Chapter Two
“I need some volunteers!”
“Hooyah, sir.” Matt raised his hand and the class leader nodded at him.
The class ran in formation toward the entrance to the grinder, the infamous patch of asphalt where hundreds of men before them had discovered—the hard way—what they were made of.
Adrenaline heated Matt’s blood and he roared along with the others at the sight of the instructors lined up silently at the edge of the grinder, clipboards in hand.
Here we go. The only easy day was yesterday.
“Welcome to Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, gentlemen.” One of the instructors started strolling up and down in front of the group.
“My name’s Chief Toshi. The festivities officially begin tomorrow morning, but today we’re gonna inspect your uniforms. They’d better be in tip-top shape, people.
” He stopped in front of a guy not far from Matt. “Tell me, why do we do this?”
The guy could only gape at Toshi, thoroughly intimidated.
“Too slow. Drop.”
The hapless trainee dropped for push-ups.
“When you’re here to become one of the deadliest warriors the U.S. military has to offer, when you’re here to become part of an elite community like no other, tell me: Why do we care about your fucking uniforms?”
He stopped in front of someone else.
“B-because it’s protocol, Chief?” the guy stammered out.
“Drop.”
Another helmet disappeared toward the ground.
“Why. Do. We. Do. This?” Toshi was pissed now.
“Attention to detail, Chief.”
Matt’s jaw tightened as the deep, husky voice sent a quiver through him. Shane.
“Correct. And why is attention to detail so important?”
“Because if you can’t trust me with my uniform, Chief, how’re you going to trust me with a weapon?”
“Exactly!” Toshi addressed the group. “How am I gonna trust you with my life out on the battlefield if I can’t even trust you to have some fucking clothes squared away?”
He paused to let that sink in before turning his attention back to Shane.
“You know a lot about clothes, do you?”
“No, Chief,” Shane said evenly.
“I bet you do. I bet you have a fashion degree.”
Derisive laughter from the instructor ranks.
Matt winced. Oh, crap.
“By the way, anyone ever tell you you look like a fuckin’ Ken doll?”
“No, Chief.” Shane’s voice rang out loud and clear. “Because I don’t look like a Ken doll.”
Matt looked down at the ground. Just shut up, idiot. Or you’re gonna catch it.
Toshi propped his hands on his hips. “So tell me, Ken, how’d you know ‘attention to detail’ was the answer I was looking for?”
“The Marines, Chief.” Shane drew in a deep breath. “Second Battalion, First Marines. Best unit on the planet.”
“Is that so?” Toshi made a big show of looking around, like he was surprised to see where they were. “Well, you know you ain’t a Marine anymore, right, son? You’re in the Navy now!”
For some reason the Village People’s song “In the Navy” popped into Matt’s head, and he dug his fingernails into his palms, trying not to break into nervous laughter.
“Once a Marine, always a Marine,” Shane shouted defiantly. “Semper Fi!”
At that, a murmur ran through the group. Although Marines were technically part of the Department of the Navy, the rivalry between the two branches was intense.
Toshi’s voice dropped to a growl. “Do you know what ‘Marine’ stands for, Ken?”
Wisely, no response from Shane.
“Let me tell you what it means: Muscles Are Required, Intelligence Not Essential.” Toshi paused, then said softly, “A fact which I think you’ve just demonstrated firsthand to all your classmates. Instructor Salazar!”
“Hooyah, Chief!”
“A little remediation for the smart-ass Marine here, please.”
Immediately Shane was hustled to the front of the group by two shouting instructors. “Get over here! Double-time! Move it out!”
Dead silence on the grinder as Shane was dropped for push-ups, sit-ups and leg lifts. They made him do bear crawls, combat crawls, jumping jacks, on and on and on, no breaks in between sets.
Eventually the instructors got bored watching him suffer and resumed the uniform inspection.
“That guy is an idiot,” the trainee next to Matt hissed under his breath. “Runnin’ his mouth instead of keeping his head down. Just look at him!”
Matt glanced over to see Shane on his hands and knees, vomiting, but then he went right into the next set of push-ups, carefully keeping his face out of the mess.
The guy on Matt’s other side snorted. “Seriously. That dude’s a poster boy for dumb blonds. Got any jokes?”
Everybody snickered, but Matt couldn’t keep his eyes off Shane. Damn, he’d really fucked up, talking back to an instructor like that. If he was that impulsive and quick to anger, those were not good qualities in a SEAL.
Well, you wanted him to wash out, right? Just didn’t think he’d do it in the first five minutes.
He snapped to attention as Toshi stopped in front of him with his clipboard.
To his relief Matt passed his inspection with flying colors, and he was sent to stand against the wall with the few others who’d passed.
The majority of the class, though, waited miserably on the other edge of the grinder for their own remediation to start.
The instructors gathered not far from where Matt was standing. “Hey, Sally, how’s our precious supermodel doing?” Toshi called out.
Salazar trotted over. “Puking again. Wanna get him up?”
“Yeah. Get him up, get him hydrated.” Toshi shook his head. “Gotta admire his grit.”
“He hasn’t complained once. I’m impressed.”
Shane was ordered to his feet, sweaty, disheveled, blood coating his abraded palms and dripping off the ends of his fingers. He swayed a little, although his face was calm, impassive, as if he’d just been awakened from a relaxing nap.
“Go hydrate.” Salazar pointed to a pallet of water bottles not far from where Matt was standing.
“Hooyah,” Shane rasped, wiping his hand across his glistening forehead and leaving a smear of blood behind. “Thank you.”
He started to walk away but paused when Salazar said gruffly, “You showed good spirit, man. Nice work.”
If Matt hadn’t been looking right at him, he might’ve missed the glimmer of pure satisfaction that flickered across Shane’s face for just an instant before it was replaced once again by impassivity.
And in that moment, Matt figured out exactly what was going on.
Pretty boy, Ken doll, dumb blond. Shane’d probably heard that shit all his life, the sneering assumption that beauty automatically equaled lack of intelligence. In a warrior culture like the Marines, he’d probably had to spend a lot of time proving himself in order to be taken seriously.
He’d want to head that off at the pass here, so Shane had deliberately provoked the instructors, then showed them he could take anything they dished out. The end result was he’d earned their cautious respect before BUD/S had even officially started.
Matt could only shake his head in grudging admiration. This dude was smart as hell.
“Nice running into you again.”
Matt had been so lost in thought he was totally unaware that Shane had gotten his water and was now standing a few feet away, staring at him.
Clingy running shorts popped into Matt’s mind, and he cleared his throat, grunting, “Yeah. Hey.”
“Saw you this morning at the class meeting.” Shane’s voice was hoarse and scratchy from exertion.
“Didn’t see you. Sorry.”
“Knew I’d bump into you again sooner or later,” Shane went on. “Not quite as literally, maybe, but…” He grinned, and even though his face was streaked with dirt and blood, Matt’s knees went weak at the sight.
“How do you figure?” he managed.
“Duh. Because you were out running in boots and utes. Who else could you be but a BUD/S candidate?”
Right. Nobody but a wannabe SEAL would be out jogging in boots and utilities.
“Yeah, well…” Matt mumbled, feeling idiotic and tongue-tied.
Shane tilted his head back to take a long drink of water, lips wrapped around the tip of the bottle, his throat working as he swallowed…
God-fucking-dammit! Matt’s face was hot as fire. Stop this. He’s married. He’s straight. He’s a potential teammate. He’s one hundred percent off-limits to even casual fantasies, jackass!
“Hovland! Join us!” Salazar beckoned impatiently from where he was standing next to the group who’d failed the inspection. “Break time’s over.”
“Well, at least he didn’t call me ‘Ken.’” Shane tossed his empty water bottle into a nearby recycling bin and started to head that direction. “See ya around.”
“It pays to be a winner.” Toshi suddenly appeared in front of Matt and the others who’d passed. “The goon squad’s going for a five-mile soft-sand conditioning run. You’re dismissed for the day. Enjoy your last few hours of freedom, gents.” He strode off.
“Fuck yeah.” Elias punched Matt on the shoulder. “We get to go take hot showers and jerk off. They get to go runnin’.” He cupped one hand next to his mouth and yelled in a stage whisper, “Have fun, boys!”
Matt grinned back at Elias, but as he watched Shane take his place at the back of the pack, for one stupid instant he couldn’t help but wish he’d been a loser, too.
* * *
Four-thirty in the morning was really fuckin’ cold.
Shane unlatched the gate to the chain-link fence and pulled it open. None of his fellow volunteers appeared to be there yet, but the harsh yellow pool lights were already on. He took a deep breath of the salty predawn air, trying to calm his jangling nerves.
“You ready for this?” he muttered under his breath. “What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?”
It was a question he’d asked himself more than once these past few years.
“Recruit Hovland!”
“Yes, Drill Instructor!”
“You better be polishing that shitter and not runnin’ your fucking pie hole. You runnin’ your fucking pie hole in here?”
“No, sir!”
“You a liar, recruit?”
“No, sir!”
“Drop and gimme thirty, dick stain.”
Then, just like that, the drill instructor’s harsh voice morphed into one of dark velvet.
“What’d you go and join the Marines for, Shay-Shay? You know I never promised you anything.”
“Morning.”