’d been a country-club princess/society bride with no higher goal than planning the perfect party, obsessing over whether the whites were white enough and making sure all her husband’s needs were met.

But her life now? It worked for her. Why mess with something that was going well?

On the other hand, she loved Mack’s gym. It had an excellent reputation, a savvy owner, an ever-growing clientele and the perfect location for what she wanted to build. With all the traveling he was doing now for fitness competitions and training, she could see his need to take on a partner.

And she’d be good at it. She understood their clientele, she could step into almost any role. Personal training, massage, teaching classes, scheduling, bookkeeping, even advertising. She’d helped with all of that over the last couple of years, so she definitely had the experience.

What she didn’t have was money. At least, not readily available. Lips pursed, Ava finished wiping down the last mat. She had plenty in trust. But she couldn’t access the funds until her thirtieth birthday unless her parents okayed it.

Something to think about, she decided as she moved around the room gathering abandoned towels and empty water bottles.

Of bigger importance than finding the funds was the idea of working for someone besides Mack. The large bodybuilder was the perfect boss. He let Ava choose her own hours, design her own classes, come and go as she pleased. But if he brought in a new partner, that could change.

Ava strode out of the classroom into the gym’s reception area. At the chest-high desk, perched on a stool and writing in her planner sat Chloe. Probably the only woman in the world who could pull off the cat-eyed makeup with flaxen-blond dreadlocks, her tie-dye tee proclaimed her belief that Love Is the Ultimate Trip.

Part-time receptionist, all-round party girl and, much to the surprise of both, one of Ava’s best friends.

“You whipped some butts, girlfriend. I’ve rarely seen such a sweaty, bedraggled bunch limping out of that classroom as those students today,” Chloe said, her expression somewhere between impressed and amused. “And look at you, fresh as a daisy.”

“Maybe not quite daisy fresh,” Ava denied with a grin, gratefully unbraiding her hair and running her fingers through the long tresses. “I definitely need to hit the showers before my next class.”

“Half those students were hobbling,” Chloe said, giving Ava a quick up-and-down inspection. Sure, Ava’s workout bra was soaked and the tank she wore over it spotted with sweat. But her face was pain-free, her gait easy and her smile bright.

“Bet they loved it, though,” Ava shot back with a smile, angling her head to look at the latest page of art in Chloe’s planner. The double-page spread was decorated with colorful butterflies and a flourish of sharp-edged flowers bordering her weekly to-do list.

More than once Ava had suggested that her friend keep track of all her goals, appointments and scheduling on her phone or computer, but Chloe argued that the left brain was engaged by the act of handwriting. She sometimes threw in things like creativity fostering energy or a pretty planner lowering stress, but the bottom line was, Chloe detested technology. Still, her method worked great for her.

Chloe’s obsessions with planning every second of her life had started a few months back when her boyfriend had snuck out of her bed to run after his dream of being an archeologist. Or, considering that he didn’t have a degree, any plans to go back to school or any money, to dig in the dirt.

She’d accepted Ava’s shoulder at the time, but as soon as she was through crying on it, Chloe was sure her man would be back. Ava had talked herself blue in the face, but the woman wouldn’t budge.

Chloe had complete faith that Bones would be back.

To make ends meet, in addition to working part-time at the gym, Chloe worked the counter of the health-food store up the street, led bike tours through Napa Valley and ran her own dog-walking business.

“Does this mean you’re double booked tomorrow morning?” Ava asked with a frown, pointing to the sketch of a cute pair of Yorkies.

“My bike tour finishes at the Wine Train, so Mrs. Burns is dropping off Dinky and Winky for their walk and picking them up later.”

Ava’s brows arched. Apparently filling every moment of every day wasn’t enough to keep Chloe too busy to think about Bones—or Derek Herringbone to some people. Now she was double booking herself.

It was crazy. The curvy blonde had a way with people that Ava envied. Her combination of pinup girl looks, good-natured flirting and friendliness put everyone at ease. She had guys lining up to date her, but she said her heart belonged to Bones. So instead of dating, she played matchmaker to any guy who asked her out.

“I’d try to talk you into joining me on the bike tour since you could use the fresh air and the vines are gorgeous this time of year. But you have a pile of new massage appointments that I’m sure you’ll use as an excuse to avoid socializing,” Chloe said with a friendly eye roll as she handed Ava a clipboard.

“I socialize enough,” Ava replied, flipping through the list of names and client information, along with her appointment schedule. It would all be better logged into a computer with a central booking system, but like Chloe, Mack was a technophobe who preferred paper.

Silly, Ava thought. It was one thing she’d definitely want to change if she ever did partner up.

“Two of these are new,” she said, reading one of the names listed on the next day’s schedule. “Did they fill out an input form?”

“Nope. Mack added them to your schedule and said it was all good,” Chloe replied, flicking her fingers to dismiss things like client identity, health backgrounds and pertinent information.

Ava wrinkled her nose but didn’t object. She appreciated Mack’s support and all the clients he sent her way. She’d have to buy him one of those big green, filled-with-so-much-healthy-stuff-they-tasted-gross drinks as a thank-you.

He’d brush it off, she knew. A few years back, Mack had taken it upon himself to look out for her. Or as he put it, to watch her ass. He liked to think she couldn’t manage her life without him. Ava’s smile flickered, since she wasn’t sure he hadn’t been right.

Then.

Now, though, she was stronger. She’d learned to stand on her own feet, to defend herself and, yes, to watch her own ass if necessary. But Mack wasn’t ready to give up his role as her overprotective caretaker. He was stubborn that way.

“If you won’t join the tour, how about a hike through Glass Beach this weekend? I’m free Saturday morning.”

“Just us, or are you educating a bunch of strangers on the beauty of the Napa River and the history and ecosystem of the wetlands?”

“Just us,” Chloe promised before her smile winked out. “Unless Bones makes it home for the weekend.”

“Have you heard from him?” Ava asked cautiously.

“No. But I’m sure I will any day now.” Frowning at Ava’s doubtful look, Chloe shook her head. “We’ve been together since we were fourteen. You don’t spend a decade with a person and not know them. This is just a phase. Something he has to get out of his system. Believe me—he will be back.”

“Okay. Just, you know, don’t get your hopes up too high,” Ava warned before heading for the locker room.

She knew there was no point in saying more than that. Any lecture she offered would fall on deaf ears. But she knew for a fact that men didn’t change. But women did, as Ava had proven. All it’d taken was a hideous bout of depression, a couple of exercise classes and a pulled muscle to completely change her life.

Spinning had led to kettlebells, which led to yoga, then to weight lifting. Next thing she knew, she was teaching kickboxing, certified in Pilates and attending weeklong training camps in exercise instruction. One of those camps had hooked her on the benefits of massage for training the body, inspiring her to get licensed. Now, after another year of training, she’d added a rehabilitation massage certification to her roster.

Not bad for a woman who, until the age of twenty, had been convinced that the sum total of her ambitions were to hold the crown of socialite princess, to be a perfect wife and to always look pretty.

Thank God she’d escaped that life. It would have been pure hell.

* * *

ESCAPE COULD ONLY last for so long.

Experience and familiarity got Elijah through the team debriefing without a problem, but by the time they got to his individual round, he was feeling raw.

But, again, experience and familiarity got him through.

Still, he was damned glad to hear, “Dismissed, Prescott.”

Gut churning and his throat hot from keeping his voice at an even keel, Elijah nodded to the two Naval Intelligence officers and Admiral Cree. He offered his salute, turned on his heel and strode out. And he didn’t breathe fully until he’d cleared the room.

“You okay? Damn, Prescott, you look rough.”

Ignoring that, Elijah nodded to the ensign manning the desk and continued into the hallway. He wasn’t surprised when Jarrett joined him, matching his pace as they passed both military and civilian personnel until they’d reached the end of the hall.

“Debriefing can be rough, but I’ve never seen you come out looking this worn. Seriously,” Jarrett said, sounding concerned, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Like Jarrett, Elijah stopped at the double doors. The sun filtered through the small windows, dust motes dancing between them. “I finished debriefing. I’m cleared.”

“Hey, I just wanted to give you a heads-up.” Jarrett made a show of glancing to the left, then to the right before leaning closer. “Watch your six.”

“Why? Someone coming down on my ass?”

“I’m hearing a lot of buzz. Worry, doubts, that sort of thing. Some are saying Poseidon is, and I quote, a ‘fancy-ass clique rallying around a loser in the name of protecting their own.’” Jarrett rolled his eyes as if to say it was ridiculous. But if it was ridiculous, why bother with the warning? “Just wanted you to know.”

Elijah met Jarrett’s frown with a look of calm. Not because that’s how he was feeling—hell, no. The warning, on top of a brutal debriefing, had his gut twisted with a miserable sort of fury. But there was no point confirming the gossip that he was a mess. “I’m good,” he lied.

“I know you’re clean, Prescott. I just want to make sure you watch your back. People get ugly when they’re under suspicion.” Jarrett snapped his teeth together, his eyes worried. “You don’t need more dirt thrown your way. Not after everything you’ve been through. So if you need anything, I’m here for you.”

His own jaw tight enough to snap his teeth off, Elijah nodded. “Yes, sir. But Commander Savino is my commanding officer, and I report to him.” Elijah pulled his cap out of his back pocket and tugged it onto his head. “If there are any issues, I’m sure I’ll hear it from him.”

“If he’s brought into it,” Jarrett said quietly, stepping forward until the tips of his boots knocked against Elijah’s. “Someone wants Poseidon brought down. How long can Savino stop that? People higher up are watching. It’s making everyone nervous. They’re wondering who’s involved, who’s clean and who’s not.”

“Are they looking at me?” Elijah asked.

“They’re looking at everyone. You roomed with Ramsey. You’ve had some shit going on, and your psych eval says you have reason to resent the Navy. Some people worry about serving with a guy with your issues. And then there’s the question of who really sold the chemical formula. Do you think everyone believes it was some dead guy?” Jarrett shook his head, as if disgusted by the chatter. “Just watch your back.”

Elijah refused to reply. All he could do was nod. Then, shoulders stiff, he watched the captain shove through the doors and saunter away. He wished like hell he could claim the man was full of crap. But Elijah had seen the looks.

The warning was legit.

* * *

TWO DAYS LATER, Elijah strode down the hallway toward Savino’s office. He didn’t know if he was making the right choice. He just knew he couldn’t make a different one.

So when he strode through the door, his chin was high, his eyes direct and his expression clear.

His commander was at his desk, papers stacked in two neat piles on the dingy metal surface. Elijah wouldn’t mind the rank, but damned if he’d want the paperwork that went with it.

“Reporting as ordered, sir.”

“You want to explain this?” Savino invited, lifting one of the papers from the stack on the left.

His face blank, Elijah looked from his commander to the paper the man held and back again. It seemed pretty self-explanatory to him. But he knew Savino wasn’t asking him to clarify the request for leave. He wanted to know why. He wanted details; he wanted insights. As always, he wanted every damned thing.

Savino was a hard-ass. He was a tough commander, a man with a wicked sense of humor held under tight control and razor-sharp lines in the sand when it came to right and wrong. He was the first man to reach out his hand and the last to walk away.

He was a friend.

They’d trained together. They’d sat watch in a cave over a village beset by terrorists together. They’d gotten drunk together. They’d been through a million experiences in the near-decade they’d known each other.

So Elijah couldn’t hold back. “I’m not one hundred percent. I thought I was, pushed the medics to release me and ignored their concerns,” he said quietly. Then, in case Savino suspected he meant the head shrink as well as the physicians, he drummed his fingertips over his thigh. “I’d rather take a few weeks’ leave before I do irreparable damage.”

He knew that excuse would hold. His medical records said as much. But Savino knew him too well. So the question was, would he accept face value or would he push for the truth?

“And this has nothing to do with the heap of crap chickenshit gossips are trying to pile on you?”

Had he thought that wouldn’t get back to Savino? Elijah almost smiled. “Someone wants to take down Poseidon,” he said, sidestepping. “They’re using the convenience of gossip to accelerate that mission.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Do you believe that anyone on the team doesn’t trust you? Do you believe anyone thinks you’re dirty?”

Yeah. He did believe that. “I believe there are some that might have questions,” he said carefully instead. “Since our job is not to follow blindly but to think outside the box, I don’t blame them for wondering.”

Savino frowned, but simply folded his hands on his desk instead of saying anything.

“At the very least, they’ve got to wonder why I hadn’t seen anything. Why I didn’t realize that Ramsey was dirty, that he was a psychotic traitor with a taste for greed and a hard-on to take down Poseidon.” Elijah rubbed his hand over his face, feeling stained, as if he’d never be clean. “I served with him and Adams. I partied with them. I roomed with them for eight fucking months. How could I miss something that ugly?”

“By that train of thought, you’d think I should have realized it, too,” Savino countered quietly, looking tired. “I served with Ramsey myself. I trained him, commanded him. Hell, Rembrandt, I signed his fucking DEVGRU recommendation.”

Knowing Savino’s use of the word fucking was permission to fall out, Elijah dropped to the empty chair in front of the desk, his boots clunking against the metal.

“I can’t get past it,” Elijah admitted. “The weight of it. The feeling of failure.”

“You’re going to have to. You’ve got enough weighing you down already. Don’t haul someone else’s crap, too.”

Made sense. Elijah knew it made sense. He’d told himself the same thing already, hadn’t he? But he’d seen the expressions on some people’s faces. He’d read the question in their eyes, the wondering. Was he in league with Ramsey? Was that how he’d survived the explosion? Did they think he’d missed that sniper last week because he’d meant to? That he’d fallen back on the command not to fire, had used it as an excuse to let his partner take a bullet? The questions swirled, ugly and sharp, scraping at his composure, tearing at his resolve.

“I need a break. I need to get away from it all,” Elijah murmured, finally meeting Savino’s eyes. “I thought I was ready to come back. I’m not.”

“I could order a psych eval, another round of physical therapy,” Savino said. “That’s what I should do. For your own good and for the good of the team.”

“You could. But I’m hoping you won’t. I just need a break. A real break. Away.”

A dumb-ass move, his brain warned.

Walking away now would only add fuel to Jarrett’s insinuations. To those who thought him guilty, it’d look like a retreat. Even to himself—who knew he was clean—it would feel like he was running.

“You’d be smarter to stay on base, take light duty until you’re ready to face fire again,” Savino advised, reading Elijah’s mind with his usual savvy.

“Yeah. I know.” He’d been going on eight months without leave when he’d been blown to hell. After that had been a couple of months in and out of the base hospital, a month easing back into training. For the last year he’d lived and breathed the Navy, SEAL Team 7, Poseidon.

Once he’d thrived on immersing himself in this world.

Now?

He didn’t know if he could live or breathe it any longer. He didn’t know how much longer he could before he simply cracked. And what would be revealed through the fractured pieces could break him beyond repair.

Savino must have seen some hint of that on his face because he rubbed a hand over his hair and sighed. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll green-light leave. But three weeks. No more.” Not a man to waste time, he snagged the request for leave again and scrawled his signature.

But he didn’t hand it over. “I’m temporarily relieving you from active duty, but as long as Operation Fuck Up is in effect, you’re still serving Poseidon. Clear?”

In other words, until they’d determined once and for all if Ramsey was dead or not, every member of Poseidon was on alert. “Is there something you want me working on while I’m away?”

Savino tapped his fingers on the desk once. Twice. After a third rat-a-tat-tat, he opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Codes, log-ins to access certain files that need to be decrypted. You going to have access to a secured computer where you’re going?”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Elijah promised, knowing as he reached for the paper that Savino was giving him more than an assignment.

He was handing over his trust. A show of faith that damn near changed Elijah’s mind about getting away.

Damn near. But not quite.

“Where will you go?”

Elijah hesitated, then shrugged. “Not sure yet. Just... Away.”

“You need somewhere to chill? My place in Monterey is sitting there empty.”

God. Elijah gritted his teeth against the wave of guilt pounding over him. “Thanks, but I think your castle is a little out of my league.” Trying on a grin, Elijah rolled his eyes at the idea of a middle-class guy like him chugging beer in that glass tower of a place that Savino called his home away from base.

“I expect you back here in three weeks. Excuses won’t be tolerated.”

“Yes, sir.” No problem. He could figure out the rest of his life in three weeks. Elijah headed for the door.

“Rembrandt?”

Hand on the knob and escape just a twist away, Elijah looked over his shoulder.

“You need anything, you let me know.” Savino’s brow creased for a moment, the shield dropping to show his concern. “Anything. We’re a team. We’re here for you.”

Not trusting his voice, Elijah nodded on his way out the door. Maybe that was the problem. They were a team. They were there for him. But did they trust him to be there for them?

Did he—could he—trust himself? No.

That was the bottom line.

Elijah couldn’t trust himself—or ask anyone else to—when his entire world was crashing down around him. His life—starting with his mind—was simply falling apart.

Until he figured it out, until he fixed whatever in the hell was going on, he simply had to accept the hard truth.

His life sucked.