Chasing Daylight
Copyright © 2015 by Carey Heywood
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Chasing Daylight is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chasing Daylight
Mitch Brooks exists day to day by keeping the world around him at arms length. There is no going back to the man he once was. That man was broken in a way there’s no fixing. Any hope outside of that is nothing but wishful thinking, until he meets her.
McKenzie Williams needed an escape. The last thing she needed was a scary beautiful man beating down her door in the middle of the night. Now, if only their paths would stop crossing, she could convince herself she didn’t feel a connection to him. Life has shown her the dreams she once held dear will never come true for her.
Mitch struggles to get past the walls he’s built around himself while McKenzie works to build hers brick by brick. When the outside world exposes the vulnerabilities in his façade she abandons her own fears to stand by him. Will she be the one to save him from the darkness within him, or will he forever be chasing daylight?
This book is dedicated to the men and women of our Armed Forces.
Dedication
A Note to the Reader
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Carey Heywood
Acknowledgements
Now that Chasing Daylight is complete, I’d like to tell you why I wrote Mitch the way I did. If you’ve read any of my other books, you already know I try to make them as realistic as possible. I am inspired by the people in the world around me. Since I don’t (and never have) rub elbows with celebrities or fantastic paranormal creatures, I don’t write about them. I write about teachers and receptionists, people I can picture myself bumping into at the grocery store. About a year and a half ago, I was sitting in a Starbucks when a handsome young man with a gorgeous German shepherd walked in.
While the young man was striking, his dog was what I fell in love with. After getting his coffee, he sat next to me and we began talking after I asked if I could pet his dog. He was a veteran and his German shepherd was his therapy dog for his PTSD. I was so inspired by our meeting that I tweeted about it that day. I just knew someday I would write a book about a therapy dog. It is important to note that Zeus is not a service dog. For example, you should not pet or feed a service dog. With a therapy dog, that is up to its owner.
Mitch was former Air Force because that’s the branch of military I personally served in. He specifically did not see direct combat because his story was inspired by an event that occurred while my little sister (also Air Force) was deployed to Iraq. The first weekend that she was there a mortar round hit the chow hall, killing an Airman. He worked in Finance. He flew directly onto the base and never left it. Repeatedly, people had told my sister she would be safe because she never had to leave the base.
I felt compelled to write about an Airman who was told the same thing and was then injured. Now, as for his amputation, and his use of a prosthetic, I had to rely on research. To prepare to write Mitch’s character, I interviewed a friend of a coworker (who currently would prefer to remain unnamed—but once broke his prosthetic playing a round of golf, but played on with only one leg and still beat everyone—and is a total badass) who has a to the hip amputation. I also read two biographies (Back in the Fight by Joseph Kapacziewski and Stronger by Jeff Bauman). Both biographies were beyond helpful to understand the recovery process after an amputation. I also emailed with a well-known athlete/model who is also an amputee.
Since my book starts 5 years after his amputation, I also turned to YouTube and watched countless videos of people explaining and showing how their prosthetics worked. Now, would every below knee amputee also keep a wheelchair around? Based on the videos I watched, it can vary by the individual. It worked with my story, so I used it. Another example is to remove or not remove a prosthetic during intimate times with a partner. The first person I interviewed was adamant that yes, to avoid scratching his partner, no matter the position, he always removed his leg. This was not the case for the other person I interviewed; for him, he said it depended on the scenario. I made the choice that Mitch would always remove his leg for consistency purposes.
In the end, I hope Mitch feels real to you. Thank you so much for reading Chasing Daylight.
I’m jostled awake. I try to blink away my sleep, but it clings to me. Groggy and confused, I stare forward. Where am I? It’s dark and hot, and there’re muffled sounds coming from all around me. I’m on my side, my legs tucked into me, lying on what feels like rough carpet. Everything hurts. I try to move but can’t. Something’s pinning me down. My throat is dry; it pains me not only as I try to suck in air, but also as I try to clear it.
“Help,” I attempt to call out and am shocked by how weak my voice is.
What happened to me?
There’s movement and noise, but I can’t understand either. My hands are behind me and caught on something. I try to turn but can’t move either of my legs. The grogginess that has covered me like a veil is shed and replaced with panic.
“Help.” My shout is louder than my first try, but still without strength.
I’ve never been more scared. My thoughts drift to my friends and family as I wonder what might happen to me. Will I ever see any of them again?
“It’s done,” I clip.
I don’t give her a chance to reply before ending the call. I’ve kept my end of the bargain even though I know she wants more from me. I glance back at the now closed door of apartment 12. Not ten minutes ago, I delivered a second notice to its tenant, Frank Gayton.
To say he had been unreceptive would be an understatement. That guy is a dick. Something told me he’d be a problem the moment he moved in. Call it intuition or some sort of Spidey sense or my fine-tuned dickhead radar. I don’t work in the leasing office; if I had, there’s a good chance he never would have signed a lease in the first place. I have my ways.
Since he did sign the lease and is a legal tenant of Gramercy Square Apartments, I’m stuck with him for now. Per his lease, he needs three more warnings related to tenant violations before I can evict him. Today’s warning was grill usage on his balcony. It’s a fire hazard and clearly listed in his lease agreement. Can’t lie, I’ve been waiting for him to fire up that charcoal Weber.
There’s nothing against
owning a grill. I needed him to actually use it before I could nail his ass for it. Fourteen units, across four buildings (A, B, C, D) make up Gramercy Square. Each second floor unit has a balcony, which overlooks the community pool area that makes up the center of the square. The leasing office and community rec room form the first floor of the building facing Gannon Ave. Gramercy Square is east of Raleigh, far enough outside of the city to keep the rent low but not too far for renters to commute.
Being less than three hours from the Outer Banks has its perks as well. A few of the Square’s older tenants own beach property they rent out for income during the summer months. My aunt, who owns Gramercy Square, owns one herself. I don’t maintain that property like I do this one. She uses a beach rental agency to manage the care and rentals of it.
Aunt Cathy retired to Florida to be closer to my folks years ago. Hiring me was her way of keeping tabs on me. Lord only knows where I’d be today if it weren’t for this place.
I pat my hip and slowly make my way down the stairs to the leasing office with Zeus by my side. The gesture is habitual at this point; he no longer needs direction to stay by my side. If Gramercy Square is the reason I’ve needed to stay a part of the world, then Zeus is the reason I’ve managed to stay sane doing it.
Zeus is my constant shadow, my most faithful companion. I have First Sergeant McCoy to thank for him. There are times I wish that stubborn man would finally give up on me. Sure, he talked me into getting Zeus; but few dog lovers, crippled or not, could turn down a beautiful German shepherd. While the concept of a therapy dog was not foreign to me, I can admit I was not convinced about the difference they could make until I got Zeus. I still don’t know how he does it. Deb, the trainer who runs Warrior Dogs, tried to explain that with his heightened senses he can tell when my heart rate accelerates and can smell if I start sweating.
Most of what she said went right over my head. That was five years ago this May. Glancing down at Zeus as I hold the door open for him, I’m struck by how different my life is because of him. He looks up at me, one ear quirked in what looks like a silent question. I tilt my chin in the direction of Diane’s desk. She keeps treats for him so it’s not surprising he double-times it right to her.
“Hey, Zeus,” she calls, reaching out to pet him while she pulls out his treat.
“Here’s our copy of the warning for 12,” I say, dropping the sheet of paperwork I had Frank sign onto her desk.
“Did he give you any trouble?” she asks, giving Zeus a treat.
I shake my head and turn, patting my hip as I go. Zeus doesn’t need any extra time to finish his treat; he’s already inhaled it.
Diane doesn’t say anything as I leave. She’s used to me now. She started working here part time a couple of years ago. Finally, she’s given up on trying to draw me into conversations. It’s better this way.
Zeus and I head to a storage shed I keep at the back end of the complex. We pass Spencer Romlin from 14 along the way. He lifts his chin in our direction as he jogs past. There’s a park down the road with paved trails for jogging and biking. He’s lived in Gramercy Square long enough that I know he either bikes or jogs one of them, three times a week. Since his apartment is above the rec center, I see him more than most of the other tenants.
I don’t intentionally do it, but I watch him. If things had turned out differently, I could be living a life like his, a seemingly carefree existence of friends, dating, and family. He’s offered his friendship many times over the years. At this point, he doesn’t seem offended I’ve never accepted.
That isn’t my life.
The closest I’ve come to friendship since I moved to North Carolina is Luke Jamieson. He’s a personal trainer I met through McCoy. For the last three years, off and on, I’ve been meeting him for an hour, once a week, to train. He’s one of a few people who know about my leg. He went through some serious shit with his fiancé last year. I’m not that hip on current events, but even I saw her story on the news.
Their relationship got a ton of attention, the trainer falling for a girl who hired him to get fit. Lindsay is a knockout, so it’s no surprise he fell for her. Who cares if she weighed more than what she posted on her website? She’s slimmed down a lot though, knowing Luke, she’s probably all muscle now. I haven’t met her, even though Luke has invited me over more than once. He does it out of politeness; we both know our relationship only exists inside the gym.
There are three people in my life: him, McCoy, and Diane. Luke, in the last three years, has been the only person to see me at my physical weakest. McCoy, the stubborn S.O.B, is still hell bent on fixing me. And Diane, I can’t help but deal with her since she handles all the administrative functions of Gramercy Square. I know she’s Aunt Cathy’s spy. As long as she keeps Cathy off my back, I can handle her.
If I had it my way, I’d be in a log cabin somewhere with Zeus and that’s it. My family made it clear they would never leave me alone if I attempted to fall off the face of the earth. Working here is our compromise. I don’t disappear; they leave me be. It isn’t perfect, but it works.
I heft a ladder from the shed up onto my shoulder and turn back toward building B. Zeus trots next to me and finds some shade as I replace the light. Three years ago, I never would have attempted to climb a ladder. The work I’ve done with Luke is what gives me the confidence now to do so.
April, the daughter of a tenant, comes out to sit next to Zeus while I work. I don’t know what the deal is with April’s dad. I think her parents are divorced. He comes around from time to time, but more to try to mess with her mom than to spend any time with her. She’s a good kid; she talks my ear off but doesn’t mind that I don’t reply. She’s good with Zeus too, never pulling his tail or trying to ride him like some other kids have.
Even though she’s told me more than once, I can never remember how old she is. Seven or eight, something like that.
I glance down at her before I start making my way back down the ladder.
She’s still prattling on.
“And after that we’re going to go get ice cream. My favorite flavor is vanilla and Mikey said that’s boring.” She looks up at me, pausing as she pets Zeus. “Do you think vanilla is boring, Mr. Mitch?”
I shrug and she continues.
“I think Mikey can mind his own business because nobody likes a know-it-all. That’s what my mom says.”
I tune her out as I lower, and then retract the ladder. She follows Zeus and me back to the storage shed, oblivious to the fact I haven’t heard a word she’s said. She manages not to get underfoot as I pull the lawn mower out and top it off with gas. A strip of grass surrounds the perimeter of the property and butts up to the parking spots. Another grassy area circles the fence, which surrounds the pool.
“You’ll keep an eye on Zeus?” I ask.
She doesn’t seem offended that I cut her off midsentence and nods, placing her hand on Zeus’ head. His tongue lolls out as he looks up at me. I favor him with a grin and scratch him under his chin before I turn to start on the grass. April will sit there, unless her mom needs her, and will talk to Zeus until I’m done. Since she pets him while she does it, he’ll be happy to wait for me.
Mowing the property is one of the few things I do without him. It isn’t safe for him to walk beside me as I mow. Maybe sometime in the future, I might upgrade to a riding mower if it has enough space for him to sit beside me.
I stop the mower as I reach Gannon Ave and tug off my t-shirt. Since it’s before lunchtime, I wrongly assumed I wouldn’t sweat my ass off. Damn humidity. It’s not even mid-June and it’s already hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. I’d be more comfortable in shorts but I stopped wearing them all together after, well after it happened. If people don’t see my leg, they don’t ask questions or make assumptions.
It’s better to avoid it all together.
April is still chattering away to Zeus by the time I finish the outer loop and make my way back to them. She gives Zeus a hug and waves bye
to me once she sees me. Zeus follows me to the green space next to the pool. I keep a water dish for him on the side of the leasing office. Before I cut the water off from the spout, I cup my hands and bring a few mouthfuls to my lips to quench my thirst.
The back of my neck prickles as I sense eyes on me. I straighten, glancing over my shoulder toward the pool. I’ve attracted an audience. Most of the tenants who live here have 9–5 jobs. Some retired folks rent here as well. Then there are the night owls. A couple of waitresses live in 8. They seem to have invited a dozen or so of their friends over to lie out by the pool.
It’s a swimsuit calendar come to life and they’re all watching me. The blonde lifts her hand and wiggles her fingers, an inviting smile spreading across her face. I lift my chin and turn away; tugging my shirt free from where I had tucked it into the back of my jeans and pulling it back on. My plans for mowing the strip next to and around the pool are now a bust. There was a time when I would’ve welcomed the attention of a gaggle of pretty girls. Those days are long gone.
Pushing the mower, I take the long way around the outside of the buildings to go back to the storage shed to avoid walking past the pool. Once the mower is put away and the shed is locked up, I head home, ready to call it a day. I still avoid the pool, walking around the backside of B and C instead. Instinct causes my eyes to lift up to number 12. As I suspected, Frank Gayton is on his balcony, a beer in hand, watching the girls at the pool.
I’ve seen the way he watches those girls. As far as I know, he’s never approached either of them. I worry about Diane though, since she also lives in C. She already knows I don’t like him and I don’t want her renting 11 or 10 to a single woman because of him. If we’re lucky, Frank will break his lease and move somewhere else before too long.
The entrance to my place is on the side of building D. What was originally a storage basement—it’s not technically an apartment—I converted it into one. While not completely underground, it’s close. Three narrow windows let in some light. Truth is I don’t mind the dark. It was never intended to be a living space, and given my height, I’m lucky my head clears the ceiling.
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