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His mother was hovering again. Chad loved the woman dearly, but he wasn’t a child, and she seemed to think his injuries made him as helpless as a babe. Maybe he should be grateful for the small yet repeated annoyance of her trying to do everything for him. It served to light a fire under his ass to get out of that fucking bed and on with his life—even if he had no idea what that life would look like even a month down the road. He didn’t have time to vex about an uncertain future when his present felt so ambiguous.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t feel better if you told me how you wound up injured?” Mom asked for the fiftieth time in five days. She leaned over him and fluffed his pillow for the fiftieth time in five minutes.
For whatever reason, she wanted all the gory details of how he’d ended up a worthless cripple, but he didn’t want to think about the incident, much less talk about it. During his deployment, he’d become an expert at blocking dark thoughts, frightening thoughts, distressing thoughts, because a clear head allowed him to complete his missions. But he was also finding that talent—that blessing—to compartmentalize and focus worked well for him in not thinking about the explosion, about the fear of what he’d thought was certain death, about the pain of being crushed. That skill allowed him to push aside the horror of being trapped, the helplessness of watching one of his own bleed out just beyond his reach, the heaviness of Jawa—the bomb-sniffing wonder—draped over his chest when the dog had crawled over to protect him and had delivered a parting lick to his Chad’s face before taking his final breath. He could even avoid thinking about the confusion about how he’d been cut free—since he’d been blissfully unconscious for that part—and even the rawness of Josie’s rejection. He could shut it all away except when he slept or when some unthinking person who supposedly cared about him tried to flush it all to the surface by asking him about it. His dad and Owen had taken his first refusal to share his ordeal to heart and hadn’t asked again, but his mother, God bless her, wouldn’t let it rest. And that was why he still hadn’t told her why Josie was too busy to visit. He didn’t want to think about it. About any of it.
“I’m sure I still don’t want to talk,” he said. “Is it time for PT yet?”
“You just got back.”
But he couldn’t stand lying in that bed. He needed to get up, move his body, stride forward even if he couldn’t walk yet. He’d become completely fixated on his physical recovery, because that was something he could control. He could trust himself to make small yet significant gains in his rehabilitation. The horrifying shit in his head that tried, and repeatedly failed, to drag him down would stay buried in there for as long as he lived, because he doubted that he’d survive facing the trauma. Learning to live without a leg? He could do that. The physical pain would leave him when his body recovered. Knowing that a nineteen-year-old kid and a brave, brilliant, selfless dog had died because Chad had stupidly driven over a trip wire? He couldn’t live with that. The psychological devastation would truly cripple him if he gave his feelings a chance to surface. Even now he had to blink back a sudden rush of emotion and take a deep breath, push the thoughts his mother’s question had brought slamming into the forefront of his mind back into the dark corner he kept them contained in.
He had to get out of this fucking place. He had nothing to do but think—or force himself not to think—except when he was in physical therapy. He was currently working on transferring from a bed to a wheelchair and from a wheelchair to the toilet or a chair. He knew they wouldn’t let him out until he could at least do that. The muscle tear in his right rotator cuff prevented him from using both arms and severely hindered his progress. His PT said he was making remarkable strides and marveled at Chad’s infallible determination, but Chad was sure he could do better—miraculously heal faster—if he pushed himself harder.
Unable to stand lying in bed for another second, he forced his body upright using his remaining core strength, cringing as the tightening of his abdominal muscles pulled on his cracked rib. Watching beside his bed, his mother cringed even more than he did.
“Are you sure you don’t want pain medicine, sweetheart?” she asked.
“I told you no,” he snapped, even though he knew she was just worried about him and couldn’t stand to see him suffer. He shifted to sit on the side of the bed, using a remote to lower its height so that his foot could just touch the floor.
Because one arm was now trapped in a sling—to prevent him from using it—he had only one arm to give him the leverage required to stand. That motion also required a lot of core strength and also pulled on that hindrance of a cracked rib, but he managed to get his foot under his body and stood, wobbling precariously before finally finding his off-center of gravity.
His mother actually clapped. What lowly state did a grown-ass man have to be in for someone to clap because he managed to stand?
“Mom,” he said, shaking his head. “Really?”
She came around the bed to hug him before she drew away, reached up, and patted his cheek. “I’m just so proud of you.”
He could see that pride expressed in her sparkling blue eyes. At least she hadn’t cried this time like she had after they’d removed his catheter and he’d peed in the potty like a big boy. That bag of piss hanging from the end of his bed for anyone—including one particularly beautiful angel he was missing today—to see had been all the motivation he’d needed to reach that little milestone.
Chad stood beside the bed for a long moment trying to find the courage to hop. There was something about not having a backup leg should he fail that made his heart race at the very idea of his one and only foot leaving the ground. So, he just stood there until his stump began to ache from the blood pooling in the still healing tissue. They assured him that his circulation would adjust with time, but until the swelling issues remedied themselves, he wouldn’t be fitted for a prosthetic. The flap of skin and muscle they’d wrapped around the end of his femur was still too tender to support a device anyway, but he wanted one. More than anything. He wanted the freedom a prosthetic offered.
His cellphone rang, and Mom picked it up from the bedside table. “Who do you know from Minnesota?” she asked.
Emerson’s father again. He couldn’t talk to him. Couldn’t tell him that his son was dead because Chad had made a mistake. He’d listened to the first choked-up message Mr. Emerson had left but couldn’t force himself to play back the other half-dozen voice mails he’d left since.
“No one,” he lied. “Let it go to voice mail.”
The ringing stopped, and Mom set his phone back on the tray.
“You can’t keep avoiding people, Chad,” she said.
Yeah, he could.
“I’m not,” he lied again.
“You could at least let your friends visit. They want to see you.”
“I don’t want to see anyone until I can walk,” he said. And maybe not even then. He dropped back onto the bed. “Is Lindsey coming today?” He did want to see her. She was the only person he knew who saw him for what he was now and didn’t compare him to what he had been before. She also didn’t harass him about what he planned to do with his future. He hadn’t the slightest inkling about where his life was headed next and didn’t care to be reminded of that fact.
“I think she plans to drive down after her job interview,” Mom said.
“She’s really trying to find her way, isn’t she?” Chad said.
“I think she’s afraid people will think the worst of her, but she’s a real sweetheart. I wish Owen would give her a chance.” Mom smiled. “They’d make a nice little family together. I think she’d be happy as a stay-at-home mom.”
Chad wasn’t so sure that would be enough for her, but he didn’t pressure her about her future plans either. They were both content dealing with their troubles one day at a time.
“You just want a grandbaby,” Chad accused with a grin.
Mom grinned back. “Can’t wait.”
The yearning in her expression broke his heart. What would she do if Lindsey found a future that didn’t involve them?
Mom was still in the dark about Owen being off the hook as the baby’s father. It felt weird to keep secrets from her. It wasn’t that she was an unaccepting person, but she was a notorious mama bear. He imagined Josie would get an up-close and personal view of Mom’s carefully hidden claws and teeth when she learned that Josie had dumped her eldest son. He knew that wasn’t fair to Josie. If she didn’t love him, she shouldn’t have to force herself to stay with him—to give up the life she wanted—just because no other woman would ever want him again. He shoved that thought out his mind. He refused to feel sorry for himself. Even though he’d always wanted a family of his own, it didn’t mean he was entitled to one. If he was destined to live a life alone, he’d just surround himself with dogs. He liked them better than people anyway. They never judged. Their devotion was unconditional. And they couldn’t ask him uncomfortable questions or make him feel guilty for keeping secrets.
“Are you fit for company?” a familiar deep voice said from near the partially open door.
“Kelly!” Mom said, rushing over to hug the son of her heart.
His hair had grown even longer since the last time Chad had seen him. The thick black mass fell past the middle of his chest now. Chad knew how proud Kellen was of his hair—part of his Cherokee heritage—but he couldn’t resist tossing a barb in his direction.
“With those flowing locks of yours, how often do you get mistaken for a woman from behind?”
Kellen gave Mom an extra squeeze before releasing her and turning to present his backside to the room. “With this ass?” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in his butt’s direction and smirked. “Never.”
Chad laughed and extended a hand in his direction. “Mom was supposed to tell you that I didn’t want any visitors.”
“I did tell him,” Mom said, “but for once I’m glad he didn’t listen.” A bit of the worry that had creased her brow since he’d first seen her a week ago eased. She was probably sick of him grousing at her for caring too much.
“Owen’s not here today?” Kellen asked. He licked his lips, looking equal parts relieved and sad.
“He went to Houston to see his girlfriend,” Mom said. “He’ll be sorry he missed you.”
Kellen looked anything but convinced.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be standing already,” Kellen said. “Should have known nothing would keep you down.”
Chad’s swelling leg was protesting his continued posture, but now that Kellen had mentioned it, he wasn’t about to return to the bed. Mom recognized his predicament. She pushed his wheelchair around the bed. “I was just about to take him outside for some fresh air,” she said.
Chad felt every muscle go rigid. He hated being taken places, but until he got his arm out of the sling, he’d have to deal with being pushed in the wheelchair rather than get around by himself. Maybe he shouldn’t have refused when Mom had suggested they rent a motorized wheelchair so he could maneuver on his own, but that had seemed an even worse option at the time. “Why don’t you take him instead?”
“I’d be happy to,” Kellen said. “If that’s okay with him.”
Kellen’s gaze locked with his, and Chad loved him for not assuming he’d agree. Loved him for a lot of reasons. Chad was glad he’d come no matter how much he’d insisted he didn’t want to see his friends. Kellen wasn’t just a friend. He was family.
“Is it nice out?”
Kellen chuckled. “Sunny and Texas hot.”
Just how Chad liked it.
Chad resisted the urge to fight over the direction Kellen pushed his chair. He’d struggled in boot camp because he had such a hard time letting go of control, a hard time relying on his team. That might have been why they’d agreed that he’d make an excellent Dawg. He could focus his need to be in charge on a canine instead of getting himself in trouble by mouthing off to his CO.
It was a challenge not to think about the men and women in his platoon as he and Kellen traveled the halls of the military hospital. It didn’t matter the age of the veteran or the branch of service, the military was a family of another caliber, and being around other wounded soldiers reminded him that he’d never be an integral part of that family again, no matter how accommodating and welcoming his fellow wounded veterans were. He returned their greetings, acknowledged them all with a nod, but inside he wanted to hide from the reminders of everything he’d lost.
Outside, Kellen located a sunny bench and parked Chad beside it before taking a seat. Chad tilted his face toward the sun and closed his eyes, breathing deeply to clear his thoughts again.
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on between you and Owen?” he asked after a long moment.
“No,” Kellen said. “Do you want to talk about what happened in Afghanistan?”
“Not at all.”
So, the two of them sat side by side in comfortable silence, knowing the other was there if or when needed, and it was enough.
*~*~*
Maybe Chad should have just stayed in the hospital, but two weeks of that hellhole had been far worse than being deployed. Getting into Owen’s Jeep that morning had been a chore, even with the assistance of two strong orderlies, but he was determined to get out of the vehicle at Owen’s house without falling on his face and looking weak in front of Lindsey. His brother had installed a long wooden ramp at the back of the house so at least Chad didn’t have to navigate steps to get inside—scooting up the porch stairs on his ass would be his only option until his shoulder was better and he could handle crutches. And he could hop now, so maybe he could have hopped up the steps one by one. But Owen had gone to all that trouble to build him a ramp, so the least Chad could do was get himself into the goddamned wheelchair to make the work that had gone into building the ramp worthwhile.
“Are you ready for this?” Owen asked as they sat in the car and stared at the ramp as if it were a Rube Goldberg machine.
“Yeah,” Chad said. He sounded confident, but it was a ruse.
The back door opened, and Lindsey emerged. A bright smile lit up her face. As stupid as it sounded—even to himself—Chad was there for her. He liked her more than he cared to admit. Thinking about her took his mind off any regrets over his past and lessened his worries over the future. When she was near, he could live in the moment. He just didn’t want her to witness any of his moments that were embarrassing and showed his weakness. She gave him a reason to be strong. He needed a reason—even a simple reason—to move forward without falling into despair.
“Can you ask Lindsey to wait inside?” Chad asked.
“She’ll be crushed that you want her to go away,” Owen said. “Look how happy she is to see you.”
She did look happy with one hand on her large belly and the other waving enthusiastically at the Jeep. She waddled down the ramp at an expedient clip.
“It’s not that I want her to go away,” he admitted. “I don’t want her to see me floundering about as I get into the wheelchair.”
“But we might need her help.”
“I don’t want her help.”
“Then why did you have the nurses explain your care procedures to her instead of to me?”
Hell if Chad knew. Thinking about Lindsey taking care of him and having her do it were entirely different.
The little argument between him and Owen had taken too long; Lindsey was on Chad’s side of the Jeep and opening his door.
“You made it!” she said, wrapping her arms around him.
She smelled of peaches and sunshine. His heart quickened as he wrapped his good arm around her and pulled her closer. God, he wanted to kiss her, but didn’t want to make their growing friendship awkward. He was undeniably attracted to her, but he knew it was impossible for her to feel anything more for him than camaraderie. She likely felt sorry for him even though he strove hard not to encourage that reaction. She never treated him like she pitied him, but in the weeks he’d spent recovering in the hospital, he’d never let her see him struggle. She had witnessed his weakness for a few minutes when she’d caught him mourning the loss of Josie, but not since, and he vowed she’d never see it again. He’d be strong. He’d be strong for her.
Owen got out of the car and freed the wheelchair from the back. Chad forced himself to let go of Lindsey when she started to pull away.
“You look better,” she said, cupping the side of his face and studying him.
“It’s the sunglasses,” he said. They’d unbandaged his eye, and though it was irritated due to the scratch on his cornea, his vision hadn’t been damaged. The eye was especially sensitive to bright light, though, so he was wearing a very unattractive pair of wrap-around sunglasses that optometrists were so fond of making patients wear after eye surgery. He still had the bandage on the side of his head where he’d almost lost his ear. It was probably healed enough not to need the bandage, but the covering looked far less terrible than the jagged scar that was forming.
“They’re very Terminator,” Lindsey said.
They’d watched that film together—squashed side by side in his narrow hospital bed—a few days ago. Well, she’d watched it. He’d mostly sat there thinking about how much he wanted to kiss her.
She scrunched up her nose and asked, “You didn’t rip your eye out and throw it into a sink, did you?”
“Kind of feels like it,” he admitted, but he lowered his shades to show her both eyes were fully functional.
Her smile turned dreamy. She oughtn’t do that. It gave him hope.
“They’re both gorgeous blue,” she said. “I was starting to worry you had a glowing red robot eye under there. Does it hurt?” Her fingers traced the healing scratch near his temple.
“I sense injuries,” he said in a wooden Schwarzenegger accent. “The data could be called pain.” He wondered if she’d seen the second Terminator film. He was ready to binge-watch them all again and hoped she’d join him. Cozying up with her on the sofa and making her laugh as he repeated lines to her sounded like the only piece of heaven he had any interest in.
“Are you ready?” Owen asked. He stood with the damned wheelchair directly behind the passenger door.
Chad gave his brother a searching look before he pushed his shades back into place. Owen licked his lips. “Say, Lindsey . . . Could you go hold the back door open for us? I know how slow you walk.”
She stuck her tongue out at him but headed away from the car. “I made lunch,” she called over her shoulder. “Your mom is coming over to eat with us. I told her I’d call her when you got here. James has to work.”
“She just fits right in here, doesn’t she?” Chad said, gripping the handle near the Jeep’s open door and turning in the seat so his left leg would catch him when he found the courage to push out of the vehicle. He hoped his leg could support his weight. His hospital physical therapy had gone well. Surprisingly well. But he’d been determined to show the doctor that he was ready to go home. His only motivation now was to drop himself into that wheelchair without breaking his neck. There’d been a therapeutic rail on either side of him when he’d pushed himself out of the chair and stood for the first time. More recently, he’d taken a few hops forward, turned, and gone back. That was when they’d put the sling on him to keep him from overusing his shoulder until the torn muscle healed. They’d worried that he’d overdo it in his determination to prove that he’d been broken but not beaten.
“She tries really hard,” Owen said quietly. “She wants a family. More for the baby than for herself, I think. Aren’t we lucky she picked ours?”
Owen sounded sarcastic, but Chad thought they were exceptionally lucky that Lindsey had picked them. It was good to have someone around who didn’t remember the “old” Chad. Someone who would see him as he was now without comparing him to what he’d once been. Someone who wouldn’t celebrate every miniscule milestone as he sought his new normal. He didn’t need that. He was sure his mother would fill that role if he wanted a trophy for wiping his own ass. What his soul needed was someone who laughed at his lame impressions, teased him about his ugly sunglasses, told him his eyes were gorgeous, and held no expectations, just acceptance. So far, Lindsey was the only one who came even close to fitting that description.
“Are the wheels locked?” Chad asked, taking a deep breath and trying to think of this as just jumping out of a car on one leg because he wanted to, not because he had to.
“Yep.”
“Here goes nothing.”
Owen reached out to grab him, but Chad shook his head. “Let me try it on my own first.”
“If you fall—”
“Then I’ll drag my sorry carcass off the ground. Don’t help me.”
“But—”
“Owen.”
At Chad’s stern look, Owen dropped his hand to rest on the wheelchair handle. “Mom will kill me if I let you fall.”
Chad snorted. “You’re a grown-ass man. Don’t tell me you’re still scared of your mommy.”
“Hell yes I’m scared of her. You’d be scared of her too if our roles were reversed.”
Chad took a deep breath and pushed/pulled himself out of the front seat, landing solidly on his left foot. He teetered for a moment, holding on to the car door for balance. What he was doing did not feel the same as landing on one of two feet. The counterweight of his right lower leg was missing. But he’d managed and eventually he’d get used to having to compensate for his missing parts. Not today. Today it felt weird and unsettling that he couldn’t put his foot down even if he wanted to.
Chad hopped to turn his butt in the general direction of the wheelchair, concentrating on staying on one foot and trying to ignore the instinct to take a step. Even with physical therapy, his uninjured leg had weakened from the days spent in that damned hospital bed. He needed to build up the strength in that leg again and concentrate on strengthening his upper body too. Maybe Owen would take him to the gym once he got out of the dumb sling. And speaking of dumb sling, how was he supposed to hold on to anything while he sat? He ended up flopping gracelessly into the wheelchair, glad Lindsey was out of sight for that bit of shame. At least he hadn’t eaten pavement.
“You did it,” Owen said, raising a hand. “High five.”
Chad grinned and accepted his brother’s congratulations by slapping his hand. So maybe he did want the trophy, just not from Lindsey.
Chad had already discovered that he couldn’t maneuver his wheelchair with one arm unless he wanted to go in circles, so he tried not to feel too useless as his little brother wheeled him up the ramp and into the house.
“Welcome home!” Lindsey said. She blew into a party blower. The coiled paper unrolled and bumped him in the nose.
He chuckled and batted the party favor away. “Thanks. It’s good to be home.” What he wouldn’t give to be able to tug her down onto his lap and kiss her breathless. Those kinds of thoughts had no place here, however. He needed to get them out of his head immediately. If he was lucky, Lindsey would continue to be his friend. She’d never be someone he could kiss on a whim.
“Your mom said beef stew is your favorite,” Lindsey said.
Chad laughed. “I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy.”
“Well, I hope I didn’t screw it up.”
“You made beef stew?” he asked, suddenly breathless. “For me?”
“Not just for you. I get some too,” Owen said, pushing Chad’s wheelchair up to the kitchen table.
The wooden chair that usually occupied Chad’s appointed side of the table had already been removed and was tucked out of sight somewhere. Someone had been thinking ahead.
“Lindsey’s a great cook,” Owen said.
“A passable cook,” Lindsey said.
The doorbell rang, and she turned toward the living room. Chad couldn’t help but admire her profile. God, she was beautiful.
“That’s probably your mom. I’ll let her in.”
As soon as she was out of the room, Owen said, “Do you have a thing for her?”
Chad hardened his features into his emotionless Marine mask. “What do you mean?”
“You look at her like she’s some grand prize.”
“She is a prize.”
“She’s pregnant,” Owen said, as if her condition was contagious, even to men. “And she doesn’t even know who the baby’s father is.”
“I don’t care about that,” he said, but to make himself feel less vulnerable, he added, “But no, I don’t have a thing for her. She’s your liability, not mine.”
“Lucky me,” Owen said, dragging bowls out of a cabinet.
The scrape of nails against Owen’s refinished hardwood floors made Chad sit up straighter. He’d know those scrambling paw treads anywhere. “Hawn,” he called to the family’s golden retriever—she’d been his dog until he’d gone into the military and left her behind. “Where’s my girl?”
A bundle of wriggling fur burst into the kitchen and landed all four paws directly on his lap. Hawn wasn’t a small dog, but she somehow squeezed herself between the table and his chest and gave him a very thorough tongue bath. He wrapped his good arm around her, squeezing her tight—not minding the doggie slobber on his face or the flying fur which she shed nonstop or the loud thumping of her tail on the table or the back paw digging painfully into his thigh. Mom had less patience with her, however.
“Hawn, down,” she said sternly. “We talked about this before we left the house. You promised you’d behave.”
Hawn tilted her head back, tongue lolling to one side, and barked loudly. She sniffed at Chad’s bandages, scrapes, and ear, which made a shiver race down his neck, before she licked Chad’s face again. With a few swipes of her wide tongue, she managed to lick the sunglasses clean off. He winced slightly in the light, but the discomfort was tolerable. Hawn shifting so that her paws pressed into his nuts was not.
“Hawn, down,” he said in a higher pitch than normal. The ever-exuberant dog remembered her training and hopped down to the floor, gave his stump a curious sniff, then set her head on his thigh and gazed up at him worshipfully. He rubbed her ears with his unencumbered hand, loving the soft texture of her fur against his fingertips. How many times had he stroked Jawa’s ears just like this? It had become a calming habit for them both as they waited for orders. First in, last out. That was just part of the job for an MWD and his handler. Ensure an area was free of threats before anyone else set foot there, and make sure no threats were left behind when they finished. He’d never stroke Jawa’s ears again. He’d lost him. Had it been the explosion or the resulting vehicle rollover? Chad wasn’t sure what had ultimately killed his furry brother in arms. He hadn’t asked for details. Didn’t want to know. He hadn’t let himself really feel Jawa’s loss until that moment. The memory of the dead weight of Jawa’s body lying across Chad’s chest suddenly crushed him. He couldn’t breathe.
He’d lost Emerson too. The green Dawg had been scheduled to take over as Jawa’s handler when Chad returned to the States, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to even bond with the dog.
Nineteen. The number—Emerson’s age—ate at Chad. Emerson had been telling him about his prom night—his fucking prom night—when Chad had triggered that land mine. Emerson and Jawa, both of them gone. And not instantly. They’d suffered. Suffered because he’d taken his eyes off the terrain. Missed the tells. And he’d missed the memorial services of his two comrades while he’d been in the hospital. Would he have even gone if he’d been able? He would have cried in front of everyone. God, he was a fucking coward. Afraid of tears. Of feelings. Not afraid of enemy fire. But afraid of remembering them. Mourning them.
Emerson.
Jawa.
His fingers curled into Hawn’s soft fur.
Why was the room so small? And hot? Stifling. Worse than the desert heat.
Didn’t Owen have air-conditioning?
He couldn’t draw breath. Couldn’t breathe.
“I’m going to have dog hair all over my house,” Owen said as he ladled stew into bowls.
Such a simple statement, but it gave Chad something to focus on besides his grief. He sucked in a deep breath. The heat started to leave his overwarm flesh.
Chad forced dark memories aside and looked down his chest. Jawa wasn’t there. Even though his weight had felt so terribly, horribly real, he wasn’t there.
Chad’s shirt was covered with medium-length blond strands and one long blond hair that was most likely Lindsey’s. He picked that one off his army-green T-shirt and held it up to the light streaming in from the window over the breakfast nook benches.
“I don’t think this one belongs to the dog,” he said.
His mother was already coming at him with a sticky lint roller. He didn’t doubt that she carried it around in her pocket when she had Hawn with her. The dog was a hair machine. With a decent spinning wheel and loom, they could start a sweater factory and use her shed fur to clothe all of Iceland.
“I miss my dog,” Lindsey said. “More than I miss my parents.”
A smile wobbled across her face as she sat on the bench to Chad’s left. Sitting between them, Hawn shifted her head onto Lindsey’s knee to get a new scratch before returning her attention to Chad.
“What kind of dog?” he asked. Jawa had been a Belgian Malinois, though he’d often been mistaken for a German shepherd. Chad didn’t voice his memories of Jawa. Someone might have pressed him for details, and he wasn’t ready to share them with anyone.
“Just a mutt,” she said. “But really sweet. Her name is Muffin Top.” She laughed.
“Like a fat roll?” Owen asked, setting a bowl of stew in front of Chad.
Chad’s mouth watered as soon as the savory scent met his nose.
Lindsey laughed. “Exactly like a fat roll. I think she has some shar-pei in her, because whenever she sits down, she has this wrinkle that goes all the way around her waist like she’s wearing tight pants and she has a muffin top.”
Mom laughed. “Aww, poor doggie. I bet you’ve given her quite a complex.”
“I did catch her doing sit-ups once.” She winked at Chad, who was getting impatient for a spoon.
“Chad has always loved dogs,” Mom said. “Everyone blames me for taking in strays, but he’s the one who brings them home.” She leaned in and wrapped her arms around Chad’s shoulders, giving one a vigorous rub. “I just couldn’t tell him no.”
“And Owen brought home a different kind of stray,” Chad said, watching his brother select spoons from a drawer. Dear God, could he be any slower?
“Kellen,” Mom said with a loving smile. She’d always treated Kellen like her third son, which was why it had been so easy for Chad to think of him as another brother. “I haven’t seen him for over a week. What’s he up to, Owen?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Owen said, dropping a handful of spoons on the table with a loud clatter.
“Did you two have a fight?” Mom asked. “I know your band is having problems, but I’d think you and Kellen would—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Owen said.
Chad guessed he and his brother had more in common than he’d realized. He reached for a spoon and nudged his mom aside so he could eat.
“I hope the band settles its differences soon,” Lindsey said. “I can’t help but feel I’m responsible for you guys breaking up. You’re my favorite band. I’ll never forgive myself if you don’t get back together.”
“You are not responsible,” Owen said. “Jacob and Adam have been teetering on the edge of disaster for as long as I can remember. Long before any of us met you.”
“I was added tension you guys didn’t need,” Lindsey said. “I should have stayed in Idaho and gone on welfare.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Chad said.
“Me too. You’re going to be a big help to us, Lindsey,” Mom added.
But that wasn’t why Chad was glad she was there. They could have hired a nurse to help him out. Not that he planned to accept any help. He was glad Lindsey was there for entirely personal and selfish reasons. She made him feel normal. She made his world a brighter place, and considering how dark it could have been, he was glad for her sunshine and the way it chased away the shadows crowding him.
The stew tasted as delicious as it smelled. He might even like it better than his grandmother’s recipe, though Lindsey insisted it was his grandmother’s recipe that Mom had shared with her. But there was something slightly different about it. Or maybe his memory just wasn’t as good as reality. Or maybe she’d seasoned it with love, and her love was a different flavor from his grandmother’s.
God, when had he become such a sap? He was glad mind reading wasn’t real.
After lunch, Chad found himself nodding off at the table. He’d been so focused on getting out of that damned hospital that he hadn’t been sleeping enough, and he hadn’t admitted to his doctors or nurses that with sleep came nightmares. When he was awake, he could direct his thoughts away from the horrors he’d experienced. He’d learned to do that while still in combat. But when he was asleep, nothing could keep them at bay.
“I think you should take a nap,” Owen said. “Caitlyn will be here tonight. You’ll finally get to meet her. I don’t want her to have to watch you drooling down your chest at the supper table.”
“I am tired,” Chad admitted. And he did want to be refreshed when he met Owen’s new girlfriend.
Lindsey slipped from the bench and grabbed the handles of his wheelchair. “I’ll show you to your room.”
He caught the turning wheel with his good hand, and she bumped into the back of his chair as it stopped short.
“I got it,” he said, tugging his injured arm out of its sling. The floors weren’t sloped. He didn’t think he’d put too much strain on the muscles wheeling around the house, and there weren’t any doctors or nurses there to bitch him out if he did. If anything, using his arm should strengthen his weakened shoulder joint and he’d recover more quickly. At least that was what he told himself as he gritted his teeth and used both hands to back himself away from the table. He didn’t get far. Lindsey was still behind him.
“If I’m going to be responsible for you, then you’re following doctor’s orders or I’m having you sent back to the hospital,” she said before either his mother or his brother could berate him.
“It’s not that bad,” he assured her. “I won’t wheel myself up any ramps, but I have to learn to do things for myself.”
“You will,” she said. “After your shoulder is healed and the doctor gives you the okay, I’ll insist you do as much as you’re capable of, but until then, put the sling back on.”
Chad caught his brother’s smirk as he slipped his arm back into the sling. “You’re a bossy pain in the ass,” he grumbled under his breath, but part of him was glad that she cared enough to boss him around. Another part, however, did not appreciate her treating him like a child.
“Watch your language, Chad,” Mom said, “and don’t you give her a hard time. She’s absolutely right. You keep that sling on until the doctor says you can take it off.”
He hated to tell them, but he would not be an easy patient. He had no plans to take it easy and let time heal his wounds. He would get out of the chair, and once the swelling in his leg went down, he planned to be fitted for a prosthetic leg as soon as he could. He refused to spend the rest of his life being pushed around in any capacity.
Lindsey squeezed his shoulder and spun him away from the table. He tried to let go of the tension in his body, but he hadn’t come home to be waited upon and coddled and assisted. He’d come home to get away from that.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom first?” Lindsey asked as she wheeled him through the doorway between the breakfast nook and the small dining room.
If he needed to go the bathroom, he damned well could go by himself. Well, mostly. “Yes,” he said. He rested his elbow on the wheelchair’s armrest and pressed his forehead into his hand.
His humiliation was deepened when they discovered that the wheelchair was a couple inches too wide to fit through the bathroom’s doorframe.
“Owen?” Lindsey called. “We have a little problem.”
Owen came around the corner and stopped behind the chair while Chad concentrated on trying to regrow his leg by glaring at the bandaged stub.
“Can’t you just aim from there?” Owen asked.
“We can get him one of those commodes,” Lindsey suggested.
“I’m not pissing in a fucking commode,” Chad said through clenched teeth.
“Well, then,” Owen said. “Only one thing to do.”
Chad supposed he expected him to wear adult diapers. Owen didn’t say it, though. He dashed out of the house, the back screen door slamming behind him.
“I can help you stand if you want,” Lindsey said. “You can lean on me, and—”
“And drop us both to the floor?” He could hear the derisiveness and anger in his tone, but couldn’t seem to stop it.
“Just tell me what you want me to do. I can help.”
“I don’t—”
“Want my help,” she interrupted. “Yeah, you said that already, but you’re going to have accept a little until you can handle things on your own.”
She was being perfectly reasonable, but he still wouldn’t accept her assistance. Not with this task. “Lock my wheels.” He was going to get out of that damn chair and over to the toilet if it killed him.
“Lock them yourself,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
He looked down at the braking mechanism and found a lever he could reach. He engaged the brake on one side but before he could get his arm out of the damned sling to lock the other wheel, Owen came back. He was carrying a pry bar, a hammer, and a reciprocating saw.
“I didn’t like this doorframe anyway,” Owen said, using the pry bar to rip the trim from around the hinge-less side of the door.
“Don’t tear up your house,” Chad said, but God, he loved his brother and his selfless nature.
“It’s just a piece of trim.” Owen set the now loose piece against the wall and released the wheel brake to attempt entry. Closer, but the chair still needed an inch or two to clear the narrow door. “These old houses don’t meet ADA standards. I’ll show ’em.” He plugged in his reciprocating saw.
“Owen—”
Chad’s protests were cut off by the blade sawing noisily through the doorframe. Owen hacked off the section below the level of the lock down to the floor and then used his pry bar and a bit more sawing to remove the piece. He tossed it aside and pushed the chair through the widened opening and into the bathroom.
“You really are a rock star,” Chad said, shaking his head and marveling at his brother.
“I didn’t want you to piss on my floor.” He leaned in close to Chad’s ear, presumably so Lindsey wouldn’t hear him. “You are going to have to sit on the seat and pee like a girl.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Holler if you need a hand,” Owen said as he backed out of the small room.
Owen closed the door, but there was an obvious gap at the bottom of the frame that prevented true privacy.
“No peeking, Lindsey,” he heard Owen say on the other side of the door.
“You’re awesome,” Lindsey said. “You know that?”
Chad smiled and worked at getting the chair in the best position so he could slide over to the toilet seat. His brother was pretty terrific. That was why Chad knew he didn’t have a chance in hell at winning Lindsey’s affection. Not because she was the type of woman who couldn’t handle his injuries, but because her heart already belonged to Owen. If Owen ever decided he wanted it, he’d have it.
