Page 12 of Keeping a Warrior

The groans turned into loud whoops.

“Yeah, I thought you’d like that.” Bradley gave a wolfish grin. “We get to make some dudes have a really bad day.”

A bolt of anticipation shot through Devon, too. Robin Sage was the culmination of Army special forces training, a ten-day exercise that was the last thing standing between a soldier and his coveted Green Beret. Even if she wouldn’t be allowed to participate and play part of the opposing force, at least she’d have a front-row seat.

“Get your gear squared away,” Bradley ordered. “Vans leave at 1800.” He turned and strode from the room.

There were a few beats of awkward silence, until Smudge pointed at Knytych. “Yo, fuckin’ new guy. What’d they call you in BUD/S?”

A faint smile quirked Knytych’s lips. “Alphabet Soup. Soup for short.” He pointed to his nameplate.

Some snorts came from the group.

“Well, Soup, FNGs in my platoon are to be seen and not heard. Got it? Keep your head down, your mouth shut and do what you’re told.”

“Got it.”

“Run over to the motor pool. Get two vans. Then take care of our bags.” With that, Smudge grabbed a soda from the fridge and plopped down on the couch to join the rest of the guys who’d turned on and were yelling at the UCLA game.

“Hey, it’s good to see you again.”

Devon glanced over to see Rhys smiling at her. He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his cargo pants, a gesture she found extremely reassuring after what Mötley had done.

She hesitated a moment before returning the smile. “You, too. It’s been a while.” She could hear how cautious she sounded, but there was nothing in Rhys’s eyes except polite friendliness.

He doesn’t know.

“It has.” Rhys rocked back and forth on his heels. “I never did get to tell you how cool I thought your job was. I wish we could’ve gotten to work together on more than that one mission.”

Devon thought back to how careful he’d been with the Afghan men, how respectful. A twist of regret went through her; they would’ve made a good team.

“You were a total badass, Ms. Lowe,” he went on, his tone sincere. Devon flushed with pleasure, thinking how long it’d been since anyone had bothered to acknowledge what she’d accomplished professionally.

“Thanks. So were you. And the name’s Devon.”

“Hey!” Smudge boomed. “Bright white and stupid!” He pointed at Soup, obviously referring to his uniform. “Get a move-on!”

“Hooyah.”

Soup had been listening intently to Devon’s conversation with Rhys, but now he said, “If, uh, anyone wants to come and help, that’d be awesome. Fellow new guy?”

Devon nodded. The last thing she wanted to do was hang out alone in the team room with all these loud and boisterous men.

When Rhys said he’d come, too, they made plans to meet out front in ten minutes. Then Soup paused, glancing at Devon’s polished uniform shoes. “Uh, they’ll be expecting me to literally run over to the motor pool, so—”

“Got it,” she said hastily. “I have some PT gear in my car.”

By the time Devon retrieved her duffel, found the women’s locker room and changed clothes, her ten minutes were nearly up. She hung her uniform carefully back in her car and headed for the front entrance to the building, where Soup and Rhys were already stretching.

“Ready?”

It was four-and-a-half miles to the motor pool. The three of them ran with loose, easy strides, their sneakered feet pounding the pavement. Devon sucked in a deep, deliberate breath of the sea air, welcoming the surge of endorphins that smoothed out the ragged edges of her emotions.

“Dude, I’m sorry, I know I’ve met you before, but fuck if I can remember where,” Soup grunted. “What’s your name again? Maybe it’ll jog my memory.”

“Rhys Halloran.” Rhys grinned at him encouragingly. “Does that help?”

Soup pursed his lips in frustration, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “Got it! Your engagement party, what was it, a year ago? You’re the Air Force PJ!”