Page 47 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

He told me to do certain exercises, first in the bed, then when I was more able, down in the gym in the basement.

I did the exercises, pushed too hard, and he got pissed.

But somehow our weird, him angry and me defiant, relationship worked, and I was improving every day.

“There’s pushing for progress, and then, there’s overdoing it,” Eric snapped. Again.

“I’m not?—”

“Don’t even with me,” he muttered and wouldn’t let me explain. “Freaking SEALs, never fucking listen.”

And that was something else—he was a Sanctuary guy, so he had experience with all branches of the military, yet somehow, he had it hard for the Navy SEALs. Or maybe, as he called us, moronic fucking heroic asshole frogmen. Sometimes, he used all of those words, sometimes only a couple of them, either way, he let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I was an idiot.

I respected the fact that he called it as it was—begrudgingly—but I wanted to heal, I wanted to be out there, and when I caught myself pushing too hard, I didn’t want to be pulled up on my idiocy.

I wanted to be told I was strong, and that I could do this.

I needed it as much as I’d needed to come all over Ryder’s tight abs in the early hours of the morning.

Each session left me exhausted, but I could feel myself getting stronger, more in control of my body. The pain was still there, a constant reminder, but it was becoming more manageable day by day.

And after all the comments about me pushing too hard, as I finished a particularly tough set of exercises, Eric gave me a nod. “You’re exceeding expectations, August,” he said, checking his notes. “Another ten days at this rate, and you’ll be cleared for light duty.” He stared at me, daring me to suggest otherwise.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, feeling a surge of determination. “I’ll be out in three,” I said.

Just then, Ryder walked into the gym, catching the tail end of our conversation, limping, and not relying on his crutches now. He raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on his lips, his eyes narrowing on me, his gaze dropping to my shorts, then back up to my face. “Three days, Navy? Should I start the countdown?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “You might want to,” I said, and I might have preened a little. Having him there, witnessing my progress, gave me an extra push.

Also, he was in shorts and a T-shirt, and boy, was he hot.

Sexy and gorgeous, rough around the edges, distracting, and far too often, up in my face. And what was worse was that I knew what he tasted like, and I knew the sounds he made as he orgasmed, and I knew he could cook mac ’n’ cheese.

Fuck. I knew way too much about someone I would never see again after I left here.

Eric, noticing my growing tension, and probably thinking it was about the ten-day thing, cautioned, “Remember, it’s about balance, August. Pushing too hard can set you back.”

I shot him a glare, the unspoken message clear: I knew my own limits. “I’m fine,” I snapped, more harshly than I intended.

I gritted my teeth, pushing through another exercise. “I don’t need babysitting. I need to be operational.”

Eric sighed,—then there was a note of firmness in his voice. “Let’s take a break, August. You’re doing great, but we don’t want to overdo it.”

I eased off, every muscle protesting, and as I sat there catching my breath, the room felt stifling, the walls too close. I was tired of this, tired of being confined, of being a patient, and when Eric left, with a warning for no more today, I was tired of my body letting me down.

Ryder didn’t come over to talk about last night, or this morning as it was, probably sensing my mood. Or maybe, he thought I regretted what we’d done.

I didn’t.

If anything, I wanted more.

I needed more.

I lay on the massage bed, feeling every ache in my muscles, and my mind couldn’t help but drift towards Ryder. For the first time since I’d joined the Navy at eighteen, I was feeling something for another man, and Ryder confused me.

His muscles, defined and evident under his fitted shirt, were all about strength and discipline, and I remembered touching them before I’d become lost in the act of getting off. But it was also the way he carried himself—it was raw sex and power, despite the limp.

All I could imagine was him striding over here, straddling me, and grabbing my cock and making me come all over again.

---