want to go more than fifteen minutes without fire shooting up your leg? Then you’ll goddamn listen to me.”
Mitch turned and walked toward the door. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need any of it. He was doing fine and if this jerk wouldn’t fit him for his permanent prosthesis, he’d find someone else who would.
“You think Pete risked his life to save yours so you could act like this?” Joss asked.
He didn’t shout the words. Mitch doubted any of the other patients had heard them. Still, they cut through him like glass, ripping into his gut and slicing his heart to shreds.
Pete was a friend. A good friend. They’d gone through BUD/S training together and had been assigned to the same SEAL team. Mitch knew about Pete’s devotion to his young wife and how excited he’d been when he’d found out he was going to be a father. Pete knew about Skye and how many nights Mitch had lain awake that first year, unable to believe she’d really left him.
Pete who had faced enemy fire to drag a wounded and possibly dying Mitch to safety. Pete who’d taken a bullet for him. Pete who was already back in Afghanistan, facing it all again because it was his job.
Joss had spoken the only possible words to make Mitch stay.
He straightened and squared his shoulders. “I’ve got blood in my sock nearly every day. It’s not the scar opening. There are a few raw spots.”
“How much are you resting your leg?” Joss asked, then sighed. “Let me put that another way? Are you too stupid to rest your leg during the day?”
“Apparently.”
“Admitting you have a problem is the first step, kid. Let’s take a look.”
Joss led him into an examining room. Mitch settled on the exam table, rolled up his jeans, then removed the prosthesis and the sock.
“You gotta massage the stump a couple of times a day,” Joss said as he sat on a stool and flipped on a light that he adjusted. “You doing that?”
“Sometimes.”
“Let me guess. You’re not getting enough rest, or eating right, either.” He pressed down on the stump. “That hurt?”
Mitch clenched his teeth as fire raced through him. “A little.”
“Getting a lot of phantom pain?”
“Some.”
“Doing the energy work?”
If Mitch had still been a teenager, he would have rolled his eyes. “It’s total crap.”
Joss straightened. “Right. The idea that the body has an electrical system is crap. We’ll ignore the fact that brain waves are electrical or what an EKG is measuring. If you can’t see it or touch it, it doesn’t exist. Typical.”
He stood and folded his arms across his chest. “Just once I want someone to come in here ready and willing to do the work. Just one time. Is that too much to ask? But does it happen? No. We always gotta go through the steps. Fine. Where are you? I’m guessing anger. Maybe some denial. Why did this happen to you? How can you get your life back. Here’s a tip. You’re not the first guy to go through this. We’ve done it before and we know what works. So listen. Make your life easier.”
If Mitch could have walked out, he would have. As it was, all he could do was turn his head.
“You need to be doing the massage,” Joss told him. “Energy sweeps. The exercises we gave you. Get sleep, come in for group sessions.”
Mitch stopped listening. Group sessions. Right. Because he wanted to sit around in a circle with a bunch of people he didn’t know and talk about his feelings. Not that he wanted to do it with people he did know, either.
“I’m running late,” he said. “Can we hurry this along?”
He glanced back at Joss, who surprised him by shrugging. “Sure. Whatever.”
Mitch had expected more of a fight. “That’s it? You’re giving up?”
“Why not? You have. I got plenty of guys who are begging me for help. One day you’ll be one of ’em.”
“Not likely.”
Joss surprised him by smiling. “You’ve got dark days ahead of you, kid. Bad times. But you’ll get through them. When you figure out you can’t do it alone, come back. I’ll be here. But until then, I’m not wasting my time on an idiot.” He handed him back his prosthesis. “Good luck.”
Then he turned and walked out, leaving Mitch alone in the examination room, feeling very much like the idiot Joss had called him.
MITCH DROVE BACK to Titanville fighting the anger burning inside of him. He knew it wasn’t helping, but it seemed anger was the only safe feeling. He’d expected to be sore from his session with Joss, but there hadn’t been any therapy. He knew in his head he only had himself to blame—he needed the therapy to adjust to his prosthesis. The problem was he didn’t want to do it. Didn’t want to practice some energy sweep over a part of his body that wasn’t there anymore. Didn’t want to attend sessions with other amputees. Didn’t want to have to deal with any of it. He wanted what he didn’t have anymore.
He drove through town. When he stopped at the red light, he saw Skye walking into Bronco Billy’s. Not sure of his plan, he pulled into the next open parking space and followed her.
He hadn’t been inside the restaurant in nearly a decade but little about it had changed. TV screens played a Dirty Harry movie. The sound was off but the closed captions told the story. There were posters and movie memorabilia everywhere. Bronco Billy’s was Clint Eastwood in all his glory.
Skye was already seated at a table, studying a menu. Mitch walked over and pulled out a chair before she realized he was there.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, already taking a seat. “Am I getting in the way of something important?”
He hoped he was. He hoped he was pissing her off and that she would take him on. A fight, even with Skye, would feel good right about now.
“Not in the least,” she said, her expression more sad than annoyed. “I know that’s disappointing for you, but there it is. I’m here because I’ve had a bad day and I need a sugar fix. You might want to rethink staying. After all, you’ll be a distraction, which would be a good thing for me. You wouldn’t want that.”
The waitress arrived before he could answer.
“Know what you want?” she asked.
“An Oreo milk shake,” Skye said, handing her the menu. “The really big one.”
“Make it two,” Mitch told her.
Skye wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you want your own table? Won’t it be more satisfying to glare at me from across the room?”
“Not really.”
He wasn’t budging. Skye could tell. He wanted to bug her and she would guess he thought he could do that better up close. The problem was he did get to her, but not in the way he thought. She wasn’t fighting guilt over keeping a nonexistent secret. The problem of being around him was much more about her reaction to seeing him again.
Despite his anger, despite the things he said and how he acted, she’d missed him. Buried under the bastard he was pretending to be was a good guy who had loved her with a devotion that made her head spin. He’d been her world and she’d walked away from him.
All these years later, she couldn’t help wondering what-if. The wonderings were complicated by the knowledge that she knew she’d made the right decision…even if it was for the wrong reasons.
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