Navy Seal Promise

Hick sniffed. “He’s been coming in every night, asking me to meet him.”

“After hours? What for?” Kyle asked. His father rarely worked overtime at either the airfield or the garage. He liked going home to his wife, who, for him, reaffirmed the grind of life on the straight and narrow.

“Don’t know exactly,” Hick opined. He snorted unceremoniously. “At first I thought he’d want to start breaking down the engine. Mostly he just looks at it like some complex algebra problem he can’t solve.”

“Strange,” Pappy said.

Kyle agreed. James Bracken, a man never unsure of himself. “Why the hesitation?”

“We were hoping you’d know,” Pappy admitted.

Kyle walked around the car, studying its unpolished lines. Dents. Scratches. A paint job was the least of her worries. But she could ride again.

The license plate on the back bumper snagged Kyle’s attention. “MERCY,” he read out loud.

“Maybe it’s a gift from the gods,” Hick proposed. As both Kyle and Pappy frowned at him in turn, he gesticulated in a brusque motion toward the car, “As benediction for past crimes. Christ. He’s been on his best behavior for now on thirty years.”

Kyle fought a grin. “Are you waxing poetic on us, Hick?”

Hick scowled, uncomfortable. “Ah, to hell with ya’.”

Kyle chuckled. He’d grown to like Hick as much as Pappy. The man had battled PTSD for well on a decade after his time in the service, a fact which Kyle hadn’t known until after his recovery and several time-consuming talks working overtime in the garage alone with the man. Through the long hours, he and Hick had developed a quiet understanding of one another.

“Say you’re right, Hick...” Pappy shook his head at the unlikelihood of the scenario, but a smile worked at the creases of his mouth. With two fingers, he smoothed his Roosevelt ’stache. “...why a broken-down Trans Am? Why not a Cobra? Or a Ferrari?”

“Do I look like I commune with the righteous?” Hick muttered.

“So how ’bout asking him for us?” Pappy nudged Kyle. “I think I speak for every man here—and Mavis—when I say that we’d love to know who she came from and what Jim Boy plans to do with her when he’s done figuring her out.”

Kyle spared a glance for the sky through the open doors. A stiff breeze blew in steady drafts. It kicked up sand from ditches and spread it across the lot. The vintage cars would have to be moved inside within the next hour. “I’m sure he’d tell either of you if you ponied up and asked.”

The quick cacophony of knocking broke through the chatter. Kyle glanced back at the half-walled office. Mavis peered through one of its three-sixty windows and offered him a brisk come-hither motion. “’Scuse me,” he said to the men. Ducking his head through the door, he asked, “What’s up?”

Mavis cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear. Pulling her mouth away from the receiver, she covered it. “Customer complaint. Wants to talk to my superior.” She tuned in to the caller and uncovered the mouthpiece as her spine straightened. “Yes, he’s a man. What’s that got to do with anything?” Her mouth fell open. “Now listen. Just because I am a woman does not mean I can’t tell you that the service you received last week was quality and you wouldn’t find better anywhere south of Demopolis. This is your fourth service and your third complaint in two years, Mr. Lowman. That’s right; I remember. If you don’t like our work, then why haven’t you taken your Chevy to one of those dime-a-dozen, select-service auto chains they stick on every corner? And another thing—”

Kyle eased back against the door, smiling as his little sister chewed the chauvinist on the line down to size. He knew his father would’ve moved heaven and earth for her to give up her spooky line of work and take up the banner of executive assistant at Bracken Mechanics. She could be a bit of a rough diamond, but among her various talents she could boast an eidetic memory, a talent for negotiation and bargaining, and an excellent knack for reading people. She also knew as much about cars as Kyle. She’d refused their father’s many offers, however, and had stuck to part-time bookkeeping and payroll.

As Pappy approached the office door, Kyle nodded for him to join him. They split a stick of gum. Pappy took the only available seat in the office, kicking back with his heels on the desk.

Before Mavis finished talking Lowman down, Pappy’s head bobbed, and he snorted, startling himself out of a snatched nap. When he peered at Kyle and saw the raised brow, he reluctantly lowered his feet from the desk.

“Not getting any sleep at home?” Kyle wondered.

Pappy yawned until his jaw popped. “Ah, it’s the great-grands. They’ve been staying with us for a few weeks. You forget how noisy the parent life is.” Shifting on the chair, he opened a newspaper on the desktop, wetting his fingertips to flick through the pages to the auto section. “Laurel’s getting a divorce, you know.”

Caught off guard, Kyle frowned at the man. “No. Really?”

“Yep,” Pappy said with a grim nod. “Stress got to her. Joey’s hours. He kept taking extra shifts, especially when the last couple of babies came along. Twins.”

“Twins,” Kyle said, trying to digest it. “Holy shit.”

“Laurel quit her job at the school to take care of the brood. She loves those babies, but she never could get a break. In the end, she and Joey realized they couldn’t get back to one another. Pressure broke them.”

“She okay?” Kyle asked, shifting against the jamb. It was odd, talking about his ex in this manner.

“Ah, she’ll be all right,” Pappy wagered. “She’s working again, teaching summer school. It’s been good for Alva, having all that time alone with the children. And Laurel’s starting to stand up straight again now that some of the burden has been lifted.”

“I reckon so,” Kyle muttered. “Especially with... How many kids did you say?”

“Four.”

Kyle might’ve choked. “Four?”

Pappy chuckled at his reaction. “Yes, sir. Her and Joey managed to turn out four in four years.”

It sounded like a lot. Still, Kyle didn’t know quite how to take the news of the divorce. It wasn’t long after their long-term relationship had gone belly-up that Laurel had taken up with Joe Louth, a local firefighter. It hadn’t been long after that that the two announced plans to marry. Laurel had always been vocal about her desire for traditional family life, down to the kids—a whole baseball team’s worth. Before Joe, before BUD/S, she and Kyle had talked about making that a reality.

The damn frag changed a lot of things.

It wasn’t a surprise to him that Laurel had moved on to make her dream of marriage and kids a reality. Nor was it a surprise that she’d grown weary of Joey’s firefighting hours. She’d barely lasted through Kyle’s first deployment.

Mavis finally hung up the phone. Pappy chuckled at her smug expression. “Ah, honey, ain’t no mistake. Hearing you take J. T. Lowman down a few pegs cheers me up somethin’ fierce.”

“It wasn’t the worst part of my day,” she admitted, shredding the complaint report methodically down the middle. “Sorry, bro. Guess I didn’t need you after all.”

Kyle held up a hand. “You lullabied Pappy into an afternoon siesta and saved me a hassle. Good work.” He pushed off the jamb and walked back into the garage.

It was beginning to feel crowded with Hick and a few of the other boys rounding up the show cars and parking them bumper to bumper in the empty service stations. Kyle smiled when one of them tested the motor of his father’s old Mustang, revving it so the deep-throated growl of high-performance ponies galloped up the walls in a chill-inducing charge. A few of the boys leaned out of the cars to whistle appreciatively. Kyle applauded. He’d fallen in love with the noise early, much as he’d fallen in love with the laugh of a strident redheaded girl.

The last had always been platonic. Decidedly platonic. He’d never wanted to kiss Harmony. Never thought about kissing her. Never thought overtly about any particular part of her body. Especially not her mouth in all the colorful imaginative ways he had over the last sixteen hours...

He didn’t want this. Any of it. It threatened to take one of the most important relationships in his life and rend it in half. What had seemed ironclad yesterday was now on the verge of being crushed beneath the heel of his boot—like some intricate origami bird. Sure, it looked sturdy, but how well would it hold up under the flat side of his shit-kickers?

Kyle had to lock it down. If it meant retreating to all the training techniques he’d learned through the years, so be it. The white-winged crane that was him and Harmony and, partially, Bea’s connection was crucial to each of them. And, damn it, no bad mission, questionable homecoming or lack of female companionship was going to undermine it.

He found himself facing the Trans Am again, this time from the back. The word MERCY caught his eye once more.

Something crawled down the back of his neck. A feeling he didn’t like. It was usually his chief indicator that something was about to go terribly wrong on a mission. The Spidey sense had saved his life more than a time or two overseas as well as the lives of his teammates.

As much as he’d like to give the engine another look, he sidestepped the car, giving it a wide berth. No, he didn’t know where or who it had come from. At this point, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

It smelled like trouble in Goodyear tires and a double coat of dust.

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