Page 21 of Under Pressure

Pushing the brutal words away, forcing them to roll off his back like bath water, Delta shook his head, taking a swig of his heavy pint. Neither of his friends understood. Neither of them knew who he had become, what he’d done. He wasn’t about to tarnish the values he’d fought so hard for.

“Just stop,” Delta growled, averting his eyes.

“You fucking saved an American hostage, man,” Warren argued. “You brought down an entire compound and took fucking bullets to get that guy out alive. Come on.”

“You don’t know everything.” Delta shrugged the words off, reaching up to touch the scar on his temple that was goddamn throbbing.

“Don’t forget that I was there,” Warren reminded, nodding to Delta’s scar. “That hostage wasn’t the only life you saved that day. What am I missing?”

A silence filled the space where the three men sat, and Delta felt their intense eyes on him. They wanted him to accept the medal on behalf of all of them, but he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. Warren stood, grunting about how he didn’t have time for bullshit and was off to find the pisser. As he moved away from the table, he left Carrick and Delta alone, staring at each other.

“You don’t look right, man,” Carrick assessed, eyeing his friend, probably for material damage. “What have you been up to?”

“Working.” Delta shrugged but kept it very vague.

Carrick narrowed his eyes. “Working on what? You are on vacation, last time I checked.”

Delta opened his mouth to argue but decided to leave it at that. He didn’t need any more questions.

Before Carrick could challenge further, his cell phone rang in his pocket, and he flipped it out. Taking the call, he motioned ‘one minute’ to Delta and moved to the side of the patio where there were no tables. Delta watched his friend—a determined professional, a retired SEAL—who was trying damn hard to make his private security business work. It wasn’t easy transitioning from special operator, from SEAL, to real life. Carrick had made it look easy.

Delta was struggling.

Needing a distraction, Delta flipped out his phone and fingered through his notifications. Nothing new. Well, nothing interesting. Alone, sifted through an old text conversation…one that he hadn’t replied to. It was Kendra. It was the last message she’d sent him, almost a year ago…

Coffee? the old message read.

He’d typed a thousand replies but hadn’t sent any of them. It was never clear to him what she wanted and what she meant. The only thing that was clear was that he was unfit to be with anyone. Things at work had gotten more intense and the battle rhythm was untenable, making him into someone he didn’t recognize.

He’d deployed again to Syria not long after he’d seen her last, believing he’d be returning home in a casket. So, he’d never responded to her, figuring she was better off without him. Selfishly, he knew he was better off without her in his life, too. From the moment he’d met her, he’d known. She’d captured his attention like no other. He was drawn to her, and that was why he couldn’t.

Shouldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

But, damn—his thoughts trailed, as he remembered what her ass felt like, gripping her cheeks, slamming his cock into her…but Warren’s voice coming up behind him broke him out of his head.

“You know, I used to have a saying.” Warren grunted as he sat down at the table again.

“And what was that?” Delta asked, dropping his forearms on the table, trying to appear more relaxed than he was.

Warren leaned in. “When you see someone with a medal, look to the guy beside him. That’s the guy who probably deserved it more.” And his eyes flitted to Carrick, who was joining them again.

Delta stared at Carrick, who shot him a grin.

“Damn right—I nominate Carrick,” Delta agreed, wincing from the pulsing deep under the scar on his temple.

Delta could still feel the burning knife from that day—and how it had hurt when the enemy sentry had cut open his face as he’d taken him down. The doctors called it ghost pain, but it was real to him.

“You really don’t want it, huh?” Carrick shook his head, grinning. “Why don’t they just give it to Timber? Your dog’s the real hero out of this.”

“Fuck yes,” Delta grinned, taking another gulp of beer.

“She’s seen more action than half the SEALs out there.”

Delta laughed with his two friends, chugging back pints and turning the conversation from serious to casual.

“What are you driving these days?” Carrick nodded to Warren, the man with a Hellcat addiction. The two of them dove into a conversation on pickup trucks—and who had a bigger hemi. Warren won on that—but he always did.

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