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Gabi – Present Day
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COLE WOULD BE PICKING me up for our July Fourth date at any moment, and I still hadn’t decided on my choice of outfit.
It was another unforgiving hot day, and the evening was proving to be more of the same. I knew all the other women would be wearing shorts and t-shirts, or little summer dresses, and even though I wanted to not have to feel like I had to hide myself, I just didn’t have the courage. I didn’t want the attention or the sympathy—children pointing and staring, and the adults assuming I must have lost my leg through diabetes or some kind of vascular disease. I especially didn’t want all the extra attention with Cole there, too. It would only serve to remind him I was damaged goods now.
So is he, I reminded myself, and a wave of guilt swamped over me. Neither of us had gotten out of the past ten years unscathed, only Cole’s scarring had been more to his reputation than his body.
The doorbell rang.
Shit, I still wasn’t ready.
“Gabi,” my dad called up the stairs. “Cole is here.”
“One minute!” I yelled back. I stared at the small mountain of rejected clothes which now sat on my bedroom floor. My closet was practically empty. “Shit, shit, shit.” I’d run out of time to be fussy, and decided I wasn’t brave enough to parade around with my leg on show just yet—no matter how proud I was of my new pin-lock sleeve. I grabbed a long white skirt and a black sleeveless top, and then opted for some slip on sneakers. Open-toed sandals or high heels simply weren’t going to work for me.
Knowing Cole was waiting, I raked my hands through my curls in front of the mirror, and slicked on some lip-gloss. I would have to do.
This isn’t a real date.
No, but then why did it feel like one?
I made my way downstairs to find my dad standing with Cole on the porch. I’d never felt more like a seventeen-year-old again as I did in that moment. What the hell were they talking about? Considering our past, I didn’t dare think. I hoped my dad wouldn’t say anything that would send Cole running. Both he and I knew there was a strong possibility of that happening. But with relief I heard the mention of runs and pitchers, and realized they fallen onto that topic all men seemed able to converse about—sports.
They both turned as I stepped out of the door.
“Hi, sweetheart,” said my dad with a smile. “Cole and I were just catching up.” My gaze shifted between them, but stayed longer than it should have on Cole. He wore a short sleeved, white shirt, his tattoos emerging from the sleeves to cover the rest of his arms, and the light blue jeans he wore fit far too well around his thighs.
“You ready to go?” Cole asked.
I’d been staring. “Oh, sure,” I said, my voice too bright.
He leaned in and kissed my cheek, and a waft of his aftershave, something modern and fresh, washed over me. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he murmured, his mouth so close to my ear I felt the heat of his breath against my skin. Something inside me, which I thought was long dead, tightened with a low throb.
I took a breath. “Thanks.”
My dad was watching us with a knowing expression and I glared at him, trying to warn him not to say anything. “So, you sure you’re going to be okay without me, Dad?” I asked. “I feel bad us not spending the Fourth together when it’s my first year back home.”
“Nah,” he said, with a shrug. “Me and the guys have a bit of a tradition going anyway, and trust me, you’re not going to want to hang out with a bunch of us oldies drinking beer, farting, and complaining about life.”
I laughed. “As long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. You kids go and have fun.”
I wasn’t sure how anyone could think of Cole—with his six-feet-something frame, tattoos, and muscles—as a kid, but I guessed my dad would always see us as the teenagers we had once been.
We left the porch, and Cole opened the car’s passenger door for me. I climbed in, and he slammed it behind me, and then got behind the wheel.
I was strangely nervous, butterflies flitting around in my stomach. Was it just being in such close proximity to Cole again? I wasn’t sure, but something was setting me on edge.
He glanced over at me as he drove toward the beach. “You okay?”
I nodded and smiled. “Of course.”
“So I hope that skirt has a stretchy waistband?”
I balked. Did he think I looked fat? “You do?”
“Sure. There’s going to be hot dogs and burgers, and I believe we can literally eat our own body weight in s’mores. There’s also going to be a parade and then the fireworks when night falls. I don’t know about you, but I’ve missed the last ten years of this, and I plan on making the most of this one.”
I laughed. I’d missed a fair few when I’d been stationed. We’d always made the most of things, but fireworks definitely weren’t allowed. In fact, if there was a bang on those Fourth of Julys, we’d have all been running for cover.
That strange, uneasy sensation turned over inside me again.
Within ten minutes, we reached the beach. The parking lot was already filled with vehicles, and we drove around until we found a spot. People wove between the traffic, carrying picnic hampers and blankets. Cole parked, and we headed into the throng. Music blasted, and even though it was only early evening, the party vibe was certainly underway. Bodies swayed and jiggled, holding plastic cups of beer in the air. Those with families remained on the outskirts, barbequing while their children ran around clutching treats of ice cream and cotton candy.
“This is great, huh?” Cole looked down at me with a grin. I didn’t want to spoil things for him, knowing how much he was looking forward to his first July Fourth in years, but the crowds were making me nervous.
If something happened, how would we get out of here?
I didn’t want to think of people running and screaming, pushing each other and trampling friends and strangers alike to get out of the way, but the image forced itself into my mind. God, I was such a freak. Everyone else was out to have a good time, and my thoughts were morbid.
“Let’s grab a drink,” said Cole, dragging me to one of the beer stands. I wasn’t going to argue with him. Hopefully a beverage or two would help me relax. We queued up at a drinks stand, and Cole bought up a couple of plastic cups of cold beer. I took a sip and smiled at him.
“It’s really great being here with you, Gabi.” He glanced down. “I know we don’t want to live in the past, but I really wanted to be able to talk to you about what happened when we were teenagers.”
I shook my head. “I don’t, Cole. Let’s just leave it in the past.”
“But that thing with—”
“No.” I cut him off. “I don’t want to rehash what happened. We were really young, both of us, and we both did things we ended up regretting.”
“We did? You mean joining the Army?”
I shrugged. I didn’t want him to probe any deeper. “It wasn’t the direction I thought my life was going to go. I mean, no one is ever going to factor this,” I gestured to my leg, “into their life plan.”
“No, of course not.”
Silence settled uncomfortably between us, and I took another sip of my beer and glanced around at all the happy, carefree faces. Families sat on picnic rugs, their children running around, playing. Younger couples kissed and laughed. I wanted that to be me one day, that carefree attitude, but instead I felt as though my youth had been crushed out of me, and I was forever worrying about the worst possible scenario. A black cloud didn’t just hover above me. Instead it surrounded me, suffocating me, and making it impossible to see a way out.
“You hungry?” Cole asked.
I was relieved to have a distraction. “Sure,” I said, even though I wasn’t.
“Hot dog or burger?”
“Hot dog, thanks.”
We got our food and settled on the grass. The parade went by, and we chatted about what school had been like, both of us deliberately avoiding certain names and incidents. We were treading on fragile glass, and neither of us wanted to break it.
Dusk began to fall, and sparklers burst to life around us.
Though having Cole at my side again felt wonderful, I wasn’t able to shake the dread that had been following me around since we’d arrived, and the uncomfortable fluttering in my stomach had nothing to do with the sexy, masculine man beside me. I caught people glancing over, a few recognizing us, and nudging each other and whispering. The feeling of air closing in around me.
The first firework shot into the air above the ocean with a fizz and a long wheeeeeh, and then a massive bang.
My heart jackknifed into my throat, strangling my breath.
A second firework followed, and another and another. Tears of fear filled my eyes and though I was already sitting, I slowly folded into myself, my knees drawing into my chest, my back curling over, my head going down. Uncontrollable shakes clutched my whole body, the trembles vibrating right down to my soul.
Cole slipped his arm over my shoulders, perhaps absentmindedly as he watched the display, but he must have felt my shaking and noticed something was wrong. “Gabi?”
I couldn’t answer him. The whizzing and banging continued, while everyone around us oohed and ahhed at the beauty, and all I could think of was the explosion where I’d lost my leg. The same exact terror of that moment clutched me now, and with it came the intense pain I had experienced when I’d woken up in hospital and been told about the condition of my leg from the blast. I’d still had the limb at that point—my foot and toe mangled, the tibia and fibula both shattered. I’d been given the option of them trying to save it, but was told I would most likely never walk again. Or else they could amputate the limb and I would be able to learn to walk, and even run again one day.
How had that even been a decision? I was an active, strong woman. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life in pain and in a wheelchair.
The same pain I’d experienced back then began to creep up the limb which no longer existed, and I gave an involuntary cry of fear. I knew this pain. I’d suffered with it for months after the amputation. Most would recognize it as phantom limb pain, but it was so much worse than that. It wasn’t just pain, it was agony, and no amount of pain medication could help because this was a hurt my brain was creating all by itself.
“Gabi,” Cole’s voice came to me again, reaching into the cloud of hurt and terror I’d found myself in. Still the fireworks kept exploding, each massive bang making me flinch and cower. “What’s wrong?”
“My leg!” I managed to gasp. “My leg hurts.”
Those three words barely brushed the surface of what I was experiencing. I knew what was happening—the banging from the fireworks had set off my post traumatic stress disorder, which in turn had set off the phantom limb pain. I needed to get away from the fireworks, but I was in too much pain and too frightened to move. I had resorted to sitting, curled over, with my arms over my head, trying to block out the sound.
I could hear the worry in Cole’s voice. I couldn’t even bring myself to be embarrassed at my reaction, or be worried if people were staring at me. I only wanted this all to be over.
“The fireworks. It’s the fireworks.”
I guess he pieced together what was happening. I suddenly found his arms beneath my body, and then he lifted me. I cried out at the sudden movement, tears streaming down my cheeks. I buried my face into his chest, dampening his shirt, and his big biceps crushed the side of my face, covering my ear and muffling the bangs. He turned from the crowds and the fireworks, and strode away. I could feel the determination in his steps, in the squared stance of his body.
“It’s okay, Gabs,” he muttered above me. “It’s going to be okay.”
I clutched to him like a drowning man on a life raft. He reached the car, and gently set me down to open the door. Then he helped me into the passenger seat, where I resumed my curled up position, the shaking continuing.
I only wanted everything to stop.