The SEAL's Second Chance: An Alpha Ops Novella by Anne Calhoun Page A

one? They push back your cuticles and snip them with tiny sharp scissors.”
    “Oooh,” he said, mock-serious. “Sounds painful.”
    “I just don’t like people messing with me. My hair, my makeup, my fingers and toes. Then I’m getting a trim. Grace said I’ve got split ends,” she said, giving the end of her ponytail a sidelong glare.
    He thought about how she used her body as a shield and battering ram to protect the ball, how she’d throw it to the floor, into the wall or other players. He thought about all the ways he’d touched her, how maybe the way she went boneless under his hands from the massage was the most intimate thing she’d done. He let desire simmer in his eyes, watched her stop breathing for a long moment.
    “Present company excluded,” she added. “And don’t look at me like that in front of my players.”
    “Everyone’s going to be looking at you tonight,” he said.
    She shrugged dismissively. “You walk into a room in fuchsia, people are going to look.”
    “At you, Charlie. NCAA championship winner. European championship winner. You going to wear your rings?”
    “I am,” she said, looking right into his eyes. “So the girls know what they can do and be if they work hard and stay smart. Champions. I have to go,” she said, and zipped up her hoodie.
    “See you later,” he called to her retreating back, making it a promise.
    *   *   *
    Ian drove them to yet another hole in the wall BBQ joint, then home, where they ate ribs and fries and fritters while sorting through more childhood toys and mementos. Ian left to go back to his apartment to shave and shower. Jamie did the same, then inspected his uniform for any hint of a stain or a dulled crease, then laid it all out, the undershirt, the rows of medals and commendations, and put on each piece. He paused to examine his reflection in the mirror with a critical eye.
    It meant so much to him, being a SEAL. It was his life, the career he’d chosen for love of country and love of the brotherhood. He’d wanted this, had it, and had no regrets. Back then it hadn’t been a choice between Charlie and the Navy. It wasn’t now, either. He was a SEAL. He’d find a way to have both.
    “The only easy day was yesterday,” he said to his reflection, then trotted down the stairs.
    “You look very nice,” his mother said, brushing at the backs of his shoulders. She wore an elegant suit in a shade of lavender that matched his father’s pocket square. He’d learned to love and respect the uniform from his father, who substituted a sharp suit and wingtips for the police chief’s uniform when he retired from his first career and started his second in politics. That’s how he knew this could work. He’d seen it done, even if Charlie hadn’t. All she had to do was what was hardest for her to do: trust him.
    He rode with his parents to the Garden Club’s Art Deco building, situated in the middle of the park they maintained for the city. The beds lining the brick walk to the front doors were in full bloom, riotous color sprawling at ground level and rising along trellises. His mother stopped to greet Helen Powell, holding court in a cluster of people he actually knew from the present day. Helen’s grandson—Jamie’s right-hand man and fellow Navy SEAL, Jack Powell—was already there, with Jack’s best buddy on the team, Keenan Parker, in the cluster of people around Helen.
    “How’s it going?” Jack asked, holding hands with a woman sporting a serious case of road rash under her fancy wrap. Jamie blinked. He’d never seen Jack hold hands with a woman before.
    “Fine. You?”
    “Great,” Jack said, beaming. “Couldn’t be better. This is Erin Kent.”
    “Ma’am,” Jamie said.
    Keenan Parker appeared with his fingers wrapped around four bottles of beer, which he distributed to Jack, Erin, and a woman who could only be Jack’s sister and Helen’s granddaughter. Keenan wore a navy suit and a tie. He draped his arm around