Chapter Five
“Hey, asshole, close those fuckin’ blinds, would ya?” Elias mumbled from across the room, his forearm thrown across his eyes to block out the sun.
“Sorry, man.”
Shane turned the blinds to direct the early morning light away from Elias’s bed, but left them cracked to allow the air to flow.
Soon Elias’s breathing deepened again, and Shane pulled on some boxers before grabbing his phone from his nightstand and heading out to the common sitting area shared by two rooms. He sprawled on the couch, grimacing when he checked his phone and saw a late-night text from Alexis: Can we talk?
His thumbs flew over the screen as he typed: Sure. Can you come get me when Libby wakes up?
He didn’t really expect a reply so early, but his phone buzzed almost immediately: Can’t. I’m in El Cajon. Call you later.
Shit. Shane dropped his head back and blew out a breath, his throat tight as the memories of their argument the night before flashed through his mind.
“I’d thought I could do it, Shane,” Alexis had choked out. “I’d thought I could go through this again. Don’t you get how hard this is for me?”
Of course he did, because the grief he saw in her eyes was the same grief swirling in his gut. Except his was tinged with a guilt so bitter, so caustic, that sometimes Shane couldn’t breathe.
Being here was supposed to help them heal, not tear them even farther apart.
Ah, Lex. What the hell am I doing?
Needing to get away from his thoughts, Shane tiptoed back to the bedroom to get dressed. Elias was snoring rhythmically, not even stirring when Shane donned his PT gear, laced up some sneakers and let himself out again.
As he ran down the concrete steps of the barracks, all was quiet…
just a typical Saturday morning, everyone resting up from the rigors of the week and letting battered bodies replenish depleted stores in preparation for another punishing week to come.
Monday mornings were dreaded beyond belief, but the Saturdays helped make up for it.
Approaching the workout area, Shane could see a lone figure on the pull-up bar, the man’s grunts audible as he hammered them out one after the other. It was Matt. Of course. Did the dude ever sleep?
Matt let go of the pull-up bar and reached for a bottle of water, pausing in surprise when he caught sight of Shane. “Hey. You’re up early.”
“Had the same idea, I guess. Mind if I join you?”
When Matt shrugged, Shane set his stuff down on a nearby bench and did a few cursory warm-up stretches. Matt’s face was inscrutable, his dark eyes watching Shane’s every move.
Tingling with awareness, an unaccustomed self-consciousness making him feel slow and clumsy, Shane headed to the pull-up bar and jumped for it, unable to hold back a tiny groan as his various aches and pains made themselves known.
Still, he managed a respectable set of twenty, and when he finished, Matt was done with his water and was doing some push-ups—on the knife edges of his hands. On the concrete.
“Fuckin’ show-off.”
Matt chuckled. Without missing a beat, he rolled to his palms and then to his fingertips, the movement graceful and effortless. His form was perfect, and Shane noticed his ankles were crossed, making the exercise even more difficult.
Damn.
When Matt got to his feet at last, he wasn’t even breathing hard, although he was glistening with sweat. He grabbed his tank top from the bench and mopped his face, and it was then that Shane noticed the bruising on his cheek and around his eye.
He couldn’t help but mention it. “Nice shiner.”
Matt smirked. “Thanks. I got it whipping some clown’s ass at basketball. Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask: How does it feel, losing to a ‘shrimp’?”
Shane’s mouth fell open and he straightened indignantly. “What? I didn’t lose, asshole.”
“Oh, I beg to differ.” Matt’s smirk widened to a full-blown grin. “When Salazar broke us up, I was ahead by one point.”
“No fucking way. I—” Shane trailed off mid-sentence as the realization smacked him upside the head. “Well, crap.”
“Want a rematch?” Matt nodded at the basketball court, his eyes alight with challenge.
“No.”
“Coward.”
“I have a lot to do today, Knytych, so I guess you’ll just have to think whatever you want.”
“Lots to do, huh?” Matt raised his eyebrow. “You mean like painting my helmet?”
Shane curled his lip at him. “Yes, you little shit. I’ll add it to the list.”
“You do that.”
They finished their workout in silence. After gathering up his things, Matt patted his stomach. “Fuck, I’m starving. I’m gonna take off.”
Shane was hungry, too, and sudden inspiration struck. He needed a ride home, so maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. “Hey, I’ll buy you breakfast if you give me a ride over to my house.”
Matt hesitated. “Sister still not around?”
“No, she’s not. You know what? Forget it. I’ll just call a cab—”
“IHOP,” Matt interrupted. “No chow hall food.”
Shane blinked. He could sense Matt’s reluctance, but apparently the thought of pancakes trumped whatever his problem was. Either way, Shane wanted to go home so he wasn’t going to question it. “Done. Meet you back here in a few.”
They trotted off toward their respective showers, and when Shane emerged ten minutes later, the base was starting to come alive, guys trudging from their rooms in workout gear, most headed out for a morning run or over to the gym for some weightlifting.
Matt jogged toward him, keys jingling in his hand. “Ready?”
“Let’s go.”
As he drove, Matt glanced curiously over at Shane. “You don’t have your own car?”
“No, I sold it when Alexis and I moved out here.” Shane toyed with the frayed hem of his cargo shorts.
“IB is only a few minutes away from the base, so I figured she could drive me in hers or I could cab it if necessary. Why worry about insurance, gas and shit when I’m gonna be so busy and not home all that much? ”
“Makes sense.”
“It works out great, unless she’s in El Cajon when I need a ride.”
“What’s in El Cajon?”
“Boyfriend.” Shane’s voice was terse, and Matt eyed him, but thankfully he dropped the subject and hung a left into the IHOP parking lot.
After giving their names and enduring a brief wait, they were finally seated at a small booth with steaming cups of coffee and thick menus in hand.
“What’ll it be, boys?” A slim, deeply tanned waitress in her fifties stood over them, pen poised expectantly. When they each ordered huge breakfasts, she raised her eyebrows. “BUD/S candidates, huh? Gotta replenish those calories.”
Shane opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Matt said without missing a beat, “No, ma’am. We’re rodeo clowns.”
Shane could only gape at him.
“Rodeo clowns,” the waitress repeated slowly.
Matt shot her an innocent smile. “Yes, ma’am. Er, Dot,” he said, reading her name tag. “Red noses, big balloon-y pants with suspenders. That’s us.”
Dot regarded him for a moment. “Hmm. Rodeo clownin’ is hungry work, I reckon.”
“It really is.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. I’ve been working here for years and served more team guys than I can count, but that’s the worst cover story I’ve heard yet. Okay, Bozo, breakfast coming up.”
As she walked off, Shane hissed, “Clowns? Why not, I don’t know, rugby players or construction workers or, hell, if you had to go rodeo, bull riders?”
Matt stared at him, his face expressionless. “’Cause when I look at you, all I see is a clown.” He yelped when Shane kicked his shin hard.
“Asshole.”
“Clown.”
Shane sat back against the booth, shaking his head in mock disgust. “Good thing we’re not on the same boat crew, because I have a feeling I’d end up killing you.”
“Oh, man.” The wicked smirk on Matt’s face died away. “Boat crews. You know how bad Monday’s gonna suck?”
At the reminder, Shane gave himself a mental slap upside the head. What the hell are you doing, flirting with this guy? Not smart, on so many levels.
Needing a distraction, he asked, “So why the teams? Because of your uncle? Family business type shit?”
“Yeah, part of it.” Matt stirred some cream into his coffee, the spoon clinking against the mug. “He’s an amazing man, and I’ve always looked up to him.”
“What’s the other part of it?”
Matt shrugged. “Not wanting to live my life on a North Dakota farm, you know? Plus adventure, travel, getting to do badass shit.”
“The cool-guy factor?”
“Anything wrong with that?” Matt’s voice held a faint note of belligerence.
Shane held his hands up defensively. “I never said there was. I just wanted to know.”
“What about you, then? Why leave the Marines?”
Shane aimlessly tore little pieces of his napkin off and made a pile of them. “Just wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself, I guess. I wasn’t finding that where I was, so I took a chance, made a change.”
He cleared his throat and glanced up to see Matt looking at him curiously. Shane let his gaze slither away. Jesus, after two years he should be better at hiding his emotions.
“Here ya go, guys.” Shane slumped in relief as Dot appeared with a loaded tray and distributed their food with brisk efficiency. “Enjoy.”
They dug in, neither of them coming up for air until their plates were practically licked clean.
Finally Matt belched into his fist and groaned. “God, I can’t move.”
“I need to unbutton my pants.” Shane rubbed his stomach. “I just gained twenty pounds.”
They finished their coffee and Shane waited in line to pay the check while Matt wandered outside. When Shane finally rejoined him, he was leaning against his truck, arms and ankles crossed, eyes closed and face tilted toward the sky.
“You ready?”
Shane gulped as Matt gave a lazy stretch in reply, his T-shirt riding up to show the waistband of his underwear peeking out over the top of his low-slung jeans. The skin between his hipbones was paler than the rest of him, not yet touched by the sun.
Ogling the man’s farmer tan? Really? Get a grip, Hovland.
They climbed into the truck, and a few turns later Matt eased to a stop in front of Shane’s house.
“This is it?” he asked dubiously, peering out through the windshield.
Defensiveness welled up and tightened Shane’s jaw. “Well, whaddya expect from something built in 1948?” he snapped. “It’s got good bones.”
Matt looked unconvinced. “Good bones, huh? If you say so.”
“I do say so! Well, my appraiser does, at least.”
“A homeowner without a clue.”
“And how many homes do you own again?”
“Touché.” Matt grinned. “You’re pretty easy to needle; you know that?”
“Pot, meet kettle.” Shane shoved his door open with his foot and climbed out, surprised when Matt shut off the engine and did the same.
Shane paused. “You wanna come in?” He’d thought Matt would just drop him and leave.
“Why not? Let’s see these ‘great bones.’”
As Matt followed him up the uneven walkway toward the front door, Shane winced at the sight of his weed-choked yard.
“It’s the landscapers’ week off,” he muttered, bristling anew when Matt scoffed. “Hey, the last thing I wanna do on weekends is yard work, okay?”
“Didn’t say a word, Hovland. Not a word.”
“I can hear you thinking it!”
“I’ll think more quietly, then. Christ.”
The house itself was a small and unassuming ranch-style home. Shane unlocked the door and swung it open, determined to beat the peanut gallery to the punch.
“Yes, it’s outdated. Yes, an old lady lived here who loved peach and green, and flowers. Yes, the linoleum is ugly and some of the walls have wood paneling.”
Matt ignored him as he wandered through the living room into the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets. He was quiet for long minutes until he finally said, “The first thing I’d do is knock out this wall to open everything up, maximize the space.”
“Really?” Shane grabbed a piece of paper he’d attached to the fridge with a magnet. “That’s exactly what I was thinking! Look, check out this rough sketch I made.” He started babbling on about his home renovation ideas, only subsiding when he saw the amusement in Matt’s eyes.
“Sorry,” he said ruefully. “I know you don’t care, but I haven’t had anyone to talk to about this. Alexis just wants me to sell it now and give her half the money.”
“And you—” Matt broke off, his attention caught by something outside. He slid the glass door open and walked into the backyard, where he shaded his eyes with one hand. “Is that the pier?”
Shane followed his gaze. “Yeah, we’re only a couple blocks from the beach. Sometimes when the sun hits it just right, I can see the ocean shimmering.”
Whirling around, Matt said, “Then, dude, pay her off now, shut her up. With the renovations you’re talking about, it’s gonna be worth a shit-ton someday and too bad for her; she already got her money.”
“I’ve thought about that. It’s just—”
Matt made an impatient gesture. “What?”
“Am I biting off more than I can chew here?” Shane scuffed his toe against an uneven piece of flagstone. “I mean, I used to help my dad with boat repairs all the time, but this would mean stuff like electrical, plumbing and shit. Just the thought of it is way too overwhelming, man.”
“Wow.” Matt turned on his heel and went back into the house, Shane right behind him.
“What does that mean, ‘wow’?”
“If this is the attitude you’re bringing to BUD/S, might as well save yourself the humiliation of ringing the bell and quit now.”
“What the hell?” Shane sputtered. “Fuck you!”
Matt was unperturbed when Shane loomed over him.
“Am I wrong? There’s a saying in the teams, ‘The only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time.’ To a SEAL there aren’t any tasks too overwhelming.
None. Fix your eyes on the goal, break each task down into manageable bites, and keep going till you’re finished.
You said it yourself on that run the other day…
it’s not gonna last forever. You can get through almost anything if you approach it like that. ”
Shane’s anger drained away as bemusement took its place. “I think that little speech is the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time. No, seriously,” he went on as Matt’s face darkened. “That was some verbal vomit coming from you.”
“Aww, whatever.” Matt flapped his hand at him as he yanked open the front door and strode to his truck. “Should’ve known better than to try and pep talk a clown.”
“I appreciate it, though!” Shane called after him, cracking up when Matt stuck his middle finger out the window as he peeled away from the curb. “And for the record, you’re right!”
The only reply was the screech of Matt’s tires when he took the corner without even slowing, and chuckling, Shane headed back into the house.