Everything Changes

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Everything Changes Page 19

by Melanie Hansen


  “Being a wheelchair user doesn’t make me pitiful, or a quitter,” Paul said quietly. “In fact, there are lots of bonus features to being in a chair. Like, I get to skip to the front of long lines at the amusement park.” His lips quirked mischievously. “Fast-track through security at the airport.”

  His dad let out an unwilling snort.

  “I can also beat all y’all from one end of the mall to the other, no sweat.” Paul did a wheelie, then rolled up to his father and laid his hand on his arm. “I want to start living my life, Dad, and to me that means being grateful for what I have, instead of focusing on what I don’t.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, his dad nodded, then got to his feet and left the room.

  “Aww, fuck.” Paul’s shoulders slumped. “I know it’s hard for him. He’s thinking that we might not hunt together anymore, or hike or camp. That’s how we’ve always bonded.”

  “Well, it’s not your job to convince him to accept your choice of assistive device,” Carey said. “You’ve made your decision, and it’s up to him what he does with that.”

  “I know.” Paul shuddered. “It’s—God, I just can’t fight with those fucking legs anymore. The effort. The pain…”

  Carey got it. His struggle had been a tenth of what Paul’s was, and at times he thought it would break him. Nothing about it was easy, computerized knees or not.

  Wheeling over to him, Paul clapped him on the back. “Thanks for being here, man. I wanted a bit of moral support while I talked to him, you know?”

  “Anytime, brother.”

  “Semper fi,” Paul said with a sigh. “Gonna go hit that yoga class now, I think, and try to relax. Hopefully my dad sticks around.”

  They left the conference room, and out on the large deck, the class was just gearing up to start. Paul picked out a mat and started to swing himself down onto it, when his dad suddenly appeared beside him.

  “Hey,” Carey could hear Paul say in surprise. “What’re you doing?”

  “Guess I’m learning yoga.” Despite the fact he was wearing jeans and cowboy boots, his dad dropped to sitting and awkwardly crossed his legs. “Figured we needed to find some new things to do together, right?”

  Clapping one hand over his eyes, Paul bent his head, his shoulders beginning to shake.

  “I’m really sorry, son.” His father slid an arm around him and pulled him close. “It’s your life, and all I want is for you to be happy. I won’t mention the walking again.”

  They hugged, both of them crying now, and with his own eyes stinging, Carey slipped away. He wandered across the courtyard toward his office, thinking that he’d never, ever get tired of witnessing scenes like that. That’s what Bill’s vision had been when he started the ranch, to get wounded people talking, and hopefully healing, in whichever way was best for them.

  Of course that made him think of Jase, and Carey couldn’t help but sigh. He hadn’t talked to him much in the week since the phone sex call. They’d texted a few times, but Jase had had a three-day ambulance shift to get through, and after that, he would be headed up to L.A. for the studio session with Wellman.

  In fact, he was probably on the I-5 North right now.

  Despite himself, Carey’s stomach flipped over. This weekend was so important to them all, and he sent a little prayer winging skyward.

  Please, please let it go smoothly.

  “Okay, guys! Let me get a roll call and then we’ll get this party started.”

  Carey glanced toward Byrney, who stood waving a clipboard over his head as his group of combat medics milled about, ball caps on, rucksacks on the ground at their feet. To a man, they all wore cargo pants, long-sleeved T-shirts, and hiking boots.

  A pang shot through Carey. If only Jase could’ve come on this trip…

  “Aguirre, Manuel.”

  “Here. Call me Manny.”

  “Gotcha.” Byrney scribbled that down. “Ashcraft, Glen.”

  “Yo.”

  “Barnes, Cyrus.”

  “Here.”

  Carey started to unlock the door to his office, his mind already turning to the calls he needed to make. He was so deep in thought he almost missed it.

  “DeSantis, Jason.”

  He froze, key half in, half out of the lock.

  What?

  “I go by Jase,” an achingly familiar voice said. “And here. Obviously.”

  Abandoning the key, Carey spun around, almost face-planting as his artificial foot caught on an uneven piece of the concrete stoop. He stumbled, catching himself on the railing just in time.

  It couldn’t be. He was supposed to be in L.A.!

  On trembling legs, Carey hurried toward the assembled group and eagerly scanned the faces. He had to be hearing things. There was no way Jase would be here. No way.

  Carey stumbled to a halt and stared, an unmistakable pair of hazel eyes locking onto his.

  “What?” he croaked. “What?” His heart tripping a mile a minute, he could only stand rooted into place as Jase strolled toward him, a rueful smile quirking his lips.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Miss me?”

  Carey’s mouth flapped open and shut like a dying fish, and Jase would’ve laughed if his stomach wasn’t tied into knots.

  He grunted when Carey snagged his sleeve and yanked him behind what Jase assumed was some kind of gardeners’ shed.

  “What’re you doing here?” Carey hissed. “You’re supposed to be in L.A.!”

  Jase shrugged. “I decided not to go.”

  “You decided—” If eyes could bug, Carey’s certainly did. “Why?”

  “I wanted to come on the trip instead.”

  “The trip?” Carey looked completely gobsmacked. “Did I mention it? I don’t remember mentioning it. When did I mention it?”

  Chuckling now, Jase leaned back against the aluminum siding of the shed. “You didn’t. I looked it up.”

  Carey sucked in a breath. “Really?”

  “Yeah. The day you left, actually. I was surprised it let me register, but—”

  “Two weeks ago?” Reaching out, Carey grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “You registered two weeks ago and never told me?”

  “Well—”

  Carey shook him, hard. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? Why aren’t you in L.A.?” He gasped. “The others! Are they pissed? What about Wellman?”

  Before he could lob any more questions at him, Jase gently covered his lips with his palm. “Will you let me talk? I’ll tell you if you let me talk.”

  Slowly, with exaggerated care, Carey disentangled his fingers from Jase’s shirt and patted his chest. “Fine. Talk.”

  Jase gazed down into his face, everything he wanted to say flying out the window at the sight of Carey’s adorable confusion, the earnestness shining from his blue eyes. As he struggled for the words, Carey hooked him by the back of the neck and drew his head down for a short, hard kiss.

  “Yes, I missed you,” he whispered against his lips. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

  “Ah, babe,” Jase groaned, sliding his arms around Carey’s waist and pulling him close. “Missed you more.”

  They swayed together, holding onto each other, Jase rubbing his palm in slow circles on Carey’s back. “I—” he’d just started to say when he heard his name being called.

  “Jase! We’re loading up. Where’d you go?” Byrney strode past the corner of the shed, caught sight of them and skidded to a halt, his eyes widening. “Um—hi.”

  Jase tried to drop his arms, but Carey just chuckled. “This is the guy I was telling you about.” He gave Jase a squeeze. “I didn’t know he was coming.”

  “I see that.” Byrney glanced at his watch. “Well, I wish I could give you more time for a reunion, but we’ve got a two-hour drive ahead of us to the trailhead. One more minute, okay?” Then he disappeared.

  “Shit, you’d better go.” Carey kissed him again. “We’ll talk when you get back.”

  His throat tight, Jase could on
ly nod as Carey released him with a gratifying reluctance, and Jase caught his hand before he could turn away.

  “Wellman isn’t my priority,” he said quietly. “L.A. isn’t my priority. You are.” He tried to smile. “And this is me meeting you halfway.”

  Carey’s lips trembled. “God, I love you. See you in a week.”

  Then he turned and strode off, gone before Jase could even hope to catch the breath that’d just been knocked from his lungs. On shaky legs, he hurried toward the van, which was idling impatiently, the side door open.

  Jase squeezed inside and found his seat, dropping down onto it with a breathless, “Sorry, guys. Thanks for waiting.”

  Nobody replied, their noses buried in their phones, all of them radiating the discomfort that could only come with a group of strangers suddenly being crammed into an enclosed space together. Wisely, Byrney cranked on the radio, his easy, “Let’s get going, fellas,” drifting back to Jase as someone pulled the door shut.

  And then they were off.

  Before they’d even exited the parking lot, Jase had his own phone out. You tell me that right as I’m leaving for a fucking week?!!

  A few laughing emojis popped up. Something to keep you warm at night, yeah?

  You suck, Jase grumbled. You’re killing me.

  I know. A pause. Take this time for you, okay? No one else. I’ll be here when you get back.

  Sighing, Jase put his phone away, glancing around at the other men, some of whom now met his gaze with tentative smiles.

  He stuck his hand out to the nearest one. “You’re Cyrus, right?”

  “Yeah. Call me Cy.”

  “Jase.”

  They shook. “Who were you with, Cy?”

  “Charlie One-Six. First Battalion, 6th Marines,” he said. “You?”

  “Third Battalion, 3rd Marines,” Jase replied, grinning. “Thundering Thirds, oh, yeah.”

  They high-fived, already bonded as two Navy corpsmen who’d served with the Marines. The other guys started chiming in with their former units, which included four Army medics, and an Air Force pararescueman-turned-psychologist named Tom.

  Ah. The expert in post-traumatic stress and moral injury. And he was a combat vet.

  At the thought, Jase cautiously relaxed. Tom was someone who could relate to what they’d all been through and wasn’t just some guy who sat in an office, spouting off whatever the latest “study” said.

  Maybe we can trust him. Maybe this really will help.

  At the trailhead, Byrney urged them to turn their phones off and put them away. “The goal here is to unplug, disconnect, and quiet the outside distractions.”

  The men just stared at him.

  “I know, that’s a scary thought,” Tom interjected quietly, “when you’re used to—you need—those distractions. But that’s how we got here, isn’t it? We’ve suppressed those experiences for so long, shoved them down so deep, that they’ve become caustic. Noxious.”

  Jase cleared his throat as the other men shuffled their feet.

  “You’re among brothers here,” Byrney said. “Brothers in arms. Outside under the sky, in this company, this is where those experiences can be let out, sat with, and breathed through.” He paused. “Phones off, guys. Okay? In fact, let’s just leave them in the van.”

  He produced a lockbox.

  “They’ll be safe. Both Tom and I carry satellite phones in case of emergency.” Glancing around the circle of faces, Byrney went on. “I can’t force you to leave them, but you’ll get the most out of these next few days if you do.”

  Finally Cy stepped over and put his phone in the box, followed by the others, one by one. Jase typed out a quick Going off the grid now. I love you before shutting his down and doing the same.

  With luck, he’d have an answering text from Carey to greet him when he returned. Jase bit his lip. He had a feeling he’d need it.

  “Thanks, fellas.” Byrney locked the box, slipped it under the van’s seat, and attached the key to a chain around his neck. Then he tucked it under his shirt and patted it. “All safe.”

  Subdued, everyone pulled their rucks from the back and shouldered them.

  Glen groaned as the weight settled on him. “Been a long time since I been on a fuckin’ ruck march. This ain’t gonna be pretty.”

  Someone clapped him on the back. “Good thing you’re surrounded by medics, then, huh, man?”

  “Thank fuck,” Glen said fervently, to a round of laughter.

  The early afternoon was warm, but with a refreshing cool breeze, and soon the group, led by Byrney, got into a comfortable groove. They hiked in silence, everyone breathing in the scent of pine and shale as they got in touch with muscles they hadn’t used in a long time.

  When they stopped for their first water break five miles in, Cy grunted to Jase, “I’m gonna be fuckin’ smoked by the time we set up camp.” Then he grinned. “And that’s gonna feel awesome.”

  It was true. Several hours later, by the time they’d found the perfect spot to pitch their tents, everyone was too exhausted to move, much less miss their phones, but there were smiles all around.

  Jase ripped open an MRE, not even bothering to heat it with its can of Sterno first. As he shoved cold spaghetti in his mouth, he mumbled, “Ugh, at least I won’t need that toilet paper I packed for the rest of the week.”

  MREs, or Meals, Ready to Eat, were notorious for causing extreme constipation.

  The other guys chuckled their understanding, and then Cy laughed out loud. “Fuck, I gotta tell you guys about the time I drank a case of Rip Its on a bet. I’m talkin’ slammed them one after the other.”

  “Ha.” Tom reclined down on his side, a stick of beef jerky in his mouth. “That’ll give you the opposite of constipation.”

  Cy threw him a wry look. “I’d say ‘no shit,’ but yeah, there was shit.”

  Soon they were all howling, and razzing each other, the barracks’ mentality and camaraderie settling easily on the group. Jase tilted his head back toward the night sky, breathing the chill air in deeply. They’d all missed this. No matter how much they might say they didn’t, how loudly they might protest they didn’t, they did.

  It was familiar. It was safe.

  It was like coming home.

  Nineteen

  “Carey was surprised to see you.”

  Jase glanced at Byrney, who loped easily alongside him on the trail, ball cap pulled low, mirrored sunglasses over his eyes.

  “He wasn’t expecting me,” Jase said briefly. “He thought I’d be in L.A. this weekend.”

  “Yeah, he told me about your band thing.”

  Jase blinked. “He did?”

  “Yep. He said you’d never in a million years give that up to come on this trip.” Byrney chuckled. “He seemed very, very sure about that.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell him I’d registered for this, just in case I didn’t go through with it.” Jase grunted. “I’ve disappointed him enough lately.”

  Before Byrney could reply, Jase asked, “How did you meet him? I mean, obviously you both work at the ranch now, but do you remember the first time you met him?”

  “I do.” Byrney scrubbed his hand over his four-day growth of beard. “To answer that, I have to go back a bit. Do you know anything about me and my husband’s story?”

  When Jase said he didn’t, Byrney laughed. “Well, we couldn’t stand each other when we first met. He was engaged to someone else, and I was this closeted punk kid with a huge chip on my shoulder.”

  Jase listened as Byrney told him about a pool party that Trevor had thrown for his nineteen-year-old son, Riley, on the eve of their platoon’s deployment. “Riley and I were platoonmates and friends, but not super close then. That came later—in the Korengal Valley.”

  Jase shuddered. Afghanistan’s Valley of Death, where forty-two American lives had been lost. Breathtakingly beautiful and lush, it’d been a logistical and tactical nightmare for the Americans, full of craggy cliffs, brutal winters, a
nd a wily enemy who knew the terrain like the backs of their hands.

  “After Riley was killed by that sniper, Trevor and I got really close, and we eventually fell in love.” With an impatient gesture, he went on, “Long story short, one of the ways Trevor likes to honor Riley is by opening up our home to veterans who otherwise don’t have anywhere else to go, like for the holidays.” He paused. “It’s Riley’s room that’s now the guest room.”

  Tears pricked Jase’s eyes. “That’s amazing,” he said quietly. “A wonderful tribute to his son.”

  “Yeah.” Byrney smiled. “Trevor goes all out, too, especially if it’s Christmas. Gifts, food, a tree right out of Martha fuckin’ Stewart.” He shook his head, a fond smile quirking his lips. “Anyway, Carey was our guest one year, the first Christmas after his injury. His case manager at the ranch set it up.”

  “Really? I don’t recall him ever mentioning that.”

  Then Jase winced. The first Christmas after Carey’s injury had been during those months they weren’t speaking. In fact, it’d been Jase’s noisy, family-filled holiday that’d prompted him to call Carey right after New Year’s and seek to reconnect.

  Carey had been vague about what he’d done for Christmas, and now it filled Jase with relief to know that he’d been safe and obviously cared for.

  “He was so polite,” Byrney said. “Afraid to rock the boat by asking for seconds at dinner, or if he could have another towel after accidentally dropping his in the half-full bathtub.”

  Jase’s heart ached.

  “He wouldn’t speak unless spoken to,” Byrney went on. “I don’t think we’d ever met anyone so wary, so distrusting, but oh, so perfectly, painfully polite.”

  “He’s a former foster kid,” Jase managed. “That’s how he grew up.”

  “He didn’t say, but that’s what we figured, something like that.” Byrney smiled. “My sweet Trevor, he’s so patient, has such a heart for hurting young men and women. I woke up one night and he wasn’t in bed, so I got up and found him and Carey sitting outside by our firepit. Drinking hot toddies.”

  Jase chuckled at the mental image. “Cozy.”

 

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