CHAPTER1
JUSTIN
I’m almost out the door of the SEAL training facility when I hear my name called out. “Lowe, hang on a second.”
Sighing inwardly, because the mountains are calling, I pivot and catch sight of Commander Pierson through an open office door.
I always have time for the boss, of course, so I pat the leave pass in my pocket—don’t worry, we’re hitting the road soon—and step inside.
He’s not alone. Admiral Hickson and two other staff officers I don’t know are looking over a large roll of paper, stretched wide on a desk.
At a glance, I recognize the plans for the new Admiral Forrest Special Warfare Leadership School. Construction has been ongoing, and should finish within the month.
“Sir,” I say respectfully, saluting.
Hickson acknowledges me, then returns to his discussion with the others.
I give Pierson my full attention.
“My daughter tells me you’re RSVPed in the negative for her wedding, son.”
Ah, so this is a personal conversation.
Because it’s a small world, the commander’s daughter met my sister when they were both freshmen at the University of San Diego—and now, four years later, his daughter is getting married.
Jenna is a bridesmaid, so instead of hitching a ride with me back to Conception Ridge for a week, she’s staying here for wedding-related shenanigans.
And because I’m her brother, and I’ve been under Pierson’s command for almost thirteen years, I got an invitation to the wedding a month from now.
Fastestno thank youresponse I’ve ever dashed off. My genuine appreciation and fondness for the boss aside, enlisted men do not attend the commander’s daughter’s wedding, even if their sister is in the wedding party.
Andsingleenlisted men don’t go anywhere near weddings unless they don’t want to be single anymore. I can’t imagine a scenario where that would ever be me. For thirty-six years, I’ve been a loner. The only people in this world who really know me are my brother and sister, and they’re five and fifteen years younger than me.
It’s just how I was built. I’ve come to accept this as my reality.
I manage to keep a polite, straight face as I shake my head. “No, sir. I have a conflicting engagement that day.”
He raises an eyebrow, like he knows that alternate plan is a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza for one.
Then he claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t get into any trouble while you’re on leave.”
“No risk of that, sir. I’m heading home to Oregon. A quick visit with my brother and a few days at my cabin in the mountains. Won’t be a soul around. Nice and quiet, exactly as I like it.”
Ten seconds later, I push out the door and immediately shove a pair of sunglasses on my face. Southern California is relentlessly bright. I can’t wait to drive north. Maybe it’ll rain all week while I’m on Virgin Peak. Just me and the lake and the sweet drip drip drip of an unrelenting downpour.
A man couldn’t ask for a better retreat from the world. And I am so ready for this break. I text my brother that I’m hitting the highway, heading for the cabin, and I’ll see him in a week at the tail end of my leave.
Then I get in my truck, crank up the radio, and hit the road for an eighteen-hour drive.
* * *
Twenty-two hours later—because I stopped just north of Sacramento, grabbing a motel room for some rack out time—I see the turn off for Conception Ridge. I feel a nostalgic twinge for my home town, as I always do, but it’s not enough to get me to turn left instead of right.
The pull of the range is stronger.
Growing up, these mountains were my playground, and Virgin Peak was my favorite of them all. Smaller than the more famous summits on either side, it’s home to a collection of hamlets and strings of summer cabins in between.
The road twists and turns, brief cuts in the dense evergreen trees on either side the only sign of civilization. It takes ninety minutes to climb the switchbacks and reach the top.