“Goddammit!” The cereal skitters across the counter, the little flakes hitting the hardwood floor seconds later. The bowl follows, and I hurl the half-gallon jug of milk across the kitchen for good measure.

Down the hall, my ears register the sound of the front door opening and closing. My brother’s heavy footsteps against the wood, mixed with the sound of him tossing his keys up and catching them repeatedly, confirm his arrival.

His footsteps stop, but I don’t turn to face him. I’m still bent over the counter, gripping the granite like I could reduce it to powdered rock with my bare hands. I can feel my blood pressure rising to a dangerous level, and it’s all because of a fucking bowl of cereal.

When did I become this person? The guy who can’t keep his shit together long enough to clean up his own mess?

“Damn, Flash.” My brother’s tone is half-amused, half-disappointed. “How many times have I told you? If you make a miscalculation, you stop what you’re doing and readjust. You don’t have a goddamned temper tantrum.”

I growl in response.

My brother, only younger than me by a year and a half, never sugarcoats with me. It’s the one thing I love about him the most, even though it aggravates me on a daily basis.

“It’s been months, Axel. Months! If I can’t even pour myself a bowl of cereal, when the hell am I going to move on with the rest of my life?” I accent the question with a hard slam of my hand into the countertop. It hurts, but pain is one thing I can understand right now, when everything else in my world feels so foreign.

Axel’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Time, man. It’s gonna take time.”

It’s his mantra, the thing he repeats over and over again, until it sinks into my thick skull.

“I’ve given it time.” My voice is flat, the way it’s been since I lost my eyesight.

“Your eyes needed time to heal, Flash,” he says quietly. “And not just your eyes. Your whole body was pretty fucked up in that motorcycle accident. So it was slow going at first. Mentally—”

I raise a hand, cutting him off. “If I hear one more load of bullshit about my mental state, I swear to God, I’ll punch you in the face.”

I can hear the smirk in his voice. It’s funny; when I lost my vision, suddenly every other sense became stronger. It’s something I fought at first, because all I wanted was my eyesight. But now? Now it’s starting to sink in that just because I’m blind, it doesn’t necessarily mean I have to be helpless.

“You’d have to find my face, first.” Axel chuckles.

“Asshole.”

“Pussy.” His outright laughter pisses me off, and I push off the counter and whirl to face him.

Bringing my hand up fast in an open slap, I catch him on the back of the head just before he ducks, and I count that small bit of contact as a victory. And then I stumble through the backswing. Something I never would have done if I’d had my eyesight. I was light and quick on my feet, despite my being just over six feet tall and one-eighty. I’m built of lean muscle; muscle that I keep tight and toned through running, weightlifting, and sparring with Axel. But that’s not helping me much anymore.

Victory? Yeah, right. Before you went blind, you would have had him on his ass.

“You got me,” Axel laughs.

“Not fast enough.” I grunt and turn away, feeling my way from the kitchen into the living room. Leaning against a bookcase, I turn toward the light streaming in through the French doors leading out to the patio.

Light. I can still register light, even though I can’t exactly see it anymore. Shadowy forms moving in front of an abundance of light appear in my vision too, but that’s it. I’ve been reduced to shadows and the perception of light, and it’s actually something to be excited about.

The thought makes me want to punch the wall beside me.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Flash. We’re in this together, remember? Keep training, keep working out. When we spar, it’ll be like nothing’s changed. You just have to give it time.”

In this together. Yeah, maybe. But only one of us is blind.

I don’t turn to face him. “I want to run again, Axel.”

Silence. I knew this was coming, but he had to have known it, too. Running is the only thing that kept me sane during two tours in Afghanistan, the only sport I latched onto as a gangly teenager who needed to take out his energy and aggression on something.

Without it? I’m drowning.

“When I said we were in this together, I meant it.” Axel’s words are careful, like he’s dismantling a bomb that could go off at any second. “You’re not the only one who’s no longer flying those jets. When you were discharged, it only took me a few months before my time was up, too. I’m with you till the end, brother. You know that. And maybe you can’t run right now, but I have an idea of how you can get there.”

I scrub one hand over my face as I consider his words. He’s right…he left the Air Force as soon as he had the option after my accident. He immediately went to school to become a Certified Mobility Specialist, so I wouldn’t have to work with a stranger on rehab and learning my way through life as a blind person. He’s been there for me every step of the way.

“Let me shower first. I still smell like the fucking weight room from our workout this morning. Then you can give me your idea.”

Axel doesn’t help me through my long, ranch-style house, to get to my master bedroom and bath. Hell, he only stayed with me for a month after the accident. Then he insisted that it was time for me to get acclimated to my surroundings without his hands-on help every single day.

I told him he could kiss my ass for that.

Tough love. It’s something my brother is damn good at, and probably the only kind of love I’d know how to respond to.

* * *

“A dog?” My tone is incredulous as I repeat the words Axel just said to me.

Axel’s tone is smug as shit, and he deserves to get kneed in the balls for this one. “A guide dog. It’s the fastest way to get you mobile through the streets of Savannah. I’m not gonna hold your hand to help you train. You know I’m not a runner, Flash.”

“I’ve never had a dog.”  Even as I say the words, I’m not completely opposed to the idea. I’ve never minded dogs.

“Yeah, but remember how we used to beg Mom and Dad for one growing up? This is our chance! This dog would be specially trained to be your guide. Make sure you can get around those mean streets of Savannah without killing yourself.”

Axel’s grinning. I don’t know how I know it, but there’s a shit-eating grin on his face right now.

“Where do we start? Do I just go to a pet store and pick up a dog who knows how to help blind people?” I ask, my voice dry.

Axel groans. “Dude, I’ve already done that first step. I contacted the organization that supplies guide dogs to those people who need and want them. You have an appointment to meet with someone this afternoon.”

My mouth drops open. “What the hell? What if I’d said no?”

Axel pats a hand on my cheek. Hard. “Then we would have sparred. Winner would have taken this one.”

“That’s bullshit. You always win when we spar, but it’s only because I’m fucking blind.”

Axel chuckles. “I know.”

* * *

“I’m Kim, from SC Guide Dogs. It’s nice to meet you.”

Without speaking, I offer her a quick handshake and turn to slowly make my way down my front hall and into the living room.

Behind me, Axel clears his throat. I can almost see him shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Kim. It’s like when he lost his eyesight, he also lost his social skills.”

Kim follows me into the living room. I can hear her movements, and detect that she takes a seat in the oversized chair beside the fireplace. Axel remains standing.

“Mr. Jackson, your application for a guide dog was approved. I’ve brought someone to meet you today. This is Nitro.” Kim’s voice is cheerful and upbeat.

I sit up straighter in my chair.

“Nitro, speak.” Her tone is commanding but gentle. A loud, short bark resounds around the room, and I blink.

“I’ve never had a dog,” I admit, my voice gruff. “I don’t know what to do with him.”

There’s a smile in Kim’s voice. “Don’t worry. He knows exactly what to do with you. After two weeks of training with us, you two will know each other better than anyone else. And your relationship will only grow from there.”

Relationship? With a dog? Right.

“I think he’d like to meet you,” she continues. “I’m going to send him over. Just hold out your hand.”

With reluctance, I do what she says. I hold out my left hand and after a minute, a warm, furry body places itself under it. I rub the dog’s back, which is softer than I expected.

“What kind of dog is he?” I ask softly.

“Nitro is a two-year-old German Shepherd. And he’s all ready to learn to be your guide dog.”

The dog pushes his nose into my hand, as if he agrees with her completely.

I look to where Kim is sitting. “Will he help me run again?”

After a second’s hesitation, she finally answers. “After some time, it’ll be possible.”

With a small sigh, I nod. “Then I’m ready to train with him.”