Page 4 of Reclaiming Izabel

My mouth twitched. “Game boring you?” My eyes stayed focused on the screen, but my belly fluttered with anticipation. We’d been together six years and just a look from him still made my toes curl.

“I was just thinking,” he said conversationally, but there was something in his voice that made me look at him. “How happy it would make me to have a daughter who looks exactly like you.”

“What are you saying?”

The TV roared with a rousing cheer from the football crowd, but my husband continued to ignore the game. Instead, he picked up the remote, pointed it at the TV, and switched it off. Then he scooted closer and sequestered my laptop, setting it on the coffee table. He did all this without taking his eyes off me.

“SEAL contract is up for renewal,” he told me. “I’m not re-enlisting.”

“But—”

He raised a finger to my lips, effectively silencing me before sweetly tracing its outline with his thumb. “We’ve talked about starting a family before. We both agreed when the time is right, I’ll resign from the Navy. I’m ready.” He took a deep breath. “I hope to God you are. Have my babies, Iza. Give me little girls with their mother’s eyes and glorious hair…”

“And if we have boys?” My voice was choked with emotion.

His wide grin told me everything I needed to know.

The slammingof car doors jolted me out of the sweet memory. I forced my feet to move and walked out of the bedroom. Through the living room windows, I saw two black SUVs. Time stood frozen as I stared at the door.

“Go away,” I whispered. “Please, dear God, not this.”

The dreaded knock came.

Tears wet my cheeks, and my heart pounded painfully. Still, my body refused to budge.

The doorbell rang, and I came unstuck. Body-shaking tremors tore through me and, before I knew it, I was at the door, throwing it open. Two SEALs in dress blues and two Navymen stood there. I didn’t recognize any of them.

“Mrs. Maddox, I’m sorry to inform you…”

“Nooooo!” Their words echoed in a vacuum as my knees and hit the floor. Hands gently clasped my arms.

Soothing voices tried to reach me, but grief kept me locked in a nightmare.

My rage.

“It’s not him!” I screamed. “You’re wrong. Tell me you’re wrong.”

The SEAL shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not him,” I continued to sob. “Not my Drake.”

I didn’t know how long I cried.

Much later, details of the massacre trickled in.

Fire Team was gone; their lone survivor was Commander Harrelson. Twenty SEALs killed in action—drawn into a trap.

Many more operators from different JSOC units lost their lives that day.

Eight SEAL wives had become widows.

Twenty-one children had lost their fathers.

Including my unborn child.

chapter

two

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