Page 71 of My Fiancé's Brother
I just stared at him. Taking in his stubble, his long hair, those immense shoulders. Trying to imagine him holding a gun and shooting it. Getting shot at. He glanced at me, his expression questioning.
I pulled my eyes away from him and started to read some more to him. “SEALs operate in the shadows, approaching life-threatening combative situations via helicopter, submarine, parachute, boat, on foot, or by swimming underwater. They are masters of complicated technology, weaponry, hydrographic surveys, and charts. They specialize in explosives, camouflage, or sniper skills. SEALs have stamina, patience, and put their lives on the line during every single mission without receiving the credit they deserve.”
Images flashed before my eyes of Jackson taking a running leap out of the back of some plane into a dark abyss. Scaling out of a helicopter. Coming out of the water with the weird fake grass on his head and green face paint while he approached enemies from behind with a knife. It was straight out of some Rambo movie, and it freaked me out.
I looked over at him. “Please tell me this isn’t your job.”
He smiled one of his devastating smiles that made my heart flip. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“How dangerous are these missions that you do?”
Green eyes met mine. He said in a calm voice, “It’s not that bad.”
At that moment I knew it was probably much worse. “It says that you put your life on the line during every single mission.”
“We're trained to handle those kinds of situations.”
“Situations where people are constantly trying to kill you?”
“Emily, it's just a job. It has its challenges, but it's also rewarding.”
“Have you ever been shot at?”
“Once or twice.”
I covered my mouth with my hand and tossed my phone on the dash. I envisioned Matt getting a phone call and then turning to tell me that Jackson was dead. My chest ached so hard I was struggling to breathe. I looked out the window and forced myself to breathe slowly. Evenly.
“Emily.”
“You never told me,” I accused him. “You should have told me right from the start.”
“What difference would it have made?” he sounded baffled.
My arms waved in the air. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have let myself be your friend. That’s the difference. Now I am, and I feel sick about this.”
“So you wouldn’t have become my friend?”
“Exactly,” I shot back. “I would have protected myself.”
A strong hand reached over and grabbed my hand. “Don’t think about it.”
I inhaled a deep breath. “You should come with a warning label. Dangerous job. Might get killed and leave you. Don’t get too close.”
“Em,” he said. I tugged at my hand, but he refused to let go.
I looked out the window. “I guess I answered my question.”
“What’s that?”
“I can understand why women struggle with your job.”
CHAPTER 23
When we arrived home,Jackson and I sat at the island and ate a late lunch in silence. I pushed food over my plate. My appetite was all but gone.
I mentally lamented about how I could find out my fiancé was cheating on me and it had no emotional impact on me. But the moment I found out about how Jackson worked in a dangerous environment, I felt sick to my stomach. What if he got hurt or killed? Everyone I loved had died on me. Knowing that he continually put himself in life and death situations made me angry. I would never survive another loss. The world was a better place because Jackson was in it. It devastated me to think that he was in mortal danger because of a stupid job. It made me angry, and now I couldn’t eat.
“Your car should be done tomorrow,” Jackson interrupted my thoughts.
