Two Weeks With a SEAL (The Wakefield Romance Series) Read online

  Two Weeks With A SEAL

  Book 1

  The Wakefield Romance Series

  By:

  Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  Text Copyright © 2013 Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  PROLOUGE:

  CHAPTER ONE:

  CHAPTER TWO:

  CHAPTER THREE:

  CHAPTER FOUR:

  CHAPTER FIVE:

  CHAPTER SIX:

  CHAPTER SEVEN:

  CHAPTER EIGHT:

  CHAPTER NINE:

  CHAPTER TEN:

  CHAPTER ELEVEN:

  CHAPTER TWELVE:

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

  CHAPTER ONE:

  To my readers:

  I just want to thank every one of you for taking the time to help build my dream. To all my co-workers and friends who endured my endless and sometimes incoherent babble about my characters, thank you very much, being able to vent and talk about ideas makes them grow and expand. To my friend and 'editor' SB- you're da bomb!

  Most of all to all those who are serving, have served or are married/in a relationship with someone who has been in the Armed Services, no matter what branch; this ones for you. I've tried to make this first part of Rhea and Chad's story as real as possible by pulling on some experiences I and others I know have gone through.

  I hope you enjoy Book 1 of the Wakefield Romance Series and thank you for supporting Self publishers.--TMH

  PROLOUGE:

  I couldn't believe it. It was actually snowing. I had lived in Wakefield, Virginia all my life and had only seen it snow a handful of times and of all the days, it decided to snow today. Today was the day I was saying goodbye to my mom. The day after Christmas and two days after my twenty-fifth birthday and here I am burying my mom, kind of a huge downer right? I try not to let the tears well in my eyes, but I can feel them there as I look out the glass sliding back door of our double-wide trailer, my fingers resting on the cold glass.

  See, my family was far from perfect, and now I was the only member left. Well, my Uncle Rick was still alive but I didn't give a flying fuck where he was, you'll see why. My family, the Griggs family of Wakefield, Virginia, had been upon the topics of gossip pretty much my whole life and I knew my name would be on the tip of people's tongues today as well. Our downfall, at least in my eyes, started in October of 1992. It’s funny how I remember the date, the image of what I had seen still burned in my retinas. The yells and whispers that came in the years following still echoing in my mind.

  My dad, Robbert Griggs, was a tough man, raised by the whip and other traditional Southern values. He was a big man, standing six foot five, his thick arms and legs making him look even more like a giant, his large hands easily could palm anything. I remember being a tiny girl, wrapping my arms around his leg and he use to walk around with me like that, finally having to tickle me to get me off, and then swinging me above his head. His dark brown hair was always kept pretty short, his beard growing in in the winter, his grey eyes looking like storm clouds when he was mad. October of 1992 brought that man that I had thought of as this great sense of strength, down to nothing but a nightmare in my book.

  My older brother, Randy, had walked me home from the elementary school that day. The leaves had been all over the ground but it was still pretty warm out, I remember that Randy was wearing shorts. We had walked into the house and I remember strange noises coming from the living room, and I ran like every five year old girl would to investigate. Being so young I didn't really understand what I was seeing. But Randy was ten and he knew a little more of the world than I did and he tried to cover my eyes, yelling at my father as he dragged me from the house. We had interrupted my dad and his mistress, having sex on our family room couch. Randy ran across our road, dragging me crying behind him, to our neighbor Ms. Tillman and he had called our mother at work.

  I would learn later in life that my dad’s 'mistress' was really a hooker, and that my dad paid her in drugs. This man that I had thought of as an awesome giant filled with love, was in fact a dirty drug dealer and manufacturer, brought into the game by his brother, my Uncle Rick. My mom had thrown him out of the house, making a huge scene to the point where the police had to be called, hauling my dad and some of his clothing away in one of their patrol cars. It wasn't the last time that I saw my father though, oh no, the last time will forever be burned in my memory every time I watch a television show or movie that has a situation where a man slaps a woman. It had been past our bed time, on a school night, Randy in his room and me in mine, the light sounds of our mom doing her before bedtime routine of shutting lights off and locking doors echoing slightly throughout our homey double-wide.

  The snapping of the door frame is what brought me out of bed, the screams of my mom bringing tears to my eyes as I raced to my bedroom door only to be intercepted by Randy, pushing me back in and shutting the door behind him, dragging me into my closet. Randy's grey eyes were so much like my father's, watering as he told me to be quiet, putting his hand over my mouth as the slapping sounds bounced off of the walls. My dad's voice was loud and harsh, calling her 'bitch' and 'no good whore' as the fist to flesh sounds filled the night air, Randy's hand tight to my mouth as we huddled together, both with tears streaming down our cheeks. "Stay here," he had whispered to me, my five year old mind panicking, telling him no, grabbing at his legs as he shut the closet door behind him, shoving a chair up against it so I couldn't follow him.

  I stayed in that closet, my arms wrapped around my legs pulling them close, my tears drowned in my knees till Randy came back to get me, his face all red from the back of my dad's hand. The cops were there, the red and blue flashers coming through the front windows as Randy held my hand, leading me out into the living room. Our mother's best friend since high school and my best friends mom, Cindy Byrd, took us in, ushering us away as our mother was loaded into an ambulance and our father into the back of a patrol car. My mom spent three weeks in the hospital, coming home with a cast on her right arm and bruises all over her face and body. My dad spent a year in jail. His collect calls haunting my mom whenever she picked up the phone to hear that automated message from the Greensville Correctional Facility in nearby Jarratt, Virginia.

  My mom, Ruth Griggs, did an awesome job bringing us back together as a family, purging our home of pictures and items that reminded us of that bastard. He showed up every now and then at school, looming outside to try and talk to me and Randy [mostly me], and he was shooed away by the teachers. In 1995, we read in the local paper that he had been arrested in a huge raid, charged with multiple counts of possession and the manufacturing of methamphetamines. He was sentenced to twenty years in prison, returning to Greensville, where he still tries to call collect and sends Christmas/Birthday cards every year, addressed only to me, Rhea Noel Griggs.

  After that, it was like a dark cloud had been lifted off of my mother's heart. She blossomed into a new woman, growing a back bone and even dating every now and then. She was super active in our childhood, watching every football, baseball and track meet for Randy, and every basketball and softball game for me. Randy was five years older than me, so when he graduated it was a huge tear jerker for my mom, especially since he had decided to enlist in the Navy with his best friend, Chadwick [Chad] Payne, who I had been unashamedly in love with since I was five years old.

  My brother Randy was six foot three, his light brown hair a mix of our father's dark brown and our mother's dirty blonde, always kept buzzed close to his skull. I was only thirteen when he and Chad had enlisted and like every gir
l who has an over protective older brother, I was kind of glad to have him out of my life. Our country had just declared war on terrorism, so yes it was scary, but I was young and I wanted to spread my wings without having an older brother hover over me at all times. Saying goodbye to him at the recruiter’s office, I cried more for Chad than I did for Randy, both of them hugging everyone. I loved my brother and had told him that for the first time in years as he hugged me that day, a wide smile causing his dimples to show as he grinned down at me. He had winked and waved at me as Chad and he walked to the travel van bound for the airport, and I'll admit I ran and jumped up into the bed of our old Chevy, just to wave one last time as they turned out of the parking lot. I swear that Chad had winked at me, both him and Randy waving as they disappeared.

  I ran wild at home with Randy gone, my best friend Kendall Byrd and I becoming too little hellions. While my brother and Chad spent a year going through Navy SEAL training, Kendall and I had our first kisses and first 'boyfriends', mending each other's broken hearts when we realized both guys were only interested in one thing and dumped us when we wouldn't give it up. Another eighteen months brought the ceremony where Chad and Randy were issued their Navy SEAL Trident insignias, both being assigned to SEAL Team 10, based out of nearby Norfolk, Virginia and their first deployment overseas. Over the following three years Randy and Chad only came home a few times, my mom and I taking the little over an hour drive more than a handful of times visiting with them for a few hours at a time.

  I graduated high school with honors in 2005, attending The College of William and Mary majoring in Pre-Law, my dreams of becoming a lawyer in my sights. My first semester was great, returning home for Christmas I gushed about all of my new friends to Randy when he came home, dressed in his camouflage and utility boots. A party thrown by some of Randy's high school friends brought everyone in our age group together, the cliques realigning themselves, alcohol flowing freely. Randy had assigned Chad to be my 'babysitter', having him hover at a distance to make sure I didn't drink too much since I was still underage, and I noticed for the first time that Chad actually paid attention to me. That night, in the basement of local beauty queen Heather Rachel's house, I lost my virginity to Chad in a flurry of kisses and muttered, un-meaningful 'I love you’s'. We had been drunk and it had happened, not that it dampened the undying love that I had for the irresistible man.

  I was a new woman after that Christmas, focusing in on my education and graduating in the spring of 2009 with a perfect 4.0 GPA. Taking my LSAT in the summer of 2009, I was elated when I passed with an abnormally high score of 165, being accepted to The William and Mary Law School was only icing on the cake. That first year of law school was challenging, making it so that I only got home a few times and making time for boyfriends all but impossible, ending a year and a half long relationship that I had had with a classmate. Randy and Chad were deployed in late February, their tour planning on coming to an end in July, so when June rolled around my mother and I were planning a big welcome home party along with Chad’s mom, Dana. We had never prepared ourselves for the phone call that brought the notification of Randy’s death.

  June 25th, 2010 we buried Randy beside my grandfather, Tracy Brunson, in Spratley Cemetery, his white cross head stone standing out like a sore thumb amongst the dark grey ones. Taps was played, guns fired, prayers read, all with my mother sitting beside me crying endlessly for her son. Chad stood with the other members of SEAL Team 10, all in their dress uniforms, their Commander going to hand the folded flag to my mother. He saw that she wasn’t emotionally ready for it, so turning to me he said, “With my utmost condolences,” and I nodded my head, accepting the flag and hugging it to my chest. At two o’clock the next morning was the second time that I made love with Chad, the murmured meaningless ‘I love you’s’ mixed with his tearful ‘I’m sorry’s’. It made me love him even more.

  Since that day, my mother had been a broken shell of herself, becoming a ghost of her once beautiful care-free soul. She rarely left the house, except to go to the local liquor store. I had to drop out of Law school to help pay the bills, working a seven to five job at Victoria’s Secret in the Patrick Henry Mall[ an hour away] as Assistant Manager. The doctors prescribed her anti-depressants and at first they seemed to help, but then she started to drink again. Her longtime friend and Chad’s mother, Dana Payne, had tried to help, but my mother never tried to help herself. My only saving grace was Dana and my Sunday dinners with her at her home that Chad had purchased for her, dinners which we had done since I was sixteen. After Randy’s death, my mother always used the excuse that she was too tired to go, so it was just Dana and me, and sometimes Chad via webcam.

  I work Monday through Thursday at Victoria’s Secret, driving home to work the nine to two shift at the local hot-spot bar, Muncy’s Pub, on Thursday through Saturday. It’s the place where everyone in town gathers to drink away their weekly stress, gossip about others and hit on each other. Kendall tends bar with me, whereas her day job is managing and styling at her mom’s salon. Coming home from the bar at two in the morning to find my mom face down on the living room floor was horrible, the blood coming from her nose and ears making it worse. She was cold and had no pulse, and I had vomited in the bushes outside the front door as I waited in the cold night for the ambulance. The coroner had showed up only seconds before Dana Payne, the flashing lights of the ambulance reminding me of the night my father had beaten my mom. My mom had suffered a brain hemorrhage, the combination of Prozac, Oxycontin and alcohol in her system being a deadly cocktail.

  Having her cremated per her request, I spent my birthday and Christmas day in a zombie like haze, surrounded by friends. Dana is an angel; she has saved me along with Kendall’s help. “You ready,” came Kendall’s soft voice, snapping me from my daydreaming into the snow. Turning, I see that she looks great, her tall thin figure adorned in black pants and a red silk shirt. I myself am wearing a red sweater dress because my mother loved the color red and I know she wouldn’t want us wearing all black, since black is boring according to her. Tears well in my eyes again and I smile at Kendall, nodding my head slightly, grabbing my jacket from the back of the couch and pulling it on.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, Kendall giving me a sweet smile, her hands on my shoulders. She is so beautiful, her long blonde hair straight as always, hanging to the middle of her back. Her tanned skin works well with her light brown eyes, her makeup accentuating both. As always she’s in heels and her nails are done with white tips, and I weave my fingers into hers and lock up my front door, the large wet snowflakes pelting the side of my face. Getting into the passenger seat of Dana’s brand new Chevy Malibu, I accept a one armed hug and a kiss on the cheek, a tear escaping down as I try to smile at her.

  Grabbing my hand, she gives me a second to compose myself as I wipe at my cheeks. “You’ll be okay honey,” she says, and I can see tears on the edge of her lashes, her bright blue eyes irritated red. I nod my head, wiping at my cheeks the tears flowing as we turn out of my driveway, our destination the Spratley Cemetery. There were a number of people there, all dressed in either all black or black and red [everyone knew my mom was a red woman]. Songs were played, prayers were issued and roses were laid, all while the snow rained down on our little Virginia town, covering the ground.

  Everyone was leaving, the grounds keepers lowering my mother’s ashes into their hole because I had no reason to keep them, and I just stood there, my face down turned looking at my feet. I didn’t care what people thought of me any longer, so I let the tears stream down my cheeks, the sniffles filling my chest as I scrubbed at my face with the sleeve of my jacket. Putting my left hand on the top of Randy’s head stone, over the Navy SEAL Trident, my right hand on the edge of my mother’s rose colored stone, I turned my face to the sky letting the snow melt on my skin.

  “I miss you so much,” I whispered, squeezing my fingers around the cold stones. Kissing each set of my fingers I press them back to the stones, “
I love you,” I issue, turning and leaving them, holding my head high.

  CHAPTER ONE:

  Three weeks later: January 16, 2012

  "Ugghhh," I mumbled to myself, alone in my little office in the back room of the Victoria's Secret that I worked at. The door was cracked open, the plaque stating 'Rhea Griggs-Asst. Manager' was slightly swinging in the breeze that always came in through the stock room, hanging on by one nail. I rubbed my hand across my forehead, frustrated beyond belief at the mess that our new cash office manager had left me with, calling in sick today of all days. It had been three weeks since I buried my mom and today was my first day back at work and our manager wasn't due in for another three hours, making me sigh deeply again. It was a good thing that I had some people I could trust manning the front of the store because if I had to keep going out there for little things, I'd probably have a mental breakdown.

  I slam the books shut, pushing them across my desk to sit up against the pink cement wall. I'm not a big pink person, but again, I work at Victoria's Secret, pink comes with the job. Leaning back in my overly squeaky roller chair, I rock back and forth, tapping my pen on my computer keyboard. Running my hands over my black dress pants, I resolve to go get some lunch and tackle the books after I've had some food. "Ray," the loud crackle of the pager on my phone breaks the eerie silence, making me jump a little in my seat as I reach to pick up the receiver. "Yeah Shannie," I say, the astonishment notable in my voice and I hear the cashier giggle to herself.

  "There's a woman on line one for you," the giggles are still mingling with her words and it makes me smile at how fast my heart is still beating from the slight shock.

  "Okay," I laugh, hanging up with her and pausing for a second to compose myself. Normally I had the radio on back here, the volume low tuned into the local country station, but today I had been too frazzled by the call off of the cash office woman so I guess I had forgot to turn it on. I flick the switch to my small red clock radio on, turning the volume to a light tone, putting the phone back to my ear. Maybe next time they page me, the white noise of the radio will keep me from having a heart attack.