Scott straightened his jacket for about the hundredth time. Tori sat on the edge of his bed, tracing the lines of the dated bedspread with her fingertips. The mattress was hard as a rock and probably miserable for him to sleep on. She looked around the room they’d given him in the outpatient barracks that he’d called home for the past few weeks.
The brick walls were staunch white and in desperate need of painting. His fridge barely kept the little food he had in it cold, and the coffee from his old pot tasted like it was filtered through a sock. The room made her sad. The man had fought for her freedom, given his leg for his country, and this was the best their government could do for him? Her sadness morphed into anger.
“You look fine, Scott.” Tori rose from the bed and stood behind his wheelchair in the full-length mirror. He looked more than fine—he looked dashing in his uniform.
“It needs to not be fine. It needs to be perfect,” Scott snapped. “Can you double-check the safety pins on my pant leg? I don’t want it bunched in the back when I stand.” He started to hoist himself out of the chair, but Tori pushed him down, urging him to stay put.
“Scott, I’ve checked it three times. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.”
Scott lifted his chin and turned his head from side to side, inspecting his neck. This was about the tenth time he’d done that, as well.
And he says I’m the vain one.
“You’re perfectly shaven, Scott, not a bit of stubble.” Tori placed her arms on his shoulders. “Although I must say, I kinda was starting to like the beard. I’m gonna miss it. It was so sexy.” She bent and kissed his smooth cheek. He jerked his chin away from her.
“Not now, Tori,” he growled.
Normally, she’d put him in his place for acting like such an ass. Tori didn’t usually put up with bullshit, but today, she’d take whatever it was he was dishing out. Today, he deserved grace, because today, he was burying his friend.
The wait list was long to be buried at Arlington, and Tori couldn’t even imagine the grief the family felt for having to prolong this process. At least Scott got to pay his respects. Maybe that was a good thing. Tori wasn’t sure.
Tori straightened out the wrinkles on her newly purchased, very conservative black dress. None of her colorful, wild print dresses with the plunging necklines would do for today.
“I’m sorry.” Scott lowered his head. “I shouldn’t speak to you like that. All you’re trying to do is help, and I appreciate you going to support me.” She avoided funerals at all costs. It brought up too much shit for her, but Scott asked. Hell, the man could ask her to bury a body, and she’d start packing shovels.
“You’re forgiven.” She looked at him warmly in the mirror. Her hands curled around the handles on the back of his wheelchair, and she pulled him away from his reflection. “We have to go. I know you can’t stand to be late.”
“I’ve got it.” He gripped the wheels and rolled over to the table where his hat lay. He placed it on his head.
Stubborn much?
They opted to take the chair due to the massive hills at the cemetery. Tori knew he hated it. “Ok, but don’t bitch at me if you get your uniform sleeves all dirty.”
He let out a large breath, folding his hands across his lap, giving up. “Fine. You got my crutches, right?”
“I put them in the backseat, along with a change of clothes for you. We have everything. Are you ready?”
The morose expression on his face told her he’d never be ready for this.
Tori had never been to a military funeral. She’d seen them about a thousand times on television. Being there at Arlington National Cemetery was a sobering experience. As they presented arms to initiate the rifle volley, she braced herself, knowing the blasts were coming, but as each gunshot went off, she instinctively flinched anyway. The shots were thunderous in comparison to the somber silence of the graveyard. As the bugler played “Taps,” it echoed across the vast cemetery, causing an ache in her soul. Her eyes glistened as she listened to the lonely tune.
The soldiers folded the flag, each move rigid, and every tight fold done with perfect precision. They turned, presenting it to his wife. The beautiful woman lifted her chin bravely as tears stained her pretty, dark cheeks, dripping down to her growing belly that held the offspring of Scott’s fallen friend, a child that would never know his father. The soldier’s mother sat next to the wife. The mother’s cries were deep and feral, unlike any grief she’d ever heard before. She didn’t even know the man, and it was ripping her heart out. A tear trickled down Tori’s cheek, and she bit her tongue to keep from breaking out into sobs.
Fuck, this was awful.
Scott gripped the armrests of his chair and nodded to his side. Tori grabbed his crutches and held them up for him. He stood and crutched his way over in line with the other men dressed in uniform. One by one, they filed in a line down the side of the casket, each one of them pounding a Trident into the coffin lid.
Scott kissed his trident pin and beat it firmly into the mahogany wood. He leaned over and placed his head down, whispering a silent prayer or homage of some sort. He pulled back, straightened his spine, and moved on.
Scott settled back into his wheelchair next to her, and Tori reached over and put her hand on his thigh. Tears stained his cheeks as she glanced at him, staring straight forward with his jaw clenched. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, hard.
“Thanks for coming,” Scott said as Tori packed his wheelchair into the back of her car. “I know this kind of stuff is difficult for you.”
Tori brushed off his comment, as she did anytime he tried to touch on that subject. Tori lifted her chin. “That’s what friends are for.”
His jaw noticeably clenched as she said the word friends.
Tori climbed into the driver’s seat as Scott stood outside the door. He was headed to a bar with some of his Navy Buddies to drown their sorrows. He leaned on his crutches as he placed his hand above her window. “Drive safe,” he said.
“Call me when you get settled. Let me know you made it back.”
“Yes, mom.” He smirked, bent over, kissed her on the cheek, and shut her door.
The night grew late, and she never heard from him, and he wasn’t returning her calls. Eventually, she drifted to sleep only to be jolted awake by her cell phone vibrating off her nightstand.
“Hello?” Tori croaked.
“Victoria Johnson?” A male voice gruffly came through the line. She pulled back the phone and looked at the display—unknown number.
“Yes.” Tori sat up and turned on the lamp next to her bed.
“I’m officer Santiago from DC police. I have Scott Harris here…” He started rattling off words that didn’t make a whole bit of sense in her sleepy state—something about a bar fight, lewdness, and public intoxication. “What? Is Scott in jail?”
The officer let out a deep breath. “No. Right now, he’s in the back of my squad car, sobering up. I should take his ass to jail, though, but if you can come get him, I’m willing to forget this ever happened. I’d rather not drive him to base and get military police involved.”
“Yes.” Tori rubbed her temples. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”
Tori put down the phone and looked about her messy room, grabbing the first thing she could find on her floor. She smelled it, unsure if it was clean, but whatever. It didn’t matter. It would do. She drove the thirty minutes to the dump of a bar the cop gave her the address for.
Tori threw the car in park and stomped across the dusty lot, past a few hookers, to the flashing lights of the cop car. Scott was leaned against the hood with his crutches propped next to him, smoking a cigarette. He was laughing with the officer like they were old buddies or something.
“Thanks for coming.” His eye was nearly swollen shut, and there was a gash across his cheek. He cocked his head and gave her that damn sideways grin.
She was going to murder him.
“Sorry to wake you.” Scott grinned wider.
Really, she was going to murder him. The cop may as well cuff her now.
“You need to get some ice on that eye.” She crossed her arms.
“You should see the other guy.” His jaw was going to break from that smile, she was certain of it. Even Officer Friendly laughed at that one.
Scott flicked the cigarette out and stuck the butt in his pocket of his jeans. Gross. Tori rolled her eyes—not like the litter would matter in this shit hole. Tori didn’t find any of this amusing, mainly because she was worried sick about him. Also, because it was three a.m. and she was dog tired and in a seedy part of town.
“You stay out of trouble, Harris. I swear, if this happens again, I can’t cover for your ass.” Tori looked at the Hispanic officer with the name Santiago on the tag.
“Thanks, man.” Scott reached out his hand, and the officer patted it and gave him a brotherly hug. Apparently, Officer Friendly and Scott were old friends. “It was good to see you again.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to you your girl, Harris?” Santiago asked.
“I’m not his girl,” Tori said a little too quickly. A flicker of hurt flashed through his eyes, and she wished she could vacuum back in her words. “I’m Victoria. Scott and I are good friends.” She reached out and shook his hand.
“Hector Santiago. Nice to meet you.” The officer grinned at Tori. “Scott and I went through academy together.”
“Santiago did his time and got out,” Scott chimed.
“Yeah, and by the looks of it, I made the right choice, Stumpy.” Santiago nodded to his pinned-up jeans and laughed.
“Shut up, fucker.” Scott grinned.
“It was nice to meet you.” She forced a smile at the cop and turned to Scott. “Now let’s go,” Tori spun on her heels and walked briskly to her car. She could hear Scott trailing behind her, trying to keep up on his crutches.
“Hey, wait up!” Scott shouted. She didn’t even care to try and match his pace. She marched on. “Tori, slow down!”
She huffed and turned around, sticking her hands on her hips.
“Why are you so pissed?” Scott wrinkled his brow as he swayed on his crutches.
“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes practically popped out of her head from his ridiculous question. “You’re barely a month out of a damn hospital bed, with a wound on your leg that you can’t afford to bust open and lungs that can’t afford you smoking.”
“I quit, I told you that. This was just a single, celebratory smoke.” He smirked.
Yeah, she wasn’t buying that for one minute. “Not to mention, you’re drinking yourself into a coma daily, and now, apparently picking fights at bars with random strangers.”
“You say that like you’re some saint. We both know that’s far from the truth.” He let out a snort.
She breathed heavily through her nose and narrowed her eyes. “Get in the fucking car before I leave your ass here.” She turned and stomped toward her Mazda, slamming the door as she climbed in.
Scott opened the backseat, tossed his crutches in, and hopped to the front. He flopped in, shifting himself in the compact seat to get comfortable. He looked like a circus bear on a bike in her tiny car. She would have laughed if she wasn’t so mad. Tori sat there, with her elbow on the window, peering at him.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” he asked.
“Seatbelt.”
“Oops, forgot.” Scott giggled and reached over and buckled in. “Yeah, I don’t want to survive an explosion only to get killed by your shitty driving.”
Tori reached over and slapped him on the back of the neck.
“Hey!” He snarled his nose. “What’s that for?”
“That’s for worrying me sick about you,” she smacked him again, “and that, is for smoking, and that,” she bonked him again, “is for picking a fight and trying to get yourself thrown in jail.”
Scott sucked in a huge breath as she started the car and backed out of the lot. “Tori, I didn’t start the fight, but I sure as shit finished it.”
She raised her brow in question.
“Some fucker walks in wearing a uniform he obviously picked up at a surplus store because it’s not even regulation, full of medals he never earned. You ever heard of stolen valor?”
Tori shook her head.
“Well, it’s a thing. These guys are the worst—pretenders, liars, and frauds claiming military honors they didn't earn. They’re easy enough to spot. They can’t ever get the uniform right, and they always fuck up the medals and patches. Dumbass picked the wrong bar to come into tonight.” Scott snorted.
“That’s…that’s…”
“Deplorable? Evil? Sad and pathetic?”
“Yeah. Pretty much. But, why? Why would someone do that?”
“Because they’re worthless, that’s why.” Scott sighed. “Anyhow, a few of the guys I was with confronted him, prodded him, asked questions. He said how he was wounded in combat and had a Purple Heart. One of my buddies hollered for me to come over, you know, just have a little chat, one Purple Heart recipient to another.” Scott gritted his teeth and his fists balled. “You should’ve seen the color drain on the asshole’s face as I crutched my way over to him.”
Tori could pretty much guess how the rest of the confrontation went down. After just burying their friend that day, she was certain the men didn’t go easy on that guy.
Tori was speechless for a long moment. “I’m sorry I smacked you. I take back the one about the fight, but I still stick by the other two. I was worried sick, and I’m still pissed at you for smoking.” She shot daggers at him, letting him know he wasn’t out of the doghouse yet.
Tori drove him back to the outpatient barracks and got Scott settled into his room. After he spent thirty minutes spewing out the contents of his stomach, she tucked him into bed and reached to turn the light out. Scott grabbed her by the hand and looked up at her with a soulful stare. “Stay.”
“Alright.” Tori started to yank off her top.
“No.” He pulled her shirt down. “I… I just don’t want to be alone right now. Stay with me.”
Tori’s spine stiffened. They’d never shared the same bed together—well, she never slept with him. She had rules. She’d stayed in other men’s beds, but never Scott’s. It would be too easy to fall into a pattern. Victoria Jonson didn’t do boyfriends.
“Please.” Her heart squeezed as his lonely, brown, sad puppy eyes begged her.
She nodded slowly and curled into the bed next to him. He wrapped his arms around her. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard and melted into him. It was far too easy.
Tori woke the next morning and peered around the sad, little room. She yawned and stretched like a cat across the sheets that scratched like sandpaper. Scott was gone, and she vaguely recalled him whispering to her that he was going to physical therapy.
Between having to pick his ass up the night before so late and the awkwardness of sharing his bed, she didn’t get much rest; when she finally did sleep, she’d crashed hard.
Scott had experienced some viscous nightmares the night before. She’d barely dozed off when she’d been jolted awake by him sweating and thrashing in the bed, screaming nonsense about what she could only assume had been flashbacks. She had lain there and curled the pillow to her chest, not sure if she should have tried to wake him. About the time her heart couldn’t take it anymore, he finally calmed and had gone back to a heavy slumber.
She got up and rinsed off in an ice cold shower with no water pressure and borrowed his toothbrush. Hopefully, he wasn’t a germaphobe. She went back and sat on the bed and stretched her aching back. She wouldn’t call herself snooty—she’d lived in some dumps far worse—but this was nuts. Scott deserved better than this.
The outpatient barracks were a joke and full of sad. Scott assured her that the Naval Hospital barracks were a far cry away from the horrible conditions at Walter Reid Army hospital, recently plastered all over the news due to their horrible conditions. She knew Scott would put up with anything. He was tough as nails. Tori didn’t care if Scott said it was fine. She’d be damned if she let him stay there a minute longer.
Fuck this place. Fuck the military. Fuck leaving him alone to deal with this shit. Tori stood and began packing his room.
“Go ahead, put it on,” Nicole, his physical therapist, urged.
Scott didn’t want to. It was his own damn body, and the sight of it made him want to upchuck. He hated touching the damn thing, and every day, it made him sick to look at it.
“Go on, Harris. Put the sock on. It’s not gonna bite you.”
Scott tightened his lips. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a shitty bedside manner?”
“Every one of the soldiers in here. Now shut up and put on the sock and shrinker. If you do, I may let you walk today.”
He had getting from the bed to the wheelchair down, and using the crutches. The rigid dressing he was wearing kept his knee straight. They wanted to make sure to avoid a contracture that would limit his motion. Walking had his attention, though, so he figured he better stop being a pussy. He’d always hated the part of himself that got a bit light-headed over medical shit. It was his Achilles’ heel.
“Well? Go on,” Nicole snarled. For a teeny, little thing, Nicole was ferocious. She only stood about five feet tall, but Scott was sure she could kick his ass in his current state. Her She-Hulk biceps made him wonder if she’d undergone a sex change, but he saw no evidence of an Adam’s apple, and she was far too feminine in the face to have ever been a dude. With her slender, upturned nose and freckles, she looked like Punky Brewster on steroids. The girl lifted some serious weight.
“Harris, come on!” She snapped her fingers.
“Fine, Punky.” He gave her a lopsided grin. He bent over and put the white sock over his stump, choking down the bile that stung his tongue.
“Who are you calling Punky?” She tucked her long brown hair behind her ear and leaned on her knees. She even sat like a dude. “Nice shiner you got there by the way.” She nodded to him.
“I slipped in the shower,” he lied.
She chuckled. “Suuuurre you did, Harris. Do the showers in the barracks also pour whiskey out of the spout? Because you smell like you fell into a barrel of it.” She scowled.
Scott didn’t respond. He put the damn sock on his ham hock of a leg.
“Not bad, now smooth it out.”
Scott rolled his eyes. He did this every day, but he hated it every damn time. He was being overly stubborn, and he knew it, but he was having a shit day and didn’t want to deal with any of this. He was hungover, in pain, and physically and emotionally spent.
“Good, now the shrinker.”
Scott yanked the black compression shrinker off the PT table, flipped it inside out, and rolled it over his stump, smoothing it out. “I was obedient. Now do I get my reward?” He looked at her smugly as he leaned back and rested his arms on the wheelchair and folded his hands.
“Fine.” She stood and went into a room over to the side and came back out with a prosthetic. “We got you a temporary leg. Let’s see if you can bear weight.”
She stood there for a minute by the walker. “Well, wheel on over here. I’m not gonna do it for you.”
Scott released the brakes on his chair and pushed toward her. She slid a silicone liner over his stump with a pin on the end of it, slipping it into the prosthetic, pressing it tight. “Now the walker.”
Scott grabbed the handles of the walker and stood with all his weight to his right leg. He winced. His right hand was on fire, his knuckles swollen and sore from pounding that asshole’s jaw the night before.
“Ok, slowly put some pressure on it and see how it feels,” Nicole instructed.
Scott closed his eyes and gradually allowed his left hip to sink down. It was so weird to be standing after so many weeks on a leg that didn’t exist. He stood there for a bit as Nicole came and wrapped a belt around his waist.
“Ok, try and take a step forward. Lead with the prosthetic first, always.” She held on to the belt from behind. “Trust the prosthetic. Put your full weight into it.”
One foot in front of the other. It’s just walking, no big deal.
Scott pushed the walker out and took a ragged, gimpy step, then another, then another. He was limping like a mo-fo, but dammit, he was walking.
A warm feeling crept up inside him. His eyes clouded, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. Walking again was exhilarating.
“Feels good to be on two legs, doesn’t it?” Tori’s voice echoed across the room. He snapped his head up. Her hands were crossed, and she was leaning against the doorway. He was shocked she’d tracked him down. How long had she been watching?
“Yeah.” He nodded, clearing his throat. He was so happy to be walking he could care less how uncomfortable the thing was.
“How’s it feel?” Tori asked.
“Good,” he lied.
Nicole gave him a raised brow, as if she wasn’t buying it. Tori had the same expression.
“It’s a little loose, it’s rubbing a bit.” He didn’t want to complain, and he sure as hell didn’t want them to take the leg from him.
“This one is temporary, keep that in mind, but we don’t want friction. Your skin will break down, and we can’t have that.” Nicole bent over and looked at it, and turned his leg from side to side. Nicole nodded back to the wheelchair. “Sit.”
Scott sunk in the chair while Nicole popped off the prosthetic, followed by the rubber liner and compression bandage. She added a couple more socks to it, and put everything back on.
“Try it now.” Nicole patted his thigh.
Scott stood and did another pass across the room with the walker. “Better.” It was tight at the top, but it wasn’t loose at the bottom anymore. He’d deal.
“Ok, big guy. Let’s see how you do flying solo.” Nicole motioned him toward the parallel bars. “Use the rails if you need. I’ve got you from the back if you start to tip.”
Scott held his hands above the bars and took his first shaky steps without assistance. He made several passes back and forth, and when he picked up the pace, his knee buckled a bit. Nicole grabbed him by the waist, and he caught himself with the rails. “Not so fast. Your gait’s terrible, but we’ll fix that. Slow down and take your time. You’ll get there.”
“So, I can take this one with me?”
“Yep, for now.”
“Sweet.” He grinned.
Nicole went over some instructions for him. He was only allowed to wear the temporary prosthetic for a few hours a day until he got his gait under control, and to use walker with it on or the crutches. “No flying solo until I say so. Don’t get cocky!” Nicole yelled as he walked out the door.
“Tori do you mind giving me a lift back to my room?” Scott asked as he took small steps down the hall with the walker.
“I’ll give you a ride, but you aren’t going back there.” She played with his crutches as they went down the hall. They were far too tall for her, she nearly toppled over.
He stopped and looked at her. “I’m not wanting to go out with this thing.” He nodded to the walker. He was also dead tired and could use a nap.
“You’re coming home with me. I’ve already packed your room.”
“You what?” Scott’s eyes flew open.
“This place is a shit hole, Scott. That was the most damned uncomfortable bed I’ve ever slept on. My shower was ice cold.”
Scott’s neck grew hot with anger. “I’m sorry I forgot to check for a pea under the mattress last night, princess. I’ll notify the royal housekeeping staff and let them know that the palace was not up to your standards.”
“Scott…” she groaned. “It’s more than that, and you know it.”
“Tori, you can’t pack my shit and move me out without my permission. There are forms and procedures to this stuff—”
“Yes, all kinds of government bureaucracy bullshit to wade through. Whatever.” She waved her hand flippantly. “We’ll do what needs done. I’m not taking no for an answer. I don’t care how pissed off you are at me. I’ll drive off this damn base with every last thing you own in my car and make you chase me if I have to.”
Scott glared at her and let out a long breath. He hated the outpatient barracks, but he’d slept in far worse. He wasn’t one to complain.
“Screw the government.” She squinted her eye, twisted her lip, and flipped the middle finger, just like Anthony Hopkins in Legends of the Fall.
A smile morphed on his face. “Screw ‘em!” He shouted back.
She flashed him a goofy, wide grin, tucked his crutches under her arm, and started jogging backwards down the hall. “You better come on. Clock’s ticking. You know I can outrun you.”
God damn, if she wasn’t the cutest thing he’d ever seen…
“Not for much longer, you won’t.” He picked up his pace and followed her out.