Page 15 of Loving a Warrior

When Matt slumped in apparent relief, Shane went on, “Teamwork doesn’t come naturally to you, does it?”

Matt’s mouth tightened, and Shane gave himself a mental kick.

Couldn’t leave well enough alone, huh?

“I’m not trying to be an asshole, I swear. Just answer the question.”

He waited for Matt to tell him to fuck off, but once again, he surprised him. “I’m pretty much used to handling my shit alone,” he said slowly. “It’s better that way, ’cause then when it all goes to hell, I have no one to blame but myself. I know that has to change if I want to be a SEAL.”

Shane gave an approving nod. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Now you’ve said it out loud, and you know what you have to work on. We’re all in this together, Soup.” He slapped his thighs and started to push to his feet. “Ready to head back out?”

“So say yours out loud.”

Shane froze in the middle of standing up, meeting the challenge in Matt’s eyes as he straightened to his full height. He glanced outside at the O-course, then back at Matt, who was gazing at him steadily. Fuck, he didn’t appreciate having the tables suddenly turned, but then again, the dude was making an effort and had just put himself out there in a big way. Apologies were never easy.

“Mine? To stop offering my loyalty to people incapable of giving it to me in return. I’ve made that mistake one too many times.”

Now it was Matt who looked away, and with that, Shane headed out of the medical tent, forcing back the residual dizziness, to rejoin the class. Matt immediately disappeared into the depths of the O-course, his jaw set with determination, his movements sharp and fierce. At the end of the evolution, he’d be smoked.

Shane sighed. It seemed Matt coped with his emotions by exhausting himself into oblivion, which after all that soul-baring, Shane could get on board with. Except the supervising instructor wouldn’t let him up on the higher apparatus, restricting him to crawling under barbed wire and working out on the other low-to-ground obstacles.

“Shane Hovland, Human Pancake!” Elias grabbed Shane in a headlock and scrubbed his knuckles over the top of his head before letting go of him with a grin. “That was you, all spread-eagled out in the sand like that.”

“That’s exactly what I felt like, dude. Like Wile E. Coyote when he falls from a cliff and leaves a coyote-shaped hole in the ground.”

Elias guffawed. “That was some funny shit, not gonna lie.”

“Thanks a lot.” Shane threw a mock punch at him and they tussled briefly, which ended in a huge, back-slapping bear hug.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” Elias muttered in his ear. “You took five years off my fuckin’ life.”

“Stop playing grab-ass, ladies, and get back to work,” Salazar barked from his observation tower. “In fact, Hovland looks all dry and comfy now, so how about you two go get wet and sandy. Take Alphabet Soup with you.”

“Hooyah!”

The three of them took off, joined by Elias’s swim buddy, a Black guy named Aaron Maddox. Of course it turned into a race, all four of them jockeying for first place. Aaron tripped Matt, who used his forward momentum to somersault right back to his feet without missing a beat. Matt shoved Elias, who staggered but doggedly kept on going.

Shane usually won their foot races, but his head was throbbing and his lower back hurt, and to his disgust he was last into the water. After getting wet and rolling in the mud, they dashed back to the O-course, Matt winning handily.

Salazar called down to them, “Too fuckin’ slow. I almost fell asleep up here! I think maybe we need a four-mile soft-sand conditioning run and some log PT before securing for the weekend.”

Shane’s stomach dropped to his toes. It was late Friday afternoon, and the weekends had become little oases of recovery and rest in a sea of exhaustion. A long conditioning run and a workout with the logs, which were actually huge chunks of old telephone poles, would take hours.

“Unless…” Salazar paused dramatically. “Unless Alphabet Soup here can complete the O-course with a new personal best and do twenty dead-hang lifts.”

A murmur passed through the assembled men as Matt went still.

“He has to do both. If he fails either task, then you’re all gonna be here past midnight, gentlemen.”

Dead silence while everyone watched for Matt’s response. He still hadn’t moved, but his eyes flicked over the O-course. At last he firmed his lips.

“Piece of cake.”

At those words loud cheers erupted. Several guys rushed to escort him to the start of the course, rubbing his shoulders and jostling him around like he was Rocky Balboa.

Shane winced. Matt was soaking wet and covered with sand, his boots squelching with water… Not a good scenario for setting a new personal best. As Salazar counted backward from ten, Matt closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths in and out, his lips moving soundlessly.

That’s it, Soup. Run through it mentally. Visualize every step, every handhold.