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  “Everything happens for a reason, Landon,” Badour said. “Honor Joe’s memory by embracing life and all it offers. Don’t shut yourself off from the world. And always remember that the community is here to help. There really is no such thing as an ex-SEAL.”

  “Understood.” Landon nodded. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed at the moment. The Navy is pretty much all I’ve known since I was eighteen years old, and it’s been my only family for about the same amount of time. The idea of life without the Navy is a bit unsettling.”

  “It’s not a life without the Navy,” Badour said with an unmistakable air of authority. “It’s a life outside the Navy, and since you’ll still be pretty heavily involved as an instructor, that will help some.”

  “I guess.”

  Badour smiled. “A work in progress. The key word there, Lieutenant, is ‘progress’. Keep healing, keep growing, keep moving forward. Give it—and especially yourself—time. Someday, it will all make sense. Or at least more sense than it does at the moment.”

  Landon nodded with a tired smile.

  Badour pulled up to the departure curb. He extended his right hand. “Good luck to you, young man. And I’ll see you at BUD/S next summer. Hooyah!”

  “Hooyah, Admiral Badour.” Landon shook his old instructor’s hand, then grabbed his carry-on and garment bag from the back seat.

  With a wave and a smile, Badour was gone. Landon watched his former instructor’s car grow smaller and then disappear into a maze of traffic departing the busy DC airport.

  Landon glanced down at his ticket and smiled.

  He was going home.

  For good.

  Chapter 31

  Landon’s head was spinning as he walked purposefully through the terminal at San Diego International Airport.

  He’d gone to Washington apprehensive about his future in the Navy, feeling lost, unsure of where his life was going to take him next. He was coming home with a future that had apparently been mapped out for him in advance.

  Landon reached for his cellphone to call Desiree, but thought better of it for now and left it on his belt. The element of surprise was the way to go on this mission, he decided, smiling to himself.

  He had a few stops to make in order to put his plan into action.

  * * * *

  What a horrendously shitty day, Desiree thought, her mood foul as she made her way home through the busy streets of Chula Vista.

  Her checking account was overdrawn again, she’d gotten into an argument with her business partner, Lakisha, and she still hadn’t heard from Landon.

  As Desiree turned onto her street, she hoped that neither of her kids were home. That way no one would be able to hear her cry.

  But there was an unfamiliar vehicle in the driveway: a blue, two-door compact Chevrolet.

  Desiree scowled. Who the fuck would be parking in her driveway? She wasn’t expecting company.

  She pulled in behind the blue car and honked her horn irritably.

  And then she saw Landon sitting on her front porch. He was out of uniform, Desiree noted.

  Landon rose to his feet, and Desiree noticed with a smile that he was wearing what she would charitably characterize as ‘white-boy tourist chic’.

  Okay, maybe ‘chic’ was a bit too charitable, she thought as she put her minivan in park and turned off the ignition. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath.

  We’ll just go with ‘white-boy tourist’, Desiree decided.

  She took one more deep breath and willed her heart to calm down as she got out of the car.

  Landon stood as Desiree exited her vehicle. The ‘white boy tourist’ getup consisted of a tropical button-down shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and Birkenstock sandals.

  “Hi,” Landon said, a sheepish grin on his face.

  “Hi,” Desiree said, as coolly as she could. “What are you doing here?”

  “Would you believe I was just in the neighborhood?”

  “No.” Desiree was trying to be aloof and pissy, but failing miserably. She smiled in spite of herself.

  But she decided she needed to at least try to play hard-to-get.

  “Long time no see. Or hear from.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Landon said, that sheepish smile getting bigger.

  I wish he wouldn’t do that, Desiree thought, her attempt at an icy exterior melting like an ice-cream cone on a ninety-degree day.

  “So where have you been and why haven’t you contacted me?”

  “Working on myself. Therapy. Sorting out my life, and where I want it to go from here.”

  “I see.”

  “I just got home from Washington. A meeting with the brass.”

  “And?” she asked.

  “And I’m ready to move on to the next chapter of my life.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “My life after the Navy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Landon smiled. “I’ve been offered the opportunity to retire. I’m taking it.”

  Desiree couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me right.”

  “Retirement at forty-three?”

  “Yes.”

  Desiree grasped for words as she struggled to wrap her head around this new reality. “What are you going to do after the Navy?”

  “First, I’m going to take a month off,” Landon said. “And then, if everything works out the way it’s supposed to, I’m going back to work in August.”

  “Doing what?”

  He smiled broadly. “Teaching journalism and coaching football at our alma mater.”

  “Seriously?” She liked this idea, especially the part about him not being a SEAL and possibly coming home in a body bag anymore. “How did all this come about?”

  Landon exhaled, a sad look on his face. “Guess.”

  “Joe.”

  “Yes,” Landon said, tears flooding his blue eyes. “He had apparently spent the past few months before his death devising an exit strategy for both of us.”

  “Exit strategy?” Desiree was confused.

  Landon smiled sheepishly. “Our way out of the Navy. Unfortunately, Joe didn’t live to be able to put his plan into effect. But I did. And I will.”

  Desiree sat down next to Landon on the porch, and he put his arm around her. She listened intently as he explained about the meeting in Washington, his trip home, and his jumbled maze of mixed emotions on the five-hour flight.

  Landon exhaled. “It’s not going to be easy, Desiree. I’m getting better, but I’m nowhere near one hundred percent yet. I’ll fuck up. I’ll do things that will make you want to throw up your hands and walk away. I’ll have nightmares, I’ll have flashbacks, and sometimes I’ll get pissed off over nothing in particular. I have PTSD, and I’m probably going to have it for the rest of my life. But Dr. Perez and I are working on developing the tools I need to manage it. I don’t have to let it control my life—and I’m not going to.”

  Desiree nodded. She was liking what she was hearing. She was liking it a lot.

  Landon took another deep breath and forged ahead. “I know the past month has been hard. It’s been hard on me too. I wasn’t blowing you off. I just needed to be sure I was on the road to recovery before I came back to you. I know I scared you that night—”

  “Baby, don’t worry about that,” Desiree insisted. “I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

  Landon smiled. “You woke up to a guy slashing the living hell out of your bed with a carving knife, Desiree. You reacted appropriately. What you suggested was just what we needed—a break. We both needed some space, some time to reflect and to decide once and for all if this is what we want.”

  She nodded. “And is it?”

  “It is. Is it for you?”

  Desiree smiled widely. “It is.”

  Landon exhaled again. “I’ve been alone most of my life, Desiree. Well, except for Joe and my buddies in the Teams. You know what I mean.”

  Desiree nodded.


  “I don’t want to be alone anymore,” Landon said as he reached into a front pocket of that suddenly not-so-ugly tropical shirt. He retrieved a small box from the pocket.

  Desiree’s heart started to pound in her chest as Landon opened the box, revealing a sparkling diamond engagement ring inside.

  “Desiree, I’ve always loved you,” Landon began, his voice strong and steady.

  Desiree’s eyes were tearing up. She nodded again.

  He forged ahead. “I never allowed myself to get close to anyone over the years. And I guess that was because I was still in love with you. These past few months have been the happiest of my life. And I hope against hope that you feel the same way.”

  “Oh, Landon, I do,” she said with a heavy sigh, her voice starting to crack.

  Landon smiled. “Those two words are going to come in handy real soon, beautiful. I’m going to cut to the chase here. Will you marry me, Desiree?”

  Desiree’s hand covered her mouth. She felt like she couldn’t breathe for a long moment.

  “Take your time, babe,” Landon said with a roguish grin. He was obviously enjoying her predicament.

  Now Desiree was hyperventilating. Finally, she found her breath, and then the words to answer the question she had longed with all her heart to hear these past few weeks. “Yes! Yes! Of course I’ll marry you, Landon!”

  Landon and Desiree embraced tightly and then kissed passionately for several long minutes, the hurt and heartache of the past few months healing with each swirl of their tongues.

  When they finally came up for air, Desiree smiled. “Of course, I think we should let the kids get to know you a little bit before we announce our engagement. But first things first—I think we should go inside before people start honking and telling us to get a room.”

  “Lead the way, future Mrs. Stone,” Landon said with a smirk.

  Desiree liked the sound of that.

  About Diva D. Wood

  Diva D. Wood grew up in Chula Vista, California, a San Diego suburb, and was bitten by the writing bug at a very young age. Her first story—written in second grade—was a 1,000-word swashbuckling pirate tale done in response to an art project.

  Her experiences—both good and bad—have birthed many of the stories she tells. She confesses that she occasionally lives vicariously through the characters she creates…especially the happy endings!

  Better Late Than Never is her first foray into genre of erotic romance. She has two previously published novels.

  She lives in the Sierra Nevada mountains of northern California, where by day she toils in the nursing field. She regularly commutes home to southern California to reconnect with the lifelong friends who have always inspired and continue to encourage her literary efforts.

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