When he grabbed the doorknob, Hale spoke again. "Hey, Shaw."
He turned.
"Next time, try to keep up." Hale grinned, that cocky edge back in place.
Elliot snorted. "You’re an idiot."
"See you tomorrow, partner."
Slamming the door behind him, Elliot left before he would say something he'd regret.
For the first time all week, the thought that followed him wasn't about the board, his father or coming in second.
It was about the way Hale's hand had felt around his wrist—and how hard it had been to walk away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HUDSON
“Get your shit together!"Kowalski barked the next morning.
In practical terms, that meant scrub down the barracks, clean your weapons, and get injuries checked out before the next phase started.
Hudson had no injuries worth mentioning, but apparently everyone had to get cleared anyway. He grabbed his gear and headed toward medical with a handful of other guys, hoping this wouldn't take long.
The waiting area was already crowded when he got there—metal chairs bolted to the floor, the smell of antiseptic cutting through everything. Three chairs down, one of the guys had his boot off, foot bound in a way that didn’t look promising.
Hudson dropped into a chair and stretched his legs, ignoring the full-body bruise throbbing beneath his skin.
Beside him, Reed balanced an ice pack on his shoulder, misery etched into his pale features.
"You okay, man?" Hudson asked.
"Yeah, all good. Nothing a little ice can't fix," Reed assured him.
Hudson’s shoulders relaxed. He really didn't want to see Reed get derailed by some bullshit injury this close to the end.
A nurse called Reed in, and Hudson stayed back with a few other guys. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to will his body into something resembling relaxation.
"Hale."
Hudson's eyes snapped open.
Shaw stood in the doorway, hand wrapped in a makeshift bandage. His expression seemed neutral, but Hudson caught the tension in his body.
"Shaw," Hudson sat up straighter. "Hand still bugging you?"
"It's fine."
"Yeah. Looks fine."
Shaw ignored him and chose a seat across the room. He gazed ahead, spine straight as a rod, that controlled stillness dialed up to eleven. His good hand gripped the armrest, like sitting in the medical room hurt worse than everything else they'd been through this week.
"You know if it's broken they're going to bench you, right?"
Shaw glanced at him. "It's not broken."
"You sure about that? Looks pretty fucked."
