Off the Field: Bad Boy Sports Romance by Heidi Hunter, Bad Boy Team Page A

not. Did I want her to make a move on me? Hell yes. I put my hands behind my head and relaxed, comfortable in knowing no mortars would be lobbed at me. I fell asleep.
    “Help!”
    My eyes opened, and I sat up in one fluid motion, my head moving to determine the source of the screams. It took me a moment or two to realize I wasn’t back in Iraq. When I did, I saw a kid splashing in the water about two hundred feet away from the boat. The water was deep. I reacted quickly. After slipping off my shoes, I dove into the water and swam toward the boy.
    “Help!”
    His frantic movements were making it worse. As I reached him, his head bobbed under the water. He surfaced and spit out what he’d swallowed. Panic really set it at that point.
    “It’s okay, man. I can help you,” I said in as soothing a voice as possible considering the situation. “I’m a Marine,” I added.
    This appeared to calm him slightly.
    “Just relax and float on your back. You’re going to be okay.”
    He stopped flailing wildly and floated on his back a few feet away from me. I looked to the shore and saw his parents frantically waving. Their voices were barely able to be heard. Had the kid tried to swim out to my boat? Was it my fault?
    “Let’s get to my boat, and I’ll take you back.”
    “I can’t swim!” he shouted.
    “It’s okay. You can float on your back and kick your feet a little. I’ll get the boat and bring it over so you can get in.”
    “Okay, thanks.”
    A few minutes later, he was safely in the boat, covered in water and shivering. I rowed to the far shore. His parents were ecstatic when the rowboat bumped against their dock. The boy climbed out and ran to them. After they hugged him, they began scolding him about swimming so far into the lake. Is the kid going to rat me out? I wondered as I watched the family interact.
    His little sister seemed pleased at the fact he was being yelled at for swimming into the lake. The little guy didn’t say anything about swimming to the boat, but he pointed to me and said, “The army guy saved me.”
    I wanted to correct him and say I was a Marine, but I kept my mouth shut. The father, wearing khakis and a white cotton button-but shirt, walked over to me. Can he smell the weed? He stared at me for a long moment in silence with absolutely no expression on his face. Finally, a smile spread across his face, and he reached his hand out to help me out.
    “I really can’t stay. I have to get back,” I said.
    “Nonsense. Get up here for a moment. Can I get you a drink? Where did you serve?”
    He moved his hand closer toward me. I sighed inside and took it, letting him help me out of the boat and onto the dock.
    “It wasn’t anything. I heard him yelling, and I swam over to help him.”
    “You’re a hero,” the boy’s mother insisted as she walked over and stuck her hand out.
    I shook her hand while shaking my head from side to side. “No, I’m not a hero. I’m glad he’s okay. You should get him some swimming lessons maybe.”
    “I could pay you to teach him,” the father said.
    “No, I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of time. I’m not here long.”
    “Okay.” He continued starting at me. “Well, thanks again.”
    “No problem.”
    “You’re from where again?” he asked, suddenly a little more suspicious.
    “Across the lake. Nice meeting you two.” I pointed to the boy. “You stay safe now. Remember not to panic when you’re in a stressful situation.”
    “Yes, sir!” he said then saluted me.
    I stepped into the boat and pushed off with my foot. As soon as I was away from their dock, I started to move the oars with as much force as possible. Sometimes physical activity helped me forget all the mental problems I had with flashbacks, anxiety and the nightmares. As I rowed, the sun began to set on the horizon. That magical pre-dusk light illuminated my way back to the dock at my dad’s lake house.
    As I got closer, I saw someone standing at the end of the dock. It