The Military Wife (A Heart of a Hero, #1)(15)

The rest of the day was an endless round of PT. Five weeks of the same shit filled the foreseeable future. As the edge of the sun touched the water, they regathered on the grinder. Somehow he and Noah had ended up on the second row. Too close to the Monster, as Bennett had already dubbed Instructor Lennox.

Bennett’s body was numb. All he wanted was to shovel as much food as possible into his mouth and collapse in bed to regroup, but Instructor Lennox had more yelling to do. How the man hadn’t busted a vocal cord by now was a medical miracle. Bennett tuned him out.

“—quit? You gonna quit, you fucking pussy? Go on, then. Do it.”

The q word yanked Bennett back into the moment. Instructor Lennox was back in Matthews’s face. The instructor was an expert at identifying the weakest men and his job was to cull them out before they could become a danger to them all. Bennett could respect the mission if not the method. He’d tasted the bite of humiliation, and unwanted empathy for Matthews surfaced from his exhaustion.

Matthews stood directly in front of Noah and diagonal to Bennett. Wet sand coated his left side and clumped in the back of his hair. He shifted, favoring his left foot. He couldn’t have been much over eighteen and was not ready for the mental mind games of BUD/S, that much was obvious. His foot moved, enough to signal what was coming. Bennett barely stopped himself from grabbing the boy’s shoulder and forcing him to stay.

When Matthews turned, the anguish on his face made Bennett close his eyes. Tears had tracked through the sand and grime on his cheeks. The bell rang. The noise reverberated through Bennett’s head long after his ears stopped processing the noise.

“And what about you?” The instructor’s voice was so loud, Bennett’s eyes popped open, expecting to find the man in his face.

But he’d only taken a step forward in Noah’s grill. Noah had proved himself physically on the run. It was his mental strength that was in question.

“I’m not quittin’, sir,” Noah barked out.

“Where’re you from, sailor?”

“Georgia, sir.” The unmistakable pride in Noah’s voice made Bennett wince. He was well acquainted with men like Instructor Lennox. They didn’t appreciate pride. They made it their mission to stamp it out.

“You look about sixteen, son. Who let you off the peach farm? Is that what you’ve got on your balls? Peach fuzz?”

“No, sir.”

Bennett cursed internally.

“Drop and give me twenty.”

Noah dropped and gave him twenty. Which under normal circumstances would have been a cakewalk, but after the men had spent an entire day spent flogging their bodies Bennett could see the strain across Noah’s back and the tremble in his arms. He got up like an old man but threw his shoulders back once he was upright.

“You ready to quit yet, Peaches?”

“Sir, no, sir!” His voice was strong. The instructor stared Noah down, but he didn’t give an inch, and Bennett had the urge to give him a high five.

“Break!” The instructor backed away from Noah, pivoted, and stalked past the forlorn helmet of Matthews.

Bennett kept his head down and shuffled along with the other men toward the chow hall. The smell of spaghetti made his mouth water and his stomach rumble. Noah was sitting by himself at a table in the front. Bennett carried his tray past him and took a seat in the far corner of the room as far away from everyone as possible.

The buzz of conversation filled the room, but every once in a while a man’s voice would rise above the fray, “Hey, Peaches,” or, “What’s up, Peaches,” followed by laughter and accompanied by shit-eating grins. Bennett was too far away to hear Noah’s response, if he even had one.

The poor bastard.

Bennett only slowed down when he was halfway through the enormous mound of spaghetti on the tray. He was still alone at the table. Which was fine. Friends weren’t on the menu.

Noah twisted in his seat and said something to the man next to him that caused raucous laughter to erupt. Noah stood and stalked away. Apparently, he was the joke and not the comedian.

As Noah approached, Bennett shifted his attention back to getting food into his belly, hoping his Fuck Off vibes were strong enough to repel Noah. They weren’t.

Noah slammed his tray down and took the seat across from Bennett.

“Assholes.” Noah shoveled a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, his color high and his eyes bright with anger.

Bennett ignored him.

A laugh huffed out of Noah. “I’m not even from a fucking peach orchard.”

“Oh really?” Bennett had pegged Noah as a country boy.

“No. My family owns a soybean farm.”

A laugh snuck past Bennett’s determination to stay distant. “Same thing to a lunkhead like Lennox.”

Noah glanced to either side and leaned over his tray. “Careful.”

“I plan to be. You, on the other hand, are screwed.”

“How so?”

“You’ve earned a big target on your back.”

Noah muttered a curse.

“Do the work and don’t let that lump of humanity intimidate you. His job is to try to make us quit. Prove him wrong; don’t.” A slow grin came to Bennett’s face. “Anyway, it could be worse.”

“How so?”

“He could have called you peach balls. Or douche canoe. Or panty waister. How would you like to be out at a bar and get introduced to a hot chick as Panty Waister? Be thankful.”