Free Fallen SEAL Legacy by Sharon Hamilton

to do some laps in the bay before heading back to San Diego.
    His little brain was doing pushups and had turned on the rock music in his head, getting ready to par-tay. Coop remembered falling asleep in the cheap motel, thinking about what the top of her head would look like while she gave him a blow job. Well, to be honest with himself, he fantasized about what it would feel like, too.
    He picked up the slacks and the white shirt, now wrinkled. He only owned one good outfit so he carefully pressed them against the bed with his hands, and then hung them up on the same hangar. His closet was nearly bare. Except for the gun cases and duty bags stuffed into the end of the small space. Who needed clothes when you had enough equipment and weapons to start a small war?
    Maybe he could crawl out of the cave he’d fallen into. Maybe there could be life at the end of the dark tunnel. Maybe he could make up some excuse to see her again.
    God, I hope so.
     
    The Scupper was slow tonight, since it wasn’t a weekend. Above the bar were pictures of fallen SEALs, the dates and locations of their demise. When he was first on the Teams, he didn’t like to look at them. He was surprised when, like most the other Team guys who hung out there, he got so that he liked looking at them, paying his respects. God willing, if he should have to pay that ultimate sacrifice, there would be some young newbie Team guy staring up at his picture, toasting him with a beer, or, as in his case, a mineral water.
    Coop’s eyes stung. Maybe there was too much cigarette smoke tonight. He winced and looked over the sparse crowd. No sign of Kyle and the others yet, so he ordered his regular mineral water with lots of ice and lime and leaned against the bar. A big screen TV was tuned to a basketball game he had no interest in watching.
    He fished a couple sugar packets from the counter, along with a small handful of toothpicks, and stuck them in his shirt pocket. He fiddled with the drips of condensation easing their way down his tall glass.
    He used to get plastered here on a regular basis when he was on SEAL Team 5. He’d just come back with his BUD/S swim buddy from a refresher course at Bragg on amputations in the field. He remembered it was bothering him a little more than it should have. His buddy had gotten a Dear John letter from his girlfriend in Florida, so they were celebrating their “freedom.” Truth was, his friend was pretty torn up about it. But they were laughing at all the stupid things they’d told girls they’d dated. The Frog Hogs, girls that liked SEALs any way they could get them. Coop knew Gary was on the lookout for a lovely to take his mind off his pain. Tonight the pickings were slim.
    “You have the softest skin,” Coop had said in falsetto.
    “I love rubbing your ass,” Gary had one-upped him.
    “I’m a one-girl guy,” Coop continued. They both laughed, even though Coop knew it was true.
    Several others from Team 5 came in. After getting almost too drunk to walk, someone got the harebrained idea to go for a swim.
    Zeke had gone for some Chinese take-out and some brews, but the rest of them headed to the beach. They horsed around until the food and drink showed up, and then they ate their fill.  Everyone decided to shed their clothes and go in the water stark naked. Cooper had forgotten to take off the wristwatch his dad had given him, so came out of the water to put it in his shorts. He laughed watching his Team buds splashing in the surf and acting like ten-year-olds.
    After that, everything went to hell. Gary was in the water too long. He’d had a reaction to shellfish in the food and wound up in a full-blown cardiac arrest. And there wasn’t a damned thing any of them could do about it, although God knows they tried.
    Dumb shit must have known he’d get a reaction to the seafood. He couldn’t believe it was anything but a horrible, pathetic accident, exacerbated by the alcohol.
    Coop found himself in a cave of