by Amelia Wilde
“Oh,” I say, looking out the window as he accelerates. “I heard some sad news last night.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he answers awkwardly.
“It’s okay.”
Within a couple of minutes, we’re at Heroes on the Homefront.
At my desk, I sit heavily in my rolling chair and pull up the schedule for the day. I have a few appointments scheduled for the late morning. Until then, it’s paperwork central.
Dayton’s face, looking out at me from a picture frame near my monitor, catches my eye.
In the picture, he’s seventeen, standing on the end of the dock at the cottage in Michigan. His dark hair is windswept, and his skin is tan against the bright red of his swimsuit. He’s not quite smiling, but there’s such laughter in his eyes that you could see a grin there. There’s not a single tattoo on his skin. The future was still waiting for him.
I dug out the photo right after we moved in together from a box I kept hidden in the back of my closet for all those years.
I look at seventeen-year-old Day and try to reconcile him with the man he is now. Is he still a good man despite the things he’s been part of? I knew when he deployed that he’d kill people. He had no other choice. It was a war, and that was his job.
But what about Kate?
It was an accident. He didn’t plan that late-night outing. He didn’t plan the sleet, the ice, the truck.
A small voice in the back of my mind won’t relent. He didn’t fight against it, either. He could have refused. He could have stopped at any time.
The baby kicks three times, a jaunty rhythm that seems to say hey, idiot, snap out of it.
She’s right. I love him even if he shouldn’t have been behind the wheel that night. God knows he’s paid the price. He’s still paying it. And beyond that, I spend all day talking to veterans just like him who are gripped by pain that nobody can begin to understand. Who am I to judge?
It wasn’t right. He wasn’t doing the right thing.
It’s a nagging thought, and I hate it.
The baby flips over and starts hiccupping.
I spend all day helping people like Dayton. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, everything I do will cancel out the mistakes he made.
“That’s stupid,” I say out loud, but I can’t help giving seventeen-year-old Day a wistful glance. Things were so much simpler then.
36
Dayton
I lied to Summer.
Again.
It’s a lie of omission, but it’s still a fucking lie.
The guy who drove Alex around the city, never looking at the houses they drove to, would have had no problem with lying. He’d have said there’s always a gray area.
How times have changed.
Still, there’s no way in hell I’m going to worry her with this.
I left work two hours before my appointment. They don’t have any idea how long a prosthetic fitting is going to take, so I fudged it. I’m taking most of the morning and part of the afternoon off. That doesn’t feel great either, but there’s only one solution to the problem of Alexei stalking us around the city.
I have to confront him.
Not confront him. Meet him. Talk to him, at least. Maybe, if I can get him on neutral ground, we can have a conversation.
I don’t have a way to contact him.
But I know who does.
I take the train to Queens and walk to my old apartment, the heat settling thickly on my shoulders. It’s too hot for this and my leg aches in the prosthesis. I have the ugly sensation that I’m being watched, and I’m probably right. In this kind of neighborhood, people are always watching.
The hallway of the apartment building is fragrant with the pungent odor of garbage and spilled beer. I can’t believe Summer came here to visit me and still wanted to be with me after that.
Small miracles.
I’m planning to knock on Curtis’s door, but when I raise my hand to the battered wood, I see there’s no need.
It’s already open a couple inches.
I don’t like that.
I push it out of the way and step inside.
It’s dark inside, and so silent my stomach tightens at the lack of sound. Every muscle is on alert. Is he here? Is he dead? Was this place robbed? What am I walking into? I should turn around and go right back out. I don’t.
The only light is coming in from the gaps around the curtains, letting in sharp morning sunlight. My prosthetic bangs against something on the floor. A beer can clatters off to the side. As my eyes adjust, I see that the entryway and the living room are more of the same. He had a party here recently.
“Curtis?” I call out his name and blink, taking in more of the wreckage. It’s looking less like a party and more like a downward spiral with every step I take.
There’s a slow shuffling from the second bedroom and I follow the sound.
“Curt, it’s me.”
The same darkness cloaks the bedroom, but the curtains are shitty here, too. Curtis is curled up on a bare mattress on the floor. He’s fully dressed, down to his shoes. He’s got a towel over his shoulders like a blanket.
“Curtis.”
He blinks. His face is on display in one of the lines of light from the window, and his eyes are so sunken in it makes my stomach turn.
“Day.” His voice is ragged, torn to shreds. “How’d you get in?”
“The door was open.”
He pushes himself upright, and I can see in the movement that he’s not okay. Something falls softly to the floor with a delicate click. A needle.
Curtis stares toward the window. “What time is it?”
I pull out my phone and check the screen. “Just past eleven-thirty.”
“Shit.” He runs a hand through his hair. It hasn’t been washed in quite some time. “Guess it doesn’t matter, though.”
“Are you still working?”
He laughs out loud. “No, man. No. Why would you think I could hold down that type of job?”
“I thought things were going okay at Killion.”
“Killion?” His grin is crazy, misshapen. “That was three fucking jobs ago. You probably don’t remember what that’s like. What do you do now, sit on your ass in an office? Collared shirt, look at you.”
“Get up.” I haul him bodily off the mattress and put him on his feet. “This is—” I shake my head. “You can’t live like this.”
Curtis pushes my hands away. “Why are you here?”
I don’t bother lying. “Do you have Alex’s number?”
He looks to the side and breathes out, a short sigh of disappointment. “It’s in my phone somewhere. In the other room. If that’s still his number.”
I go out to the living room and throw the curtains open. This place is in worse shape than I thought. Jesus, Curtis. He’s going to die in here if he doesn’t do something.
If I don’t do something.
The phone is buried in the middle of some rotting takeout boxes on the coffee table. Curtis trails out of the bedroom while I flip through his address book.
“Did you find it?”
“Yeah.”
I enter the number in my phone.
“I’m going to give you a number, too. The first thing you’re going to do when I walk out of here is to call this place.”
He snorts. “What place?”
“Heroes on the Homefront.”
“Oh, fuck that. Those people don’t know—”
I turn to face him and shove his phone into his hand. “You’re killing yourself. Do you get that? You are killing yourself.”
Curtis’s eyes go wide, then they darken. His next words are soft. “Who cares, man? I can’t do these jobs. I can’t fucking sleep at night. The dreams—”
I look him in the eye. “I know. Trust me. I know.”
He drops his gaze to the floor.
“I’ll let them know to expect a call from you.” I check the time on my phone. “By noon. If you don’t call, I’m comi
ng back here.”
“You can’t—”
“I can, asshole.”
He hears the promise in my voice.
“I’ll call.”
“Good.” I head for the door. The fitting is in the city, so I’m traveling back there. “I’m also going to send somebody to clean this place up. Call. Shower.” I point my fingers at him. “Don’t let me down.”
I pull the brand new liner over my leg and take a deep breath.
My heart’s racing.
I didn’t expect to feel this way, getting a new prosthetic, but I do.
Dr. O’Connors balances it in front of my stool until I’m done with the liner, then hands it over.
“Should be a perfect fit,” he says, his eyes on the socket. “But if it’s not, we can make adjustments.”
I slide my leg in and stand up.
Oh my God.
There’s no pain.
It fits.
It fits.
My missing toes uncurl and relax for the first time in months.
“I—”
I take a few steps forward. Dr. O’Connors’ assistant, Sherry, pokes her head in the door and gasps. It scares the hell out of me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Dayton!” Her face is alight. “You’re so tall!”
Joy. A pure, undeserved joy ignites in the center of me, followed by a stab of regret. Summer should have been here for this. I can feel it in my shoulders. I’ve been standing off-balance for so long that I stopped noticing. Now my back is straight.
There is no pain.
“Show me the walk!”
I walk in a circle around the exam room again. Sherry turns over her shoulder and calls down the hall. “Guys! Come see Dayton!”
A little crowd of nurses in scrubs gathers at the door as Dr. O’Connors puts me through my paces. Every exercise is a breeze. There’s no pain.
When he stands up and pronounces it absolutely perfect, all of the nurses clap.
Dr. O’Connors puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad you finally showed up for this.”
I give him a look. “How old are you, even?”
“Same age as you.”
Everyone laughs, and then we move seamlessly into end-of-appointment nonsense. Scheduling the check-up. Things I should watch for. All that.
The nurses start to disperse.
“Wait.” Sherry stops at the door. “I need your help with one last thing.”
37
Summer
My phone rings in my purse, for the third time.
“I’ll check in with you tomorrow,” I tell the veteran sitting across from me, one Frederick Brown, and move to stand.
“Don’t get up,” he says with a grin. We shake hands over my desk while I’m still sitting down.
As soon as he’s out in the hall, I grab for my phone.
It’s a FaceTime call.
Dayton? Using FaceTime?
I swipe to answer the call and run a hand over my hair. I wasn’t counting on this.
The call connects, and the image widens onto the screen. It’s not Dayton’s face. It’s the floor of what looks like the VA hospital. Then the sound cuts in.
“—oh, sorry, I don’t know—” The camera swings upright, and there he is.
“Hey, Sunny,” he says.
I stare.
I can’t help it.
What’s different?
He’s standing so tall. He’s standing so well.
“Oh my God, Day, is that your new prosthetic?”
“Yeah.”
He’s beaming.
“Show me!”
The camera backs up, and Day takes a few strides down the hall and back again.
I can’t help the delighted squeal that escapes my throat, and he laughs.
“Doesn’t it look good?”
“You look great,” I tell him, and that’s when I get choked up. How could I not? I didn’t know how much the pain weighed him down, dipped his shoulders, until this moment. “I’m so happy for you, honey.”
He steps closer, and then the camera flips around to show his face. “Don’t cry. Sherry’s here. She was holding the phone.” He lifts the phone away from his face and there’s one of the nurses from the hospital, waving. She has tears in her eyes, too.
“Hi, Summer,” she says, and wipes at one of them. “Cry all you want. It’s an amazing sight, isn't it?”
“Yes, he is.” I go through so many tissues it’s unbelievable. Today is going to be no exception, clearly.
Day rolls his eyes, but they’re still lit up by his happiness. “I’ll show you at home, okay?”
I want to make a sex joke, but I don’t know if Sherry’s still close. “You’d better.”
“Hey.” The light changes. He must be moving down the hall. “You remember my old roommate?”
I barely remember his old roommate. He was too thin, and I saw him for twenty seconds on my single visit to the apartment. “Yeah?”
“He’s a vet, too.” Concern flashes across Dayton’s face. “I saw him today. I told him to give you guys a call. Has he called yet?”
Carla pokes her head in the door. “Message for you.” She puts the paper on my desk and tiptoes out, smiling.
I look down at the yellow slip. “Curtis Howard?”
Day looks relieved. “That’s him.”
“I’ll call him back right now.”
He nods. “Good. That’s good.”
“I love you.”
Another smile that melts my core. “I love you. See you at home.”
Curtis is in bad shape.
I can tell by the way he sounds when he answers the phone. His voice is hoarse, trembling, and my heart goes out to him.
“I didn’t want to call,” he says with a sigh after I introduce myself.
“I’m glad you did,” I tell him. “We can offer you a variety of services, from job placement to treatment programs.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
I keep it professional. “Can I tell you more about those things? Do you have a minute?”
“You can,” he says, but a heartbeat later, he adds, “but I’m not going to remember anything you say over the phone.”
“That’s no problem.” This poor guy. “Would you be willing to come in tomorrow for a quick meeting? We can go over all of this in person and make some decisions about what you want to do.”
“I guess.” He lets out a short, barking laugh. “Day said he’d come back here himself if I didn’t call. I’m guessing he’ll do the same if I don’t meet with you.”
“I’d take him at his word,” I say briskly, and he laughs, the sound more genuine this time. “How about one o’clock? Is that too early?”
“That’s fine,” he says, a note of concern in his voice. “Are you far from the subway station?”
“No. Not far.” I think of Dayton walking here on that old prosthetic of his, that very first day. “I’ll text you the directions.”
“Sounds good.”
“See you at one.”
Dayton’s hand is beneath my belly, angling toward my clit, when I stop him.
I have to stop him now, because the moment he gets his fingers down there, I won’t be able to concentrate on conversation. We’re lying beneath the blankets, the air conditioning unit blowing directly onto the bed.
“You’re not in the mood?”
“I’m in the mood.” I kiss him, ending with a little nip on his bottom lip. “I have a question.”
“Ask away.” He smells so good, fresh out of the shower, that I wish I had the energy to stay up all night with him.
“What made you go see your friend today?”
Dayton blinks, his forehead wrinkled. “I needed something from him.”
Worry draws a finger down the back of my spine, but Dayton inches his hand downward and pleasure overtakes it. “If I ask you what that was, will you tell me?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t be
upset.”
I spread my legs under the blankets. I’m propped up on two pillows because I can’t sleep any other way, but I still feel Dayton over me.
“I’m not upset. I’m worried about him, though. He sounded…”
“He’s a wreck.”
“I’m glad you told him to call.”
“I knew you’d help him.”
“I’m going to try, but—”
“You’re the best there is, Sunny. Was there anything else?”
“No, I—”
He holds his hand still. “You what?” Day’s voice is teasing, warm.
“I can’t remember.” I whisper the words and close my eyes.
Dayton kisses my neck, once, twice, three times. By the third kiss, I’m trembling. “Keep your legs spread like that. I love it.”
He strokes his fingers between my legs, sending heat down to my toes. I raise my arms over my head and grip the headboard. One more stroke, and I’m lost to his touch.
38
Dayton
At mid-morning, the heat is verging on oppressive, but I couldn’t make this call at home.
I’m not making it in the office, either.
I’m around the corner from the building outside a café. This walk would have hurt yesterday morning. Today, it’s nothing. Nothing.
Why did I wait so long?
The answer is in my phone. I saved the number under his initials. I don’t know why.
I bring up the contact and press call before I can drag it out any longer.
One ring.
Two.
And then…
“Hello.”
His voice is flat but unmistakable.
“Alex.”
He sucks in a breath. He knows it’s me.
“Dayton Nash,” he says slowly. “I can’t fucking believe you’d call.”
“Yeah, well—” I move past the café and flatten my back against the brick wall. That, at least, is solid, unlike the ground beneath my feet. “I have a phone now.”
He laughs, a cruel note in his voice. “How times have changed.”
Enough of this. “I want to talk to you.”
“We’re talking.”
“I want to talk to you in person.” That car, coming up over the curb, right at Summer. Right at our baby. “I think it’s time we discussed what happened.”