Billy might’ve been impressed given the guy’s occasional equilibrium problems, a consequence of his TBI, but he was too fucking annoyed at the limitations of his own body at the moment.
So, gritting his teeth, Billy glared. “Cortez, if you don’t take off the kid gloves, I’ll take them off for you.”
“Uh huh. Try it, old man,” Noah retorted. The fucker. Like their six-year age difference was that big.
On the next kick, Billy grasped Noah’s leg in a tight hold against his ribs and twisted.
Noah nearly got knocked off balance. But on a surprised laugh, he caught himself by rotating his upper body in a move that resembled the body kick mobility drills they sometimes did. “Okay, asshole.”
“Not too old after all.” He allowed Noah to twist his leg back to the roundhouse position and released him.
“Somebody has a fucking bee in his bonnet today,” Noah said as they switched so that Billy was the one practicing his kicks.
After the admittedly assholish stunt he’d just pulled, he remained on alert for Noah to catch him off guard next. But the guy let Billy do his thing, practicing a dozen kicks on each side. At first, every movement took a concerted effort, but the more he got his blood flowing, the better he started to feel.
Ah, adrenaline, my old friend.
“Okay,” Coach called as he walked around, surveying everyone’s form. “Kick attack and footwork drill. Round kicks only to the legs. No other strikes or targets are permitted. No checking the kicks either—your only defense is evasive footwork.”
Noah grinned, and Billy smirked and said, “Bring it, jarhead.”
“You’re just sad you Ain’t a Real Marine Yet,” he retorted with one of the most tired taunts in the book.
Billy took up his fighting stance as they squared off. “How many years did it take you to learn how to spell ‘army’? Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Noah surged at him with a kick that Billy dodged. They were both fast on their feet, which served to push both of them harder, faster. Billy rounded with a kick that caught the outside of Noah’s knee. The key was to stay agile and evasive, but to remain close enough that he could quickly counterattack when he saw opportunities.
They’d been at it for a few minutes when Coach Mack came by. “Don’t drop your guard, Noah. Hands and eyes up even though you’re not punching or needing to protect your head. Make it a habit.”
Noah nodded and tightened up his stance, then he came at Billy with a vengeance.
“Good,” Coach said, clapping. “That’s what I want to see.”
Another ten minutes of the fast footwork had both of them breathing harder.
“Take a break and then we’ll run the tag team grappling match drill,” Coach called out.
“Nice work,” Billy said, offering his hand to Noah.
The guy nodded and clasped hands with him. “You too.” But when Billy went to let go, Noah held on. “I feel like something’s going on with you.” He let the words hang there for a moment before he continued. “You were there for me in some of my darkest fucking moments, Parrish. I want you to know I’m here. Just say the word.”
Billy gave him a single nod. He appreciated the sentiment. A lot.
And, begrudgingly, he even appreciated the fact that Noah was
pushing him when Billy had made it pretty clear that he wasn’t into sharing. The two of them had gotten close over the past few months, but it was the first time that Billy had really felt the kind of brotherhood with the guy that he’d had with his Ranger brothers.
Christ, how he fucking missed having it.
But as powerful as that revelation was—and it was—there was only one person who Billy had the slightest interest in opening up to. Shayna Curtis. Mostly because he wanted her to open up in return.
He just needed another chance to pin her down.
Chapter Nine
After forty-five minutes on the elliptical, Shayna was drenched in sweat and her legs were noodles. Yet, despite the good work-out, her internal voice still hadn’t stopped screaming, Why in the world did you tell Billy you felt guilty, you freaking cockburger?!
So much for exercise instilling any sort of peaceful calm…