Page 35 of Loving a Warrior

“Well, if you’re not too good to take notes, and you’re not already an expert in hydro recon, it must be some plain old-fashioned distraction. What could you possibly be thinking about so hard that it kept you from paying attention in my class?”

Shane’s throat was so tight, he couldn’t speak. He didn’t have to, as Chief Howe went on, his tone biting. “Were you thinking about your skin care regimen, perhaps? That’s what pretty boys like you think about, right? Or maybe you were thinking about all the pussy you’re gonna score this weekend when you go to the club and tell the ladies you’re a Navy SEAL. Is that it?”

“Negative.” Shane’s voice was scratchy, barely audible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Negative!”

“You know what? It doesn’t matter what you were thinking about, because the fact is, you were fucking distracted while I’m teaching something that could mean the difference between life and death. Task force commanders use this sort of data to plan missions and decide where to establish beachheads. They need to know certain things before they send their men in, and if you fuck it up, people die.”

Shane stood frozen as Howe plowed inexorably on. “Not only that, say you’re point man on an assault. If you get distracted, you could miss a trip wire, or a pressure plate buried in the road that then blows up all your men, maybe even you.”

Explosions, screams, the smell of charred flesh.

“This is serious business, and if you’re not able to fucking pay attention during a fifteen-minute lecture, I sure as hell don’t want you on my team.”

Moans, cries for help, then a terrible silence.

“There’s no second place in a gunfight. Losers get killed, Hovland. Getting distracted makes you a loser.”

There was a loud crack as the pencil Shane didn’t even realize he was still holding snapped in half under his clenching fingers. Guys all around him jumped a mile at the loud noise, their heads dropping even lower.

Howe paused in his tirade.

“Instructor Bernson,” he said softly, “take this dreamer out to the surf for some individual attention. Get him out of my sight.”

* * *

Matt trotted out of the chow hall, anxiously looking around for Shane. He hadn’t shown up for breakfast after he’d been herded from the classroom by a grim-faced Bernson.

What the fuck happened?

Shane could be a goof, but when it came to training, he was always focused and all business. Why hadn’t he taken notes and paid attention during the lecture? It couldn’t be that he’d drifted off to sleep; the ice bath had assured that everyone was wide awake, their bodies’ energy focused on not shivering to death.

“There they are!” Elias pointed to some distant figures approaching them at a slow jog.

One of them was Bernson, keeping pace next to a visibly exhausted, wrung-out Shane. Matt caught his breath at the sight of him—soaking wet, of course, and covered with sand from head to toe. As he drew closer, Matt could even see sand clumped in his eyelashes and caked on his lips. He was white as a ghost, his normally vivid blue eyes dark with misery.

Bernson shouted for the class to form up. “Anyone else gonna space out during a lecture?” he yelled, glaring at each of them in turn.

“Negative!”

“Boats up! Get your fuckin’ asses to the O-course.”

They were worked hard on the O-course. Shane seemed grimly determined, displaying none of his usual spark. Whenever he passed Matt, he kept his face blank, not even acknowledging Matt’s breathless “hey.” As the day wore on, Matt found himself missing his murmured taunts, the way he called him “Soupy the Smurf” with that gleam of mischief in his eye.

Shane was hurting, and Matt could tell it went way beyond the physical.

When they were finally secured for the night, he spotted Shane trudging up the steps toward his room and broke into a trot in order to catch him.

“You okay?”

Shane barely glanced at him. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Is there—” He was going to say “anything I can do” but that was ridiculous, so he settled for a lame “I just wanted to see how you were.”

“I’m fine,” Shane said flatly, moving off down the landing away from him.

“Shane—”

“Look.” Shane spun back around to face him. “You were right. No booty call’s worth this.” He shook his head. “Just stay away from me, man.”