CHAPTER 7 — PROXIMITY
800 Words
The gym smelled like rubber mats, sweat, and disinfectant.
It always smelled like suffering.
Morning PT had already chewed through most of the platoon.
Now came circuit rotations.
Short bursts.
No rest.
No mercy.
Lena’s shirt clung to her spine.
Her hair was slick against her neck.
Her hands burned.
They were on rope climbs.
Twenty-foot ropes hanging from steel rafters.
Up.
Touch beam.
Down.
Repeat.
“Move!” a drill sergeant barked.
Lena jumped.
Wrapped.
Pulled.
Her arms screamed immediately.
Halfway up, her left forearm spasmed.
Not fully cramping.
Worse.
That fluttery, unreliable weakness that came before a full failure.
She adjusted her grip.
Kept climbing.
Touch.
Down.
She hit the mat harder than she meant to.
Her knees buckled slightly.
She did not fall.
But it was close.
“Next rope!”
Lena shuffled forward.
Her hands trembled.
She wiped them on her shorts.
Jumped.
Missed.
Her fingers slid down the rope.
She caught herself inches off the ground.
Embarrassing.
She swallowed.
Jumped again.
This time she stuck.
Three pulls.
Four.
Her forearms went numb.
Not pain.
Nothing.
That was worse.
Her hands opened.
She dropped.
Not far.
But wrong.
She landed crooked.
Pain flashed white-hot up her ankle.
She bit back a sound.
The gym did not stop.
No one rushed in.
Recruits were expected to eat small injuries.
Lena pushed herself upright.
Put weight on the ankle.
It held.
Barely.
She limped toward the wall to wait her turn again.
A shadow fell across her.
“Cross.”
She looked up.
Captain Wolfe.
He hadn’t been running the circuit.
He must have been observing from the edge.
Great.
“I’m fine, sir.”
He looked at her ankle.
She realized she’d been favoring it.
“Can you bear weight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Walk.”
She took three steps.
Fourth one wobbled.
Her jaw tightened.
Wolfe did not call her out.
He stepped closer.
Lowered his voice.
“Sit.”
It was quiet.
Not a spectacle.
Lena hesitated.
“Sir—”
“Sit.”
She obeyed.
Lowered herself onto a bench against the wall.
Wolfe crouched.
He did not touch her.
Not yet.
“Boot off.”
Her pulse jumped.
“Yes, sir.”
She bent.
Her fingers felt clumsy.
She unlaced.
Slid the boot off.
Her sock was already darkening with sweat.
The ankle was swelling.
Not dramatic.
But visible.
Wolfe pressed two fingers gently along the side.
Lena hissed.
“Sharp?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Medial side?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Processing.
Not panicking.
“You’ll finish upper-body stations only today.”
“I can still—”
“That’s an order.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Yes, sir.”
He reached for her boot.
Stopped.
Looked up at her.
A silent question.
She hesitated.
Then lifted her foot slightly.
He slid the boot back on.
His hands were warm.
Rough.
Efficient.
He laced it snug.
Not tight.
Not loose.
Just… correct.
It was such a small thing.
It felt huge.
Neither of them spoke.
The gym noise swallowed them.
But inside the small bubble around them, everything felt muted.
When he finished, he did not immediately move away.
His hand still rested briefly at her ankle.
Not gripping.
Not possessive.
Just there.
Lena’s breath caught.
Wolfe noticed.
His fingers withdrew instantly.
He stood.
Professional again.
“Report to Sergeant Hale for modified rotation.”
“Yes, sir.”
She should have looked away.
She didn’t.
For half a second, their eyes held.
Nothing romantic.
Nothing overt.
But something… acknowledged.
You’re hurt.
I saw.
You mattered enough to stop.
That alone felt dangerous.
Lena stood carefully.
Tested weight.
Still sore.
Still functional.
She turned to go.
“Cross.”
She stopped.
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t hide injuries.”
Her first instinct was to nod.
Her second was to lie.
Instead, she said, “I’ll try not to, sir.”
A corner of his mouth twitched.
Almost a smile.
Then it was gone.
He stepped back into observer mode.
Lena limped toward the modified station.
Her heart was beating too fast.
Not from exertion.
From awareness.
She could still feel where his hand had been.
She hated that she could.
She hated more that she didn’t want the feeling gone.
Across the gym, Wolfe watched her start push-ups at the modified station.
He told himself he had intervened because untreated injuries became bigger problems.
He told himself that was all.
He did not examine why he’d noticed her slight limp from across the room.
He did not examine why he remembered the exact warmth of her skin through the sock.
He especially did not examine the quiet, unsettling truth:
He had not touched a recruit like that before.
Not even accidentally.
And now that door existed.
- Writer
