Page 61 of Loving a Warrior

Shane held his breath waiting for Matt’s response.

“No, but I was well on my way to becoming one. My second DUI was a huge wake-up call.”

At that Shane choked on his sip of coffee and went into a coughing fit, gaping at Matt with incredulous eyes. Even Derek looked shocked.

“I was a minor the first time it happened. The sheriff was a family friend who called my dad to pick me up and then looked the other way.”

“And the second?” Derek’s voice was hushed. Shane couldn’t blame him. Looking at Matt, a veritable poster boy for clean living and peak physical fitness, it was impossible to picture him handcuffed in the back of some patrol car, disheveled and smelling of booze.

“I was a freshman in college, and this time there was no family friend.”

Derek stared at him a moment before shaking his head. “Shit, I’d never have guessed, not in a million years.” He paused. “Thanks for being honest with me. It’s nice to be around someone who sorta understands.”

They finished their coffee and headed for the car. As he drove, Shane kept stealing glances at Matt sitting in the back seat, his mind churning with questions he wasn’t sure he had a right to ask.

After seeing Derek safely home, Matt climbed into the front seat and sat rigidly, staring straight ahead.

“You want me to drop you at the base?” Shane asked tentatively. “Or—?”

“I know it’s late, but I’d kind of like to go for a run.” Matt sounded subdued. “If you don’t mind dropping me off…”

A few chinks had suddenly appeared in Matt’s armor, and Shane couldn’t resist seizing this chance to find out more about him. “Well, if you don’t mind some company, I think you left some running clothes at my house. A run doesn’t sound bad.”

And exercise is your main form of stress relief, isn’t it?

Matt looked on the verge of refusing, but he nodded. “Okay.”

The rest of the drive was made in silence. At the house they changed clothes, did a few quick stretches on the porch, then took off at an easy pace, Shane matching his strides to Matt’s. Their impromptu route took them down to the pier, and since the tide was out, they veered off to run on the packed sand along the water. The beach was dark and deserted, the whitecaps of the crashing Pacific visible under the weak light of the moon, the rhythmic pounding of the surf a soothing backdrop.

Shane estimated they’d gone about three miles when Matt finally slowed and stopped to walk in circles with his hands laced behind his head, his body glistening with a light sheen of sweat. He wandered a little closer to the water and sat, drawing his knees up and resting his forearms across them, fingers dangling. Shane mirrored his pose and they gazed out over the frothing ocean, a shiver running through him as he thought of his upcoming Hell Week, of having to roll in that dark, cold water all night long. For several nights.

Matt read his mind. “Think about finally getting warm. Maybe you’ve won a race and they let you change into dry clothes, or you’ve had a chance to dry out during chow. Your teeth have stopped chattering and your hands have stopped shaking. Then one of them yells, ‘Get wet and sandy!’” He shuddered. “I’m gonna hear those words in my nightmares until I’m an old, old man.”

“I think what’s going to get me through all of it is knowing you’ll kick my ass if I really do quit.”

Matt lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t have much time for quitters.” His tone wasn’t arrogant, just matter of fact.

Shane nodded. “I know.”

They lapsed into silence. Shane waited him out, not wanting to push.

Finally Matt sighed. “It’s not some big, dramatic story, Shane. I was a typical small-town kid, getting together with my buddies on a Saturday night to drink what we stole from our parents’ liquor cabinets. Almost a rite of passage, you know?”

Shane thought of nights in friends’ living rooms, all of them giggling over purloined whiskey or vodka, pretending to be cool by declaring they liked it but secretly trying not to gag. “Yeah.”

Matt combed through the sand, letting it sift through his fingers. “If a guy said he could do four shots without puking, I’d do eight. If someone said I shouldn’t drive home…” He tensed. “One night I rolled my dad’s pickup after skidding on some ice. No one was hurt and it was an old truck, so no harm done, except for the fact I was drunk as a skunk.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen.” Matt’s lips twisted. “My dad let me sit in the holding tank all night, and then the next morning he showed up with my uncle in tow.”

“Your SEAL uncle?”

“Yeah.”

“I bet he laid into you.”

“You have no idea. After he ripped me a new one, he said if I was serious about becoming a SEAL, it was time to think about training. He agreed to work with me so I’d be ready for BUD/S, but the deal was I couldn’t touch another drop of alcohol. If he ever smelled it on me, or heard about me drinking, he was done.”