No Quick Fix (Torus Intercession 1)

Some people wondered, most didn’t, until they found out I was a SEAL, and then they didn’t understand why, after earning my trident, I would leave after the six year contract was fulfilled. But I had been in the service for fourteen years; it was enough. “It was time. I know a lot of guys who are SEALs who reenlist, but I was done.”

He was waiting for more.

“It’s not like the movies,” I assured him.

“No, I’m sure, but still. It seems like once you’ve made the commitment to begin with that the staying would be easier.”

People who didn’t know thought that seeing things got easier with time. It didn’t. I had contemplated staying because I’d started to believe my own hype, that no one could do the job as well as me. My ego had fooled me into thinking that men would die—men I knew, men who I called friends—if I wasn’t there. And I knew that for certain people, it was true. I had come across many individuals, on the line and off, who the unit would suffer without. But that wasn’t me. I was steady, yes, commended often for being calm under pressure, but not the linchpin of the unit. When it came time to reenlist, I was smart enough to know my limitations. Of course, I had no idea at the time how long it was going to actually take to feel safe in my own skin once I was back in the world. That constant readiness just didn’t disappear overnight. Waiting for the sky to fall, always checking, was getting old fast.

“Brann?” Emery prodded me. Apparently I’d been in my own head too long.

“It’s a life-and-death job, and if you’re beat-up over losing friends and seeing strangers on the worst days of their lives… well, it’s best to go out on a record you can be proud of and not let anybody down.”

“Of course,” he murmured, and his hand, which was still on my shoulder, fell away. I missed the heat from his palm immediately.

I was touched that he didn’t ask any more questions like so many people did. They weren’t interested in me, of course, but instead in lurid details that I could never share.

There were noises behind us then, and we both turned to find a stunning blonde woman, her hair falling thick and wavy to the middle of her back, her enormous sky-blue eyes trained on Emery. She was in an oversized off-white shawl-collar sweater with a camel-colored wrap coat, knee-high brown leather lace boots, and leggings. The outfit, all effortless chic, was impressive as was her Hermès Birkin bag that I only knew about because I had loaned a buddy of mine the cash to buy his wife one for their tenth wedding anniversary. I was betting this woman, who I assumed was Lydia Cahill, had one in every color.

“Oh, Lydia, you didn’t have to come,” Emery told his fiancée, confirming her identity for me as he took hold of her hand.

It wasn’t lost on me that he didn’t call her honey or love or darling, but maybe that wasn’t their thing.

“I want her to start liking me,” she said, smiling at him. “Of course I’m going to come.”

He nodded, taking a step sideways, closer to me. “Well, you definitely don’t have to come for pancakes afterward. I know you don’t love the Kitchen Sink.”

Had to be the restaurant.

“Yes, but you all… do,” she said, her gaze sliding over me. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

I offered her my hand. “No. I’m Brann Calder. Your father hired me to help Mr. Dodd with his—”

“Emery,” he corrected me, hand between my shoulder blades.

I took a second to wonder if he had any idea that he was gazing at her and easing closer to me with every passing moment.

“To help Emery with his girls until the wedding,” I corrected.

“You’re the nanny?” she said, grinning. “Well, my goodness, this is quite the surprise.”

“And why is that?”

“You seem like something far more glamourous than a nanny, Mr. Calder,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she gazed at me. “My money would have been on race car driver or something equally dangerous.”

I wasn’t stupid. I knew people liked looking at me, and I had traded on that a million times when I was younger and only stopped once I was eighteen and safely enlisted in the Navy. Clearly, Lydia Cahill was enjoying the view, and that was okay. It was just kind of crappy with the guy she was going to marry standing right beside me. Not that he noticed, of course, far too involved in Olivia’s game.

“You look like you work out, Mr. Calder,” she said, letting out a quick huff of air. “I’m sorry to say there’s not a decent gym in this one-horse town, so if you’d like to use the equipment at our home, please feel free.”