Chapter Nine
“Everywhere we go…people wanna know…”
Matt sang along to the cadence as he ran, his boots hitting the hard sand rhythmically.
“…who we are…and where the hell we come from…”
Beachgoers along the Silver Strand peered at them, their faces admiring. A couple of bikini-clad women whistled as the long column of men trotted past.
“We are the Navy…the mighty, mighty Navy!”
He might be putting on a good show for the civilians, but Matt was beat to shit by a long night of open-ocean swims. This was the last push before Hell Week, and the instructors were giving them a little taste of what to expect.
Since they’d had a chance to dry out on their long beach run, they were ordered to roll in the surf before being allowed to eat a cold MRE.
As they huddled, dripping, over their packaged meals, instructors walked around harassing them, dumping paddles full of sand over their heads and down their backs.
Matt flinched as a shower of grit landed in his beef stew, but he ate it anyway, not knowing when he’d get anything else. All around him guys were bitching and moaning.
“I’ve been colder, more tired and more hungry in the teams than I ever was in BUD/S,” Bernson snapped.
“As a SEAL you have to perform even when you’re miserable.
Even when you’re injured. It’s not glamorous.
It’s not fun. It’s a dangerous, dirty, exhausting business.
We don’t have a nine-to-five workday, people. ”
Matt hunkered down and ate his sandy stew, watching impassively as two guys quit, whisked away in one of the pickup trucks that followed the trainees everywhere.
“Those guys apparently don’t want this life. And that’s okay, that’s on them. But if you do, or think you do, be prepared for nights, weeks, of this. We only want men who can perform. That’s right. Not only survive, but perform.”
Matt glanced at Shane, who was sitting not far away methodically eating his cold jambalaya.
He looked pale and tired, with a scrape on his forehead from an unfortunate encounter with a rogue wave earlier, which caught him and slammed him into the sand.
Matt wanted to go see how he was doing, but he didn’t.
Since that night on the barracks landing a week and a half ago, he’d been careful to keep their interactions neutral, professional.
“All right, fellas. Break time’s over.”
After cleaning up their trash, they lifted their boats high and jogged back toward the base, where they were herded into the classroom.
Matt took frantic notes as Bernson went over what they were expected to bring with them on Sunday for the start of Hell Week, including a paper bag with a change of dry clothes for when they made it to the end…or DORed.
He then gave them a thundering pep talk, concluding with, “I want to shake each and every one of your hands on Friday after Hell Week is secured. Good luck, men.”
To Matt’s relief, Bernson dismissed them early. It was a quiet group that made their way out of the classroom to wash off and stow their gear in the drying cages, the upcoming ordeal weighing heavily on each of their minds.
After a hot shower and change of clothes, Matt headed for his truck, intending to hit up the commissary for some drinks and snacks for the weekend. Not far from the parking lot, Shane was pacing back and forth, probably waiting for Alexis and his usual Friday night ride.
His movements seemed agitated, so Matt, after a brief hesitation, walked over to him.
“Everything okay?”
Shane glared at his phone, then Matt. “She’s not here and she isn’t answering.” He grabbed up his duffel and stalked in the direction of the barracks.
“Hell, I can drive you home,” Matt offered impulsively. “No problem.”
Shane stopped walking and turned around, indecision written all over his face. “You sure?”
“Of course. C’mon.”
When they were ensconced in Matt’s truck, Shane muttered, “Thanks. I’m so pissed right now, you don’t even know. I told her how important this weekend is.”
“I think at this point you need to take some of your house money and buy yourself a fuckin’ car.”
“No shit.” Shane slumped back in his seat. “Actually, the loan came through about a week ago.”
“Oh? Did you pay her off?”
Shane nodded. “Yeah, I gave her the money last night. She couldn’t wait to go over and celebrate with Derek.” He said the name with an air of distaste.
“Why do you hate that dude so much?”
Shane just shook his head, not saying anything the rest of the drive, so when they pulled up to the curb in front of his house, Matt couldn’t help but be surprised when Shane asked, “Come in and have a drink?”
When Matt hesitated, Shane said wearily, “It’s just a drink, Matt. You asked me a question and I’ll answer it.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Matt followed him up the walk and into the house, waiting quietly while Shane flipped on some lights.
“Grab whatever you want.”
Matt took a Coke from the fridge and Shane snagged a beer before leading the way out to the backyard. They sank down into some chairs and drank in silence for a moment until Shane said, “Derek seems like an okay guy for the most part, you know? Works with his dad or something.”
“Where’d she meet him?”
“Online.”
“Is he the baby daddy?”
“No.” Shane shook his head, tensing, and Matt held up his hand.
“Okay, none of my business, then. Back to Derek.”
Putting his bottle down on a side table, Shane laced his fingers behind his neck. “He’s a recovering drug addict, Matt. If she really loved him, maybe I could see why she sticks with him, but—”
“You don’t think she loves him?” Matt set his drink aside, too, getting up to wander toward a cornhole board set up a few yards away, the beanbags in a neat stack beside it.
“No.” Shane hesitated, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I’ve seen her in love, Matt.”
Matt took several steps back and tossed a beanbag at the board, which missed. “There’s different kinds of love, though, right? Maybe this kind is what she needs right now.”
“What, to martyr herself by being a doormat for an asshole who’s using her?”
Matt paused in the middle of another throw, anger flaring. “Wow. Judgmental much?” he snapped. He threw the beanbag, which missed again. “Maybe she sees something in him no one else does and she’s giving him a chance. It happens.”
“Gimme that.” Shane stalked over and snatched the remaining beanbag from Matt’s hand before aiming it at the board and sinking it effortlessly in the hole.
“Hey, I was playing it!” Matt went to retrieve the beanbags from the ground. He elbowed Shane out of the way and made his toss, gritting his teeth as it missed again.
“You suck.”
“Fuck you.” Matt threw again, crowing when the beanbag hit the target dead-on. “Maybe you should trust your sister.”
“And maybe you should shut the hell up,” Shane grated, suddenly looming over him. “You don’t know anything about it.”
“Yeah? Well, you mentioned it. If you don’t wanna hear my opinion—”
“I don’t.” Shane turned and headed toward the patio door. “Lemme show your ass out.”
“No.” Without thinking Matt threw a beanbag at him, which hit him square in the back of the head. Adrenaline surged when Shane whirled with a snarl. He snatched up a nearby grill brush and hucked it at Matt, who dove behind a toddler play structure to avoid it.
“Missed me,” he taunted, getting to his knees to search for a weapon. Ha. He spied a pink rubber ball and pulled it to him, waiting for the perfect moment.
“Stop hiding behind a baby toy and come fight like a man,” Shane yelled, so Matt leapt to his feet and fired the ball at him, laughing when it bounced hard off Shane’s forehead, making him stagger.
“How’s that?”
With that, the war was on. Projectiles flew through the air as they snatched up whatever was close to hand.
There was an inflatable child’s wading pool not far from Matt, so he belly-crawled to it and fished a toy truck out of the leafy, murky water.
He hefted it, hooting as Shane threw himself down behind the love seat at the sight of it.
His heart pounding in glee, Matt stood and tossed the dripping toy underhanded like a grenade.
There came a loud thump and a muffled shout as it dropped over the back of the chair and apparently connected with some part of Shane’s body.
A rage-filled roar, and Shane jumped up and rushed toward Matt, who scrambled to get away.
His left foot slid in the mud, and he bellowed as he fell into the cold, slimy water with a loud splash.
Shane braced his hands on his knees, howling with laughter.
Snarling, Matt scooped up a handful of grassy mud and flung it at him.
Ducking a fraction of a second too late, Shane took the brunt of the goo right on the shoulder of his white shirt.
He froze, looking down at it and then over at Matt with murder in his eyes.
Matt rolled from the pool and tried to stand, but it was too late. Shane was on him in a flash, straddling his hips with his own handful of mud, which he held threateningly over Matt’s face.
“Do it,” Matt hissed, “and you’re dead.”
“Yeah?” Shane held it higher, spreading his fingers a tiny bit so a wet blob slid from between them and splatted on Matt’s cheek. “I’m dead?”
“I’ll smear this fuckin’ yard with you. That’s a promise.”
Shane smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”
Growling, Matt reached up to catch his wrist in a death grip, planting his other palm in the middle of his chest. “Oh, I’ll do more than try.”
The air crackled between them as their eyes met, Matt becoming achingly aware of the intimacy of their position.
Shane was sitting on Matt’s groin, his legs splayed wide, while Matt’s pinkie was a fraction of an inch away from Shane’s nipple, the pebbled bud visible through the clinging material of his shirt.
Shane slung away the mud he was holding and broke Matt’s grip on him, his other hand a blur as he pinned Matt’s wrists to the ground. “So tell me,” he breathed. “What exactly are you gonna try?”