Chapter Thirteen #2
Back inside the kitchen, he quickly made him a thick pot roast sandwich and grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge.
“Thanks,” Matt mumbled when Shane handed him both. “I can’t remember the last time I ate.”
“Figured as much.”
Shane munched on an apple while Matt devoured the sandwich, washing it all down with the Gatorade. Finally he put his empty plate on the floor and leaned back in his chair with a soft belch, lacing his fingers over his stomach.
“Feel better?” Shane scooted his chair a little closer and put his hand tentatively on Matt’s knee.
“Yeah. The pot roast was good, hit the spot. You’re a good cook.”
Shane chuckled. “Nah, but thanks.” He squeezed Matt’s knee gently. “You gonna be okay?”
Matt bit his lip. “I think so. It’s just—”
“Just what?”
Matt tensed, so Shane ran his palm soothingly up and down his thigh.
“I’m not used to failing because I’m scared, Shane. Failing because I’m stupid? Fuck, yeah. But not scared.” His voice was rough with anger at himself. “I don’t know how to deal with that.”
“Well, I’m terrified of heights.”
Matt turned to stare at him. “Really?”
“Yep. Hate flying, hate being up high. How do you think I’m gonna manage the airborne stuff? The first time we do a parachute jump, I’m gonna scream like a baby the whole way down. If I don’t piss myself first.” Shane squeezed his knee again. “Dude, we’re all afraid of something.”
Matt could only shake his head.
“It’s true.” Shane snorted. “Well, except for maybe Jon. He wasn’t afraid of anything, but then again, I’m not even sure he was human.”
“Jon your SEAL friend?” The pinched look on Matt’s face faded, to be replaced by curiosity.
“Yeah. God, he was wild. Not partying wild, but risk-taking wild. Jumping off bridges, skydiving. When we were rock climbing once and I froze halfway up the cliff, he told me something that’s always stuck with me.”
“What’s that?”
“Stay in your three-foot world. You know, control what you can control. Like, all I needed to focus on was my next handhold, the next chock. Not how high up I was, or how it’d feel to fall and smash into the ground.
” His belly tightened in remembered fear and he took a deep breath, striving for calm.
“It helped, it really did. Of course I, uh, don’t how that’s gonna work when I’m hurtling toward the ground at two hundred miles an hour, but I’m hoping for the best.”
They sat quietly in the darkness until Matt heaved a sigh. “Fuck, I’m beat. I’d better go home and get some sleep.”
“Why don’t you just come in and sleep with me?” When Matt’s eyes widened, Shane could’ve kicked himself. “Damn. Once again, that came out wrong. What I meant was, just sleep here. No need to drive all the way home. I’ll behave, I promise.”
“If I didn’t need to report back in—” Matt glanced at his watch “—approximately three hours, I’d say misbehave all you want. But…”
“Just sleep. Scout’s honor.” Shane touched his forehead in a mocking salute before reaching down to grab Matt’s plate and empty Gatorade bottle. “Lemme straighten up real quick and I’ll meet you inside, okay?”
“Okay.” Matt looked up at him, his eyes soft. “Thanks, clown.”
“You’re welcome.” He couldn’t resist leaning down to brush a kiss over Matt’s lips. “See you inside.”
Shane made quick work of putting the pot roast away and rinsing off the plate, leaving it in the sink next to the half-empty beer bottle. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, then slipped into bed to wait, his heart pounding in anticipation.
* * *
In the kitchen, the light was on over the stove, but the rest of the house was dark and quiet. Matt put his wallet and keys down next to the sink, sighing. He turned and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping his chin.
What a fucking shitty night.
He’d never forget the look on Trey’s face when they were ordered to run wind sprints up and down a sandy berm, their thighs and calves screaming, before submerging themselves over and over in the frigid surf until their entire bodies were caked with mud and it was coming out their nose and ears.
Trey had borne it all without complaint, that wasn’t the issue, but if that diving exercise had been a real-world scenario, Matt couldn’t get past the fact his actions could very well have caused Trey’s death.
All because he’d been scared of a little water.
As he berated himself, a familiar yeasty smell wafted to his nose. He sniffed the air. Where was…?
He turned toward the sink, his eyes falling on the beer bottle in it.
There was a quarter inch or so of golden liquid in the bottom of it, and Matt’s mouth watered at the sight of it, a long-buried need flaring to life.
Shit, what he wouldn’t give for a beer right about now, despite the early hour.
Didn’t he fucking deserve a cold one after all he’d been through?
With a shaking hand, Matt opened the fridge, gritting his teeth at the sight of the Corona lurking on the top shelf. He pulled one out and pressed it to his cheek. It was ice cold, and the beer inside would be so smooth as it slid down his throat, so comforting…
No.
Matt put the bottle back and slammed the fridge door shut. He didn’t need a beer to drown his sorrows. He didn’t need a beer at all.
Snatching up his wallet and keys, Matt fled the house and drove away like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.