Introduction To Romance (10 Books). Кэрол Мортимер

      How many people saw what she’d been so reluctant to face? Brody did. All his comments, his questions suddenly came into brilliant focus. He’d seen it. Her friends had commented from time to time. Even Macy, although her comments usually supported Genna’s parents.

      Brody had accused her of using him to rebel. She hadn’t lied when she’d denied it, because she hadn’t been brave enough to take that kind of risk.

      But he was right. She had used him. The truth was, she’d used him to find herself again. It was only through Brody that she’d been able to reconnect with her own wants, her own needs. With her own self.

      That she’d had to was demoralizing.

      “Everything we did was for your own good, Genna.” Still using his father-knows-best tone, her dad stepped forward as if to take her hands.

      Genna stepped back.

      His scowl made her want to add a few extra steps to her retreat.

      “You can’t run my life, Dad. Not anymore.”

      “I can, and will, do whatever I think is best for my family,” her father shot back.

      “You’re so busy forcing your family to follow your rules, to fit your preconceived ideas, that you’re destroying it.” Genna swallowed hard to get past the tears clogging her throat. Her dad might be bossy and overprotective, but he was still her dad. She hated hurting him. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him continue to run her life. “If you can’t accept my choices, then maybe it’s better if you just stayed away.”

      Her eyes blurred, she hurried past him and out the door before he could respond.

      * * *

      BRODY STEPPED INTO the room that’d once fit him like a second skin. This bunk, a cot in a tent, a rack on a ship. It didn’t matter. They’d been home. Barracks were all the same. Coronado, Little Creek, Pearl Harbor or Afghanistan. He’d fit. He’d belonged.

      Now?

      He looked around the bland room, his gaze avoiding the bunk next to his. Carter’s bunk.

      Now he wasn’t sure.

      “Dude, you’re back?”

      Brody turned in time to catch Masters’s hand in a tight shake and gave a half shrug.

      “Just finished physical therapy.”

      “Finished a session? Or finished completely?” Masters asked, his green eyes intense.

      “Both.”

      “Yeah? You’re cleared for duty?”

      “Gotta see the doctor on Monday. But the physical therapist said I’m solid.”

      “Nice timing. We ship out in a month, start training next week.”

      A week. Brody was silent. Genna’s face flashed through his mind. What would she say if she knew? After that first night, they’d never talked about his service. For the first time, he realized they’d both been avoiding it.

      “So what’s the deal?” Masters asked, reading the stress in Brody’s tone. “You thinking about opting out?”

      “I don’t quit.”

      “No. But if you can’t give it one hundred percent, you’re not an asset.”

      A brutal statement by some standards. But not Masters’s. And not Brody’s. He knew it was the truth. Their commander ran the team with a strong hand, demanding the best from each man, pushing them all to their limits, then shoving them right past to find new limits. A SEAL carrying baggage was a detriment. To himself. To the mission. To the team.

      “So what’s the deal?” Masters asked, grabbing a wooden chair and spinning it around before straddling it. He waited until Brody had done the same, then he picked up the deck of cards on the table between them and started shuffling. “You’ve been cleared of PTSD, right? You say you didn’t B.S. your way through testing. So it’s gotta be something else.”

      Brody debated while Masters dealt.

      He wasn’t a sharesies kind of guy. He didn’t believe confession was good for the soul. And whatever nasty crap he had in the closets of his mind was just fine hiding out there. He’d lived through plenty of ugly in his life and ignored it all just fine.

      So why was this different?

      He lifted his cards, tossed one down.

      “You ever question your ability to do your job?” he asked quietly, taking the new card Masters flipped across the table.

      His buddy stared at his hand for a couple heartbeats. Brody knew he was thinking. The guy didn’t say boo without considering all the ramifications. Finally, Masters looked up and gave a jerk of his shoulder.

      “No. That’s probably not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. We’re the best. We do what nobody else can do. And we’re damned good at doing it.”

      Brody nodded. He used to believe that, too.

      “You questioning the job you did?” Masters asked, his words quiet as he rearranged his cards.

      “I failed.” There. He’d said it. Some people might think confessing their deepest shame was cathartic. Brody had news for them. It sucked. His gut ached and his head throbbed as he heard his own words.

      He’d left Bedford a loser with little or no prospects. Ten years later, he was back and not much had changed. He still had the hots for the town princess. She was sneaking around seeing him on the sly. And his prospects? Pretty freaking lousy.

      He met his friend’s eyes with a shake of his head.

      “My failure cost us a brother.”

      Masters pursed his lips, that computer brain probably replaying the mission statement and everyone’s assignment, the operation itself, and the postmission assessment.

      Then he shook his head.

      “You saved a little girl. A kid who wasn’t supposed to be in that compound. Despite spotty intelligence, you listened to her old man, went back in and found her, and hauled her out with a bullet in your thigh just before the place exploded all to hell. That’s your job. You did it. What’s the problem?”

      “I wasn’t the last man out.”

      Masters’s face stiffened for a second, his jaw tight. He gave a short nod.

      “Carter went down. It happens, man. We all know that going in.”

      “He took a chunk of concrete to the back. He went down fast, but he was alive. I should have grabbed him then,” Brody said, staring at the cards in his hand but not seeing them. Instead, images flashed of that mission. Of his friend’s face, fire flaring all around them, the air filled with concrete as sharp as shrapnel.

      “You had an injured kid in your arms and a damaged leg. You were ordered to get her out.”

      “I almost went back. I could have carried them both. She was hardly more than a handful. But she was terrified. Started screaming and crying when I turned back. I figured I’d drop her at the helo, go back and get Carter.”

      “That’s SOP.”

      “The building blew before I could get back.”

      “It blew before any of us could get back.” Masters’s words were toneless, easy. But Brody heard the pain in them. Knew the guy was struggling with his own demons. They’d all had a job to do, had all been focused on getting it done. But they should have gotten Carter out.

      “No man left behind.” Brody’s jaw clenched so tight he had to force the team slogan past gritted teeth. “I failed.”

      “If you’d gone back, you and the kid would have gone down, too. You got out of there with five seconds to spare.”

      “I