Eli had come ready to swim, so after checking that he was alone, he stripped off his long sleeve t-shirt, muscles aching as he peeled it over his head, then stepped out of his slip-on shoes, dropped his towel and shirt on the bench against the wall.Bruises bloomed across his ribs like ink spills.He traced one absentmindedly, then shook his head and padded barefoot to the water’s edge.
He dove in cleanly, the cold snapping around his body like a reset switch.Down here, everything slowed.Everything quieted.Pain dulled.Thoughts receded.
Except one.
Marsh.
Why the hell did he keep replaying that moment in the truck?
Eli surfaced, gasping, and kicked into a gentle breaststroke.The memory circled back like a persistent tide.That scowl.That cocky lilt when he asked, “So, you think I’m hot, huh?”
Eli rolled his eyes at the ceiling and muttered, “Of course I do, you walking complication.”
He moved through all four strokes, changing into them seamlessly as he swam lap after lap, pushing his body to that fine edge between soreness and relief.The water moved with him, buoying his limbs, keeping him steady where land made him falter.
And still—Marsh.That line.That look.The quiet blink of confusion when Eli shut the flirtation down.
He didn’t mean to snap.It wasn’t Marsh’s fault.But the ghost of the Colonel still hovered, sneering about softness, about weakness.Flirting had consequences.
But damn if it didn’t feel good for a second.
He flipped and kicked off the wall, slicing through the water, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
Again, that sense that he was exactly where he needed to be flooded through him, followed quickly by Ezra’s comment that Marsh didn’t think he belonged here.Yet.But ...maybe he could belong here.
He had two hours to figure out how to act normal before dinner.
Two hours to forget the way Marsh’s grin had tugged at something deep in his chest.
Good luck with that.
****
From the lab’s second-story window, Marsh could see almost everything.His perch gave him a clear view of the training grounds, the paths winding between buildings, and the sleek new trainer barracks Ezra had insisted on last year.It was too close to his lab for comfort.
It was also where Eli had disappeared into.
Marsh gritted his teeth, watching the door click shut behind the man.His jaw ached from the tension.
This was a mistake.
Ezra had chewed him out loudly and thoroughly, just a week earlier.Told him he couldn’t keep burning through staff like they were disposable.That the Ridge needed Marsh to be functional—not hostile and feral.
“You’ve got to stop sending them away, Marsh,” Ezra had said, voice low but tight with barely restrained frustration.“One more, just one.If you hate this one, then we’ll send him away and I will let you rot in this lair with your bad moods.Therapy is not that bad!”
Marsh had scoffed.“Like you can just keep throwing fixers at me and I’m supposed to smile and spill my feelings?Screw that.”
Ezra hadn’t budged.“He’s different.I think he can help you.And I think you’ll listen to him.”
Marsh shot him a pointed look.“Why in the hell would I do that?”
“Because it seems to me that he needs to be here as much as you need him to be.”Ezra had looked at him for a long moment.“And because I believe that you won’t know how to walk away from him.”
Then he left.
Marsh had hated that line the moment he heard it.What in the hell was it supposed to mean?Marsh could walk away, he had done it countless times.
And now here he was.Sitting in his lab, fuming, while the guy Ezra believed in strutted around like he belonged.Tight jeans.Sass.And that mouth.
