They sat in the shade of a metal storage shed, eating the sandwiches and fruit he’d packed before they left the house. Sweat-soaked and wilting in the midday heat, Laila looked like she wanted to go home. “Ready to get started?” he asked her.
“Ready is not the word I’d use to describe how I feel right now.”
His hard heart melted a little as he pulled her to her feet. Yet, he refused to go easy. He kept her hand in his and walked with her to the path of worn grass running around the perimeter of the compound. Without letting go, he began to jog.
“Ugh. No. Please.” She tried to pull her hand out of his.
“I’ll let you go if you promise to keep up.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You can, and you will.” He kept a tight grip on her until she agreed. “It’s only a mile today.”
“Only? Today? It’s eighty-five degrees out here, and I’m exhausted from this morning.”
Rock swatted her ass. “Quit complaining.”
She put some space between them, but also finished the mile without comment. He loved her stubbornness and strength of character. The challenge teased him.
When they were done, her black T-shirt was gone and the tank top she’d worn underneath was wet and sticking to her back. Her cheeks were beet red, and damp tendrils of hair encircled her face. She was beautiful in misery. Rock experienced a flash of compassion, knowing the brutal pace he’d set. But the training had to progress in order for her to be prepared for the trip.
He brought water to her where she lay flat on her back in the little piece of shade she’d found. “You have fifteen minutes.”
“Until what?”
“Until we finish our conditioning.”
“What does that mean?”
“Crunches, pushups and squats.”
Her eyes snapped open.
He smiled. “The glare again. Cute.” He turned and walked toward the main structure, housing the break room. After he’d gotten almost out of earshot, she said something unintelligible. With a wide grin, he entered the building. “Yeah. Feisty and cute.”
The fifteen-minute break passed in the blink of an eye, and after giving Laila a new bottle of water, he pulled her up from the ground. She groaned.
“You sore?”
“Dying maybe, maimed perhaps, but sore definitely doesn’t cover it.”
“The more you move, the better you’ll feel.” Rock grasped her hand again and slowly led her into the armory and shooting range, where he delivered his first lesson on the assembly, disassembly and safety features of her side arm.
“Can I shoot?” She’d perked up. The hope in her upturned face gnawed at his resolve. He loved that she wasn’t afraid. “Please,” she whined.
“In a couple of days.”
She drooped in disappointment. She was a mess, standing stiffly in her dirty clothes. It was okay, though. Nothing wrong with a little pain and emotion to remind a person they were alive.
Today, he’d lived.
So had she.
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