There are two things worse than the Myanmar mission going FUBAR: hospital imprisonment and being sidelined. So, when Reagan Kline walks in my room, I take interest. Not only is she a bombshell, she declares I’m the beneficiary of her non-profit’s partnership with warriors recovering from injuries. Because she’s a hellcat who can’t bear to simply volunteer, she takes over my physical therapy. It’s no hardship to have her hands all over me, I’ll say that.
Athletic, gorgeous, brilliant, witty. Add her penchant for high octane thrills—she’s pure as an angel with a pinch of Lucifer. While she certainly checks all my boxes, she seems to view our relationship as clinical in nature. What she doesn’t account for is that I’m a SEAL—eventually, I’ll overcome her defense tactics and win her over. The thing is BUD/s didn’t teach me how to lasso a lodestar. I’m so fixated on breaching her stronghold, I never consider that achieving my end goal would be the beginning of the actual fight of my life.