“Yeah, man. Not in the mood.”
“Don’t care. Put your damn shoes on.”
As much as I didn’t want anyone to see me hobbling around, I figured it was the least I could do. Priest had been there for me every step of the way. He’d been there the day I got hurt, putting himself in danger to rescue my ass. He’d been there all three times I fucked everything up with Declan, and through every step of my rehab. He’d even taken my ass in when I had nowhere else to go. He put up with all my moods, sleep issues, and nightmares.
I didn’t know where I’d be without him.
So, I did as he asked, wincing and grunting through the pain of tying on a pair of tennis shoes when he refused to let me wear the flip-flops I tried to slide on, to begin with. Then I pulled my ass up into his truck and stared out the passenger window as he drove us wherever he was determined to take my sorry ass.
The truck rolled to a stop, and I scouted the area. You could take a Marine out of the Corps, but you couldn’t take the Corps out of the Marine. We sat in a parking lot of what looked like a warehouse. Black corrugated metal stretched twenty or thirty feet into the air. A single metal door on the short side looked to be the only access point.
“Man, if you want me outta your place, all you gotta do is say so. I’ll pack my shit.”
He stared at me, confusion pinching his face, making him look like the guy from Goonies. “What the fuck are you going on about?”
I waved at the building. “Looks like a kill shack.”
He cracked up. “Get the fuck out of the truck.”
Using the oh, shit handles, I lowered myself to the ground slowly, so the drop didn’t jar my back. Gone were the days of jumping… well, at all. And forget leaping out of anything. I moved like a guy twice my age.
“So, if you’re not gonna off me, what is this place?”
“You’ll see.”
Before we reached the door, it opened. A sweaty, shirtless, sexy fucker filled the hole, muscles for miles and abs to die for. Unable to stop myself, I sucked in a deep breath to hide the flab that covered what had once been a stellar eight-pack. Fuck, I missed being in shape.
“Priest!”
“Angel, man, good to see you.”
“So, is this the guy?”
“Yep. If anyone can get you up to speed, it’s this guy.”
I stared at Priest. What the fuck was he thinking? I could barely get out of the fucking truck without help. I walked with a damn cane.
“Hey, Hayden. Nice to meet ya.”
“Yeah, man, you too. I don’t know what smoke the gunny’s been blowing up your ass, and I might’ve taken a hit to the head that turned my brain to Swiss cheese, but I still have enough faculties to know a pity offer when I see one. So, thanks, but no thanks.”
I turned to head back to the truck. Fuck Priest and his fix Hayden bullshit.
“Hey, Hayden. I don’t do pity. It’s a useless emotion, in my opinion. And fucking degrading. Especially to a trained warfighter like you.”
I wobbled around to face him. “I’m listening.”
“I’m not looking for a sparring partner. I’m looking for a trainer to get me ready for the pros. Someone to watch, observe, correct my shitty form, and help me up my ground game. Think you can handle that?”
I studied him, looking for anything that contradicted his words. Finding nothing, I nodded. “Let’s see what we’re working with, but first things first, watch and observe are the same damn thing.”
Angel cracked up and waved for us to follow him inside.
* * *
Thanks to Angel,Luce, and the guys, especially Priest, I regained my mobility after they pushed me to go forward with the surgery to alleviate some of the residual issues from the spinal fractures. It had taken a long damn time. I wouldn’t ever get back the life I had before toppling out of the chopper, but I was doing as well as I could hope for. And I looked damn good. Maybe not as good as when I was still active duty, but I was happy with the muscle tone and size I’d regained.
“What did the chief want?” Scott asked when he spotted me.
