Someone shook her awake, screaming in her face, and she stumbled to her feet, shivering violently. She was never going to be warm or dry again. Oh, wait. Griffin. Fuzzily, she tried to remember making love with him that magical day on his boat a lifetime ago.

They were off and running again, this time to the chow hall. She added butter to her coffee, gulped it down too hot and burned her mouth, and shoveled in as many calories as she could as fast as she could in the few minutes they were given to eat.

Jab fell asleep in his plate, and she poked him hard. “Wake up. Eat.”

“Right. Food,” he mumbled.

She actually picked up his coffee cup and poured it down his throat. Then the instructors slammed through the doors, yelling, and they were back outside, picking up their boat, hoisting it overhead, and running down the beach.

Griffin is waiting at the end of this.

Whether or not the helium they’d smuggled in and filled their boat with actually made it significantly lighter, the morale boost was considerable. The Smurfs grinned at each other every time they picked up the raft.

Same with their hidden snacks. Yes, the sugar of the chocolate bars helped, and a swig of brandy was bracing and warmed a soul from the inside out. But the psychological boost of getting away with something was substantially more important.

She glimpsed Griffin now and then and got the impression he was subtly keeping an eye on her. But he couldn’t help her this time. She had to do this on her own. She was grateful he understood and stayed away from her, merely supporting her from afar with his presence.

He made the suffering worth it, somehow. Oh, she knew that this was all a test of character at the end of the day; no matter how hard Hell Week was, she would encounter missions harder in the field. But seeing Griffin’s tall frame out of the corner of her eye, catching sight of his handsome face, reminded her what it meant to be a SEAL and what she was striving toward.

Whenever she was dead sure she couldn’t take another step, she thought of him. And it never failed to help her take that next step.

Wednesday night, Jabrowski missed the shore when jumping out of their boat and went down headfirst onto the rocks. He slipped under the surf, and Griffin and another instructor dived in after him to pull him out of the water, unconscious.

By the time she and the other Smurfs clambered ashore, Griffin was out of the water, his clothes clinging wetly to him, outlining every contour of his spectacular body in wet cotton. Even in her advanced state of exhaustion, she couldn’t help but appreciate the sight. Two more days. And then she could have that body all to herself. Minus the clothing.