The truth was, if he had been at a different place in his career—if, like Thomas and Rio, his time with the Teams stretched out seemingly endlessly in front of him—he would’ve risked it.Hey, I gotta be honest. I suck at relationships—or at least I have in the past. And we really can’t hook up here, cause, you know, I don’t want to mess with Dunk’s rules about fraternizing, but how about, after we get back to California, we make plans to connect…?
The truth was, Jim’s time with the Teams was running out. He’d been telling himself it was down to years, but in reality, he knew he should adios that optimistic plural and make ityear. Maybe. If he got lucky.
But the real truth was, upon his return to San Diego, he was going to get called into his CO’s office, and Captain Catalanotto was going to give him The Talk. Which would include the wordsPerhaps it’s time to move into the next phase of your life.
The next phase of his far more sedentary, dull-as-a-doornail, neither action-packed nor adventurous, non-Navy SEAL, middle-aged-leading-ploddingly-to-his-death life.
Christ.
Because that was going to suck.Hewas going to suck. And no way was Jim willing to shove the hot mess that he was about to become into Ashley’s lap. Like she needed someone else to take care of.
And yeah. He could pretend he was being all selfless and strong for her sake, but the ultimately real and very sad truth was that he was afraid.
He was freaking terrified that she would treat him the same way he’d treated all of his less-than-perfect girlfriends-past. That as soon as she realized she hadn’t gotten the strong and shiny Navy SEAL officer, but instead had the washed up ghost of an angry, frustrated, and aimless ex-SEAL, she’d drop him—appropriately—like a stone. Or a doornail—because really, WTF was a doornail, anyway…?
Jim limped into Dunk’s office and slapped on the overhead light. He didn’t really want or need to check his email, but he’d said he was going to, so he was going to. He sat down—ow, his knees—and woke up the computer on Dunk’s desk and…
He’d thought his evening couldn’t get any worse, but there it was. As if he’d conjured it from the dark, dank recesses of his toxic imagination.
His depressing future had arrived in the form of an email from a Navy counselor named Lieutenant Westland who wanted to set up a time to discuss where Jim thought he might go from here.
Herewas not defined. And in typical military SNAFU format, the various reports and medical evaluations that the counselor cited were not attached.
Jim sifted quickly through his email, but there was nothing else from a dot mil address—nothing from his CO, Captain Joe Catalanotto, either.
Really, this piece of devastating news should have come from Joe Cat—who was CCed on this email—Jim leaned in and squinted at the date and time at the top—which had been sent just an hour ago. Although itwasvery clear from the counselor’s use of the wordsthe next phaseof Jim’scareer in the U.S. Navy, that the wordheredirectly pertained to his recent medical evaluation.
Jim sat back in Dunk’s chair. It was over.
Hewas over and done.
And really, wasn’t itdeadas a doornail…?
But he wasn’t dead yet, so he reached for his phone, quickly doing the time-zone math. It was after 2200 in California, which was crossing the line, but he dialed Captain Catalanotto’s personal cell anyway. Can’t kill a man who’s already doornail-dead….
The CO picked up on the first ring—caller ID clearly in play. “Hey, Space, what’s happening? Everything all right?” His voice was warm and welcoming—and he clearly had no clue.
Jim hadn’t woken him—that was good. The captain told him he was watching a movie with his wife, Veronica, but that was okay—they’d hit pause.
Still, tick tock. Jim filled him in as quickly as possible—and got a resounding “What thehell…?” as Joe Cat quickly went to check his own email.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I haven’t seen any of the medical evals or the reports being cited,” Jim told his CO. “I was hoping you had ’em, so I could see if there’s even a chance of, well… A chance.”
“I haven’t seen anything,” Joe said grimly. “And there’s nothing here, but… Ah, here’s that email from Ron Westland, hold on…” He swore again as he read through it. “Lieutenant, this isnotthe way this should have been handled, you deserve better than this—and I apologize.”
“Sir, this isn’t your fault. I know that. I just was hoping…”
“For more info, yeah. Me, too. Let me make a phone call or two—”
“It’s kinda late,” Jim started.
“I don’t give a damn,” Joe said flatly. “I’ll wake up the admiral if I have to. I’m gonna get us both copies of everything tonight. You deserve to know exactly what’s going on, and whether we can fight it, or…” He exhaled hard. “Jim, this is bullshit. I’ll call you right back.”
And with that, he hung up, leaving Jim sitting there, in Dunk’s office, thinking about thatWhether we can fight it, or…
Because he knew the word that came next wasnot.
***
