Chapter 4 Wes
FOUR
WES
“I am the dungeon master. Welcome to the Horsemen.”
I stared at Austin Calloway and wondered how the fuck this guy ever got laid.
Then again, the way his eyes lit up talking about made-up worlds and monsters, I kind of got it. Some people were just built for quests and happy endings. I used to think I was one of them.
Around Brody’s kitchen table, I sat with Austin, Hayes, Brody, and Cal.
Years ago we’d joined a men’s softball team and continued the tradition of weekly meetings during the offseason.
In the past we’d done poker or board games—anything that gave us an excuse to come together for a few beers and some laughs.
Austin had suggested we try our hand at Dungeons & Dragons this time.
It was weird, but whatever. I gripped my thigh to ease the phantom pain. Besides, running bases really wasn’t in the cards for me anymore, and it gave me an excuse to leave my house.
“So what is this again?” Cal asked with narrowed eyes.
Austin sighed. “It’s called a campaign.” His hand moved to his chest. “I’m the dungeon master.
” Brody and Cal snickered, but Austin kept explaining.
“You are the players. I’ll give you descriptions and information about the areas you’re in, react to whatever you do, and tell a story while we do it.
As the players, you go around interacting with everything—solving puzzles, exploring, engaging in combat—that kind of thing. ”
Austin talked with his hands like he was pitching a multimillion-dollar deal instead of a pretend elf problem. The guy had never half-assed anything in his life, which was why I had hired him in the first place.
“Oh,” Cal chimed in. “So it’s like a video game but without the console.”
Austin grinned. “Exactly.”
Brody bumped his half brother in the shoulder. “I think little Winnie’s overactive imagination is rubbing off on you.”
The tips of Austin’s ears reddened. He and Selene Darling had gone from neighbors to lovers, and things seemed pretty serious.
Selene’s daughter was precocious, but a sweet kid.
Despite Selene being older than him, Austin seemed to fit into their lives seamlessly.
They made it look easy—like you could just slide into a ready-made family and know exactly where you fit.
Watching it made something in my chest twist.
Self-pity crept up my back. I had never given too much thought to having a family. I’d always assumed it would happen eventually. Now I was damaged and angry, and the prospect of becoming an actual recluse was feeling closer every day.
I could see it so clearly—me in ten years, yelling at kids to get off my lawn from behind a curtain, leg aching and beer gut hanging over my sweats.
Hell of a retirement plan.
“You okay?” Hayes leaned over to ask.
It was his new favorite question and my least favorite one to answer.
I bristled and hated myself for it. “I’m good.” I focused my attention on what Austin was saying and not the worried look lingering on Hayes’s face. “Are we going to start or what?”
Austin grinned and leaned forward to whisper.
He was living for this. “You’re all travelers in a distant land.
A nefarious and mysterious noble has given you a quest. To aid you in your journey, he gives you each a horse and some weaponry.
Brody, you’re a fighter. Your horse is bright white and the nobleman has given you a bow.
Cal . . . you are given a black horse and wear a magical ring. ”
Cal nodded and grinned, getting into it. “Badass.”
Austin smirked as he continued: “Hayes, you are a Human Aasimar Cleric who provides guidance and leadership. Your horse is pale, like the moonlight. Your staff is the source of your celestial power.”
Of course Hayes got the pale horse. In Star Harbor, the man couldn’t trip over a curb without somebody muttering about curses and bad omens.
I swallowed thickly, unsure why I felt nervous as Austin’s gaze tracked to me. “Wes, you will be our Warforged Paladin. You’re a warrior, but also a healer. You carry a longsword and ride a red horse.”
A warrior.
Flashes of my time as a Delta Force operator shook me. I had been a warrior, but that was a lifetime ago. Now I was a shell of that man. It was hard to even muster the enthusiasm to play one in Austin’s stupid game.
My body remembered what it felt like to be that guy—the one other men followed without question. My brain reminded me I couldn’t even make it down my own porch steps without eating shit.
“As a unit, your armor is unrivaled,” Austin continued, “and you carry your mission atop your mighty steed.” Austin’s gaze was steady and focused. “After this nobleman provides your weapon and horse, he gives you the collective mission to escape the dungeon.”
Must be nice . . . to have a clear quest and a way out.
My real-life dungeon didn’t come with maps or magic keys.
Austin’s eyebrows bounced. “Let’s roll.”
I wasn’t about to admit it to anyone, but playing Dungeons & Dragons for four straight hours was the highlight of my week.
When the night was over, we’d worked as a team to overcome obstacles, fight demons, and escape the dungeon.
We argued, we screwed up, we rolled like shit, and still—we made it out.
Together. Funny how that worked better in fantasy than it did in my actual life.
Collectively, we mounted our horses and rode off toward the local village, where we’d continue the game next time.
It was nerdy and Brody, who was a High-Elf Fighter, kept breaking his magical bow, but hell—it was fun.
My house was dark by the time I got back.
I pretended to not notice the headlights from Hayes’s truck following me home.
When I closed my front door, anxiety wound around my shoulders.
The house was too quiet. Too dark. The place looked like a goddamn postcard for loneliness—no lights, no sound, just my reflection in the window and the ache in my leg for company.
It was nearly midnight, and instead of being able to collapse on my bed, I had to think about things like removing my prosthetic, checking for signs of irritation, and all the extra minutes it now took to get myself ready to do anything.
Most people got to just fall face-first onto their mattress and call it a night.
I got a checklist and a reminder that nothing in my life was simple anymore.
It was fucking exhausting.
Upstairs, my king-size bed was calling to me. I wanted nothing more than to sink into the mattress, pull the covers over my head, and ignore the world until morning. But it was no longer that easy for me.
My hips were sore, and my right foot was screaming for a break.
Weary and exhausted, I lowered myself to the couch and exhaled.
The upstairs bedroom might as well have been on another continent.
The couch had become home base—close to the door, close to the bathroom, close to the version of me who didn’t try too hard.
I had started removing my prosthetic when a knock came at the door.
I glanced at the clock. It was way too late for unexpected visitors. My stomach dropped. There was only one person stubborn enough to show up at this hour and bang on my door like he paid the mortgage.
“Wes, open up. It’s me.” Hayes’s voice boomed through the door.
I gritted my teeth and wanted to ram my fist into the wall. It found the couch cushion instead.
I knew he wasn’t going anywhere, so I blew out a breath. “Use your key and come in.”
When he did, Hayes’s frame filled the entryway.
“What?” I snapped. I heard the bite in my own voice and hated how automatic it had become with him.
Hayes lifted his chin and took my lashing out like he deserved it. “Just making sure you got settled in okay. I didn’t see the light go on upstairs, so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.”
Irritation ground into my jaw like a kernel.
“Checking up on me? What the fuck, dude.” I used all my strength to stand, balancing on one leg.
“Did you check up on Austin or Cal when they left? I don’t need you to babysit me.
I don’t need you following me home or lurking outside or looking at me with that fucking look on your face.
” My arm flipped in his direction to emphasize my point.
“I didn’t suddenly turn into a fragile antique just because I’ve got fewer parts,” I added, the words scraping my throat on the way out.
Pain flicked over his features. “I’m just—”
I registered the hurt in his eyes and still couldn’t stop myself.
Anger and frustration bubbled over. “You just what, Hayes? Just need to come here and coddle me and somehow make up for calling me that night? You want to come over and wipe my ass too? Goddamn it, man. Leave me the fuck alone!”
My harsh words landed with a tough blow. Regret and shame coursed through me as I watched my best friend take the verbal assault without flinching.
Hayes only nodded as his jaw worked. “Understood, man.” He turned, his hand landing on the knob of the door.
“I can see that you can take care of yourself. But for the record?” He turned and his eyes pinned me in place.
“Even if you did need someone to wipe your ass, I’d be there.
Not because I felt guilty—which I do, by the way—but because I love you. ”
The words hit harder than any punch I’d ever taken. I wanted to tell him to fuck off. I wanted to grab him and beg him not to leave. Instead, I just stood there, one-legged and silent, watching him leave.
Without another glance back, Hayes walked out. The front door rattled as it slammed closed. Hurt, confusion, and self-loathing coursed through me. I wanted to scream or cry or beat the shit out of something. The only thing nearby was a half-empty glass of water on the console table.
With a yell, I swiped it hard enough to send it careening through the air until it hit a wall and smashed into a thousand pieces.
Water streaked down the paint in crooked lines, tiny shards glittering in the lamplight.
I stared at the mess, chest heaving, knowing I’d just broken something a hell of a lot more important than a glass.
I barely recognized myself anymore. Six months ago I’d been happy and would never have dreamed of speaking to my best friend that way. I hated the man I’d become since the accident.
I hated myself, and nothing could fix that.