Prologue

My dress whites feel over the top, but I promised my father that I’d wear one of my dress uniforms for my homecoming, and since it’s the last time I get to wear this high-necked, choker-collared thing, I might as well please him.

I chuckle as my taxi driver glances back at me for the fourth time since he picked me up from the airport in Portland. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” I reply, watching the highway roll by. We come over the bridge and around a curve, and there it is. Roseboro. My new home, apparently.

At least, temporarily.

“That’s a SEAL trident on your chest, ain’t it?” my driver asks, and I look down at my left chest, where the gold badge sits above my dual lines of other medals and pins I’ve picked up over the past ten years. “Were you in the Teams?”

“I was. I’m on terminal leave. My time with Uncle Sam is over.” It doesn’t sound real to say it, and the words sit hollowly in my heart.

“Oh. Mind if I ask which Team?” the driver asks.

I force a laugh. “You know the old line, don’t you? I could tell you—”

“But then I’d have to kill you.” My driver laughs, nodding. “Yeah, I’m old enough to remember that movie. I was a Marine myself. You boys were the only squiddies we really respected. If I can ask, why’re you leaving? That’s a Lieutenant Commander’s board on your shoulder there. Most who get that high are lifers.”

I clench my jaw, looking out the window unseeingly. “I... lot of memories. I’ve done my bit, and now I’ve got family matters to attend to,” I reply honestly. “Guess it’s time to handle the hard fight now.”

He hums, likely hearing that there’s a lot more to the story but respecting my privacy. I’m sure he had similar issues when he came home from his tours with the Marines. You can’t just fall back into civilian life. There’s an adjustment period where you lock up your reality in ‘the sandbox’ and acclimate to life stateside.

The rest of the drive goes quickly, and we barely skim the edge of Roseboro. I’m slightly disappointed. I wanted to see my new ‘home town’, but I’ll have time for that now, I guess. Home. Doesn’t sound right, doesn’t feel right. But hopefully, it will. It’s not too long before we’re pulling up to a gated road.

“Whoa. Is this the right address?” At the driver’s nod, I pick up my phone, telling him, “Okay, then. Let me get us buzzed in.”

But the call isn’t necessary because the gate swings open as soon as he starts to roll down his window. He glances back at me in the rearview and I offer a shrug. I don’t know any more than he does at this point, having never been to this house.

The Jacobs manor on the outskirts of Seattle is big, of course, several acres overlooking a golf course and surrounded in the distance by tall trees and mountains.

I grew up surrounded by plenty of luxury, but this is a whole different level of flashy and fancy. One I’m not familiar with anymore, at least. I’ve spent the last decade living in whatever quarters the Navy afforded me, small bachelor officers’ quarters or sharing claustrophobic quarters aboard ships. I doubt my last bunk would even qualify as a closet in this place.

“New family house, I guess. Things have changed while I’ve been gone,” I lamely say, scanning the front of the house. “A lot.”

The driver sounds sad, humming as he slowly makes his way up the driveway. “It always does, but whatever you missed, you’ll catch up. The only easy day was yesterday, and besides, you can’t quit. You ain’t dead.”

His reminders of the famous SEAL mottos are a kind admonishment to get my shit straight. No time for whining and wondering.

He parks in the big circle drive in front of the large mansion which gleams a mellow greyish-brown color in the fading sunlight. I get out, and the front double-doors both open, revealing a man in a black suit and a woman in a slim-fitting black dress and tights.

“Welcome home, sir,” the butler says. If I remember correctly, his name is Hamilton. My childhood butler, Wilfred, retired when I went to college, and I haven’t been home often enough to remember the new staff’s names. “Your family is waiting for you in the great room. Mariella will show you the way.”

Okay, the great room. Guess we’re too fancy to call it a living room or a dining room these days. Fuck, how much has changed since I was last here? I try to remember my last trip home, but I’m coming up blank. Two years? Maybe more? I know my parents came to Virginia to see me about a year ago, and we’d talk on Skype when I had clearance to do so, but it’s been a while since I’ve been home. Even then, it was Seattle, not here.

I turn to get my bags, but the driver already has them unloaded and Hamilton is directing him on where to leave them. The sea bag looks comfortable and familiar on his shoulder, as does the cocky grin he flashes me. “Welcome home, sir,” he offers. “Oorah.”

“Hooyah!” I respond, and I swear Mariella jumps a foot in the air at the sudden bark. I can’t help but grin a bit too. Maybe this won’t be so bad, I hope.

At the door, Mariella stops and stares at my shoes. I don’t look down, knowing they’re in pristine condition, having polished them myself this morning before dressing. “I’m not supposed to say, sir, but it seems prudent—”

“I know my parents,” I reassure her, and she looks up through her lashes. I press a finger to my lips. “I’ll pretend I’m surprised. How’s this?”

I fake a look of shock, my brows lifting, eyes wide, mouth open in an O, and her shoulders bounce as she holds back the laugh. She’s innocent and fresh, and as young as she is, probably new. She doesn’t want to get in trouble, and I understand.

“Very good, sir,” she agrees and then opens the door once again, leading me inside.

The great room is at least deserving of the name, large and high-ceilinged with fluffy couches and plush rugs. My parents jump out from behind the tall-backed chairs at the same time a remote-controlled banner unfurls to read WELCOME HOME, LANCE! I do my best to grin in shock, but I’m not sure my mom buys it.

“Hey, guys, it’s good to see you too,” I greet them, hugging them both at the same time and then shaking my dad’s hand. “It’s been awhile.”

“I’m just glad to have my baby home,” Mom says, pulling at the hair at the nape of my neck. “Dear Lord, Son, I thought they required military men to have their hair high and tight? What is this mess?”

I duck away from her touch but don’t miss the look of loss on her face. But I’m not a kid anymore, and having my mommy pet my hair isn’t quite my norm. “We’ve been through this. The Navy lets SEALs have more leeway, and I’m within regs... barely,” I confess. “Starting tomorrow, I think I’m going to grow my beard back out too.” I rub at my stubbly jaw, the day’s growth barely a beginning to the scruff I wear in my rare off-times.

“A beard?” My mom gasps. “Bishop, say something—”

“Oh, hush, Miranda. He’d look fine with a beard. Like that Thor boy from the movies,” my dad admonishes, and I’ll admit I missed their banter. They’re good together, an example I’d be proud to try to live up to, even if that’s not remotely on the horizon for me right now. Primary target: the family company.

Speaking of family . . . “Where’s Cody?”

Mom and Dad exchange glances, and I see a crack in their fa?ade. My little brother, Cody, has always been the hellion of the family, and while neither of my parents were happy I enlisted, I get the feeling that Cody has more than once made them consider military school.

When we were kids, I tried my best to keep a handle on him, but with the age gap between us, I was caught up in my own life. Still, I tried my best, and when I left, I figured he’d grow out of it like most kids do.

But that was when he was younger, a teenager out to test every limit. He’s a man now, already mid-twenties, and he should be well on his way to being an upstanding citizen, working at Jacobs Bio-Tech or striking out on his own and independently self-sufficient.

I get the feeling that’s not at all the case. With as little free time as I’ve had since joining the Navy, I haven’t been able to keep up. Too many rushed calls with that stupid ten-minute timer in the corner of the video screen, too many rushed emails filled with platitudes and little else. I’ve fallen out of touch with my little brother, slowly but surely losing what closeness we once had.

But I figure my being here will be good for us both, and I’m looking forward to rekindling the brotherly relationship we had when we were younger.

“He’s taking care of some things at the new headquarters,” Dad finally says, but I can tell he’s hedging. “Maybe he can give you a tour?”

But it sounds like an empty offer, no real promise for follow-through. I let him off the hook, even as I make a mental note to do some serious follow-up on what the hell is going on with my brother. “Sounds good, Dad. If you don’t mind, though, I want to get in civilian clothes and get the lay of the land first. Maybe clean up my sailor-worthy language before you put me in a corner office.”

I grin and Dad looks relieved. “Deal. Of course, take all the time you need to settle in. Relax some. In fact, your mother—”

“Would love to introduce you around town,” she takes over, finishing Dad’s thought as she links her arm through my elbow. “I’ve met some nice people in Roseboro. It’s feeling like home already for us, and I want it to feel that way for you, too. Some of my new friends even have daughters around your age.”

She says it so casually, like there’s not a myriad of innuendo and plans tied up in those words. I can virtually hear the wedding bells she’s ringing for some unknown bride and me.

“Mom—” I start before shaking my head. How do I get through to my parents that I don’t want a set-up life? It was part of the reason I left to begin with. And the Navy taught me discipline and duty, how to stand for myself, lead others, and complete missions according to protocol. I’m not coming home to be babied and led around by my nose like a good little boy.

I almost chuckle at the thought of my mom, who tops out at a solid five-five and maybe a buck twenty-five, trying to force me into anything. But it’s not my height and weight that make it an unfair battle.

In fact, quite the opposite. Thoughshe be but little, she is fierce. I don’t want to disappoint her. So I’m better off making this clear from the start so she doesn’t have any hurt feelings later.

“Mom, I’m not looking to date, not looking to get married right now. And when I do, it’ll be a woman of my choosing, not because she’s Joannie-from-the-club’s daughter and quite lovely.” I fasten a fierce look on my mother, silently ordering her to stand down.

Strong men have wilted under the weight of my hard stare, but my mother? She simply huffs and flips on her mega-watt smile, the one that matches my own. I swear she could stare down a pissed-off Admiral and have that same smile on her face as he crumpled at her feet. “We’ll see, dear. I just want you to have friends. And you can’t blame a proud mother for wanting to show you off a bit, now can you?”

Oh, I can. But we both know I’m gonna smile and wave like a damn pony from time to time, but I draw the line at dating at her behest. A man’s gotta have limits.

Dad breaks the staredown, clearing his throat. “How about the nickel tour of the new house? We set you up on the east side since we figured you’re used to being up with the sun.”

Dad beams as we walk, talking about the house and the company interchangeably as I store every nugget of information away.

There’s something going on. Dad virtually begged me to come home, which I would’ve ignored, but then Mom wrote me a letter telling me how stressed Dad has been.

Now that I’m here, they’re all rainbows and unicorns. Except about Cody. They were obviously jumpy about that particular topic.

I’ll get to the bottom of things, fix what I can, and go from there. I’m a mission-oriented man, not Dad’s business puppet, poised to take over whenever he deems me fit, not Mom’s chip to bargain off as the matchmaker of the year, and not my brother’s keeper.

Though that one may be up for negotiation if he needs me.