Proving myself had once been a daily occurrence. It had started with my best friend, Darren, and I withstanding the horrors of training at the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL course, only to find out that what we’d done there meant jack. We’d had to prove ourselves all over again in the even more intensive SEAL Qualification Training followed by jump school and sniper school. After that, we’d had to demonstrate our abilities in every training exercise we did to certify the platoon as being mission ready. But once we’d been on several ops with Silver Squad, and I’d demonstrated I was as much of a perfectionist as the other members of the team, it had eased. Executing the mission had become the priority.
Darren had done all of it with a laugh and a smile. He’d been impossible to dislike and had bent over backward for those he respected. He’d been the reason people put up with my dumb ass when I had no filter and no bedside manner. Hence my nickname: Nasty. Nash the Nasty Ass Shitty Human.
I was trying hard not to live up to that nickname on this team. I’d been grateful the brass had finally taken me off the training rotation when this spot on Blue Team came available. I was trying to bring a little of Darren with me and exude it across this group. I was trying to be the better person, and I was failing because laziness, unearned ego, and an entitlementattitude would forever piss me off. As one of the real newbies on this team, Dainty was full of all of that and more.
If Darren had been there, he’d be razzing me to remember what it felt like to be brand new out of training. I was letting him down now just as much as I had on the last op. Thoughts of Darren and the last op closed my windpipe down, causing me to gasp for air. I inhaled water and ended up with my hands on the wall, coughing it out.
The snort next to me had me ripping my eyes open to meet two brown ones.
Fucking Dainty.
“How’d you even make it through the prep course?” he griped, rolling his eyes and grabbing for the soap.
Went to show he didn’t know shit about me, because I’d done my prep at the Naval Academy. I’d done all my pre-qualifications there. I’d lived four years of pre-quals, and I’d beat out every other single person in the academy who’d wanted one of the coveted, guaranteed spots at BUD/S. I had beat every person, except Darren.
“How’d you make it out of grade school?” I asked, moving out of the shower toward my waiting towel so I wouldn’t show this tool exactly why I’d earned my nickname.
“It’s no wonder you got your team killed.” He said it quiet enough that I almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the water.
I wished I hadn’t. The flashes of me picking up parts of my best friend to take him home to his wife filled my head. I turned, wrapping my towel around my waist, and said, “Want to say it again to my face,Dainty?”
The scorn dripping as I said his nickname had him spinning to face me, hands in tight fists at his side, barely controlled rage rippling through his expression. It was a fury I returned, but you’d never be able to tell it by looking at me. I knew how to hide my emotions. This kid—because that was what he was, some asswipe barely old enough to drink—didn’t know how to control anything.
Dainty stepped forward. “You’re a disgrace. I’ll never fucking trust you. You shouldn’t even be fucking allowed to keep your budweiser.”
I’d damn well earned my Trident. I’d earned it with my body, my brain, my gun, and my team. My brothers. The brothers I didn’t have anymore. Four buried. Two quitting. That hurt almost as much as the funerals had. The fact that Bull and Runner had quit on me. SEALs weren’t quitters. It was the whole purpose of our training. To ensure the people who lasted would never quit on the mission or their brothers. But mine had.
Nightmares of the bodies we’d brought home draped under American flags had caused Bull and Runner to flee. The human carnage was something our training could never prepare us for. Something that would never leave my head. Pounding my Trident into a coffin would never take away the pain.
I stepped closer to him. “How many missions you been on,Dainty?”
I already knew the answer. None. Half the team was a bunch of greenhorns. I was only there because the squad’s senior chief had torn an Achilles that would never heal. I was only there because I’d refused to give up.
Dainty didn’t like me calling him out on his inexperience, though. His face narrowed, and he stepped closer yet again. If he kept coming, I couldn’t guarantee I’d keep my cool.
“You dropped the boat today,” he smirked.
Short in stature. Short in brains. Short in between the legs. He had too much to prove, and I couldn’t believe he’d passed the final Trident board evaluation. I hadn’t fucking dropped the boat. He’d let go and waited to see what I would do. When I hadn’t let up, he pushed it, and I’d still almost held on. If the wind hadn’t caught it, I would’ve still been standing.
“Bet they were all as weak as you. Bet that’s why they came home in body bags.”
My face didn’t change. My body didn’t move, except for my arm. I swung out and hit his jaw with my closed fist. I saw the surprise in his eyes right before my knuckles collided with his skin. He wasn’t prepared for it, and his feet lost purchase on the slippery tile. He fell back, his head thunking the floor. I hoped it knocked some sense into him.
“What the hell?” Master Chief said from behind me.
I turned and walked back to my locker. While I was getting dressed, there was a commotion in the showers as my new team helped Dainty up. Not one of them asked why I’d hit him, but I wasn’t a rat any more than I was going to take his smack about my brothers. The hushed undertones of their voices crawled over my skin. I shoved my dirty clothes into my duffel, stood up, and walked out.
I already knew what was coming.
But I wasn’t quitting. They’d have to court-martial me and kick me out. I wasn’t fucking quitting.
???
The lights were on as the CarShare pulled up outside the house. The driver was looking at me expectantly in the rearview mirror. I was drunk. Not the best time to show up, but this was where I’d been coming for almost a year now.
I’d driven to Church Beach in a storm of hurt, anger, and frustration, but I’d known better than to show up in that kind of mood. So, I’d parked my car at a bar and drank my way to my current state, trying to stop my brain from analyzing the twenty different steps behind me and ahead of me.
“You going to get out?” the driver asked.
