Sights on the SEAL: A Secret Baby Romance Read online

  Like I am his grounding point. His tether to the current reality.

  “And even as the night grows dark, and I feel like I’m done in, I think of you and your face,” I go on, reaching out to gently touch his tightening, stubble-rough jaw with one trembling hand. It feels bizarrely as though I am trying to befriend a wild animal, ready for the inevitable bite at any moment. But it doesn’t come. Instead, Adrian seems to almost melt into my touch, his eyes closing as he leans toward my hand. I caress his cheek fondly, stroking the sharp, chiseled cut of his jaw. I hold my breath anxiously as I encircle him with my arms, though he is too broad-chested for me to wrap them all the way around his muscular torso. I pull him to me and guide him to lie down with his head in my lap.

  “It’s okay, I’m here,” I tell him quietly, stroking his hair and marveling at the massive, heavily-muscled, cold-blooded killer of a man resting peacefully in my lap. Adrian is powerful. He is a mass of relentlessly-trained instincts and carefully-honed physical perfection. Hell, when I first met him, I was almost afraid of him, even though by that point I was certainly used to spending time around other militant, buff, crude-mannered men.

  In the camp in Afghanistan, I was constantly surrounded by guys in fatigues, in dust-covered, fuel-smeared, tight-fitting white shirts. Their muscles bulged almost as much as their egos did, and I watched my fair share of tough guys fight each other over the stupidest things. They were well-trained, of course, to deal with combat and stress. But at that moment, it felt like we were all living in the eye of the storm, just waiting for the next shoe to drop. So all the men were restless and antsy, hating the fact they had to sit tight and wait in such a dreary place. They craved action — of all kinds.

  But the camp was rather like a pit stop, almost like a purgatory or state of limbo for those who had just emerged from battle and those who were poised on the verge of another round of combat service. I was there to look out for the welfare of both soldiers and local Afghans, making sure everyone had enough rations, clothing, drinking water, and toiletry goods to get by with relative comfort. As much comfort as one could manage in the middle of a dusty, war-rattled desert, anyway. Which is to say, not very much.

  I was making the rounds one day, walking through the crowded bazaar to talk to some of my favorite vendors and check in with them. It was a very windy day, and I had to wear a visor and veil to help keep the sand out of my eyes. But I went to my favorite fabrics vendor, an older woman named Saba, to ask her how her family was doing. Her daughter had recently given birth to the family’s first grandson, and they were all over the moon about it, even with the climate of strife and destruction hanging heavily in the air. As a NATO liaison, it was part of my job to keep tabs on the local community and look out for their needs and concerns. It was my favorite part of the job, one that I took very seriously, even though most of my team members rolled their eyes at me for it. Many of my coworkers viewed the native population as part of the faceless mass they thought of as “the enemy,” but I knew that to be incorrect and wildly unfair to the genuine human beings who happened to live in the area. So I went above and beyond to make connections, to learn about the local culture, to help maintain a working relationship.

  As I pulled down my veil to greet Saba in my very broken Pashto, she grinned up at me, digging in her pocket to fish out a Polaroid photograph of her new grandson. I had given her the Polaroid camera a week ago, when she offhandedly mentioned to me that she was feeling down about the fact that she had left all her most precious family photographs behind when they were forced to move to the camp. I happened to have brought an old Polaroid camera with me in my luggage, thinking to take photos of the conditions of the camp as part of my report back with the NATO team coordinators. But as soon as Saba had told me her woes, I knew she was in much greater need for the camera than I was, especially with the new baby on the way. Besides, there’s a digital camera in everything nowadays.

  Saba was gushing about her grandson so quickly I could hardly follow her words, having only a rudimentary grasp of the Pashto language, and for some reason my eyes flitted away to my left, staring over the heads of the bustling crowds, to land on the most startlingly handsome man I had ever seen.

  Adrian O’Connor. High-ranking Navy SEAL, Smooth-talking American with dark, sandy-blond hair, vivid green eyes, impressive muscles, towering height, and a glorious ruddy tan. Of course, I didn’t know his name yet at that moment. All I knew was that he was impossibly attractive. Blisteringly sexy. And looking right at me.

  “Bakhena gwaarum, Saba,” I said, patting her hand and excusing myself from the conversation. I would make it up to her later by purchasing one of her hand-spun pashmina scarves, but at that instant, I couldn’t help myself. I was drawn to the handsome green-eyed soldier by an almost magical attraction, like he had cast a spell on me from all the way across the bazaar.

  I pushed through the crowd like I was walking in a dream, my feet barely seeming to touch the dusty earth beneath me as I came closer and closer. But when I got to the other side of the congregation, he was nowhere to be seen. Like he had simply vanished into thin air.

  Suddenly, I felt like an idiot. I wasn’t there in the desert to lust after hot American boys. I was there to work. So I had returned to Saba’s fabric stand with my tail between my legs to buy a scarf and listen dutifully as she rambled about how handsome and strong her new grandson was, proudly showing me Polaroids of the little baby.

  As I sit here now in the hotel room, humming softly to Adrian, I think back to our second encounter, when I was standing at his tent, awaiting his return so I could give him the manila folder of classified information. When he was terribly late for our meeting. When he rolled up blasting his country music, sauntering up to me like some old-timey movie hunk. We had exchanged only a few words that day, as I was both too frustrated at being kept waiting and too flustered by the fact that this was the man I saw at the marketplace that day to really talk. Besides, I had promised myself to stay focused, not to let some hot shot American soldier knock me off my game. I was a NATO official, for god’s sake, not a love-struck teenybopper.

  But still, I couldn’t get him off my mind.

  And later that night, I was so burned out on trying to stay on the ball and overwhelmed with work that I decided to hit a local watering hole frequented by a lot of the NATO folks and soldiers alike. It was one of the few places in the country where soldiers had somewhere to go off-base. Drinking alcohol was an illegal activity with a terrible punishment for the locals, but that didn’t stop them from using the presence of foreigners to make a profit. I could hardly blame them for it. Procuring booze for the stressed-out soldiers was one hell of a way to make some cash. I sat at the bar nursing my whiskey and going over some recent reports, my thoughts ricocheting uselessly in every direction as I tried all kinds of mental gymnastics to avoid thinking about Adrian O’Connor.

  But it was impossible. He was there, in my mind. He had somehow gotten under my skin, into my very veins. I couldn’t stop recalling his handsome face, his alluring swagger, his impressive height. And then, almost as though I had summoned him with my thoughts, he walked through the door to the bar and strolled up to the counter. Right next to me.

  He ordered straight gin and sat down on the stool beside me, then cast me a sidelong grin.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, that sexy Midwestern drawl that was like sweet molasses to my ears. I blushed instantly and took a quick swig of my drink, my face souring at the taste.

  He laughed. “That bad, huh?”

  “I don’t usually drink,” I replied, shrugging. I was too afraid to make eye contact with him, knowing that if I were to meet his vivid green eyes, I might be lost forever.

  “So, then what’s an innocent soul like you doing in a place like this?” Adrian asked, and maybe it was the liquid courage coursing through my veins, or maybe it was just happenstance, but I instinctively looked up at him before I could stop myself.

 
And from there, I was a goner.

  We exchanged so few words but so many at the same time, conversation and confession flowed between us so easily. Before long, we were stumbling back to his private tent, our lips locked in a passionate, sloppy kiss. We fell into the blankets together, our limbs entangled, both of us moaning and crying out for each other. We made love fast and hard, our pent-up frustrations fueling every thrust and groan. We fucked once, then twice, and then a third time just before dawn. Exhausted and spent, we lay there in the cool early morning air, finally talking with our words instead of with our bodies. He told me where he was from, and I did the same. We talked about our fears, our hopes, our desires for the future. I felt, for the first time, like maybe we had a real connection that went far beyond the physical. We could have been something, if only we were in a different place, at a different time. But that desert was our Casablanca. It was all we had to share. And when six o’clock rolled around, we piled into his vehicle and he drove me back to my own barracks, where we said goodbye, not realizing it would be a real farewell.

  Because later that day, while I was still drifting around on cloud nine, he was reassigned to a new location, a new battle. And so he was gone, just like that.

  In my lap, Adrian is snoring lightly, his eyes closed. I smile down at him, realizing suddenly that there are tears in my eyes. It hits me just how bizarre it is. How impossible, that we should find each other again like this. I can’t believe that our one night together in Afghanistan was enough to change both of our lives completely. After a few weeks passed in the desert, I was still in a funk, unable to forget about Adrian. He plagued my every waking thought as well as my wildest dreams. I couldn’t believe he had slipped through my fingers so easily, so quickly.

  I started feeling sick every morning when I woke up, and at first I assumed it was just heartache after spending the whole night dreaming blissfully that Adrian was still with me. But when I started actually vomiting every single morning, another explanation occurred to me, one that would entirely reroute the course I had planned out for my life.

  I took a test, awkwardly waiting those three painstaking minutes in the barracks’ communal bathroom, hoping nobody would walk in and see me that way. And when the three minutes were up, I checked the little window… and saw a tiny blue plus sign, clear as day.

  I was pregnant.

  For weeks, I tried to keep the news to myself, half out of fear that I would lose the position I had worked so tirelessly for, and half out of a sense of personal denial. I felt like a failure, like I had screwed everything up. I was pregnant with a child fathered by a man I hardly knew, after one admittedly magical one-night stand in the desert. But before too long, people started to take notice. Saba was one of the first to say something. One day when I was visiting her at the bazaar, she pointed to my belly, and in muted Pashto she asked, “Does anybody know yet?”

  I wasn’t even starting to show at that point, but Saba knew instinctively that there was something off about me. And in that moment, my heart sank. I realized that I was being a fool. There was no way I could go on hiding the truth like that. So, after psyching myself up for what I knew would be one of the hardest decisions I would ever make, I went to my superiors and informed them that I was pregnant and I needed to return home. They took it surprisingly well, and I was lucky enough to leave service with a hefty award of commendation for my efforts.

  And from there, I had been living a totally different life. I lived with my parents again in rural Ontario, and when I gave birth, I was amazed and a little saddened to see that my beautiful baby daughter had bright, vivid green eyes.

  Just like her handsome, mysterious father.

  I gaze down at Adrian, my own eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. It’s been a rollercoaster of emotions these past couple of days, and I am more than ready to sleep, too. So I carefully scoot backward just enough to grab a pillow and position it between my head and the side of the bed, close my eyes, and fall asleep.

  In the morning, I wake to find that I am no longer sitting on the floor with Adrian’s head in my lap. Instead, I am lying in bed, the sheets lovingly pulled up to my chest. And there is the sound of whistling, accompanied by the delicious smell of bacon and eggs. I sit up slowly, yawning, and look over to see Adrian frying up breakfast in the little kitchenette area of our hotel suite. He’s whistling to himself. Another song by Joseph Castello. I smile and start to get out of bed, but then Adrian looks up and shakes his head.

  “Nope, you’re not allowed to get up. How can I bring you breakfast in bed if you’re not in bed?” he laughs, holding up a greasy spatula. I giggle and settle back into the sheets dutifully.

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I tell him, amused.

  “Yeah, I do. It’s the least I can do to thank you for helping me out last night. Those fireworks — well, they kind of took me back, you know. And not in a good way. I guess I should get used to that now, Canada Day and all. I forgot you were ahead of celebratory schedule up here. Anyway, thank you,” he says, smiling at me.

  I’m seeing a totally different side of him that I only caught a brief glimpse of back in the desert. When I first met him, I assumed he was just as cocky and womanizing as his fellow SEALs. Those boys were made for hard work and hard play, but there was nothing soft about them. Ever. But this man… this gorgeous, whistling prince charming of a man cooking me scrambled eggs and bacon in the kitchen… Well, he is a different breed altogether. And suddenly, I know that he is safe. That I am safer with him than I have ever been.

  And if that is true, then I know what I have to do now. I have to be honest with him.

  So when he comes over to bring me a lovely plate of breakfast, I ask him to sit down on the bed with me. He regards me thoughtfully, those beautiful eyes full of an emotional depth I never expected to see there.

  “So, there’s something I need to tell you,” I begin quietly, my heart pounding in my chest. “And I’m a little afraid of how you’ll react, but I just can’t hide it any longer, Adrian.”

  He cocks his head to one side slightly and asks, “What is it? Are you okay?”

  I give him a reassuring smile and nod. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. But um, I just can’t keep this secret anymore. It’s not fair to you — or to Maya.”

  “What’s going on, Bex?” he says, reaching over to take my hand.

  I bite my lip, the words ready to burst from my throat.

  “Maya is your daughter.”

  Adrian

  The world around me feels like it’s falling silent as I drink in the words Becca tells me, those gorgeous, shining eyes watching me with such a mix of emotions I can’t come close to interpreting.

  Yet the silence around me isn’t the tense, hellish silence I remember on the battlefield in Syria after a gunshot nearly deafened me. It isn’t the same kind of silence I felt in those moments before the Russians stormed into the room to start a firefight. This is something altogether different.

  My child. My own flesh and blood. Almost a year old.

  I say nothing to Becca, just looking at her face for several long moments before I step away and turn my back on her, moving slowly into the bathroom to the crystal-clear mirror that reflects my image perfectly.

  I hear Becca climbing out of bed and padding after me, and when she speaks, I can hear the terrified tenor in her voice, shaking.

  “I’m so sorry, Adrian, I should have told you sooner!” she gushes, trying to hold back tears as I look at myself. “You have no idea how much I wrestled with the idea of whether or not to tell you, to explain what was going on in my life, all of it.”

  I say nothing, so she keeps speaking after a moment’s hesitation, possibly wondering whether I was even hearing what she was saying, but it was quite the contrary: I caught every syllable that came out of her mouth.

  “Adrian, please, all I’m asking is that you hear me out, just understand where I was coming from on this,” she says, hardly able to keep up with her own words. �
�Everything I did, all I’ve been able to think about has been protecting my child. Our child, Adrian. I had to make sure everything I was doing was the right thing, and to do that, I had to be cautious. Every step of the way, even if that meant…”

  She pauses, sniffing and wiping a tear from her eye. “Even if that meant hiding her from you, Adrian. But it wasn’t because I don’t think you’re not going to be an incredible father, Adrian, please don’t think that crossed my mind for a second!

  “After everything I saw overseas, all the fighting, all the death, all the mayhem, after everything I went through, I couldn’t just go on without taking precautions. I had to be careful with the most precious thing in my life, and I still am. I need you to understand, Adrian, please forgive me.”

  When I don’t answer, I can almost feel her chest tightening, her jaw clenching as she searches for the right words to say, if there even are such things.

  “I may have been overprotective. I don’t know. Maybe I was right in what I did, maybe I wasn’t. I… I don’t know, Adrian,” she sobs. “All I know is that I’m trying to make it right. I understand if you’re mad, but please, look at it from my point of view. I’m sorry.”

  But the whole time she’s talking, it’s like she’s muffled in the background to the thoughts that are swimming around furiously in my head. It’s like a swelling storm spilling over into every part of my being.

  And it feels ecstatic.

  Everything about the past two years makes so much more sense now. It’s like some missing piece of a puzzle that’s been eluding me all this time has finally fallen right into my hands, and my chest swells so sweetly that I feel like I could walk on clouds.