1
“Which door will you choose for the grand prize?”
Game show. Are those still on? Click.
“Oh, my God, me dating my co-star is just a rumor, although… giggle, giggle… he’s just a friend!”
Talk show with the newest Hollywood starlet. Who the hell is she and why does she look like she weighs about eighty pounds dripping wet with too-white veneers and fake boobs? Click.
“Never overcook for the perfect texture.”
Food show. Cooking with eel? What happened in the cupcake bake-off? Sigh. Click.
“Painting contrast colors gives an old room new life.”
Home show. An orange kitchen? Click.
Nolan Bell, “Ringer” to his SEAL team, was stuck in mind-numbing, soul-sucking, boring-as-ass recuperation. He wasn’t sure which was worse, not being with his team or being stuck in his mom’s house with nothing for entertainment other than two hundred channels of ridiculous TV.
His team was based out of Coronado, California, where he shared an apartment with several SEAL buddies. He just needed a place to lay his head between missions and hanging out with his buds was easy and cheap. But not a place to recuperate when he needed some assistance. Plus, he didn’t want them to see him as weak as a newborn kitten.
Sidelined by a fuckin’ ruptured appendix.
He had taken a weekend of leave to be the best man for his cousin. Just a weekend. Fly into Knoxville on Friday morning, rehearsal dinner Friday night, and wedding on Saturday. His plans for Saturday night at the reception were to drink, dance, and perhaps get lucky with one of the single bridesmaids. A perfect plan… or should have been.
But, after the vows were spoken and the group pictures were taken, nausea set in. Surely, nothing a little food and drink wouldn’t cure. But, walking past the reception buffet, his stomach clenched, and the nausea increased. Breaking out in a sweat, he hurried away to step outside, terrified of throwing up in front of the bridesmaid who had been making it obvious a little horizontal activity with her would be easily obtained. Sucking in the fresh evening air in an attempt to quell the blinding pain, he grimaced.
He should have known his mother would sniff out one of her children not feeling well. Rita Bell showed up at his side, her face etched in concern.
“Nolan, honey, you look terrible. How much have you had to drink?”
“None.” He barely kept the growl from his voice.
Hands planted on her hips, she said, “Don’t you take that tone with me. You look positively green!”
By now, the pain was making it hard to breathe, and he dropped into a chair before he fell to the floor. Jesus, I’m a fuckin’ SEAL! I’m used to pain! So what the hell is going on?
That was the last he remembered before the floor rushed toward his face. When he awoke, he was in the hospital. In a pale blue hospital gown. Nothing says ‘I’m not in control’ like a barely-covering-your-ass hospital gown. The only good thought that hit him was being glad his team wasn’t around. The teasing would have been unmerciful.
Ruptured appendix. Two days later, when he should have been discharged, infection set in, complicating matters. Three more days in the hospital on IV fluids and antibiotics, and he suffered the final indignation when they rolled him out of the hospital, weak and grouchy. And, to top it off, he was told he could not go back to work for two months. Two fuckin’ months… I’m supposed to be with my team, and I can’t get off medical leave for another month.
Tossing the TV remote to the side, he shifted his body around and stood. Walking into the bathroom, he took care of his business and then stared at his reflection in the mirror. Six-feet three-inches tall, he was built. Ten years in the military, the last six as a SEAL, had sculpted his muscles into a powerful body. Taking after his dad with dark hair and whiskey-colored eyes, he knew he turned female gazes into sighs when he walked into a bar. As he rubbed his hand over his whiskers, he grinned. Those sighs turned into moans of pleasure if he happened to take one of them back to the apartment.
He wasn’t stupid. Frog hogs just want a SEAL to bang. But considering he had no time or inclination for a relationship—and as long as he kept it wrapped up—the one-nighters worked for him. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. At least they used to. It seemed a lot of his team members were falling for the idea of forever love.
Now, staring into the mirror, he noticed his complexion was still a little pale and dark circles remained underneath his eyes. Certain movements continued to cause dull pain in his abdomen. It’s been four weeks. I should be stronger by now.
Frustrated with his slow recuperation, he left the bathroom and had just made it into his bedroom when his phone vibrated. Seeing the caller ID, he grinned. “C-Note, good to hear from you, man.”
“Just thought I’d check to see what the hell you’re doing. You sure aren’t making your way back here.”
“Fuck, I’ve got another month. Hear I’m missing a wedding?”
“Yeah, but did you hear about Tate? He’s getting married, too.”
Nolan shook his head. Tate had been on his SEAL team several years earlier, and when he got out, rumor had it he had joined a hot-shot security company. He looked up to Tate but hadn’t spoken to him in a year. “Tate’s getting married? Damn, everyone’s dropping like flies!”
“Don’t worry, Ringer. It’ll hit you, too. Probably when you least expect it. Anyway, I told the others that I’d check on you.”
“I’m getting there. Bored out of my skull, but my mom’s cooking is good.”
Laughing, C-Note said, “I’ll let the others know you’ll be coming back fat and out of shape.”
“Fuck you, man.” It felt good to laugh with a friend and he was more determined to rejoin his team as soon as possible. Disconnecting, he headed downstairs. Hearing voices from the kitchen, he stepped into the bright, sunny room that his mom considered to be the hub of the house.
“Nolan, are you hungry?”
The answer to that question would be that he could always eat his mom’s cooking, but the reality was he noticed his midsection seemed a little soft to him when he was staring in the bathroom mirror. Lack of exercise and too much of Mom’s cooking is hell on my SEAL-fit body.
Ready to decline, he sniffed appreciatively and discovered a warm cherry cobbler sitting on the kitchen counter. “Jesus, Mom. At this rate, I’m never going to get back into shape.” Looking around, he asked, “Where’s Dad? I thought I heard voices.”
Rita walked around the corner and looked up, a smile spread across her face. Her hair was still a light brown, a few streaks of gray only serving to highlight her blue eyes. A beautiful woman, she kept her figure with exercise but had no problem eating whatever she wanted, always saying that life was too short to not enjoy pleasures. “Your father’s in the yard, insisting on cleaning out the gutters.”
Scowling, Nolan turned and headed toward the sliding glass door. “Why didn’t he wait for me to help?” Before giving his mother a chance to reply, he looked over his shoulder and halted her words with a glare. “And don’t give me any crap about not being able to help Dad around the house. It’s been a month. I’ve got to start getting back into fighting shape if I’m going to rejoin my team soon.”