Everything Changes

by Melanie Hansen

  Well, you have a different life now, he told himself firmly. As a BK, or below-the-knee amputee, he was more fortunate than a lot of the combat vets he’d been with at Walter Reed. One, a Special Forces guy, had lost his leg nearly to the hip.

  “But I’m alive,” the guy had said. “And someday, I’m gonna go back to my team.”

  The last Carey heard, the dude was back with his team, and wearing a state-of-the-art prosthetic with a computerized knee.

  So Carey couldn’t play sand volleyball anymore. So what? He could still run, climb, swim, bike. Having an intact knee gave him so many more options than others had.

  What you are is one fortunate son of a bitch, so count your blessings.

  Determinedly fishing his earbuds out of his backpack, Carey let himself drift in a haze of sunshine and the music from his favorite playlist.

  Still, he found his gaze wandering continuously to Jase, and he watched appreciatively as he went for a smooth block, jumping straight up with his powerful legs and stuffing the ball in the other dude’s face with a shout. That meant a point for Jase’s team, which led to a round of ass slapping and good-natured ribbing back and forth.

  When the game eventually broke up, Jase jogged over and flopped on a towel next to him. His body glistened with sweat, his chest rising and falling as he panted. Extracting a bottle of water from their cooler, Carey handed it to him, their fingers brushing. Jase grinned his thanks, then guzzled the water while making appreciative noises in the back of his throat.

  His whole body tingling with that strange awareness, Carey looked away from him when some of the other players started to wander over.

  “Hey, man.”

  “‘Sup.”

  Carey returned a few knuckle bumps while Jase made lazy introductions. It turned out most of the guys were SEALs from the nearby amphibious base.

  “How’s the band shit going?” one of them asked Jase.

  “Awesome,” he replied, grinning. He told them about the long-term paying gig they’d just scored, which had enabled him to scale back on his ambulance shifts. “We’ve really started to gel as a group. Got some demos ready to go, so now all we need now is a producer.”

  “How long you been together now?”

  Jase tossed his empty water bottle into the cooler. “About a year, give or take. It’s a dream come true, man. It really is.”

  A couple of the guys knew Quinn, the spec ops community being as close-knit as it was. “That dude looks happier than I’ve seen him in a long time,” someone else commented. “Definitely more at peace.” He turned to Carey. “What happened to you, brother? IED?”

  Carey shook his head. “Nah. Got a little too close to a frag grenade.”

  Hisses and exclamations of “Yikes” went around the group.

  “That sounds like a story I wanna hear sometime over a beer,” the first dude said. “Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  With another round of knuckle bumps, the SEALs pushed to their feet and headed off to rejoin their families, who were grouped nearby under a series of beach umbrellas.

  “You okay?”

  Carey glanced over to see Jase lying on his side, his head propped in his hand, watching him.

  With anyone else, Carey would’ve tossed off a blithe “I’m fine,” but Jase knew him better than that. After all, he’d been there through those first dark days, when Carey had finally come to terms with the fact his life was changed forever.

  Quirking his lips ruefully, he said, “Having a few woe-is-me twinges, not gonna lie.” He drifted his gaze over to the group of SEALs, who were now throwing a football around, their fitness and athleticism on full display. “But I’m on the beach with my favorite person, and I got my favorite music and some adult beverages right here. I’d say I’m pretty darn okay.”

  “Oh, so now I’m your favorite person?”

  “Yep.”

  “Despite my, uh, past roomie indiscretions?”

  A picture flashed in Carey’s mind’s eye, of Jase on his back in that creaky bed, legs wrapped around a muscular, tattooed dude’s hips, his eyes closed, his mouth slack with pleasure…

  To his shock, Carey’s dick actually twitched. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Just don’t let it happen again, at least not this week.”

  “Deal.” Jase sat up, a droplet of sweat streaking down his chest to catch in the hair surrounding his navel. It shimmered there briefly before sliding the last few inches down to disappear below the waistband of his shorts.

  Carey reluctantly tore his eyes away from that enticing trail as Jase said huskily, “Don’t worry. I’m all yours.”

  Their gazes caught and held, and then, pushing to his feet, Jase extended his hand. “C’mon, up you go. Let’s swim. That cold water will, uh, feel pretty good right about now.”

  You can say that again.

  With the help of Jase’s strong grip, Carey pulled himself up to balance on his support leg. Jase slid his arm around his waist and tucked him in close, their bodies now plastered together along one side.

  The tang of Jase’s sweat, along with the brine of the ocean, filled Carey’s nose. He sucked in a deep breath, his pulse accelerating even more at the heavy feel of Jase’s hand on his hip.

  They hadn’t gone far before Carey had to stop and lean against him. “Damn sand,” he panted. “You try hopping through it one-legged.”

  Jase pulled him closer. “Take all the time you need,” he’d started to say, when one of the SEALs caught sight of them and let out a shout. There came the sound of crunching footsteps, and before Carey could blink, he was lifted up in a seated carry between two of them and borne off to the surf.

  They splashed through the waves and unceremoniously tossed him in. Sputtering, Carey surfaced and gave them a thumb’s up. “Thanks, guys,” he said drily, and whooping, the SEALs trotted off, their good deed for the day firmly in the bag.

  The shock of the cold water chased away Carey’s arousal, but the confusion lingered. What was going on with him? He’d never been attracted to a man before—ever. Even that one time, with Jase, had been about neediness, and emotion, and circumstances, nothing else…

  Hadn’t it?

  “Sorry about that.” The object of his confusion waded out next to him, grinning. “Guess those dudes wanted to show you their impersonation of bulls in a china shop.”

  “Well, they succeeded.” Carey gave a mock wince. “Good thing I know how to swim.”

  “Seriously. Oh, they also lent me these.” Jase handed over a turquoise-colored boogie board. Taking it gratefully, Carey pulled himself up on it while Jase did the same on his.

  They floated for a while in silence. The sun, blue sky, and buoyant water soon had Carey almost completely relaxed.

  “Whatcha thinking about?” Jase asked softly.

  About that time with you on my couch, when I thought it was just about comfort, but now I’m not so sure.

  “About why I never knew you could sing like that,” Carey said instead. The memory of Jase’s rich voice and the way it’d mesmerized everyone in the club made him shiver anew.

  Jase shrugged, his lush eyelashes spiky and beaded with water. “I told you about my high school garage band days.”

  “Yeah, but you told me you sucked!”

  “We did. Just because I can carry a tune doesn’t mean the band as a whole wasn’t terrible.” Jase’s voice was full of laughter. “Me and my friends bonded over it. It was fun and games. Now, with this band, it’s—”

  When he didn’t go on, Carey prompted, “It’s what?”

  “Necessary,” he said simply. “These guys, we’ve all been to war. Every single one of us knows what it’s like to lose someone to it, or—” He bit his lip. “—almost lose someone.”

  Closing his eyes, Carey thought of the Marines who’d died, their names and faces crystal clear in his mind. “Yeah.”

  “We can get some of that shit out through our music, you know? The fact that people seem to like it is just icing
on the cake.”

  “Not just ‘people’ liking it, but actual music labels are scouting you out now,” Carey reminded him. Then he paused. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Jase had just opened his mouth to say something when he glanced over his shoulder. “Whoa, that’s a nice one! Paddle!”

  Carey caught the wave just right. Hooting in exhilaration, he surfed toward the shore, the saltwater splashing in his face, the rush of adrenaline making his heart race.

  Afterward, he lay in the sand, grinning like a fool. Jase emerged from the surf, the water running in rivulets down his lean body. He threw himself down next to Carey, his eyes dancing.

  “That was awesome,” he declared. “Wanna go out again, or go back to the chairs?”

  “Let’s stay right here. This is nice.” Carey sat up, the waves foaming around his thighs and waist. Leaning back on his arms, he tilted his face toward the sky and soaked in the warmth of the sun.

  “You look good,” Jase murmured. “Happy.”

  “I am.” Carey let that realization flow through him, and smiled. “In a way I never thought possible.”

  And so much of it is because of you.

  Jase’s support. His friendship. The selfless way he’d given of his time and energy in the aftermath of Carey’s injury.

  “This is what a good medic does,” Jase had whispered one night as he’d dried Carey’s frustrated tears. “Takes care of his guys.”

  Now, nudging Jase’s shoulder with his, Carey waited until he glanced over at him. “What about you? You happy?”

  A shadow passed over Jase’s face before he pasted on a jocular expression. “Why wouldn’t I be…” he started to say, and Carey nudged him again, a bit harder this time.

  “Jason Avery DeSantis,” he said sternly. “It’s me.”

  “Hmph.” Jase sprawled back in the sand. He was silent for a long time as Carey patiently waited him out. “Yes, I’m happy,” he said at last. “Is there a bit of room for improvement? Sure.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, that’s what the band is helping me work out. It’s—”

  The next wave splashed them both in the face, and when they were done sputtering, Jase got to his feet and hauled Carey to standing. “I got him!” he called out to the SEALs before they could charge over. “We’re fine, guys.”

  As they made their way carefully across the sand, Jase said, “It’s hard to explain. Maybe cathartic is the best word for it, you know? Let the demons out, let ‘em rage, but in a healthy way.”

  Carey thought about the joint he’d seen Jase smoking. Support for cannabis use in the treatment of post-traumatic stress had gained considerable traction in recent years, but…Jase? Perpetually cheerful, always-ready-with-a-helping-hand-and-a-smile Jase?

  Was he hurting that much inside?

  Invisible wounds.

  A tide of shame swept over Carey and hollowed out his chest.

  I’m so fucking selfish. I need to pay more attention to him. Really pay attention.

  At the chairs, Jase stood in front of him and gripped his hands, then helped him lower himself down into one. Carey leaned forward to rummage in the cooler for a couple of beers. “Can I come to rehearsal with you tonight? Or will I just be in the way?”

  Popping the top on his can, Jase crouched in front of him, his hair sticking up at crazy angles. “Are you kidding me? I’d have you around 24/7 if I could. Of course you can come.”

  “Good.”

  They tapped their cans together before Jase collapsed back onto his towel. Nearby, the SEALs were pummeling each other in a football “game” that looked more like rugby to Carey. Deliberately, he checked each of them out in turn, letting his gaze slide over six-pack abs, taut asses, and powerful legs. One of them in particular looked like he’d be right at home in the pages of a glossy fashion magazine, or on a billboard advertising men’s underwear.

  Nothing. Not even a tingle.

  Then Carey glanced at Jase, who’d finished his beer before stretching out full length, his hands linked under his head, eyes closed. The tufts of hair in his armpits were crusted with salt, and his wet board shorts clung to his thighs, his hips, his…

  Carey jerked his gaze away, unable to deny the liquid heat pooling in his belly was anything but pure desire.

  He clenched his teeth. Of course he’d always appreciated that Jase was a beautiful man. Not only was he easy on the eyes, but he had something that made everyone simply want to be around him. Carey loved basking in the larger-than-life personality that drew people like moths to a flame, but he’d never, ever considered the attraction Jase held for him to be of a sexual nature.

  You’re a lying liar who lies.

  At the hiss of his conscience, Carey gripped his beer can so hard he dented it. Despite himself, the memories suddenly swamped him, memories he’d tried hard to bury deep down inside until he could almost convince himself it hadn’t even happened.

  But it had.

  And the time was coming when he’d have to deal with those memories, once and for all.

  Five

  “I have a higher guitar part that’ll go over the top of that.”

  The sound of humming grew louder as the band members, gathered together on Quinn’s back porch, worked through the last part of a song they were writing. Jase sang some lyrics, the words indistinguishable from where Carey sat at the kitchen island right inside the house, yet the rough huskiness of his voice still made him shiver.

  “God, he has such a beautiful voice,” Layla remarked, as if reading Carey’s mind. “It fits in so well with the sound they’re going for.”

  “Mmm. He was always singing in the barracks back in the day, and around his shop, stuff like that,” he said. “But I remember it being background noise, nothing that struck me as ‘Oh, shit, this guy’s an amazing singer.’”

  “Same here.” She toyed with the edge of a placemat. “Quinn’s drumming days were behind him when I met him, and then he was gone most of every year with the Unit. When he was home, the last thing he had time for was banging on drums. He had me, the kids, the house…”

  Both of Quinn and Layla’s sons were now in college in another state.

  “When he retired,” she went on, “I finally couldn’t take the moping anymore and bought him a used drum kit on Craigslist.” She sighed. “It brought him back to life, Carey. Whatever he’s found with this group of guys, it’s saved him. Plus, he’s just fuckin’ good at it. I had no idea.”

  Some good-natured bickering echoed from the porch, and she chuckled. “There’s been no drama, either, no egos getting in the way, which is amazing for a group of Type As like this.”

  Snorting, Carey said, “Seriously.”

  More laughter, and then the guys came thundering in to raid the beer from the fridge. Quinn kissed the top of Layla’s head and clapped Carey on the shoulder as he passed. “How would you two like to be the first to hear it?”

  “What? You finished the song?” She clapped her hands and bounced in her chair. “Awesome, honey!”

  Leaning his hip on the counter next to Carey, Jase took a huge swig of cold water. “It’s still pretty rough, but I think we have most of it worked out.”

  In the living room, Rusty and Pete were setting up their guitars. Jase snagged a couple of the barstools and arranged them in a semicircle.

  “This is the acoustic version, of course,” Quinn said as he draped one arm over Layla’s shoulders. “We’ll add the drums in later,” he said, grinning. “No need to wake up the neighborhood.”

  To Carey’s surprise, Jase picked up a guitar himself and began strumming it. “Yeah,” he said, laughing at Carey’s expression. “I play, too.”

  Carey winced even as he chuckled. For someone who’d been calling Jase his best friend for years, he was ashamed at how little he knew him.

  No. How little you paid attention, his inner voice whispered. You’ve made everything all about you.

  The band sat down and, amidst the c
ackling and mock insults, started playing. It was rough at first, including a few sour chords and false starts, but after several repetitions, they managed to smooth out the intro.

  “Okay, goddammit, let’s try adding the vocals this time,” Rusty growled, frustration evident on his face. “One…two…three…”

  Instead of its usual rough velvet, Jase’s voice came out in a high falsetto, almost squeaky, startling everyone. After recovering from his shock, Rusty set his guitar down and lunged. Jase whooped and tried to get away, but Rusty caught him easily and body-slammed him to the couch.

  “You sounded like Minnie Mouse,” he gasped, cracking up. “Fuckin’ asshole.”

  As they horsed around, Layla sidled up to Carey. “That’s our Jase,” she said quietly. “Always lightening the mood. I tease all the time that Quinn’s the brains of this outfit, but Jase is the heart and soul, no question.”

  He’d been the same with their platoon. Carey had lost count of all the nights a young Marine had shown up at their barracks room door asking to see “Doc.” Sometimes the issue was an embarrassing medical complaint they didn’t want to go to the clinic for, but most times, it was a dude, away from home for the first time in his life, who was missing his mom, his girlfriend, or even his dog.

  Those guys Jase would take to sit on the landing, the low rumble of their voices outside Carey’s window, lulling him to sleep.

  “A good medic is everything to everyone,” Jase would say. “Medical provider, therapist, a shoulder to cry on.”

  He could always be depended on to have a supply of condoms, too, or jock itch cream, or foot powder, anything “his” Marines might need.

  And they’d loved him for it.

  The whine of the guitar filled the room, and this time, they nailed the intro. Closing his eyes, Jase took a deep breath, the lyrics flowing out of him effortlessly. The poignant words wrapped themselves around Carey—words of loss, of not getting to say goodbye—their meaning given depth, and emotion, through the power of Jase’s voice.

  Next to him, Layla shivered. “He makes you feel it,” she whispered in awe. “I’ve never been to war, and I feel it.”