The oven timer snapped Austin back to reality. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times until his vision had adjusted to the light, and tucked his dick back into his boxers. The depression medication he’d been put on dampened his sex drive, and it was rare that he felt horny, but the spark he’d felt out in the hall hadn’t left him alone, and he’d decided to capitalize on his good mood while he still had it.

He’d forgotten that he was in the process of making a casserole for dinner.

Flush-faced and unsatisfied, he rose from the couch, washed his hands in the kitchen sink, then turned off the timer and checked on the casserole. The breadcrumb layer on top looked toasted and crisp. Satisfied, he made sure his hands were completely dry, then grabbed a pot holder from the magnetic hook he’d stuck to the fridge and took the casserole out of the oven. It smelled great, which was surprising. These days, Austin didn’t have much of an appetite, and eating was more of a chore than a pleasure.

He set the casserole on the stove and went to take a plate from the cabinet only to find that his hand was shaking again. Disappointment and anger shot through him so swiftly, he didn’t have time to talk himself down. He balled his fists and slammed them onto the counter, enraged that his body was betraying him, but there was nothing he could do to stop the trembling now that it had begun.

If Dr. Shimota had been there to see him, she would have gently urged him to take a deep breath and reframe the situation—after the accident, of course he was going to be changed. His uncontrollable tremor was inconvenient and embarrassing, but no one was going to hold it against him. He was strong, and capable, and what had happened to him was beyond his control. She’d tell him that it was natural to be frustrated, but that it was a part of life, and that he needed to accept that it was a part of who he was now.

But Dr. Shimota wasn’t there, and Austin thought that was goddamn bullshit.

If the crash had not happened, he wouldn’t have had to leave the Navy. If he’d been able to fully recover, he never would have had to return to the small town that had only been his home for a short time, but that had somehow hooked its claws into him and refused to let go. If he’d fully recovered, maybe Eleanor would still be in his life.

Bitterness added to Austin’s foul mood, and he pushed off the counter and took a plate from the cabinet with shaking hands. It clattered as he set it down, and when he pulled open the drawer beneath the cabinet, the wooden sides knocked against the track and made a racket. He managed to grab a fork after a moment’s struggle, then set it on the plate, listening to the tink tink tink as the metal of the fork hit the ceramic plate again and again.

It was a problem with his nerves, the doctors had told him. Nerve damage wasn’t something they could repair, and while time would improve his condition, he would likely never get back to the way he had been before. His healthy, able body had deserted him. For the rest of his life, he’d be incomplete—missing a part of himself that he’d always taken for granted.

Austin carried the plate and the fork across the room to the oven. As he did, the fork continued to clink against the plate as his hand shook. He set it on the presently cooled burner of the stove, reached for a serving spoon in the utensil holder, and tried his best to clear his mind. The tenser he was, the worse the tremor became.

With some difficulty, he scooped a serving of casserole onto his plate, then went to sit down on the couch and eat. The rest of the casserole—enough to feed a family—was left on the stove to cool. He’d made too much, just like always, but there was something about cooking that let him forget about his struggles.

Figures that I like to cook, but nothing ever sounds good.

He was hungry, and he had an appetite for what he’d made, but Austin still found himself spacing out after he sat on the couch. His mind wandered back to the encounter in the hallway. He had more than enough casserole to share, and if Hale hadn’t mouthed off on him, maybe he would have invited him over to have some. He’d been close with Michael all through his senior year, after all, and even though Austin was pretty sure that Hale had a crush on him back then, they were different people now. High school crushes didn’t last. High school friendships sure didn’t.

Austin stuck his fork into his casserole. It was still steaming, which meant it was probably too hot to eat, but he tempted fate and tried a bite, anyway. It was way too hot. He held his mouth open and breathed outward, trying to cool it off in desperation, then bit the bullet and swallowed it. He’d burned the roof of his mouth and probably his tongue.

Great.

Would Hale still have a crush on him now that he was returned from war defective? Austin set his plate aside and leaned back against the arm of the couch as he explored the thought. Back then, he’d been on top of the world—young, virile, and unstoppable. Now he was dead inside and less-than-whole on the outside. Hale hadn’t given him any pity out in the hall, but maybe it was because he didn’t understand the extent of Austin’s damage from what he’d seen. His injuries weren’t immediately visible, after all.

Once Hale learned the truth, Austin was pretty sure whatever interest he still had in him would wither and die. The thought troubled him in ways it shouldn’t have—Austin wasn’t gay, after all—but the thought of being desired made him feel better about himself, even if he didn’t reciprocate those feelings... and Hale was cute for a guy. Austin was comfortable enough with his sexuality to admit that.

He looked at the casserole, hoping it had cooled down enough to eat. It was still steaming, so Austin sank down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. He traced the popcorn finish mindlessly, kernel by kernel.

Would he ever feel desired again?

At twenty-five, he should have been at the prime of his life. He hadn’t even started to live yet. But it already felt like his life was over, and the only way forward for him was also the way down. He’d land some crappy job, make barely enough to pay the bills, find some local girl who he’d known in high school, and lead a stagnant, passionless life. If it wasn’t for the fact that the rehabilitation therapist he’d been referred to lived in town, he would have already gone... but that didn’t seem like an option when he had to check in every month to report on his progress.

Nothing would ever be the same as it had been before. He’d been at the prime of his life, and he’d crashed and burned. Dr. Shimota was right—he had to accept it, and he had to move on.

He picked up the too-hot casserole and ate until there was nothing left.

* * *

Catherine Byrnes, Dr. Shimota’s receptionist, looked up at Austin from her desk and offered him a polite smile. “Hello, Mr. Reeves. It’s nice to see you. What can I do for you today?”

“Dr. Shimota mentioned that she might be able to squeeze me in for additional appointments,” Austin said. Half of him wanted to forget the idea, but overall, he was glad that he was seeing it through. No matter how much progress he was making, he still had a lot of negative emotions he needed to unpack. Sitting around and feeling sorry for himself wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

“Let me check the calendar. It’ll be just a second.”

Catherine turned her attention to the computer at her desk, leaving Austin time to look around the reception area. If had been a while since he’d stopped and truly looked. The office was small—it had places for ten chairs, only two of which were presently occupied—but it didn’t feel claustrophobic. A tall, leafy plant occupied the corner, and wide windows on the south-side wall let in cheerful light. The eggshell blue paint on the walls was recent, and the floor was kept spotless. Even the magazines on the long table that divided the chairs on one wall from the chairs on the other were tastefully arranged. Most of the time, when Austin waited here, he zoned out and stopped paying attention.

He wondered if he took more time to appreciate the little things, he’d find less to be negative about. He’d been so stuck in his head since he’d come back to the US that he hadn’t really been thinking of anything other than himself.

“It looks like there might be space for an appointment next week,” Catherine said. “It’s on a Thursday at three. Does that work for you?”

“Nothing sooner?”

“Not yet, but if that changes, I could give you a call.” She smiled. “If you live close enough that you could get here in about fifteen minutes on a moment’s notice, we could slot you into a cancelled appointment. I’m sure Dr. Shimota would be glad to see you.”

“Fifteen minutes isn’t a problem. If anything comes up, could you let me know?”

“Of course.” Catherine scribbled something on an appointment card and handed it to him. “In the meantime, I’ve penciled you in for the Thursday appointment, just in case nothing opens up. Does that sound fair?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll see you Thursday or earlier.”

Austin tucked the card into his wallet and was about to leave when the door to the back opened and Dr. Shimota poked her head out. When she saw him, her expression brightened. She waved. “Hello, Austin. What’s brought you in today?”

“I was seeing if I could make an appointment with you, like you said I might be able to,” Austin said. Dr. Shimota came out from behind the door and joined him at the reception desk. “Catherine and I just set something up.”

“The Thursday at three?” Dr. Shimota asked.

Austin nodded.

“Sounds great. I look forward to seeing you.”

Dr. Shimota smiled at him and went to leave, but before she could go, Austin held out a hand to stop her. “Before you go, I uh... well, I wanted to give this to you.” He held out the plastic bag he’d been carrying. At the bottom was a plastic container containing a portion of casserole. “I made it yesterday, and I had some extra, so I figured you might like some. I... want to say thank you for being so patient with me. I know it can’t be easy.”

Dr. Shimota frowned. “Not everything in life is easy, Austin, but so many difficult things are worth the struggle. Thank you for such a thoughtful gift. I’m glad that you’re putting your energy into something. Have you always liked cooking?”

She accepted the bag from him, and he was glad for it. He might not have been able to share his meal with Hale, but at least someone would enjoy it. “I guess. I didn’t really have a chance to do it when I was in the Navy, and when I wasn’t on duty Eleanor did most of the cooking. I’m... discovering it for the first time now that I’m alone.”

“It’s a very healthy way to invest yourself,” she said kindly. “I’m proud of you, Austin. You’re doing a great job, and I really look forward to our conversation on Thursday.”

Austin nodded. “Me too. Have a good day, Dr. Shimota.”

“Likewise.” She offered him a little wave, then headed back through the door and disappeared into the office.

Maybe, if he were to start again, he could do something with food. Rocket—the fifties themed diner in town—had pretty much monopolized the restaurant business, but there were other avenues he could explore. Baking, maybe. Or catering. As the ideas started to come in, Austin felt more sure of himself than ever.

Times were tough now, but one day soon, he’d feel the same way about life that he had when he’d confronted Hale for snooping through Michael’s apartment. The spark would come back, the luster would return, and life would go on as close to normal as it could.

A singular chance meeting had torn him down, but it had also given him hope. Without knowing it, Hale had saved him. He hoped one day, he might be able to return the favor.