Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HUDSON
The briefing the following morning covered a two-day equipment transport exercise.
Teams of two would move eighty pounds of gear and simulated intelligence materials from Point A to Point B and back, approximately twenty klicks apart through rough terrain and elevation changes.
There was an old ranger station at the halfway point where they'd shelter overnight, assuming they made it that far before dark.
Each team drew a sealed envelope at the end of the briefing: their assigned route and overnight shelter. No two the same.
Master Sergeant Chen started calling out pairs. "Assignment’s based on current rankings. Top two together, next two together, and so on."
Hudson's stomach dropped.
Well, shit.
On one hand, they needed to talk. Reed knew about them. Briggs was making threats. This whole thing felt like it was five seconds from blowing up.
On the other hand, Hudson had exactly zero self-control when Shaw was within a ten-foot radius, and two days alone was basically asking for trouble. Unless Shaw acted all responsible and shit.
He glanced across the room and found Shaw staring at him.
Okay then—trouble it was.
Hudson's brain tore through about fifteen different scenarios in the span of three seconds, most of which involved significantly less hiking than the assignment required.
He really needed to focus.
They geared up, checking equipment, reviewing maps, taking inventory of what they'd be hauling. Other pairs did the same around them, voices low, movements efficient. The exercise was straightforward—move heavy shit across distance—but the weight and terrain would make it demanding.
Briggs walked past with his pack. "Have fun out there, girls."
When Hudson's hand tightened on his gear strap, Shaw shot him a look, and Hudson forced himself to let it go. Not worth it. Not right now.
He caught Reed’s eye from the other side of the room. His expression hovered somewhere between concerned and amused. Hudson just shrugged back. It wasn’t his fault they had been paired again.
Twenty minutes later, they sat in the back of a truck heading toward the starting points. Nine other pairs scattered among them, everyone focused on their own prep.
Hudson sat across from Shaw, who studied the map with intense focus.
He had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled to the elbows.
His fingers moved across the paper, tracing elevation, following routes.
Hudson watched the tendons on his tattooed forearms shift with each small movement, and thought about how those hands had felt on him a few days ago.
The truck stopped and so did his daydreaming. Perfect timing.
They both jumped down into the cold afternoon air. The packs were already there waiting for them. When the truck pulled away to drop off the next pair, they were left isolated at the trailhead.
The tree line started immediately—dense pine, the kind that blocked the sky and held the snow in heavy clumps on their branches.
Further up, above where the pines thinned, the terrain opened into an exposed rock face and ridgeline, grey-white against a flat winter sky. The wind up there would cut bone.
Twenty klicks.
Shaw adjusted his pack. "Ready?"
"Ready."
They started walking.
For the first hour, they didn't talk much.
Just moved through the terrain with efficiency.
The weight was considerable, and the uneven ground made every step a negotiation with gravity.
But they found a rhythm, switching off who led, adjusting grips on the equipment, anticipating each other's movements without needing to speak.
It should’ve felt routine, but it didn’t. Three words sat between them like unfinished business, heavier than anything in Hudson’s pack. We’re done.
Around the ninety-minute mark, the trail broadened and Shaw dropped back to walk beside him rather than ahead. Hudson felt the shift immediately.
"Reed's not going to report us," Hudson said.
Shaw didn't break stride. But the posture of his shoulders changed, a fraction of tension releasing that he probably didn't know was visible. "When did you talk to him?"
"Yesterday morning. Ambushed him before formation."
"And?"
"And he's fine. Gave me a whole speech about being careful. Questioned my taste in men.” Hudson smirked at him. “But he's not going to say anything."
Shaw’s lips pressed into a tight line. "Briggs is a different problem."
"Yeah." Hudson adjusted the grip on his pack. "He made a comment during patrol. Nothing concrete though—I think he's guessing. But he suspects enough to make things difficult if he wants to."
"He wants to," Shaw said flatly.
The trail climbed and the weight shifted across Hudson’s shoulders, harder on the uphill. Somewhere above them a bird called once and fell silent.
"What I said in the storage room," Hudson started.
"It’s fine."
"No. I—"
"Not here." Shaw's voice was even—the voice he used in briefings, when he was making a decision and not inviting debate. "We have thirteen klicks left and four hours of daylight. Whatever you want to say, it can wait."
Hudson exhaled through his nose. "Shaw—"
"Later." Shaw shot him a brief look that revealed his eyes weren't quite as controlled as his voice. "We'll talk tonight."
Hudson held his gaze for a second, then focused on the trail.
"Fine."
The hike to the ranger station tested every ounce of patience Hudson had.
Shaw was right there. Close enough to touch, close enough that Hudson could smell him under the cold and the pine, and he couldn't do anything about it. They had objectives to complete, checkpoints to hit, an entire exercise to finish before they could afford to drop their guard.
But every time Shaw's shoulder brushed his, when their hands touched, reaching for the same piece of gear, Hudson felt the anticipation tingle all over his body. His face, his spine, his dick.
They'd been hiking for hours when the station finally came into view through the snow-covered trees.
The structure was old but solid. A small wooden cabin with a stone chimney, shuttered windows, and a covered porch. Isolated and private. Miles from the nearest trail marker.
Hudson’s brain spiraled into territory that definitely wasn’t covered in the mission brief.
He dropped his pack on the porch and tried the door. Unlocked, as promised in the briefing.
Inside was basic: two cots, a wood stove, a small table. Dusty but functional.
Shaw brought in their packs, setting them against the wall. "I'll get firewood."
Hudson nodded, already pulling out their rations. The familiar routine had shifted. Everything felt different this time.
The first time they'd been alone overnight, they'd barely known each other. Hudson had been so focused on proving himself, on not showing weakness, that he'd barely registered Shaw as anything more than competition.
Now Hudson knew Shaw’s bottom lip was soft between his teeth. Could replay the sound he made when he came—rough and unguarded and nothing like the rest of him. Understood what it felt like to want someone and not be able to do a damn thing about it.
Shaw returned with an armload of wood. Within minutes, he had a fire going in the stove, warmth starting to fill the small space. He sat at the table across from Hudson, and they ate their rations without a word. The sun dipped below the trees, light fading from the windows.
"So," Hudson said finally, because the quiet was getting to him. "When did you figure it out? That you're into guys?"
Shaw laid down his spork. "Why do you want to know?"
"Just curious."
"Curious." Shaw eyed him.
"Yeah, curious. Is that a problem?"
His brows pinched together as he poked at the crackling fire. "I was fifteen. There was a guy at school."
"And that was it?" Hudson couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. At fifteen that would have been a pretty big deal, he imagined. Hell, it was a pretty big deal even at twenty-three.
"Yes. No reason to deny it."
"Very pragmatic."
"That's me." Shaw’s mouth twitched. "You really never been with a guy before?"
Hudson's face heated. "Is it that obvious?"
"No, actually." His wicked grin hit somewhere below Hudson’s sternum. "For someone with no experience, you pick things up pretty fast."
"Are you complimenting me or making fun of me?"
"Can't it be both?"
"Asshole," Hudson laughed. "And no. Never been with a guy before. Always girls."
"How many?"
Hudson shot him a look. "Why is that relevant?"
"Just curious." Shaw gave him that same look Hudson had used earlier, and yeah, okay, fair enough.
"Hooked up with some girls during high school, had a girlfriend, Julie, before coming here. It was good."
Shaw watched him with that intense focus that made Hudson feel stripped bare. "But?"
"But nothing. That's what I'm saying—there was no 'but.' I liked it. I liked them. And then you happened and now I'm as attracted to you as I ever was to any of them. So I don't know what that makes me."
"Someone who knows what they want," Shaw said, like it was obvious.
Hudson swallowed. The fire reflected in Shaws’s amber green eyes and he couldn’t look away. The pull felt almost unbearable now they were alone. Really alone.
"Your dad knows? About you being gay… or bi?"
Shaw's expression went blank. "Gay. And no."
"You gonna tell him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it would complicate things." Shaw’s posture stiffened. "My father cares about reputation and results. Having a gay son doesn't fit the narrative."
Hudson studied his face. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's fine." He focused on the fire. "What about your family? How would they feel about you being into guys?"
"I'm not even sure I am."
"You didn't seem confused in the storage room.”
Hudson glared at him. "Fine. My mom would probably be okay with it. My sister definitely would. But I haven't exactly had time to process it myself."
Shaw was poking at the fire again. When he spoke, his voice was softer. "That’s good. Really. They sound great.”