Protector #4 (A Navy SEAL Military Romance) Read online

  PROTECTOR #4

  The Protector Series Book #4

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams

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  Protector 4

  I tossed and turned all night. Around 3:00 am, I finally fell into a fitful sleep that was interrupted by Brian’s restlessness. When I woke up the next morning felt worse than I had the morning before. I sat up slowly and looked over to see Brian fast asleep on the couch across the room, and I immediately felt the previous night’s irritation return. He’d shut me out without saying anything or even trying to have a conversation, and now he was sleeping like a baby. I shook my head in disgust and went to the bathroom to get ready for my meeting.

  In the shower, I let the hot water cascade over my body as I tried to clear my mind of the way that Brian had reacted to learning about my involvement in the anti-war group. I couldn’t see how he could be angry with a group whose sole aim was to keep peace and prevent war, and it pissed me off that he’d just shut down and stopped talking. It made no sense to me whatsoever. I rinsed my hair and turned my face up toward the warm flow one more time before twisting the knobs to shut it off.

  I stepped out, grabbed the fluffy towel off of the counter and began drying myself off as I thought about how to start the conversation with Brian. We were going to have to talk about this in some way or another or else we weren’t going to be able to find a way to continue the physical part of our relationship, and I had already grown to like it - a lot. I toweled dried my wet hair as I looked in the mirror and noticed that there were dark circles under my eyes. The stress and lack of sleep were getting to me, and Friday night’s partying hadn’t helped matters.

  Ah well, that’s what concealer is for. I thought to myself as I reached into my cosmetic bag and pulled out the tube. As I began to dab it on the dark spots, I was transported back to another morning when I had had to do the same thing, but for very different reasons. The night before Dominic had returned home angry with me about some imagined infraction of his rules and had spent the evening moping silently in his man cave before emerging to teach me a brutal lesson about obedience. I cringed as I recalled how the concealer hadn’t been able to do its job the next day, but then it hadn’t been designed to hide the handiwork of a man who was determined to leave his mark on my face.

  As I dusted my cheeks with a peachy blush and tried to brighten up my pale skin, I thought about how I was certain that Brian wasn’t at all like Dominic. But I also knew that I wasn’t going to roll over and let another man dictate what I could or couldn’t do with my life; even if it meant that Brian was going to be irritated enough to continue sleeping on the couch.

  Two coats of mascara and a swipe of a berry colored lip gloss later, I considered myself in the mirror and decided I looked good enough to lead the meeting. I pulled my long, thick hair back into a low ponytail and smoothed my bangs before wrapping the towel tightly around myself and walking into the room to grab my clothes. When I emerged from the bathroom, Brian quickly looked away as I headed to my closet.

  “It’s okay to look, you, know,” I said in a light tone. “You’ve seen it all anyway.”

  “Yeah, got it,” he replied as he tried to hide the smile that flitted across his lips. “Just trying to give you some privacy.”

  “Well, it’s hard in a space this small, but I appreciate it,” I said as I grabbed my clothes.

  “It’s kind of chilly out there this morning,” Brian offered as he thumbed through my psych text book. “You might want to dress appropriately.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I shot back as I felt myself getting defensive. “Are you implying that I don’t usually dress appropriately?”

  “Step down, spitfire,” he said as he raised a hand in defense. “I’m just saying that you might want to dress for rain, that’s all. I’m not judging you.”

  I stood there fuming as I looked at him. How dare he tell me what’s appropriate and what isn’t! I was sick of his constant back and forth, one minute approving and the next disapproving. I was tired of having to walk on egg shells as we tried to navigate the path between security guard and boyfriend. Suddenly a flood of questions came rushing into my brain.

  Does he see me as his girlfriend? Do I think of him as my boyfriend? Are we a couple? I quickly discounted my answers by telling myself that it was insane to think that he could be someone I viewed as a boyfriend after less than a week. It’s Stockholm Syndrome, only without the kidnapping and violence. I chuckled as this thought crossed my mind.

  “What are you laughing about?” Brian asked in an irritated voice. “Is there something funny I don’t know about?”

  “Just thinking about my psych homework,” I replied. “No need to get all irritated with me.”

  “Irritated? Who’s irritated?” he said in a voice that was even more irritated than before.

  “Obviously you are, sailor,” I said nonchalantly.

  “I’m not irritated!” he yelled as he shot up off the couch.

  “Evidence would prove otherwise,” I said as I held my ground.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Ava?” he shouted. “Why do you push me like this?”

  “How exactly am I doing anything, Brian?” I said. My voice was calm, but inside I was trembling like a leaf. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, but his anger was palpable.

  “You are so…so…so…” he stuttered before blurting out, “Infuriating!”

  “Oh, I’m infuriating? Me?” I cried. “That’s a good one! You’re the one who gets all pissy and then shuts down and refuses to talk about anything! I didn’t do anything to you, and you just get mad and stop talking! What’s that all about, huh?”

  Brian stood glaring at me with his fists clenched at his sides for what felt like hours before he lowered his eyes and loosened his hands. He stared at the floor in front of my feet for another long while before taking a deep breath.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he began. “I just feel…frustrated.”

  “About what?” I asked quietly.

  “About the fact that I want to protect you, but I feel like you won’t let me do the things I need to do to ensure that you’re safe, and then you go and…” he trailed off.

  “I go and do what?” I asked.

  “You participate in that hateful group that does such awful things to members of the military. How could you?” he asked as he looked up. The hurt and pain in his eyes took my breath away.

  “What hateful things?” I was confused by his accusation.

  “Those anti-war groups protest at military funerals and say hateful things about people who’ve given their lives for their country,” he explained. “How could you participate in that kind of thing?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about!” I protested. “We don’t do those kinds of things!”

 
“I’ve seen the groups that do,” he said quietly. “They were at my best friend’s funeral when I accompanied his body back to the states. They had signs and literature that they were passing out about their anti-war activities.”

  “Brian, we’ve never once protested at a funeral,” I assured him. “That would be rude and disrespectful of the people who’ve sacrificed their lives for our right to oppose war.”

  “Then what do you do?” he asked. “What’s the purpose of an anti-war group that doesn’t protest?”

  “We do protest,” I said. “We protest against unjust wars that use our military service people as cannon fodder. We protest against the government’s lack of concern for the service people who’ve returned home after the wars, and we protest against the use of violence to ensure peace! It’s all wrong!”

  “It’s not wrong,” he muttered.

  “Yes! It is horribly wrong to send young men and women out to fight a war that is simply about protecting oil and resources!” I yelled. “How can you say it’s not?”

  “Because I fought the war! I fought for freedom and democracy and to get rid of a dictator that had brutally oppressed his people for decades!” Brian shouted back. “I was there, little girl. I saw what was going on and fought to bring peace to those people.”

  “Little girl? Little girl?” I was pissed. “Don’t you dare dismiss me simply because I haven’t been over to Iraq and fought in the war. That’s the most asinine argument I’ve ever heard!”

  “Oh really?” Brian crossed the room and stood not more than a foot from me as he continued. “Then please explain to me why I went over there and spent years on the ground helping secure the territory. Please explain why I spent so much time away from my friends and family in order to patrol the cities and prevent violence. Please explain why I watched civilians get blown up by their own countrymen who were trying to kill me and my team! Please explain, Ava, why…” Brian stopped as a look of anguish tore across his face.

  “Brian…” I began.

  “No! Please explain why I watched my best friend die,” he choked on the words and then looked into my eyes and said, “Tell me why, Ava. Tell me why anything I did mattered. Tell me why the sacrifices we all made were required. Tell me, Ava, would you please?”

  I had no answer for him. I had been stunned into silence by his tirade against my involvement with what I had seen as an honest attempt to stop war from happening. I hadn’t really thought about it from the soldiers’ point of view other than to not want any of them to be hurt or killed in the fighting of wars that weren’t of their making.

  “Look, I have no answers,” I said as I reached out and gently touched his arm. Brian shrunk from my touch, but I continued. “All I wanted to do was to stop the needless fighting. I didn’t want people dying - not any people! I thought that if I got involved in the group we could petition our representatives and persuade others to sign the petition requesting that the U.S not get involved in wars that aren’t about freedom or democracy.”

  Brian continued staring at my feet as I spoke. “I have never in my life ever done anything as rude or disrespectful as to protest at a soldier’s funeral, and I never would. I just don’t want people to die, Brian. That’s all. I just don’t want you or anyone you know to die in combat!”

  I stood in front of him, out of breath and emotionally on edge from trying to explain myself. Brian continued staring silently at the floor before he raised his head and looked into my eyes. My heart cracked as I felt the waves of unspoken pain flowing between us. I didn’t want to break the silence, so I held his gaze as he reached out and ran a finger down my cheek before pushing the hair out of my eyes.

  “Ava,” he whispered. “Go get dressed, you’re going to be late to your meeting.”

  *****

  As we walked to the quad and headed for the meeting, I thought about what we’d said to one another and I turned the discussion over and over as I thought about Brian’s misinformed view of the anti-war movement and how much pain it had obviously cost him. I was outraged that anyone claiming to be anti-war would ever dream of being anti-military member, but then I remembered hearing about some Midwestern church group who was using the funerals to promote their hate-filled anti-gay message.

  I turned and looked for Brian, but he was busy trying to blend in with the Sunday student crowd on the quad. He obviously didn’t want to talk about this with me, so I began formulating a plan. I’d have to run it by the group members, but I thought that once I explained the reasoning behind it, they would definitely agree with me and we could work to end the hateful practice of protesting military funerals.

  Brian stayed outside the room while we discussed ways to take a stand against the groups that were using the funerals to promote their own hateful beliefs. We sketched out a plan on the white board and then assigned group members to begin calling and emailing those we’d identified as allies. We might be a small group, I thought, but we’re mighty in our determination to do the right thing.

  After the meeting, I walked outside and saw Brian sitting on a chair in the lounge area. He was obviously on high alert as he scanned the area, searching for any signs of Dominic. I smiled and waved at him to let him know I was ready to leave. I saw him furrow his brow as he looked past me, but when I spun around to see what had caused it, I saw nothing.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing, I just thought—” he stopped and started intently at the other side of the student lounge, then shook his head and said, “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure!” I chirped. “Do you want to go get some lunch and hear about the plan we came up with?”

  “Do I have a choice?” he grinned.

  “Of course you don’t,” I grinned back. Two could play this little game.

  “Touché!” Brian burst out laughing as we walked to over to Charlie Chang’s for a lunch of bim bim bap.

  *****

  “So, tell me about this plan of yours,” Brian said to me with a mouth full of kim chee.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full!” I laughed as I took a sip of my iced tea before popping a piece of the spicy cabbage in my mouth. Brian laughed at my admonition as the server put two steaming bowls down on the table and asked if there was anything else we needed. I smiled and shook my head.

  “But seriously, tell me what you’ve got up your sleeve, Ava,” he said as he stirred a huge squirt of hot sauce into his lunch.

  “When you said that you associated the anti-war groups with disrespect and meanness, I started thinking about how a small number of protesters are defining the movement in negative terms,” I said as I pulled apart my chop sticks and balanced them carefully in my right hand. Brian watched and shook his head as he pointedly began eating with his fork. “So, I suggested that we address the issue of those people who protest at funerals instead of spending so much time writing letters protesting a war that is already happening.”

  “How do you think you’re going to affect the protestors?” he asked.

  “We don’t think we’re going to affect them, per se,” I replied. “They’re using their protests to accomplish something entirely unrelated to the peace movement. They’re using service people as a mechanism to promote their hatred of people who they feel are eroding moral values. It’s somewhat ironic that they’re religious people because they seem to have missed the overall point of their own religion.”

  “How so?” Brian asked. “They’re standing up for what they feel is right and they’re protesting against what they feel is wrong, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, but they miss the whole point, love thy neighbor and all that is what matters, right?” I looked up at him as I explained my take on the situation. I wasn’t sure he was buying it.

  “Okay, I guess I can see your point, but I don’t understand what it is you think you’re going to do about it,” he replied as he brought another forkful of the delicious rice and vegetable combination to his mouth.


  “We don’t think that we can change the people who are protesting, but we do think that we can show those who are not part of the group how damaging the practice is,” I said as I carefully measured my next words. “We think that if we can show how much pain and suffering these groups cause, then we can get average everyday folks to step in and help stop the practice.”

  “And how do you propose to accomplish this?” he asked.

  “Well…” I took a deep breath and pushed forward. “We thought we could use your story to illustrate the way in which the protestors caused so much pain during the funeral of your friend. We’ve got a couple of members who are journalism majors and they would write articles for the newspaper and a couple of other internet outlets that they write for and then we thought that we could write letters to the university administration asking them to support our attempts to get the city to stop allowing these folks to protest within a certain distance. We also thought that we could do what other cities have done and ask members of various clubs to come from a human wall around the funerals so that the friends and family members wouldn’t have to even see the protestors.”

  Brian had stopped eating and was staring at me with steely eyes. I casually continued eating as I waited to hear his response to my plan.

  “Absolutely not,” he said quietly. “You will not use my story and you will not bring me into this mess.”

  “But Brian,” I countered. “We could do so much good!”

  “By spewing my pain and suffering out into the world?” he demanded. “You want to use me to make some silly college political statement?”

  “No! That’s not what we’re doing at all!” I cried. “We want to stop these people from causing other people as much pain as they’ve caused you!”

  “By making me the face of all of the crap that’s going to come out about this?” he was angry and hurt, but I couldn’t understand why.

  “But Brian, this is a good idea! We want to stop the protests!” I said as I felt myself becoming more emotional. Couldn’t he see that we wanted to help?