Page 55 of Loving a Warrior

“It’s true.” Shane snorted. “Well, except for maybe Jon. He wasn’t afraid of anything, but then again, I’m not even sure he was human.”

“Jon your SEAL friend?” The pinched look on Matt’s face faded, to be replaced by curiosity.

“Yeah. God, he was wild. Not partying wild, but risk-taking wild. Jumping off bridges, skydiving. When we were rock climbing once and I froze halfway up the cliff, he told me something that’s always stuck with me.”

“What’s that?”

“Stay in your three-foot world. You know, control what you can control. Like, all I needed to focus on was my next handhold, the next chock. Not how high up I was, or how it’d feel to fall and smash into the ground.” His belly tightened in remembered fear and he took a deep breath, striving for calm. “It helped, it really did. Of course I, uh, don’t how that’s gonna work when I’m hurtling toward the ground at two hundred miles an hour, but I’m hoping for the best.”

They sat quietly in the darkness until Matt heaved a sigh. “Fuck, I’m beat. I’d better go home and get some sleep.”

“Why don’t you just come in and sleep with me?” When Matt’s eyes widened, Shane could’ve kicked himself. “Damn. Once again, that came out wrong. What I meant was, just sleep here. No need to drive all the way home. I’ll behave, I promise.”

“If I didn’t need to report back in—” Matt glanced at his watch “—approximately three hours, I’d say misbehave all you want. But…”

“Just sleep. Scout’s honor.” Shane touched his forehead in a mocking salute before reaching down to grab Matt’s plate and empty Gatorade bottle. “Lemme straighten up real quick and I’ll meet you inside, okay?”

“Okay.” Matt looked up at him, his eyes soft. “Thanks, clown.”

“You’re welcome.” He couldn’t resist leaning down to brush a kiss over Matt’s lips. “See you inside.”

Shane made quick work of putting the pot roast away and rinsing off the plate, leaving it in the sink next to the half-empty beer bottle. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, then slipped into bed to wait, his heart pounding in anticipation.

* * *

In the kitchen, the light was on over the stove, but the rest of the house was dark and quiet. Matt put his wallet and keys down next to the sink, sighing. He turned and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping his chin.

What a fucking shitty night.

He’d never forget the look on Trey’s face when they were ordered to run wind sprints up and down a sandy berm, their thighs and calves screaming, before submerging themselves over and over in the frigid surf until their entire bodies were caked with mud and it was coming out their nose and ears. Trey had borne it all without complaint, that wasn’t the issue, but if that diving exercise had been a real-world scenario, Matt couldn’t get past the fact his actions could very well have caused Trey’s death.

All because he’d been scared of a little water.

As he berated himself, a familiar yeasty smell wafted to his nose. He sniffed the air. Where was…?

He turned toward the sink, his eyes falling on the beer bottle in it. There was a quarter inch or so of golden liquid in the bottom of it, and Matt’s mouth watered at the sight of it, a long-buried need flaring to life. Shit, what he wouldn’t give for a beer right about now, despite the early hour. Didn’t he fucking deserve a cold one after all he’d been through?

With a shaking hand, Matt opened the fridge, gritting his teeth at the sight of the Corona lurking on the top shelf. He pulled one out and pressed it to his cheek. It was ice cold, and the beer inside would be so smooth as it slid down his throat, so comforting…

No.

Matt put the bottle back and slammed the fridge door shut. He didn’t need a beer to drown his sorrows. He didn’t need a beer at all.

Snatching up his wallet and keys, Matt fled the house and drove away like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

Chapter Fourteen

“Hey, Soup! Join us!”

At the sound of Aaron’s voice, Matt glanced toward the large patch of grass that made up part of the commons. A bunch of guys were facing off in a football scrimmage, the teams apparently divided into the classic “shirts” and “skins.” He was about to refuse when he caught a glimpse of Shane staring at him from the “skins” side, his hands propped on his hips, athletic shorts riding low enough to expose the waistband of his underwear.

Matt’s throat dried up at the sight. Shit. He trotted toward the group, Shane’s stormy eyes following him every step of the way.

“Sure, I’ll play,” he croaked. “Where do you need me?”

After quick team huddles, they gathered at the line of scrimmage. Matt went into a crouch, one hand on the ground, inches away from Shane on the opposite side.

“Hike!”