Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
Logan marched down the corridor, each fall of his foot echoing off the concrete walls. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting stark shadows across his clenched jaw.
Brick intercepted him halfway, planting a hand on his chest. “He alright? Ethan, I mean—is he okay?”
Logan’s jaw worked as he tried to contain his anger. “Seems like a dodgy gut. He’s sitting this one out.”
“What? Why?” Brick’s brow creased, surprise flashing across his eyes. “He said he was fine when I checked on him. What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Logan snapped, sharper than intended. “He’s just not up to it today.”
Their conversation halted as the bathroom door opened down the hall, and Ethan emerged, shoulders slumped.
Brick’s frown deepened. “Hey, buddy, you ok?” He squinted, studying Ethan’s pale face. “Maybe Tank should take a look?”
“No,” Logan interrupted him. “He can report to sick bay, let them check him over. We don’t have time to wait—wheels up in thirty minutes.”
Ethan swallowed hard, meeting Logan’s intense stare. “I’ll be ok now.” His voice was small, a crack in his usual confidence.
“What did I just say?” Logan towered over the smaller man. “Get to sick bay, then go home. Goddammit, can’t you follow one fucking order? I’m sick of looking at you, now go.”
“Hold up—” Brick intervened, then positioned himself physically between them. “You can’t talk to him like that. What’s gotten into you, man? He doesn’t deserve that. Hell, he can’t help bein’ sick.”
Logan inhaled slowly, his gaze never leaving Ethan’s dejected face—those wide, guilty eyes that Brick mistook for simple disappointment. “He should’ve told me before the briefing he was sick. Now I’ve gotta rework the whole damn plan. It’s not good enough—it’s not how I run my team.” With a last glance at Ethan, Logan strode off, boots echoing down the hall.
Brick scratched his jaw. Logan’s temper was a wildfire sometimes—unpredictable, blazing hot—but this felt off, even for him. He shrugged. Hell, no one ever fully cracked what churned inside Logan’s head. “Well, you sure pissed him off. What the hell did you say to him?”
“I don’t know,” Ethan mumbled, shoulders hunched. “Guess when he said I wasn’t fit for the mission, I told him I was fine.”
Brick nodded slowly. “Yeah, well, in the mood he’s in, I’d just do what he says and go home. Last thing you want is to rile him up more.” He clapped Ethan on the shoulder, a strong, firm, brotherly pat. “He’ll cool off. Few days away, mission done, he’ll be a new man. C’mon, buddy, get to medical, then home. Rest up—drink fluids, flush it out.” Brick offered a smile. “You’ll be back on the team in no time.”
“Hope you’re right,” Ethan said, forcing a nod.
“I’m always right,” Brick teased with a wink. “Look, when I’m back, we’ll catch up—grab beers, hang out, maybe chase some women. Been too damn long since we had some fun.”
“Sure,” Ethan hesitated as a question flickered in his mind. “Brick, can I… nah, forget it. You best go. You don’t wanna catch Logan’s bad side too.”
“Hell no,” Brick laughed. “I’ve got six hours of him in a tin can in the air, anythin’ could happen.” He chuckled, fist-bumping Ethan before he headed off. “Catch you later, buddy.”
Ethan stood alone. The emptiness of the hall was suddenly overwhelming, and his boots scuffed the floor as he trudged back from medical. The checkup was a formality—fit, they said—but Master Chief’s orders sent him home anyway.
The base felt quiet without the team’s energy, the familiar sounds of preparation gone.
He wandered to the locker room, where the metal cages stood silent. The guys’ stuff—packs, vests, rifles—all cleared out.
Ethan lingered by Logan’s cage, the door ajar, belongings scattered across the floor: a crumpled T-shirt, a half-zipped duffel, a stray protein bar.
He glanced around, then ducked inside and picked up the forgotten shirt. His fingers brushed against the soft cotton before he lifted it to his face and breathed in.
Logan’s scent hit him hard—sweat, musk, a faint trace of gun oil. Yesterday’s heat flooded back: the sauna, Logan’s hands, that promise of more.
He impulsively stuffed the shirt into his pack, a stolen piece of what he’d lost.
At his own cage, he stripped his clothes, peeling off his sweat-damp T-shirt and combats, swapping them for civilians—a tight gray tee and jeans he’d picked out that morning with Logan in mind. He thought the snug fitting shirt would catch the commander’s eye, stoke that fire, push them closer to what he craved.
Idiot.
Look where he was now—ordered home, trust broken. All because he couldn’t follow one simple instruction. Couldn’t keep their personal lives separate from work. He’d let his feelings bleed over, and now he wondered if Logan would ever trust him again.
He zipped the jeans, the denim hugging his thighs, and stared at himself in the scratched mirror bolted to his locker door. His reflection stared back, hollow-eyed, jaw tight. “But I will,” he muttered in a determined tone. “I’ll show him. Whatever it takes to fix this, I’ll do it.”
He shouldered his backpack, feeling the insignificant weight of Logan’s shirt, a small act of defiance against the sting of those words: You’re too weak. Too needy.
They cut deeper than he’d care to admit, slicing through his desire to the raw hurt beneath.
He’d messed up—badly—but he wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. Logan wanted him to have control… Fine. He’d learn it, master it, prove he could handle this—handle them being together.
This mission would roll on without him, but when they got back, he’d be ready. Stronger. Worthy.
The metal door clanged shut behind him and as he headed out, the base’s familiar sounds faded into the distance.
The air outside felt cool against his flushed skin, and in sharp contrast to the emotions simmering within him.
He climbed into his truck and tossed his bag onto the passenger seat, and gripping the steering wheel he stared at the empty parking lot.
Brick’s words repeated in his head—he’ll calm down—but would he?
Logan’s words lingered: the rage, yes, but the disappointment… that hurt worse. It was a crack in the foundation Ethan had built his hopes on.
“I will fix this,” he said it aloud, voice steady despite the heaviness in his chest. He’d lost ground today—maybe he’d lost Logan’s trust—but he would find a way back.
One way or another, he’d make things right.
The engine roared to life, and he pulled away, his determination growing with every mile he put between himself and the base.