She shrugged. “You shouldn’t care what he thinks. He’s a winemaker. What happens with winery operations isn’t up to him.”
I sensed something was as off between her and Georgio as it was between him and me. It seemed we couldn’t talk to each other without it ending in an argument. I didn’t know how to make things better between us. Something told me that Paolo taking over, even temporarily, was going to make it much worse.
“Hey,” said Georgio, coming into the office moments after Lucia walked out.
“Hi,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“Sorry, but it’s true.”
I stood, walked over to where he leaned against the desk, and sat next to him. I bumped him with my shoulder. “What happened to us, Georgio? It seems like all we do is fight. We used to be friends. Closer than that. You’ve always been like a brother to me.”
I could feel his body tense. “You remember that? I thought you’d forgotten.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We aren’t friends anymore, Pia.”
“We aren’t? Since when?”
“Since we were teenagers.”
“I wasn’t aware I was no longer your friend.”
“Right. You come home; you go back to college. I never know when you’ll be here. You don’t even say goodbye when you leave. You don’t call unless you’re checking on a production issue or can’t reach anyone else to send you sales reports. You’re just like your father.”
“What does that mean?”
“To you, I’m just the help.”
His words hurt. “I don’t feel that way about you, Georgio. I promise I don’t. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel that way.”
“Too little, too late, Pia.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him before I’d had the chance to tell him about my father hiring Paolo.
7
Grinder
Six Months Later
Najaf, Iraq
Yesterday, I turned twenty-two. Other than Keon—Edge—no one made mention of it. I was surprised he did. How did I celebrate? With my twentieth direct kill. I had been indirectly responsible for countless others.
It had been twenty months since Edge and I were deployed to Iraq on a secret mission to locate and take out certain members of the Iraqi military, supposedly our allies but, in reality, responsible for innumerable coalition deaths.
I hated everything about this fucking place. It wasn’t just the searing heat of the desert that made me and the rest of the men I served with, miserable bastards, we were supposed to be back home by now. After eighteen months spent in a country where I felt like I’d been transported back to the Middle Ages, I was beyond ready to get the hell out of here.
Four days before our scheduled transport, Sunni insurgents staged three uprisings, undoing months of work spent training Iraqi forces, and sending the region right back into chaos and instability.
The men in the coalition platoon Edge and I were placed in were from the US as well as the UK. Our unit made up what was known as a Quick Reaction Force—or QRF. We stood ready to respond at a moment’s notice in the event another unit was attacked or needed help.
It was a little before midnight when we got the call ordering us on a mission to clear insurgents out of Sadr City, a dense Shiite area in eastern Baghdad. Edge and I also received intel that a top lieutenant in the Mahdi Army had been seen in the area in the last twenty-four hours.
We split into teams and piled into the armored personnel carriers known as BFVs—Bradley Fighting Vehicles—and moved out. It wasn’t long after we pushed into the streets of the city that we went under fire from rocket-grenades and AK-47s. There were nine of us in the vehicle: the commander, the gunner, and me, tonight’s designated driver. The six other men were crammed into a small hold in the rear of the tank. The hammer of rifle fire against metal and the explosive charges of the rocket-propelled grenades was ear-shattering.
I was attempting to maneuver into a position where our hatch could be lowered and the soldiers in the tank could dismount, when the BFV hit an improvised explosive device. The last thing I remembered was being blown out of the hatch and landing on the ground, my body engulfed in a ball of flames.
I lost consciousness but came to, every so often, for a few seconds at a time, certain I was dead, since I couldn’t feel any pain. I could hear Edge’s voice, but before I could decipher his words, everything would fade back to black.
I vaguely remember the helicopter transport, mainly because it was the first time I felt any real pain. The jostling is what made me come to; the subsequent pain sent me back under.
“Captain Stone,” I heard a woman’s voice repeating. I opened my eyes. “Ah, there he is. Do you know where you are, Captain Stone?”
Based on her accent, I would guess Germany, and by the medical equipment surrounding me, a hospital. “Not really,” I answered.
“You’re in the Burn Intensive Care Unit of the GER Armed Forces Central Military Hospital in Koblenz, Germany.”
“Right,” I said, closing my eyes.
“What number would you give your pain presently?”
“On a scale of?”
“One to ten.”
“Zero.”
“Captain Stone, are you still with me?”
“Yes.” I opened my eyes, wishing she’d just go away and leave me the hell alone.
“The doctor has been waiting to talk to you.”
She walked out, and I let my eyes drift closed again.
“Captain Stone?” This time it was a man’s voice.
I opened my eyes.
“I’m Dr. Schweitzer. How are you doing?” he asked with the same strong German accent.
“You tell me, doc.”
He pulled a chair over and sat in it. “Do you remember what happened to you?”
I shook my head. I was groggy, but something inside warned me I wouldn’t want to pull whatever we were about to discuss to the forefront of my consciousness.
“You suffered third-degree burns on approximately thirty percent of your body—your lower left torso and your left leg primarily.”
“You must be giving me some bloody good pain meds, doc.”
He slowly closed his eyes and reopened them. “With a burn such as yours, which we classify as full-thickness, the dermis is completely destroyed. You may feel sensations of pressure, but no nerve endings remain to transport the feeling of pain to your brain.”
“How long have I been here?”
“About sixteen days.”
“The last thing I remember…” I couldn’t go on.
“You were kept in a medically induced coma to prevent you from further injuring yourself.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you put me back under.”
He nodded. “I understand, but there are a few people here who are waiting to see you. I asked that they let me explain your injuries and treatment plan before they came in.”
I closed my eyes again, certain I didn’t want to hear what he was about to tell me.
I listened only superficially as he explained different types of skin grafts, which were temporary, and which could be considered permanent.
“It will take approximately one month for the grafts to heal.”
“You’re saying I’ll be out of here in a few weeks’ time?”
Dr. Schweitzer shook his head. “With the amount of skin that will need to be grafted, it will take several surgeries. You will be with us for at least one year, Miles. Is it okay if I call you Miles?”
I could barely register his question; my mind was swirling with his prediction that I’d be here a year. At least.
“Before I bring your parents in, do you have any further questions at this time?”
Fighting tears, I found my voice. “Just one.”
“Go ahead.”
“Why the fuck did you let me live?”
When he stood to leave, I called out
to him.
“Yes?”
“I don’t want them to see me like this.”
“If you mean your injuries, they’ve seen you, Miles. They’ve been here every day since you arrived.”
I turned my head, fighting threatening tears. “I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to see anyone. I want to be left the hell alone.”
The doctor’s already solemn expression grew more somber. “I understand, Miles, but the support of your family is essential to your recovery.”
I didn’t respond. I’d told him I didn’t want to see anyone. Whether he respected my wishes or not, there was nothing I could do about it. It wasn’t as if I could get up and walk out of the room.
A few minutes later, the door opened and my mum and dad came in. They both put on a brave face, but their cheeks were tear-stained and their eyes red and swollen.
Mum stood beside me and brushed the hair from my forehead. “The most important thing I want to say to you, is to tell you how much I love you. I thank God every day that you’re still with us.”
Did she know I wished for the exact opposite? Had she been listening to my conversation with the doctor?
“Miles,” said my father, standing on the other side of the bed. “Son…” His eyes filled with tears, and he looked away.
The door opened again, and a woman walked in who looked like my sister but with an extra five stone. When she rested her hand on her stomach, I realized she was pregnant.
“Hi,” she said, coming to take my fathers’ place.
“You look big as a house.”
She smiled through her tears. “Sure, go on, then, make fun of me when I can’t give you a swat for it.”
“How many do you have in there?”
“Just one, and it seems he’ll be born here in Germany.”
“He?”
“That’s right.” She clenched her eyes and gripped the bed rail. “Sorry,” she said a few seconds later. “Contractions.”
Several hours later, according to my nurse, Angus Miles Spencer was born in the hospital adjacent to the burn center.
My mum and dad were gone for quite a while, and I appreciated the respite, as short-lived as it was.
I had no idea what to expect when the male nurse came in to tell me it was time for a dressing change.
“This won’t be easy,” he said. “You might do better if you don’t look. At least in the beginning.”
“Wait.” I put my hand on his when he went to move the bedclothes. “The doc said ‘lower left torso.’ What does that mean?”
He put his hand near his hipbone. “You’re burned from here around to your backside.”
“What about the front?”
“Looks about the same as your arm.” He nudged me.
“Thanks. What’s your name?”
“Carson, and you’ll be right sick of me in no time.”
“You’re English?”
Carson nodded. “Your mum and dad made arrangements for me to begin your rehab here. That way, when you return to England, there will be a continuum of care.”
“Bloody hell! What’s that cost?”
“I reckon not as much as you’re worth to them.”
After giving me a hefty pump of morphine and applying analgesics to the left lower portion of my body and my leg, Carson began the process of changing my dressings. I took his advice and didn’t allow myself to look.
When he finished what I can only describe as pain worse than a thousand knives stuck into my muscles, and that was with the pain meds, I was wrung out. Evidently, there were more than a few nerve endings still functioning well enough to talk to my brain.
“Get some rest,” Carson said, patting my shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
I rested my head against the pillow. “I’d rather you not.”
I was a week in and preparing for my second skin-graft surgery. They’d performed the first right after I arrived, while I was in the medically induced coma.
Carson was in the midst of a dressing change when the door to my room opened and Edge walked in.
“Aren’t you a sight?” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “How the hell are you, Grind?”
Carson raised his head. “Who’s this?”
“Edge, this is Carson, aka Mengele.”
“You wanker, how many times do I need to remind you we’re in Germany, for fuck’s sake?” he spat under his breath.
Calling Carson Mengele was only one of the ways I paid him back for the pain he put me through on a daily basis.
I allowed almost no one else in to see me. Even the nurses knew not to initiate unnecessary conversation after I’d systematically berated them to the point where they must have taken to drawing straws to see who would be forced to come in and take my vitals.
He finished up and left Edge and I on our own.
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here. I put in for leave straight away.”
I held up my hand. “You don’t need to feel like you have to be here.” When his eyes scrunched, I felt like an absolute tosser. “Look, I know you mean well by coming, but I’d prefer to be alone.”
“I’m sorry, Miles.”
“I told you, I know you mean well. I just—”
“Not for coming.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “I should’ve been driving that BFV.”
“By way of what?”
He shook his head. “I just should have been.”
I didn’t respond. What could I say? We both knew it was the luck of the draw. I wouldn’t wish what happened to me on my worst enemy, let alone my best friend.
“Whatever I can do…”
“I appreciate it, but—” The door opened again, and this time, a woman walked in. The woman. What the hell was Pia doing here?
“Am I interrupting?”
“No,” said Edge at the same time I said, “Yes.”
“I can come back later.”
Edge stood and walked toward the door. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”
When Pia walked closer to the bed, I closed my eyes. I didn’t want her here. I didn’t want her to see me like this, but more, I didn’t want to see her pity reflected back at me if I looked into her eyes.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I had to come.”
I opened my eyes and stared her down. “Why?”
The question appeared to stun her. “I care about you, Mylos.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” I repeated. “I don’t want you here.” I turned my head and closed my eyes. “Leave, Pia.”
“But, Mylos, I left school, I traveled—”
“I don’t care. I asked you to leave, and I’d appreciate it if you’d have enough respect for me to do so.”
I didn’t open my eyes again until long after I heard the door close behind her. I had no idea who had contacted her or suggested she visit, but I’d make it abundantly clear to everyone that I wouldn’t permit her to come back.
8
Pia
I walked out of Mylos’ room and leaned against the wall outside his door as silent sobs racked my body. The beautiful man-boy I knew was gone. It had nothing to do with his injuries; it was his heart I could no longer feel. I longed to wrap my arms around him and give him comfort. Instead, I wrapped my arms around my own waist. I couldn’t describe the pain I experienced when he said he didn’t want me there, when he told me to leave.
“Ma’am?” I heard a man’s voice say. “Pia?”
I raised my head and wiped at my tears.
“I’m Keon.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to square my shoulders and stop my tears. I was about to introduce myself but then realized he’d called me by name.
“Mylos—Miles—and I…” I couldn’t go on.
“He says your name sometimes in his sleep.” He put his arm around my shoulders.
Part of me wanted to know if Mylos had ever told him about me. The other part didn’t want to know what he might’ve
said.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m his best friend and he doesn’t want me here either.” He smiled, but then the look on his face grew serious. “Knowing Miles the way I do, my guess is he doesn’t want any of us here. You, me, his sister, or his parents. I know him to be a private and very proud man. Having to depend on others will never be easy for him.”
I nodded, unsurprised by his friend’s assessment.
“If you want to give me your number, I can call you if anything changes,” the man offered.
As in, if he asked for me? That would never happen. I might as well walk out of the hospital and return to Italy. But I wasn’t here only for him. Lily had asked me to come. I would give her the comfort and support her brother refused from me.
“That’s very nice of you,” I said when he handed me his phone and I put my number in it. “Thank you.”
I walked to the elevator, turning once more before I pressed the button. Mylos’ friend was still staring at me. What was he thinking, I wondered. When I heard the elevator’s ding, I held up my hand, and he did the same.
When I exited in the lobby, I saw Mylos’ mother and father sitting in the atrium. Not sure whether Lily told them she’d contacted me, I didn’t walk over to speak with them. As I passed by, headed toward the exit, Margaret, Lily and Mylos’ mother, called out to me.
“Pia,” she cried, drawing me into a hug. “I’m so glad you’ve come. Have you seen Miles?”
I thought about lying and saying I didn’t go in, because his friend was there. “I didn’t stay, since he had company.” Still a lie.
“Yes, well, Edge is his best friend, and he’s just arrived. That was so thoughtful of you, dear.”
I took a step back, out of her embrace. “I’ll come back later.”
“Where are you staying? We’re across the way at the Sofitel.”
“I…um…am staying with friends of our family.” That was a lie too; I was staying in the same hotel they were.
“Oh, that’s nice. Is it close by?”
“Not too far.” I took another step back. “I’ll see you soon, yes?”
Grinded (The Invincibles Book 3) Page 6