Soldier's Heart: a Wounded Love novel

by Megan Green

  I slow, falling to the ground as she catches me. She curls next to me, pressing her back against my front and craning her neck around to lick my face. Her tail thumps against my legs and I scratch her belly as we lay in the refreshing spray. I hug her to me, content to lay here for the rest of the day with Maggie in my arms.

  Of course, her puppies have a thing or two to say about that. Our brief, satisfying moment is quickly interrupted by almost a dozen little paws climbing all over me. One of them steps on my face, and I know it’s time I get up before I get trampled to death. They may still be puppies trying to learn the way of the world, but they definitely aren’t so little anymore. I’m going to feel that stomp on the face later.

  Jasper is trying to squeeze his way in between me and Maggie when the familiar crunch of tires on the gravel catches his attention. His head darts around, and before I’m able to get out of the way, he bounds across me, back paws landing firmly in my stomach, as he runs to greet Isaiah.

  Joey slides in next to me as we watch Jasper and Isaiah do their thing. Water drips from his nose but he doesn’t seem to mind.

  “So how was the date on Friday?”

  I’d been wondering when he was going to ask. He hadn’t been home when I got back Friday night, but that wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was I didn’t see him at all on Saturday either. Late that night—or I guess it would’ve been early Sunday morning—I heard him sneak in. He never mentioned his absence, so I decided to let it go. But he also hadn’t asked about my date with Isaiah either. Something was up with him.

  I file the thought away for later and look at Isaiah before answering Joey’s question. “It was fun. His brother is a hoot.”

  Joey smirks. “Meeting the fam already, huh? My man moves fast.”

  I roll my eyes. Isaiah stands and leads Jasper across the lawn to where we’re sitting. The end of our date replays in my mind. What started sort of awkward and tense after our kiss had quickly turned into one of the best dates I’d ever had. We’d laughed and talked, and I truly felt like I got to know him a little better during those few hours. Not to mention his brother quickly became one of my favorite people ever. I wasn’t kidding when I’d said he reminded me of Chris. But instead of serving as a painful memory, it’d made my heart smile. Those kinds of people have a way of making you happy. It’s in their blood.

  My mind flashes briefly on our exchange about his parents. He’d tried to play it off as no big deal. Like it didn’t bother him in the slightest he hadn’t spoken to his parents in months. But I could see the loneliness in his eyes. As someone who comes from a very close family—no matter how far away they may be physically—it kills me to see people at odds with their own. Isaiah and Kevin are so close. That had to have come from somewhere.

  The semblance of a plan takes root in the back of my head, and I smile to myself. I have to file it away for later though. But mark my words. Isaiah will be talking to his parents again by the time I’m done with him.

  I eye Isaiah as he crosses the yard, remembering the change in him after Kevin had brought him that letter. All night he’d been relaxed and quick to laugh, even at the jokes his brother had made at his expense. But after reading whatever was in that letter, he’d completely closed himself off. Not even Kevin was able to get him to crack a smile. We’d left quickly after, and when I’d glanced at Kevin on the way out, I’d seen the look of concern on his face.

  I’d tried to soften his mood on the drive home, but it was no use. All my questions and quips were met with groans and half mumbled responses. When we pulled up outside my house, he hadn’t even come in to say goodnight to Jasper. I’d climbed from the cab, looking at him expectantly to at least walk me to the door. He’d said he wasn’t feeling well and was going to call it a night. He was backing down my driveway before I was even able to shut the passenger door.

  Looking at him now though, he seems to be back to his normal self. He smiles as he joins us, reaching out to shake hands with Joey. He spins and sits on the wet grass beside me, Jasper climbing onto his lap as soon as his butt meets the ground.

  “So, mind telling me what we’re sitting here in the sprinklers for? Not that I’m complaining. It’s hot as hell out here. I thought I was going to melt on my drive over.”

  I smile. “Exactly. It’s too damn hot to live today. We were all miserable. So I thought we could play in the sprinklers instead.” I say this with a straight face, as if it’s totally normal for three almost thirty year olds to run through the sprinklers with puppies.

  Isaiah laughs at my response. “Sounds good to me. Feels good too. Can’t tell you the last time I played in the sprinklers. I think I was like seven.”

  “They had running water back in those days?” I say in awe. He bumps me with his shoulder. He’s only three years older than me, but sometimes he acts so much older. I can never resist giving him grief about it when the opportunity presents itself.

  “Yes, you smart ass. We even had ourselves indoor plumbin’ back in them olden days,” he says with an affected southern accent. He winks, and I’m so glad he’s back to his normal self.

  Joey and Isaiah fall into a discussion about the Panthers’ upcoming football season. I tune them out, not really caring about the topic. Never been much of a football fan. I know, I know. That’s about as un-American as not liking apple pie, which I also do not like. Joey has threatened to have me deported several times when I’ve refused to show any interest in the sport.

  Instead of joining their conversation, I go back to playing with the dogs. Maggie and I have teamed up, and she’s now running by my side as all five of her babies chase us. Before I know it, my chest is heaving, and I have to sit down before I fall down. These dogs have worn me out.

  I collapse on the ground, and Maggie plants herself firmly by my side. The puppies all continue to run and chase, nipping one another’s tails and tumbling in the wet grass together. It’s adorable. And Maggie watches them with a proud look on her face. I think back to the night I thought I was going to lose her. I’m so glad things turned out the way they did. This scene would be very different without her here.

  Isaiah plops down next to me after a while. I look at him, his wet shirt clinging to his chest. It’s a damn good look for him. I should insist on working with the sprinklers on every day. “So…are we working today?” he asks when I don’t speak.

  I huff. “I have been working. I’ve been making sure these pups at least get their exercise while you two sat over there talking about the Panthers’ free throw percentage or something.”

  He shakes his head. I know there are no free throws in football. I’m not that stupid. I just like to irritate men with my sports ineptitude. It’s fun.

  “But no, no course training today. It’s too slippery on this grass. I don’t want to risk one of them getting hurt. Sorry. I guess I should’ve called you and told you not to bother coming out today, but this was kind of a spur of the moment decision.”

  “I still would’ve come,” he says with the heart stopping sideways smile that somehow always leaves me feeling breathless. I grin stupidly at him. Why can’t I be as alluring as he is? He’s like the freaking black Danny Zuko with those damn dimples and charming smile. And I’m sitting over here like the female version of Putzie. Only even more awkward. And without one of those awesome black leather jackets. Christ, I’m even more pathetic than Putzie. This does not bode well for me.

  “So…” he starts again, interrupting my woes of never becoming a T-Bird. I look at him and see a hint of nervousness on his face. Is he going to ask me out again? Screw the T-Birds. I’m going to be a Pink Lady instead. Everybody knows Danny Zuko only dates the hottest of the Pink Ladies.

  He swallows hard and continues. “If we aren’t going to work with the dogs today, how would you feel about running an errand with me?”

  I wonder what sort of errand could possibly be so nerve-wracking he had trouble asking me to accompany him when he explains.

  “I wan
t to go see my buddy Jim. I told you about him. He’s been sick for the past couple days. I thought I’d swing by and check on him. And I’d like you to meet him. If you’re up to it.”

  Jim. The man who was seriously injured in the attack in Iraq. The man whose injury he blames himself for. His best friend.

  I hesitate for a moment. I’m not sure Jim would appreciate new visitors if he’s under the weather. But looking at Isaiah, I can see the hope in his eyes. He really wants this. And who am I to deny this man something he wants after all he’s been through?

  “Give me twenty minutes to get changed and presentable. I’ll be right back.”

  “He’s great, Isaiah. I can see why you guys were so close. It’s hard not to be friends with a guy like that.”

  I nod as Emma’s voice rings through the silence inside the cab of my truck. I hadn’t planned on taking Emma with me to visit Jim after we got done at Keen Komrades this afternoon. But when I’d pulled up and had seen her smiling and laughing as she played with her dogs in the sprinklers, I couldn’t resist. She’s such a goddamned ray of sunshine. It’s impossible to be in a bad mood or feel sorry for yourself around her. Which is exactly what Jim needed.

  And me.

  After getting that letter Friday night, I’d stayed far away from Keen Komrades for the weekend. Whoever is sending these letters obviously knows where I spend my days. And until I find out what’s going on and who this person is, I don’t want to risk putting Emma in danger.

  If this guy is really watching me though, I didn’t want him to get too suspicious of the sudden change in my daily routine. So this morning I’d woken with the resolve to be extra vigilant on my drive over, careful to watch for anybody who might be tailing me or anything else out of the ordinary. Plus, I missed the hell out of Emma. And Jasper.

  I’d watched my every move. Every turn. I’d taken back roads and made circles, making sure I wasn’t followed. Nothing. By the time I’d pulled into Emma’s driveway, I’d pretty much decided I was losing my damn mind and made a note to call Beth and set up another appointment. Since I’d started coming to Keen Komrades every day for the past few months, she’d cut our sessions to once every other week. It still sounds like a lot to me, going to a therapist twice a month, but she assures me I’ve made huge progress recently.

  I look over at Emma, who’s still beaming in the seat next to me as we pull away from the rehab center. Watching her with Jim only reaffirmed my earlier realizations. Any and all progress I may have been making, well it’s all because of her. This girl—this woman—who is my polar opposite in about every single way possible, has broken through all my defenses. Emma Nicholls and her band of crazy canines have ignited something in me I thought was long dead. They’re my catalyst. The beginning of what’s sure to be a long process of healing my soldier’s heart.

  I think about the first time Beth used that term. It was in one of our first sessions. I’d been raging. Pissed off at the world. And most of all, pissed off at myself for making that call. For getting so many people injured or killed and for not being strong enough to even fucking be there for them now we were home.

  “What kind of man am I, Beth? It’s my fucking fault those men are dead. Because of me, Jim might never walk again. He’ll never get to run with his kids. Hell, he might not even be able to have kids. Who the fuck knows. But that’s on me, and instead of being there for him, for Jonah and Rob’s wives, I’m sitting here with a fucking shrink because I can’t get my shit together long enough to even make it to my fucking car. My fucking brother has to drive me here because I’m such a fucking pussy I can’t drive a car without having a meltdown. I can’t even take a fucking shower without freaking the fuck out. They’re all I see. Laying there, broken and bloody. And I can’t fucking face the world because I’m too much of a coward.”

  “Have you ever heard the term ‘soldier’s heart,’ Isaiah?” Beth asked, her voice calm, as if she didn’t just hear the tirade I was on while pacing back and forth in front of her desk.

  Her cool tone deflated what was left my anger. Collapsing into the chair, I cradled my forehead in my hand, unable to bring myself to look at her after letting loose like that. Which only solidified the fact that I was a fucking coward. I roared all my frustrations at this woman and couldn’t even look her in the damn eye.

  “No, Beth. I haven’t,” I exhaled deeply, trying to keep the rage from bubbling inside of me. I didn’t give a fuck what soldier’s heart was. She was probably going to go on about how I was a hero for serving my country. I had a soldier’s heart for being so brave. Fuck that. I wasn’t a hero. I was the farthest thing from it. I was the fucking villain.

  “Back after the end of the Civil War—”

  I scoffed. “Are you really about to give me a history lesson right now?”

  She shot me a pointed look. “Back after the Civil War,” she repeated, her voice stern, warning me against interrupting again. I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing her to hurry and get this shit over with so I could get my pills and get the fuck out of there.

  “The soldiers who’d fought returned to their families and friends, but most of them were…changed. Their loved ones didn’t understand it. Men who’d once been happy and hardworking turned into depressive drunks. Loving husbands and fathers became abusive. During these episodes, the men would exhibit elevated heart rates. High blood pressure. Chest pains. Et cetera. Sound familiar?”

  I finally lifted my head and looked at her. She smiled softly at the understanding that must’ve dawned in my eyes.

  “These men were suffering from what we now call PTSD. Panic attacks, paranoia, depression, guilt. All of it. But back then, the mind wasn’t as well understood as it is today. So when witnessing these physical changes in the person’s health, they attributed it to something physiological, not psychological. The term soldier’s heart was coined when someone determined going to war physically changed a person’s heart. A previously healthy person would return damaged.”

  I nodded. That was it exactly. While I might have not been the picture of health—I’d always drank a little too much, slept around more than I’d care to admit, and was always a bit hot headed and quick to throw a punch—I’d at least been relatively normal. But now I was damaged. Broken. Fucked up beyond all repair.

  Beth shook her head. “I’m not saying you’re damaged. So stop nodding at me. I’m saying though this is an old term for PTSD and we now understand the psychological aspects of PTSD and how to treat and heal them, I still think soldier’s heart is a great metaphor. Because while your hearts might not physically change like they once believed, not a single one of you comes back the same man you were before you left. Not damaged. Just changed. You can’t go through something like war and combat and expect to be unaffected by it. It’s not possible. You all leave with civilian hearts. But you return with the hearts of soldiers. Hearts full of loss. Of fear and sadness. But also full of bravery and strength. You put your life on the line for the lives and freedom of others. So be proud of your soldier’s heart, Isaiah. It may be broken right now. But it will heal. In time, you’ll become stronger for it. And you’ll be grateful for it.”

  I’d written off Beth’s comments after that meeting. But sitting next to Emma, after watching her and Jim laugh and joke with each other, I wonder if maybe Beth hadn’t been entirely wrong. I don’t think I’ll ever be grateful for what happened. I’ll always feel guilt. But I can feel something inside me strengthening, and I can’t resent my entire time in the military. Not even knowing the outcome. Because they helped turn a punk kid into a man who someday might, a long ways down the road, be worthy of loving the woman sitting next to me.

  “I was a bit surprised to get your message, Isaiah. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you until next week.”

  I’m settled into my usual chair across from Beth, my fingers steepled under my chin. Now that I’m here, I’m having second thoughts. So some asshole sent me a couple messages. It’s most likely someone who�
�s only looking to mess with me. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past Kevin to think this was some funny joke or something to kick my ass out of the funk I’d been in before Emma. Though that doesn’t really explain the latest one. He’d just barely met Emma…

  Blowing out a breath, I decide to get it over with.

  “Yeah, something’s come up though, and I wanted to run it by you. I’m sure I’m making more of it than it is, so I need you to tell me that so I can go back to normal.”

  She smiles at me. “I’m proud of you, Isaiah. Not too long ago, I had to pry information out of you. And now you’re here of your own volition to speak with me about a problem. I never thought I’d see that day.” She laughs at this last part.

  The corner of my lips lift in a sideways grin. “What can I say, Beth. You’re a miracle worker.”

  Beth rolls her eyes. “Okay, I said I was proud of you, not that I was going to start buying into your bullshit. Now what’s going on?”

  I lean back in my chair. “I’m going insane.”

  She arches her eyebrow, gesturing for me to expound on this with her hand.

  “So a while back, right after I first started going out to Keen Komrades, I got a letter. It was in my mailbox, no return address. No postage. Nothing. Just a few words scrawled on a piece of paper. Then a few weeks later, I found another one taped to my door.”

  Beth’s brow furrows. “And what is the nature of these letters?”

  Fun and joking Beth is gone. Serious therapist Beth is back. I almost laugh at the sudden change in her manner, but figure this isn’t really an appropriate time. Especially since I just said I was going insane. She’ll write me a one way ticket to the funny farm if I start cracking up just before telling her I’m getting what could be perceived as threatening letters.