Page 3 of Rugged Hero

Part of me bristles at the question, but I know he means well. “I got it covered,” I assure him. “But we should check in with the crews on the far side, make sure they’re prepared.”

“Roger that,” Waylon says. He turns to the others. “Luke, Dane, y’all wanna ride out there tomorrow, touch base? Vic Drummond is a good man to check in with.”

As they hash out the details, my mind wanders to Bridget. I still can’t believe I’m going to those hippie classes. If the guys knew, I’d never hear the end of it.

But when she moved through those poses, the gentle power in her curves, the serenity in her eyes...I felt a tug in my chest I never thought I’d feel. It damn well took me by surprise because a relationship is the last thing I’m looking for right now.

I mentally slap myself. A woman like Bridget doesn’t want damaged goods, and she certainly isn’t single. I’d do better focusing on my work and reducing my stress levels.

“Moses? You with us, brother?”

“What’s up?” I ask gruffly, not in the mood for their antics.

Dane and I are new, but the rest are a tight-knit group. I’m still getting used to the way they joke and bullshit, and sometimes it’s difficult for me to tell the difference with them.

“We saw you in town the other day,” Dane says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Wanna tell us what that was about?”

Heat creeps up my neck as I guess about where they saw me. I shrug and try to play it cool. “Had to pick up some supplies.”

Lucas snorts. “At a yoga studio? C’mon, man. Spill.”

I sigh, realizing there’s no point in lying. These guys are like bloodhounds when they catch a scent. “Fine. I’ve been going to yoga. Doc’s orders.”

Their eyes widen before they burst out laughing. “Yoga? Seriously?” Dane gasps between guffaws. “You getting your Zen on, Moses?”

“Nah, I bet he’s there to ogle the babes in their tight little pants,” Lucas says with a smirk. “Can’t say I blame him.”

“Don’t let Jessica hear you say that,” Waylon warns, shaking his head.

Anger flares in my chest, but I tamp it down. “It’s not like that,” I growl. “It’s...it’s supposed to help with the PTSD.”

Their laughter dies down, expressions turning sympathetic. “Shit, man. You should’ve said,” Dane says, clapping me on the shoulder.

I shrug him off, not wanting their pity. “It’s fine. Don’t go making a big deal out of it, alright?”

They both nod, hands raised in surrender. “Sure, sure,” Lucas promises.

I let out a slow breath, proud that I didn’t snap at them too badly like I instinctively wanted to. I knew they’d rib me if they heard about the yoga, but a small part of me is relieved the secret’s out. I don’t like hiding things, and as much as I sometimes still feel like an outsider, they’re not only my co-workers–they’re my friends.

Nathan grins at me. “So, Moses, you gonna start wearing yoga pants now, too?”

I glare at him, my jaw clenching. “No.”

Laughter erupts around the table as the guys elbow each other, clearly amused by the mental image. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, fighting the urge to tug my sleeves down further over my wrists.

Under my layers of flannel and denim, ugly scars crisscross my skin—grim reminders of the IED blast that killed the rest of my unit. I’ve gotten tattoos to cover some of them, but the ink can only hide so much. I keep myself covered up as much as possible, always wearing long sleeves and pants, even in the dead of summer.

Hell, I can barely stand to look at myself most days. First thing I did when I moved into the fire lookout was take down the mirror. I don’t need reminding of the day I lost the rest of the team, and since I started growing a beard, I certainly don’t need it for shaving. After that loss, I couldn’t stay in the Army any longer.

Lucas smirks at me from across the table. “You gonna go all new age granola on us, Moses? Start drinking wheatgrass shots and hugging trees?”

I level him with a hard stare, not dignifying that with a response. But the rest of the guys hoot and holler, guffawing like it’s the funniest damn thing they’ve ever heard.

This time, it’s hard to push down the anger that flares hot in my chest. I shove my chair back roughly, metal screeching against the floor as I surge to my feet. The laughter dies abruptly.

“You know what? If y’all can’t give me some fucking peace about this, I’m outta here,” I growl, focusing my glare on Lucas and Dane in particular.

Waylon stands slowly, placing a careful hand on my shoulder. “Easy, Moses. The boys were just joking around. Clearly, they took it too far.”

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