Had I asked for his opinion? No, so why was he even talking to me? Fucker. “How about you focus on your own process, and I’ll handle mine?”
Any hope of him being deterred by both the content and the delivery of that line—I’d been told several times my stare made people piss their pants in fear—was immediately obliterated as he sent me a sunny smile. “Oh, a little prickly, are we?”
Kent chuckled. “He’s a good guy, Heath, so don’t get on his nerves. You know better than to poke a bear.”
Heath let his eyes slide slowly over me, starting at my face and ending all the way down at my feet. Foot. Well, I was wearing my prosthesis, so technically, I had two feet. Whatever. I had to resist the urge to move under that scrutinizing gaze. What the fuck was he staring at?
Then, his smile broadened. “Nah, he’s not really a bear. Not enough fur, though I do appreciate the packaging.”
The packaging? What the fuck did he…? Shit, was he flirting with me? He did realize I wasn’t gay, right? Not that the flirting in itself made me uncomfortable. Well, it did, but not because he was gay and I wasn’t. More because he was so damn annoying, and I wanted to throttle him already, and why on earth was he not picking up on those vibes? The dude was oblivious as fuck, which was not a good survival strategy.
“Thank you, but I ain’t interested,” I said stiffly.
Heath’s eyes widened, and then he burst out laughing. “Relax, Mr. Prickly Cactus. I wasn’t coming on to you, merely appreciating the view. Nothing wrong with that. Unless it makes you uncomfortable?”
He’d been surprisingly serious in that last part. “Of course not. My sergeant was gay.Isgay, I mean. And so is my brother. I have no problem at all being around gay men.”
“That wasn’t the question, but good for you. I’ll bring you a proud queer ally sticker next time.”
For fuck’s sake, he was deliberately pushing my buttons now, wasn’t he? I clenched my teeth and refocused on what I was doing, carefully moving my prosthetic foot forward.
“Stop fucking around and get started,” Kent told Heath. “I want you on the other bars, right hand on one bar. And take it slow. I don’t want to have to pick you up off the floor again today.”
Thank god. Maybe now he’d keep his mouth shut.
I took a quick peek sideways. He only had to hold on to one bar, and his balance was a hell of a lot better than mine. Kent had told me I needed to keep my center of gravity stable right above the foot rather than letting it swing back and forth as I walked, but I had a hard time figuring out how to do that. How was Heath doing it with so much ease?
If Kent was determined to increase my suffering by partnering me with Heath, I would take up that challenge and show them both what I was made of. I would surpass Heath and leave him in the dust as I sped toward a full recovery. Nobody beat me, least of all this annoying sunshiny fucker.
CHAPTER TWO
HEATH
The last place in the world I wanted to be right now was the beach.
It wasn’t that I hated sand. Or the salt water in my face. Or the sun beating down on my back. It was that this was the fifth time I’d lost my balance, and I wasn’t even near the water. Pushing up on my elbows, I stared at the tiny waves crashing on the shore a few feet away and felt a surge of anger. We were at the Patch, for fuck’s sake. These barely qualified as waves, and I couldn’t even get down to the water to get my toes wet.
The beach wasn’t something I indulged in lately. I didn’t like the feeling of regret in my gut or bitterness in the back of my throat, and I especially hated the feeling of resentment deep in my bones. Surfing was something I’d done for years. I was a twenty-nine-year-old champion. I had medals.Trophies. It was a big part of who I was.
Then, a single rainy night and a drunk truck driver changed my reality. I woke up after two days of being in and out of consciousness with a nurse looming over me, not pulling any punches, when I asked her why my left leg felt so funny.
“It was amputated just below the knee.”
And that was that. Life changed. I would never be the same man again.
I used to joke that I could catch waves blindfolded with my arms tied behind my back—and maybe I still could. Who knew. But I never thought about how I’d handle the ocean on a prosthesis.
Rolling onto my side, I practiced the move Kent had taught me the week before and managed to get to my feet—foot—without falling again. My board was a few feet away, but I was definitely done for the day.
Closing my eyes, I had a sudden vision of what the absurdly hot veteran in PT might have said if he’d seen me eat shit on the sand like this. He probably would’ve laughed. Hedefinitelywould’ve enjoyed seeing me fall on my face, that was for damn sure.
The guy was a wall of muscle, with about a million emotional issues, tinged with bitterness, and all wrapped up in one of the most gorgeous packages I’d ever seen. Fucking Creek—Sergeant Creek something-or-other. I hated his guts and also wanted to climb him like a damn tree in equal measure.
Or maybe I just wanted to show him up because all he did was throw insults at me every time we had to see each other.
The guy could benefit from eating a big slice of humble pie.
I’d be lying to myself if I said he wasn’t the reason I’d decided to come out to the beach today. His attitude during PT had thrown me off and triggered something deep in my bones—something that made me want to be better than him.
