SEAL Strong (Silver SEALs) Read online

  SEAL STRONG

  Silver SEALs

  New York Times & USA Today Bestseller

  CAT JOHNSON

  CatJohnson.net/news

  A second chances romance . . .

  The only easy day was yesterday, and no one knows that better than Navy Lieutenant Commander Silas Branson.

  Life's punched him in the gut, but once a SEAL, always a SEAL. He’s never backed down from a fight and he doesn’t intend to start now.

  Silas lost the love of his life years ago after the death of their son left him and his marriage broken, but now he’s back to fight for what’s his.

  Maggie was his woman. As far as he is concerned, she still is.

  When her life is threatened he moves heaven and hell to save her and the future he knows they can build together.

  CHAPTER 1

  Virginia Beach, VA

  From behind the lenses of his sunglasses, Silas tracked her progress across the parking lot.

  All it had taken was one glance and he’d known immediately it was Maggie. No doubt about it.

  Even wearing a bulky sweater that hid her curves, she was unmistakable, from the glint of sunlight bouncing off her blonde hair, to the proud stride in her walk.

  Then there was that sultry sway of her hips.

  That had been what first caught his eye over ten years ago, that damn sexy strut of hers, way back when he’d seen her walking across the bowling alley when he’d been fresh out of BUD/S.

  She’d had a pitcher of beer in one hand and an overflowing platter of chili cheese fries in the other and he’d fallen immediately in love. She’d been perfection already, but after he watched her face light with a smile and heard her tinkling laugh as she joined the table of her girlfriends, he knew—he was going to marry that woman.

  He’d done just that a year after meeting her. Made Maggie O’Leary into Maggie Branson, his wife.

  Make that his soon-to-be ex-wife. He couldn’t forget that.

  Silas ran one hand over his dark cropped hair before folding his arms across his chest.

  Leaning back against the bumper of his truck, he waited. He saw the moment she noticed him there. She slowed for a step, before she continued forward at the same brisk pace as before.

  Finally, she was right in front of him.

  Too close to ignore him or pretend she didn’t see him, she stopped. “Silas.”

  He tipped his head. “Maggie.”

  She glanced past his shoulder at the office building before bringing her gaze back to him. “We should get inside so we’re not late.”

  “We’re fifteen minutes early,” he pointed out.

  In fact, they’d never been late anywhere during their life together.

  Amazingly, Maggie had proven to be exactly like him when it came to punctuality, living by the credo that if you weren’t early, you were late.

  They were kindred spirits. Compatible in every way.

  Well, every way except one. Apparently she no longer wanted to be married, in spite of his desire to remain so.

  She pressed her lips together and drew in a deep breath that had her chest rising beneath the white knit shirt she wore beneath the unbuttoned oversized cardigan.

  It took every bit of restraint he had to not let his gaze drop to those breasts. To not reach for her, pull her close and kiss the ridiculous idea of divorce right out of her head.

  “I love you.” He tossed the words out as a Hail Mary.

  A last ditch effort to stop this insanity. An attempt to get back their life together—or piece back together what was left of it anyway.

  With tears in her eyes, she said, “Love isn’t the problem. You know that.”

  “Then why are you doing this?” He shook his head, still at a loss.

  “You know why.”

  He drew in a breath and let it out. “We can try—”

  “Silas, we did try. Counseling. Mediation.” She lifted her hand in the air and let it drop in defeat. “I can’t do it anymore. I’m done.”

  Too bad for her he wasn’t done. Not yet anyway.

  He wasn’t a man who gave up easily. He hadn’t been when he’d successfully completed BUD/S with a concussion he’d hidden from the medics and he wasn’t now.

  Some might call him stubborn. They could be right.

  Whatever the word for it—determined, stubborn, crazy—he persisted.

  “It takes time,” he said.

  “No.” She shook her head.

  The move made him angry. He loved her, but not her stubborn streak.

  When she shut down like this and refused to listen or even consider what he had to say, it made him want to tear his own hair out.

  Ignoring the hypocrisy that he considered his own determination a positive trait, but hers just an annoyance he said, “Maggie—”

  He heard the annoyance clearly in his tone.

  He breathed in and mentally counted quickly to ten before he continued, “Why can’t we work on this? On us?”

  “Because I can’t look at you without seeing him. His little body in that coffin—” her voice cut off on a sob. Her eyes flashed with accusation. “You should have been here. If you were, he wouldn’t be—gone.”

  Her voice broke on the last word. He knew damn well she’d chosen it because she couldn’t say what she really meant—if Silas had been home Jonas wouldn’t be dead.

  Hot angry tears pricked behind his eyes.

  Silas shook his head, but on some level he agreed with her. If he had a normal job, one that kept him in Virginia instead of sending him half way around the world, their son might be alive today.

  He couldn’t combat both her accusation and his own guilt.

  The fight gone out of him, Silas pushed off the truck and stood. “Ready to go in?”

  Brushing the tears from her lashes, she nodded.

  As she walked ahead, he reached out one arm and almost looped it around her shoulders, out of habit like he’d done countless times before.

  He stopped himself just in time and instead shoved his hand into his pocket.

  She’d never want to feel his touch again. She loved him, but he knew she hated him too, just as he hated himself.

  Their ten years of marriage took less than one hour to dissolve.

  There was something incredibly sad that the greatest country in the world made it so easy to completely sever ties from the closest person in your life.

  Although perhaps it had been Silas who had made it so easy by not contesting the divorce. He could have dragged out the legal proceedings, probably for years if he’d wanted to by fighting it, but what good would that have done?

  Only a madman would want to be with a woman who so clearly wanted him out of her life.

  Luckily it was in his power to give Maggie what she wanted. He’d been out of their house for months. He was now legally out of their marriage too, thanks to a few strokes of a pen.

  Now his only goal was to get the fuck out of the country and away from all the memories that haunted him.

  Slamming his truck into gear, he peeled out of the parking lot of the lawyer’s office and headed to the base.

  He needed to speak to his commander.

  He’d appreciated that Command had arranged to keep him stateside for the past two years as he and Maggie tried to put their life back together after Jonas died, but that effort was obviously done. He needed to piece himself back together, without her.

  Silas strode into the office and found the commander pouring a cup of coffee.

  He didn’t waste any time or beat around the bush. Before the man even had time to say hello, Silas said, “I want back on the team.”

  CHAPTER 2

  A
leppo, Syria

  Silas climbed down from the vehicle and glanced around the base, taking in the sounds, the smells, the sights.

  As the sun set in a haze of oil fire smoke and the dust of destruction, all the visceral memories assaulted him.

  He hadn’t stepped foot in Syria for two years, but standing here now, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

  It was as if he’d never left. Never gotten the news from home that changed his life forever. Never made his way back from Raqqa to the States in a daze of shock and grief.

  He’d spent the last two years stateside trying to clean up the broken pieces of his shattered life. He’d failed.

  Sure, those pieces were swept up into a neat pile, but he’d hidden that mess behind a uniform and a schedule so packed it left no time for emotions.

  His life was by no means fixed.

  Coming back to Syria to join his team was his next best plan—his only plan. His version of super glue, or maybe more like duct tape. Even if it worked to keep him together, he’d never be the same.

  There would always be visible cracks. All he could hope for was that they’d be more like hairline fractures and less like the gouging canyon he felt inside him since it had happened.

  Looking around him now, he felt right at home. Syria was as shattered and broken as he was. It seemed fitting.

  Here the fight raged on, the players unknowing, uncaring, that he’d just lived through the most harrowing period of his life.

  If only he could turn back the clock. He’d do it in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t have reenlisted.

  He’d have left the Navy, his team, everything that had consumed every year of his adult life and stayed in Virginia. Gotten a job as a teacher or a coach or hell, anything that kept him stateside and at home every night.

  He would have done as he’d promised that summer and taken leave.

  Would have brought Jonas to the pool on base every day and taught him to swim as he said he would.

  He wouldn’t have had to apologize to Jonas and Maggie when the call came that sent the team to Raqqa that summer.

  Wouldn’t have had to see the disappointment in their eyes that he couldn’t spend those weeks during school break with Jonas. Just the two of them, the two Branson men, on their own, having fun while Maggie worked.

  Then he wouldn’t have gotten that news or heard that word.

  Drowned.

  The lure of the pool was too tempting for a boy of seven, even if he didn’t know how to swim because his Navy SEAL father was too busy to teach him. The guilt was crippling.

  “Lieutenant Commander Branson, sir.”

  The sound of his name being spoken by the lieutenant in front of him brought Silas out of his own head. He was grateful for the reprieve. “Yes, lieutenant.”

  “Sir.” The SEAL who saluted him looked much too young to be a lieutenant. “I’m here to escort you to the commander.”

  Silas returned the salute and wondered when he’d started to feel so old. Although he had a pretty good idea and it had nothing to do with the gray that had begun to pepper the formerly dark, almost black, hair of his youth.

  The toll the past two years had taken on him felt more like two decades. The proof was in his appearance, his body, his soul . . .

  And that was exactly why he was here. To take back his life. Get the train wreck of his existence back on track.

  Silas nodded. “Lead the way, lieutenant.”

  Adrenaline pumping in his veins, pulse pounding in his ears, he strode fast shoulder-to-shoulder with the younger lieutenant next to him, forcing the man to pick up his speed to keep pace.

  “How have things been recently? Any activity?” Silas asked with a sideways glance at the younger man by his side.

  He would know exactly what Silas was asking without him having to spell it out.

  “Active,” the lieutenant answered simply.

  That’s what Silas had figured. No way to avoid a heightened level of activity in this complex multi-sided cluster fuck where there were no clear sides. Where allies acted more like enemies and enemies pretended to be friends.

  The US backed the Kurdish Syrian rebels against the Russian-supported Syrian government, as Turkey, the wild card who mistrusted the Russians as much as they did the US, threatened to enter the fray.

  All of that while the warring sides’ common enemy, ISIS, still managed to maintain a stronghold in the country and make life hell for the civilians caught in their net.

  The state of this country truly was hell, but no worse for Silas than being stateside had been. It didn’t matter where he was considering his own personal demons lived in his head and accompanied him wherever he went.

  But right now, Silas was on his way to meet his commander, so he’d better hide those demons as best he could.

  Commander James Talley was no stranger. Silas had worked beneath him in Syria before—before he’d been called back home.

  More than that, Commander Talley had been the one to deliver the news.

  The man knew everything about Silas, not just what was written in his record, and that was a double-edged sword now that he wanted—needed—a fresh start.

  Even with thirteen years in the teams under his belt, after what had happened Silas knew he’d be watched closer than any FNG. The difference was that at least the fucking new guys were starting with a clean slate.

  Silas would sell his soul to be given exactly that. It wouldn’t be given, so he’d just have to take it.

  Everyone would be watching for him to show any signs of weakness that might endanger the team or the mission. His job was to make sure there were none for them to see.

  His escort trotted ahead to pull open the door. For better or worse, they’d reached their destination.

  Silas steeled his nerve, straightened his spine and strode in with as much strength and confidence as he’d ever had.

  He didn’t have to fake it. He was determined to kick ass or die trying.

  Commander Talley stood and walked around the desk.

  Silas saluted his superior before dropping his arm to shake the commander’s offered hand. “Commander.”

  “Silas. It’s good to see you back. How are you?”

  The inevitable question.

  Silas pulled out his standard answer. “I’m fine. Good. Ready to get back to work.”

  Commander Talley paused a beat, watching Silas, no doubt evaluating him and his answer, before he dipped his head. “Good. We can sure use you around here. Action has been picking up.”

  “So I heard.”

  “The fucking Russians are our biggest headache. ISIS, we can fight. That’s a ground battle. But the Russian air attacks on civilians in the rebel-held areas—that’s a whole other story. But the biggest issue is the condition of the city. Caring for the civilian casualties has become near impossible. They’re down to two operating hospitals and a reported thirty doctors. A convoy of trucks carrying aid to rebel-held areas of Aleppo—food, blankets and clothing—was attacked. Twenty killed.”

  Silas frowned, seeing things were, if possible, even worse than he’d thought. “How are we handling that?”

  The commander snorted. “The Russian foreign minister said they’re trying to bomb the terrorists and accidentally hitting the rebel-held cities instead. So we try to help the Kurds beat back ISIS as best we can so the damn Russians don’t have an excuse to accidentally drop bombs on us or the civilians.”

  It wasn’t much of a plan. To him, it felt more like running around with a mop trying to clean up the spill instead of just turning off the water.

  But these were touchy diplomatic times.

  Short of declaring all out war, the various sides had to play nice and pretend they all didn’t have secret self-serving agendas.

  The commander slapped Silas on the back. “It’s good to have you back.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be back.”

  Happy. Not a word Silas had said, or meant, in a long while.


  It wasn’t exactly accurate at the moment, but standing there in the commander’s office in Syria, about to jump back into his old familiar life, he felt as good as he had in years.

  Here he could do some good. Here he might make a difference.

  Perhaps he wasn’t feeling exactly good, but he was definitely less bad.

  For now, that was enough.

  CHAPTER 3

  Silas woke sometime before dawn in dark unfamiliar surroundings.

  It took a few seconds for him to remember where he was and to realize that he’d actually slept—fallen to sleep and stayed asleep.

  No tossing and turning. No mind racing with unwanted thoughts. No nightmares of his panicked child gasping for air as his tiny lungs filled with water.

  It might just have been the first good night’s sleep he’d had in two years—and it had happened on a six-inch thick mattress on a rocky rack that squeaked when he moved.

  Why had he slept peacefully here and now when he hadn’t in two years? He should be grateful and not question it, but hell, he did anyway. It must be muscle memory or something akin to it.

  His body remembered that here he had to sleep when he had the chance, regardless of the conditions—environmental or emotional.

  It had been the right decision to request this assignment.

  Taking bereavement leave hadn’t helped—too much time with nothing to do but to think.

  The stint of administrative desk duty stateside he’d requested in an attempt to make the situation better at home with Maggie had been almost as bad. Recruiting duty wasn’t any better.

  But now, finally, he was free to do what he wanted. What he needed. And what he needed was to be active.

  He needed action. Needed to do, not think. To be part of a team. To have a goal that is bigger than just surviving one day at a time.

  As he pondered getting up and getting his day started even if it was still early and he could stay in bed, the deafening sound of a siren cut through the pre-dawn air.

  Flipping back the blanket, he felt the surge of adrenaline hit his bloodstream. The rush only reinforced his opinion. He was meant to be here. He’d made the right decision.