Pieces Of Us: Missing Pieces Series, Book Three

by Walker, N. R.

  “I love you too, Juss.”

  “Well, I better get some work done,” he said. He tried to smile but it didn’t quite sit right.

  “You sure you’re okay?” I asked. “If you’re mad or upset about the article or the photo, you can tell me.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know how I feel about it,” he admitted. And that was a good start. Last time he bottled stuff up, it messed with him for days. His brain couldn’t handle the overthinking right now.

  “That’s okay, Juss. That’s good. Take your time, think some more on it, and see how you feel,” I suggested. “We can talk about it later.”

  He nodded, relieved. His smile was more genuine this time. “Thanks.”

  I stood and pulled him to his feet. He drank half his now-warm coffee and tipped the rest down the sink. I drank mine and followed him out to the workshop. Juss headed straight for Sparra—he was helping him with a Honda—and Davo gave me a nod to come over.

  “How is he?” he asked.

  “He’s okay. Still not sure. He needs some time to think about it. But thanks for giving me the heads up about it first.”

  “No worries,” he said.

  We went about our work as per normal. It was busy: customers, the usual bookings, phone calls, suppliers. And when we stopped for smoko, Justin said he might, if it was all right with me, call it a day.

  “Headache’s not getting much better,” he said.

  “Yeah, of course,” I replied. “Go on up and rest. I’ll order some lunch in for everyone today and bring it up later.”

  He gave a nod and took the stairs one at a time, and I knew the newspaper article was playing on his mind.

  “Is he okay?” Sparra asked. “He’s been quiet this morning.”

  “Yeah. He’ll be okay.” I sighed. “But I feel like calling that fucking newspaper reporter dickhead and telling him to add this part of Justin’s amnesia to his story. That some little interview piece for ratings will fuck Juss up for a day. How seeing that photograph would mess with the way his brain’s wired. Stress and bullshit do a real number on him now.”

  “Yeah,” Davo agreed. “He looked kinda spaced.”

  I nodded, and it got the better of me. “I might just go up and check on him.” I got to the breakroom door. “Save me a Kingston.”

  I took the stairs two at a time and opened the door as quiet as I could. He wasn’t on the couch, so I stuck my head around the bathroom door, but it was empty too. That left the bedroom. I peeked inside, and there he was in bed lying on his side, his boots on the floor, the covers pulled up, and Squish curled up at his stomach. Juss was stroking Squish’s neck, his eyes almost closed.

  “Hey, baby,” I whispered as I came in. I sat beside him and put my hand on his arm. “You okay?”

  “Just feel . . . awful.”

  I stroked his hair, feeling his forehead as I did. He didn’t feel hot. “Can I get you your pills?”

  “Nah. Just need some sleep. Tired. Headache. Same old.”

  I frowned, hating that this was his new normal. “Okay, I’ll leave you to rest. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  He slow blinked. “Didn’t mean to make you worry.”

  I leaned down and kissed his temple. “I will always worry.” I noticed his phone on the bedside. “Call me if you need anything.”

  His eyes closed and he hummed. “’Kay.”

  I gave Squish a pat too, and he purred louder. “Look after him, Squish. You’re in charge.”

  The corner of Juss’ mouth lifted, just a touch. And with another brush of Juss’ hair, I left them both to sleep.

  Work got busy for the next few hours, but I did remember to order some pizzas for lunch, for which Davo and Sparra were very grateful. I took some upstairs for Juss, not sure if he’d even be awake, but he was. He was on the couch now, changed out of his work gear and wearing trackies and a hoodie, though he was mostly hidden under a blanket. The TV wasn’t on, but he was looking at something on his phone, and Squish, as always, was purring beside him.

  “Pizza delivery,” I said, putting the box next to him. “How are you feeling?”

  He put his phone down. “Okay. Better. Drugs kicked in.”

  “Good.” I knew his meds made him drowsy and spacey, but it had to be better than searing pain. I grabbed us a bottle of water each from the fridge and slid his next to the pizza box. I helped myself to a slice and sat at the other end of the couch. “Can I see you at least eat a piece?”

  Justin rolled his eyes and let his head fall back onto the headrest, but he didn’t say anything.

  “What?” I asked with a smile. “You want to tell me to piss off?”

  His gaze went to mine.

  “You’re allowed to be pissed off or frustrated with me,” I added. “I know I’m pushy.”

  Juss sighed. “I don’t mean it.”

  “I know.” I took another bite of the pizza, chewed, and swallowed. “But those pills make you nauseous if you don’t eat.”

  He sighed again, with more bite this time. “I’m not a kid.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He scowled at the wall for a bit, but his grumpy face softened. “Thank you for bringing me food.”

  I smiled at him. “You’re welcome.”

  Now he pouted. “And thank you for checking up on me.”

  I stood up and, leaning down, kissed his forehead. “Any time. I’ll leave you to rest.”

  “You don’t have to go. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome.”

  “No, it’s fine. I better get back down there and steal a piece of the Supreme before Davo eats it all.” The truth was, I reckoned Juss would eat a piece or two of pizza and sleep hard for a few more hours yet. He was still tired. And I had work that needed doing. “Make sure Squish doesn’t steal any pizza.”

  Juss managed half a smile before I got to the door, but I wasn’t wrong in my prediction. He ate and slept a while longer, though he did come back down to the shop for a bit before closing time. He still wore his track pants and hoodie, but he found the broom and put it to work, keeping busy though mostly keeping to himself.

  At knock-off time, Davo pulled the roller door down, the sound giving a metallic rumbling finality to the week. Thank God it was the weekend. “Hey, you still wanna grab a drink at the Arms tomorrow? It’s all right if you wanna leave it.”

  “What’s that?” Juss asked, overhearing.

  Had I asked him this? I was going to, then we’d just got sidetracked. “Wanna meet the boys at the pub tomorrow? We can grab a feed and watch the footy. We don’t have to stay long.”

  Juss, still holding the broom, looked from me to Davo and Sparra, then back to me. “Sure. Sounds good.”

  He was still a bit off. His expression was flat and his eyes didn’t shine when he smiled. The boys probably thought it was just the meds, if they noticed it at all, but I knew him.

  He had something on his mind, something was bothering him and weighing him down. I was certain it was that damn photograph, and I was so grateful it was closing time on a Friday so me and him could just chill out on the couch and talk.

  “See ya’s tomorrow at four,” I said, waving Davo and Sparra off.

  “It’s your shout, remember?” Sparra called back with a grin.

  I laughed. “I haven’t forgotten.” I locked the gate behind them and went back into the workshop, ready to close everything down. “Thank God it’s the weekend.”

  Juss walked right up to me and into a hug. I held him warm and tight, rubbed his back, and kissed his head. “You ready to go upstairs?” I murmured.

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  I closed my office door, and when I went to shut the breakroom door, I noticed the damn newspaper. I picked it up and aimed it for the bin, but Juss stopped me. “No, keep it.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded again. “I dunno what for. Just don’t want to throw it out.”

  I frowned but wasn’t about to argue. “Okay then, l
et’s go home.”

  That made him smile. “Sounds good.”

  I turned everything off and made sure everything was locked, and we went upstairs. Justin went to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, his arms folded. Then he went through the fridge, not finding what he wanted, then he put the kettle on, and then he cleared off the table before he straightened up the couch cushions.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  He stopped and leaned against the back of the couch and folded his arms again. Then he shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, and when that wasn’t right, he folded his arms again. I went to him and unpeeled his arm away and held his hand.

  “Was it the photograph?”

  He looked away and squinted. “Not really. A bit, but . . .”

  I put my hand to his cheek and gently turned him so he’d look at me. “Then what is it?”

  “What he said, at the end.”

  I tried to remember . . . “The undisclosed amount of money?”

  He shook his head. “No. The part about the brain injuries.” When it was clear I couldn’t remember, he frowned. “The part where he said that people like me end up in a home.”

  Wait, what? “Juss, I don’t . . .”

  He went to the table where I’d put the newspaper and found the article. “Here. ‘Traumatic brain injury is a leading cause of disability in Australia, with links to violence, homelessness, and suicide. In fact, many people who suffer serious TBI end up in care homes or in long-term care, and there have been links to other cognitive degeneration in later years.’” He looked at me. “Did you not read that part?”

  “I did, but I . . .” I shook my head, flustered. “I didn’t apply it to you. I just read it as statistics for the article. I . . . I should have taken more notice. Sorry.”

  He stared, bewildered and stunned. “How does it not apply to me? Dallas, how does that not apply to me?”

  “Because it doesn’t. I dunno! I would never let you get put into a care home. Jesus, Justin. Never.”

  “But you can’t say that. Because you don’t know.”

  “I do know that.” I went to him and cupped his face. “I wouldn’t.”

  He chewed on his bottom lip. “I know. It’s just . . .” He sighed. “This afternoon, since I read that article, I’ve been reading up on the long-term effects of TBI. What it will mean for me when I’m fifty, sixty. It’s not good, Dallas. I’ll be more prone to dementia or stroke. My brain is . . . damaged.”

  I lifted his chin so he’d look into my eyes. “You listen to me. Your brain is part of you, who you are. I love all of you. And I promise you, Justin, I will love you at fifty and sixty, seventy, or one hundred, God willing. There are no guarantees what will happen between now and then. Hell, something could happen to me next week.”

  “Dallas . . .”

  “No. Justin, no. There are no guarantees. And it doesn’t matter to me if you have some long-term effects. It won’t ever change how I feel about you. If things got worse or bad and I couldn’t look after you like you needed, I’d hire someone to help me. But I wouldn’t send you away.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “What?”

  “Dementia, Dallas,” he said with tears in his eyes. “Dementia! What if I can’t remember you again? You can’t go through that again. I saw how much it hurt you, how the light left your eyes when I didn’t know who you were. Knowing that might happen again just kills me. It fucking kills me.”

  Oh no, no, no . . .

  “Baby, we’ll get through it. If and when that ever happens, we’ll deal with it. But we can’t worry about that now. If we have thirty years before we need to start dealing with that shit, then let’s make the most out of those thirty years. Let’s not waste a minute worrying about something that might not ever happen.”

  “I don’t want to get dementia,” he said, letting his tears fall. “I don’t want to lose my memories again. I’ve lost enough. I’ve lost—” He couldn’t speak for crying.

  I pulled him into my arms and let him cry. He needed to cry for everything he’d lost, for everything that had been taken from him. To grieve for what was gone and in fear of what his future might hold. When he’d caught his breath, I kissed the side of his head. “Sweetheart, who knows what medical advancements they’ll have in twenty or thirty years. You don’t have to worry about it now, my love. And even if it is something we need to deal with, we’ll deal with it together.” I held him a little tighter and rubbed his back. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up on that part of the newspaper article.”

  He pulled back a little, his face still downcast, his eyes red and puffy. “I just started to think of the future, ya know? I hadn’t thought about anything past the next few minutes in so long, like I’d forgotten the future was even a thing. Then you mentioned it the other day. You said it sounded like I was starting to think of the future, and I was. And now I find out that my future’s been taken away too.” His bottom lip trembled. “It’s not fair.”

  “I know it’s not. It isn’t fair, and it shouldn’t have happened to you. I hate that it happened to you. But I promise we’ll work it out. Whatever life throws at us, we’ll tackle it together.”

  He nestled his head against my chest. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

  “And I couldn’t do it without you, Juss. So we’re even.”

  “Yes, you could. You’d cope all right. Me, on the other hand . . . I wouldn’t have a home or a job. I couldn’t get anywhere or do anything. I can’t even go to the supermarket without needing a nap afterwards.”

  “Baby, you don’t ever have to worry about being without me, okay?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Hey,” I said. “You wanna know what real love is?”

  “What’s that?” he mumbled into my chest.

  “Real love is hard. And sometimes it hurts. Sometimes we need to change what was our normal course and take a different path. Sometimes everything we knew becomes something different, and we need to adapt. There might be medical appointments and we might have to change the way we shop for groceries or if we go out for lunch. But that’s just what we do because that’s what love is. It’s not all roses and sunshine. It’s laundry and dishes, bills and mortgages, and wet towels on the floor, or changing the cat litter. We adapt and we roll with it. So all these changes that we’ve had to deal with because of the accident, I don’t mind one bit, Juss. Because when I fell in love with you, it was forever. In health and in sickness, or however that goes.”

  He chuckled, just for a half a second, then sniffled into my shirt.

  “And you wanna know what else love is?” I went on. “It’s amazing and wonderful. It gives me strength and hope, and it makes me realise there’s more to my life than just me. Falling in love with you, Juss, was the single best thing to ever happen to me. Ever. I was feeling kinda lost until you came into my life.”

  He pulled back and lifted his head to look at me. “You were?”

  I nodded. “Yep. Work kept me busy for a long time, but I’d meet guys who were just not right for me. They were either all about fitness or money or partying, and I wasn’t interested. Then you came along, perfect in every way for me.” Then I gave him a wink. “Except the fact you were a Knights supporter. But I forgive you for that.”

  He finally smiled. Finally.

  “What I’m trying to say, Juss, is that love has its ups and downs. But you and me, we got this. We found each other years ago, and when the universe tried to pull us apart with the accident, we found each other again.”

  He got a little teary again, but he still smiled. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

  I kissed him softly. “I know.”

  Chapter Six

  Juss was adamant about going out to the pub with the guys. After our talk about the possibility of him getting dementia when he was older, we’d had dinner and spent the night snuggled up on the couch with Juss as the little spoon. I’d watched the footy, but Juss
rolled over and faced me, snuggled into my chest for most of the game. He dozed on and off, but clearly, his day of anguish had taken its toll.

  We’d gone to bed after that and he’d slept right through, so he’d woken up feeling better. I mean, he was still his usual grouchy-morning self, but he was feeling less insecure about his future.

  Which was why he was adamant we go out with the guys. He wanted to enjoy all that he could now. Like I’d said last night, we should make the most of every minute of every day, and going out and being sociable, even for a little while, gave him a real sense of normalcy. So after breakfast and showers, we went downstairs to get some odds and ends done in the office, and overall it was a productive morning, without overdoing it. Juss even wanted to go back upstairs and rest for a bit before we went so he wouldn’t be too tired.

  “Because it’s what we do now,” he said with a fond smile and a roll of his eyes.

  I grinned at him using my words against me. “It sure is.”

  So while he dozed off for a bit, I got some laundry done and cleaned the bathroom, doing all that boring housework stuff that needed doing. I didn’t mind doing it all now because I had every intention of coming home when we left the pub and spending the entire night as the big spoon on the couch again.

  I wanted to do that every night for the rest of my life.

  Just me and Juss, forever.

  I refused to believe that he’d end up with dementia or some other degenerative disease. Okay, so maybe not refused to believe. Because I did believe that shit was possible. But I refused to live in fear of it. I didn’t want it to rob us of now, with worry and fear. I didn’t want him stressing over something that was possibly decades away.

  This whole thing had taught me to appreciate every second of now.

  I thought he might have a change of heart as we were getting ready to go, but if anything, he was more excited. He even put on a pair of jeans for the first time since his accident. I had to help him get his foot through the leg hole, but he smiled when he got them done up. “Feel fancy,” he said as he buttoned up his shirt. “Been a while since I wore anything but trackies and work pants.”