Page 7 of Keeping a Warrior

“Warrant Officer One Devon A. Lowe here to see Lieutenant Bradley.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m here to see Lieutenant Bradley, as well. AO2 Matthew G. Knytych.”

The guy at the counter consulted a clipboard, then picked up the phone and muttered into it. Devon and the SEAL waited silently through several long minutes, until at last a man wearing the collar device of a Navy lieutenant pushed through a set of double doors and beckoned to them.

“Whenever you enter and exit my quarterdeck, new guy,” he barked to Knytych, “you give me twenty.” The lieutenant pointed to a pull-up bar mounted in the doorway. Without a word, Knytych set his Dixie cup cover down on the counter, leapt up to grab the bar and hammered out a perfect set.

When he dropped lightly back to his feet, the lieutenant started to wave them in.

Before anyone could move, Devon tossed her cover onto the desk, wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and jumped for the bar, praying the seams in her tailored uniform wouldn’t split. Slowly, deliberately, she did pull-up after pull-up until she’d reached twenty-one.

One extra for a fuck-you.

All three men’s faces were slack with surprise. Devon let go of the bar.

“I don’t want any special treatment, Lieutenant,” she said coolly. “I’m a new guy, too.”

Bradley’s eyes held hers for a moment, and then his lips quirked. “Noted, Ms. Lowe.” He stood to the side to let them enter. “Welcome to Delta platoon.”

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!”

Rhys Halloran was in some serious pain. Gripping his throbbing foot in one hand, he hopped up and down, teeth clenched.

Christ, that goddamn dresser was going to be the death of him yet.

Collapsing down on the side of the bed, he let out a piteous groan, then froze. Had he woken...?

Sure enough, sheets rustled behind him and a sleepy voice asked, “What time is it?”

Rhys struggled to bring the glowing red numbers of his bedside clock into focus. “Um, six thirty.” He groaned again. “God, how can a pinkie toe hurt so bad?”

“Stubbed it again, huh?” The mattress dipped and a cool hand brushed his back. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” he grumbled. “You bought the damn thing.” Despite the pain in his foot, the light touch galvanized Rhys into action. “Shit, we need to get moving. You want to shower first or should I?”

“You go ahead. I’ll make the coffee.”

Lurching to his feet, he hobbled to the bathroom, making sure to glare at the offending dresser as he passed it. Such a stupid, heavy thing that he hadn’t even wanted.

The least Lani could’ve done was taken it with her when she moved out.

Well, why should she? Apparently she can come over and visit it anytime she wants.

In the shower, Rhys slumped against the tile wall and let the self-recrimination rain down on him along with the water. This was the third time in as many weeks. Why couldn’t he just say no?

Because you miss her. And for some reason we’re-not-together-anymore sex is a lot better than the regular kind.

Rhys scrubbed his hair roughly with the shampoo as he mulled that over. It was true. There was something about it, a “we’re not supposed to be doing this” vibe that really appealed to him. He sighed.

Hooking up with your ex really defeats the purpose of her being an “ex,” though, doesn’t it, idiot? We’re supposed to be taking a break from each other.

Easier said than done, as they were both finding out.

When Rhys finally emerged, feeling somewhat human again, the rumpled bed was empty. Pulling on a pair of cargo pants and a gray Air Force T-shirt, he padded to the kitchen.

The scene that greeted him there was achingly familiar, just like any other Saturday morning. The mouthwatering smell of freshly ground French roast coffee. The sight of a cheerful yellow M&M’s mug and his favorite Yoda mug waiting next to the carton of sweet Italian cream.