The only easy day was yesterday, according to the United States Navy SEALs, but Micah Richards felt that was the understatement of the century. Every day felt equal parts hard with a teaspoon of borderline crazy brought on by nightmares. Nothing was easy. Not even yesterday.
He wasn’t a SEAL anymore. And this journey was part of his penance.
Mountains towered around Micah as his beat-up black mustang winged its way into snowy Colorado. The black sky crowded around him, the Milky Way smearing the sky with the lack of city lights. Mountains slashed through the twilight on either side of the twisting road, standing as silent sentries observing Micah’s solo journey. He didn’t like being solo. Micah took a deep breath of crisp, cool air. His breath puffed in the car, illuminated by the lights on his dashboard.
Granger Smith’s “Backroad Song” lyrics blared through the car, prompting Micah to check his phone screen. Hawk. His hand tightened on the wheel in the narrow mountain passes.
He pressed the green button, ending weeks of silence with his best friend and brother-in-law. “I know you are not calling me at eight p.m. beach time on a Monday when you have a wife who is an early riser and is probably already getting ready for bed.”
“You know your sister well.” Nick Carmichael’s familiar voice drifted over the phone, and for a second, Micah felt his old normal return—the normal that had existed when he was a United States Navy SEAL, part of a team, a brotherhood, and his life had been in California. Up until a month ago when he could no longer live with the guilt.
“Bulldog?”
“Yeah?”
“I asked how you were, but I guess the silence answered that question.”
Micah sighed. His concentration was an issue on phone calls lately. “I’m fine, Hawk.” His brother-in-law had the best eyes on their team and was a trained sniper, earning him the nickname “Hawk” among their peers.
“Uh huh. Giving up your life and packing everything into that run-down Mustang to drive off to no destination in particular sounds like the Micah I know, minus the quitting part.”
“Watch it, Hawk. I’m not a quitter,” he bit out, his teeth grinding so hard his jaw ached.
“I didn’t say you were. I just said you quit.”
“Did you call for a reason, dear brother-in-law of mine?” Micah couldn’t contain his sarcasm. His knuckles glowed white on the steering wheel.
“Just checking on you. How was your adventure with Ben Strider?”
The ghost of a smile tugged at Micah’s lips. “Ben is a chip off the old block. It’s a pity Harrison wasn’t here to fulfill his promise and take his baby brother bungee jumping for the first time.”
Silence on the line. Micah hated the silence.
“We all miss Harrison, Bulldog.”
Bulldog. A nickname he’d earned for his terrible morning mood but also his dogged loyalty and defense of those he loved. He would do anything for his people.
But Harrison was another painful reminder of Micah’s failure.
“Bulldog, did I lose you? You’re not alone in this.”
His chest squeezed tight. Micah forced a breath and took a turn slowly, snow pelting his window shield.
“This was my fault. Now, it’s my responsibility.”
“Micah, it wasn’t your fault.” Hawk’s voice rose in time with the snowy attack on the glass. Micah slowed another five miles per hour.
“I’m not going to argue with you, Hawk.”
“Then don’t. Come back to California. We’ll work through this together. Kaylan misses you. Our whole team misses you. Logan and Kim’s kids keep asking for their ‘cool Uncle Micah,’ though why they think you are cooler than me, I haven’t determined.”
Micah snickered. “Please. I out-cool you every day of the year.”
“I think just by using that phrase you lose.”
And he had lost. His home. His life. His very identity. Without a team, who was Micah “Bulldog” Richards? Nobody. His path was no more clear and purpose no more defined than the winding mountain trails he traced now. He slowed even more as snow nearly obstructed his view.
“I need to get off the phone, Hawk. Go be with your wife. And if she calls me mad at you, I’m coming back to kick your butt into next year.”
“Bulldog, is that all it will take to get you back here? I make her mad on a daily basis. Start driving.”
Micah laughed. “Just take care of her.”
“You know I will. She misses you, though.”
“She doesn’t need me anymore. She has you.”
Micah had lived in the same town as his sister and brother-in-law for two years of their marriage and almost a year of them dating beforehand. They had been a normal part of his week, and withdrawals from their company hit hard, especially in the quiet. But it was time for Micah to move on. To what and where, he didn’t know. He had one more stop to make on this journey. Just one. And then he would decide. But the last stop would be the hardest of all.
Nick’s answering laugh sounded more like a bark. “Don’t kid yourself. She will always need you and Dave and Seth. Y’all are her world, the men she looks up to next to yours truly. And your dad. And Pap.” Micah smiled at the mention their dad, a doctor in Alabama, and their grandfather, a retired state judge and the patriarch of the family. The man oozed wisdom and never worried about stepping into the lives of his grandchildren to set them back on the straight and narrow.
“That is quite a lot for you to live up to. How in the world did you make the cut?” Another turn in the road sent his lights cascading over another rocky sentry. He turned the heater up a notch, the flurries so large he could see their sharp patterns. Just looking at the icy white sent a shiver crawling up his spine. He missed the sun, sand, and ocean. He missed surfing with Colt, a SEAL on his Support Activity team, hitting the waves right as the sun peaked over the horizon. Surfing with his friends had been one of the few things that dragged him from bed before sunrise—that and the job. The job he had loved.
“I had a glowing recommendation from my best friend.”
“Yeah, remind me why I did that again?” Micah laughed. The car shuddered and he let up on the gas. A quick check of the gages revealed smooth sailing. Now would not be the time for his old car to act up.
“It was my charming personality and roguish good looks.”
“No, that’s me,” Micah retorted. “I asked why I recommended you.”
Micah heard a scuffle on the other end of the phone and then a groggy voice that still made every brotherly bone in his body melt. “Micah? Come home.” Kaylan. His sister. His responsibility. Well, not only his anymore. He didn’t mind sharing the responsibility with Nick. As much as he teased, no one would love his sister more.
“Did you just steal the phone from your husband?” He could just imagine his auburn-haired, green-eyed beauty of a sister sneaking up on her six-foot-four, Navy SEAL husband, flashing her sweet smile, and taking the phone right out of his hand.
“He was sweet enough to hand it over.”
“Whipped,” he coughed into the phone. But truth be told, his baby sister had Micah wrapped around her finger, too.
“Seriously, we need to find you a girl.” Her old mantra made him smile. Micah had dated but never really been serious about anyone. Truthfully, he hadn’t found a girl that could handle his life, who stood as a warrior in her own right. Micah had always been a hopeless romantic, but that didn’t mean he would settle.
“That’s what you keep telling me.” He’d always wanted a girl he could protect and love, someone he could have fun with, build a life with. A best friend. A teammate. His sister had set the bar high.
The car shuddered again, and Micah could swear steam drifted from the hood, but it was difficult to tell in the increasing snowfall. Please, Lord, no, Micah silently prayed as he urged the car along. He didn’t know when he would hit the next town, but he needed to get there quickly.
“Micah Matthew Richards, did you hear me?” Just like their mom pulling that middle name business. Kaylan’s Alabama southern drawl lengthened in her drowsy state. He heard Nick chuckle on the other end of the line.
“I heard you, and you need a new line.”
“I do not. I’ll retire that one when you actually find a girl to settle down with.”
He chuckled, the sound foreign to his ears. “Night, Sis,” he murmured softly.
A heavy pause hung between them, and he wished he was in California to make her laugh and get a hug. Something about his baby sister brought out every protective instinct in him and healed the broken parts just a little. She made him feel a little more like the hero he’d once been. But he was far from a hero now.
“Micah, are you really okay?”
The car stuttered again, and the grinding of metal broke the stillness. “Kayles, I really do need to go. Love you.”
“Micah, I . . . we . . . stay . . .” He glanced at the screen. No service. Great. He hung up and tossed the phone in the passenger seat as he rounded a corner and fought to maintain control of the car.
With a pop and rattle, the car died, and he coasted to a stop on the side of the mountain road, snow immediately taking advantage of his disabled windshield wipers.
“Great.” Micah sank back into his leather seat, a shudder rocking through him as the chill immediately permeated the car. Snowflakes barraged the windowpane, each crystalline flake caking and stacking against the glass. He leaned forward to watch their twirling pattern. He knew just enough about cars to know his was about to be toast, and this one was worth more selling to the junkyard.
“Well Iron Man, did we just take our last journey together? Fifteen years of cross-country trips and too much time at the beach and you’ve finally had enough.”
He rubbed his hands together and eyed the piling snow. He silently cursed his hoodie, jeans, and cowboy boots as he crawled from the car. “Good grief. Forget fire—my hell would be ridiculous cold,” he muttered.
The hood of his Mustang groaned as he dislodged the accumulating snow and propped it open. “I knew I should have listened to all Jay’s talk about engines,” he grumbled, thinking about his hot-headed fellow SEAL. The brains of his car looked like metal boxes and organs pieced together with a bunch of pipes and chords. “This is a mess.”
He slammed the hood and traipsed to his trunk for his flashlight, warmer clothes, and emergency supplies. The SEALs had at least drilled that into him—be prepared.
One second he was moving toward his trunk, and the next he landed hard on an icy slab of road. He sucked in a harsh breath, the mountain air thinner than his familiar ocean home. He lay flat on his back staring up at the swirling white snowflakes trying to kill him with their icy beauty. Boots and ice didn’t mix. Ice and Micah didn’t mix. He needed to get out of the cold fast. His back stung with the instant chill seeping through his hoodie.
The purr of an engine and slice of headlights careened around the curve, and Micah scrambled to get out of the way. He fought to get on his feet, but his boots refused to find any traction on the stretching patch of black ice. Move, Micah. But nothing worked. The car sped closer. He gave up and did the only thing he could to move. He rolled closer to his Mustang and prayed.
The headlights came straight for him. There was nothing he could do but wait.