Shattered Dreams (Shattered #2)

12. CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

The five of us are on my back deck, sipping beers and grilling burgers – myself, Mark, Lila, Tucker, and Stubbs. Stubbs flew in this afternoon to stay with us for a week. Tucker and Lila insisted on coming over. They couldn’t wait to meet the man they’ve heard so much about.

Tucker’s reaction when he saw Stubbs’ six-five, massively-ripped body was nothing short of comical. His mouth had fallen open, and in an awe-struck voice, he’d said, “Jesus, you’re a fucking tank.” Stubbs had thrown his head back in laughter.

Lila shook her head, her lips twitching. “I apologize for my husband’s lack of manners. He owns a gym, and he’s a personal trainer. Please excuse him for lusting after your body.”

Tucker flushed. “I’m not lusting after his body. The only body I lust after is yours,” he’d said, kissing her. “I just find his musculature extremely impressive.”

Lila lifted one eyebrow. “You know you’re kissing me while staring at him, right?”

“It’s a lot like looking at a supermodel,” I’d told Tucker. “Once the initial shock at his perfection wears off, it’s easier.”

Stubbs had chuckled when he looked my way. “You’ve never looked at me like that, Green Eyes, and neither did she.” He’d tipped his head at Lila.

Lila grinned. “I’m sorry. Have I wounded your man-pride? Should I swoon and fall at your feet? I could if you like, but I thought Tucker was doing enough of that for the both of us.”

“No more swooning,” Mark had pronounced with an exaggerated eye roll. “He’s big, he’s muscled, we get it. Stop gawking at him like a hunk of meat.”

Stubbs batted his long lashes at Mark. “You’re my hero, Pretty Boy,” he’d crooned. Mark had thrown a dishtowel at him, and just like that, Stubbs assimilated perfectly into our little tribe.

“It’s beautiful here,” Stubbs says, lifting his beer bottle to his lips from his perch on a deck chair. His eyes travel over the mountainside, admiring the view. “So green, I can smell it. So many trees.” His gaze halts on the gigantic tree with its low-sprawling limbs in my backyard. “You’ve got an angel oak.”

I nod. “I love that tree.”

“I haven’t seen one since I lived in Charleston,” he says.

I glance toward Mark, remembering my flight to San Antonio a few months ago to bring him home with me. Severe weather caused the pilot to change course mid-flight. I’d watched as pink lightning illuminated the purple midnight sky. The lightning had reminded me of my angel oak and a lesson about damage and scars. I’d meant to share the story with Mark, but in the excitement surrounding his discharge, I’d forgotten all about it.

“Come take a look at it with me, Mark. You, too,” I say to Stubbs. “That tree has a very important story.” They both stand and follow me, Stubbs taking long, powerful strides on his carbon-fiber prosthetic legs, Mark following determinedly behind him on his crutches. I stop at the base of the tree, running my hands over its rough bark.

“A couple of years ago, I was home during a spring thunderstorm. It was a nasty storm – the winds were howling, and the rain was coming down in sheets. I was making soup in my kitchen when I heard what sounded like a rifle shot. I dropped to the floor.” I look at Mark, then Stubbs. “Habit,” I explain, and both fellow combat veterans nod. “Then I realized the sound was a lightning strike. I looked out the window and saw smoke rising from my tree, but no flames.”

I move my hands to one side, tracing a healed, barkless gash with my fingertips. “I came outside after the storm passed. The lightning had carved a path from its upper trunk–” I point, though thick leaves obscure the area where the lightning struck “–all the way to the ground. Bits of bark that had exploded off the trunk littered the ground. I was afraid I’d lose my tree. Thousands of trees die from lightning strikes every year.”

I turn to Stubbs. “But it was amazing. Over the summer, the bugs ate away the charred wood. The opposite side of the tree stayed green, and when autumn came, its leaves changed color like always and fell to the ground. In the spring, my tree fully leafed out, just like always. The only evidence anything ever happened to the tree was its scar.” I look at Mark, finding his pale blue eyes watching me, his jaw tight. He knows where I’m going with this, and he doesn’t like it. “The lightning could have killed it, but it didn’t. The damage is a permanent part of the tree, but it doesn’t limit it. My tree thrives despite it, because it’s more than its damage and scars.”

Stubbs moves beside me, pulling my gaze away from Mark as he lays one huge dark hand against the trunk. “It was beautiful to me before,” he murmurs, “but knowing its story makes it even more so. The truly strong are those who persevere through challenges.”

Mark doesn’t speak, and the silence goes on for so long that it becomes awkward. It’s almost a relief when Tucker yells, “Quit fondling that tree and get up here. The burgers are ready.”

A rude remark about exactly what Tucker could go fondle pops into my head, but I manage to contain myself. No sense traumatizing Stubbs on his first night here. Then again, he’s a Marine. I doubt he’d be so much as bat an eye at my juvenile comments.

Mark’s tension eases over dinner. The five of us swap military stories till long after the sun’s gone down. Stubbs talks about some of his more colorful commanding officers, and Tucker regales Stubbs with stories of pranks we’d pulled on each other overseas. I light a fire in the circular stone firepit, and we move to the chaise lounges to gaze at the stars. There’s a meteor shower tonight, and the skies are clear. With any luck, we’ll see some shooting stars.

“There,” Mark says a few minutes later, pointing. I follow his finger to see a white streak race through the sky.

“There’s another one,” Lila says. That one leaves a green trail in its wake.

“The crickets and tree frogs are loud tonight,” Tucker says. “You know, I never knew I even liked listening to the damn things until I spent eight years in the desert without them.”

“It’s peaceful here,” Stubbs says in the darkness as another meteor streaks across the sky. “A kind of peace I can feel all the way in my soul. How did you guys end up here together?”

“Tucker’s mom and brothers live here,” Lila says. “Charlie and I moved here because we didn’t have any other ties when we got out of the military, and we knew the four of us would always be close. It made sense to go where Tucker had roots.”

“Neither of you had any other family?”

“None of us do,” Lila replies. “Charlie was an only child, and so was Mark, and their parents had been dead for more than a decade. I’ve lived in more foster homes than I can count. Tucker was the only one of us with a family.”

“You guys are my family,” I tell her.

“We’ve formed our own family unit,” she agrees, glancing back at Stubbs. “We may not be blood, but the ties are just as strong.”

“Family is more than blood,” Stubbs agrees. “It’s in here.” He lightly pounds his chest with his fist twice. It reminds me of the way Mark and I used to thump over our hearts twice, a wordless “love you” when one of us was heading into something dangerous.

We stay on the deck watching the colorful streaks race across the sky until almost midnight, when Lila yawns. “I have to get home,” she apologizes.

Tucker stands and pulls her to her feet. “Come on, Sweetness. I’ll drive.”

We make our way indoors and say our goodbyes. “I’ll bring the coffee in the morning,” I tell Lila.

“Make it a double,” she says. “Tara’s making a cinnamon-crumb coffee cake.”

I return to the kitchen, surprised to find Stubbs rinsing the dinner dishes while Mark loads the dishwasher. I lean against the doorframe. “It does my heart good to see men doing dishes,” I tease them.

Mark snorts. “I help with the dishes most nights.”

I shrug. “Doesn’t mean my heart is any less thrilled to see you two cleaning up.”

Stubbs grins. “I don’t just do dishes. I can cook, too. Maybe I’ll show off when we go camping this weekend.”

Yep. Camping.

It started off innocently enough. Lila and I were discussing renting a big lakeside cabin for all of us. We thought Stubbs might enjoy the time in nature. Tom overheard and suggested camping instead, because he’s a boy and doesn’t care about pesky things like indoor plumbing. The next thing I knew, Tucker, Tom, and Mark had reserved several adjacent lakeside campsites for us. We’re closing the clinic at noon Thursday and not reopening until Monday. We’ve told our clients we’re going on a team-building retreat, which is sort of true. The entire crew is going – Stubbs, Tucker, Lila, Mark, me, Tom, and maybe Maya and Skyler – the girls are still undecided. We tried to convince Tara to join us, but she’d laughed merrily and announced that if God intended for her to camp, he’d miraculously plunk her down at our campsite.

Lila’s made lists of everything we could possibly need. Tucker has researched and planned all the activities. Tom’s been amassing his camping gear. I had no idea he had so much of it. I knew he liked to camp, but since it’s only him and Maya, I’d assumed he had maybe a tent and a pair of sleeping bags. Nope. Tom takes his sister and her family camping, and Tracy and her husband have four kids. At last count, we’re taking five tents and possibly a sixth, plus enough gear for an expedition to Everest, because no matter how old they get, men never stop being boys.

At least it’ll be easy to identify us. We’ll be the only campers with a U-Haul.

The day after Stubbs’ arrival, we spend the morning hanging out in the workout room of Charlie’s house. He’s running on the treadmill while I work on my quads. I pause between sets, trying not to stare as I watch him run.

“Like what you see, Pretty Boy?”

I flip him off. “I was looking at your prosthetics, smartass.”

He laughs. “That’s what they all say.” Then he slows the treadmill before stepping off completely, wiping his sweaty face with a towel. He sits on the floor beside me. “Look all you want.” Then he winks. “If you’re nice, I’ll even let you touch them.”

“You’re not my type,” I say dryly as I examine his prosthetics more closely. His carbon-fiber legs are smooth, with an almost-iridescent snakeskin pattern of black on black. Silver hydraulic knees and ankles are at either end. He’s got cocoa-colored silicone feet, but they’re concealed by the white ankle socks that disappear smoothly into his running shoes. I won’t need the hydraulic knee. Stubbs’ amputations are just above where his knee would have been. I’ll only have the carbon-fiber shin and hydraulic ankle. Sweatpants or jeans will conceal everything, and no one has to know I’m missing a leg. I’ll look normal again. I’ll feel normal again. No more crutches or hobbling. No more women rushing to get a door for me instead of the other way around.

“Was it hard to get used to wearing them?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “They’re a lot lighter than the slip-on prosthetics I used to have. I wore those for a couple of years, but they were too hard on my delicate skin.” He grins. “I’d get blisters, and they’d slip if I got sweaty or my legs changed shape throughout the day when I was up and active. These are a massive upgrade. I just attach them and go, then take them off when I’m ready to go to sleep.”

“So you’re glad you had the surgery?”

“One hundred percent,” he says firmly, “but there’s an emotional and physical learning curve that goes along with it. It’s not all sunshine and roses the second you come out of surgery. There’s a lot to it.”

I nod, but really, I don’t care. This entire road has been nothing but a learning curve. Getting a permanent prosthetic will let me be normal again.

Only thirteen more days.

Stubbs joins me when I head next door for PT, where I take him over and introduce him to Tom. Tom greets him with a big smile just outside his office area. It’s more like a half-cubicle, to be honest. There’s an actual office tucked in behind the seating area, but he didn’t want it. Tom prefers having his desk in one corner of the gym, facing the rehab area. He says it helps him set goals for his clients, because even if he’s at his desk, he can monitor their progress. I’ve never seen him at his desk, though. He’s an in-the-gym-with-you therapist.

A low bookcase about eight feet long separates Tom’s desk from the rest of the gym. The top of the bookcase is lined with photos of Maya. There’s one of her with her overgrown puppy, Bella. In another, she’s holding her highly disgruntled three-legged cat, Eddie, whom she’s stuffed into an unfortunately bright sweater. I glance down the row of pictures. Maya with her red-haired friend, Skyler. Maya leaning back against Tom’s chest. Maya between Charlie and Lila, all of them laughing. Maya with her mom. That one’s new. I notice it at the same time Stubbs reaches for it.

“Holy Mother of God,” he murmurs. “Do you actually know this gorgeous woman?”

Tom glances at the photo Stubbs is holding. “My ex-wife and our daughter?”

“Your what?” Stubbs taps the photo of the exotic beauty with rich brown skin, golden eyes, and high cheekbones. She’s standing beside Maya against the backdrop of a New York skyline. She’s wearing an outfit even I can tell is designer and probably costs more than most people’s mortgage payment.

“Tom was married to Chele,” I offer, “and they have a daughter, Maya.” Maya has the beautiful skin color that’s the perfect blend of her mother’s warm brown tones and Tom’s ruddy complexion.

Stubbs looks at Tom. “You were married to a world-class supermodel in this town?”

“Briefly. We met in New York and moved here. When her career took off, so did she.” Tom’s voice holds a bitterness I’ve not heard from him before.

“So you two aren’t together? No lingering feelings?”

Tom snorts and shakes his head.

“It would probably be very poor form of me to ask you to introduce us,” Stubbs hints with a smile, though I’m pretty sure he’s only half-joking.

Tom laughs. “Talk to Maya first. I don’t care if you hook up with Chele, but you might want a more realistic view of her.”

Stubbs raises an eyebrow. “You want me to ask your daughter if I can have her mom’s number?”

Tom shakes his head. “I’d rather not involve Maya in any more dating drama than necessary. Just ask her about her mom without hinting that you’re interested in Chele. It’s likely to be rather eye-opening.”

“I have absolutely no use for that woman,” Charlie announces to the three of us as she appears from around a corner. She slips her arm around my waist. “But I’m biased. She completely ignores Maya fifty-one weeks out of the year and then pretends for the camera that she’s mother of the year when Tom takes Maya to see her in New York every Christmas.”

Stubbs frowns. “She only gets to see her mom once a year?”

“Chele only agrees to see Maya once or twice a year,” Charlie swiftly corrects him. Her tone is sharp, but it’s not aimed at Stubbs. “She’s always busy – fashion show this, on location that, shoots coming up, blah blah blah. She’s completely focused on her career. Nothing work-related ever falls off her radar, but she can’t be bothered to remember her own daughter’s birthday, holidays, or anything else of any significance. She never calls or texts or emails. She has an amazing daughter that she completely ignores.”

Stubbs returns the photo to the bookcase, grinning at Charlie. “Is that the filtered or unfiltered version?”

Charlie snorts. “Definitely filtered. The rant I went on after she told an interviewer how hard it was to juggle a career with being a single mom? That was unfiltered. But only to Tom and Lila. I’d never say anything like that to Maya.”

Tom sighs. “She wasn’t always like that. We had some good times in the beginning. But her modeling career took off when she was in the late stages of pregnancy, something unheard of in that line of work. It went to her head, and she became a completely different person.”

Charlie frowns. “I’d be willing to bet the signs were there all along, but you were too caught up in your shiny new romance to see them.”

“Maybe,” he admits, “but I hate the way it’s affected Maya.”

The guy I usually work out next to, Terrell, walks into the clinic then, and I make my way to the table next to his. He and I have similar injuries, though he’s further along in his recovery than I am. We haven’t been working out long when Stubbs settles on a chair between our tables and starts chatting with Terrell. In no time at all, he’s got him baring his soul, talking about survivor’s guilt. Two of Terrell’s buddies didn’t survive the blast that damaged his left leg and arm. I’ve worked next to Terrell for four months, and I never knew that. I’ve gotta hand it to Stubbs – he’s good. When our hour is up, he’s jotted down his cell phone number on the back of a card with instructions for Terrell to call him anytime he needs to talk.

The next morning, Stubbs catches my eye over coffee. “Do you mind if I go hang out at the clinic? Maybe talk to a few of the guys in rehab?”

I grin. “Of course not. Tom would probably love it. You and your Zen thing – you’d be perfect. I’ll come, too. There’s this hot chick that works there that I’ve really got a thing for.”

He smiles. “I see you and Green Eyes finally figured things out.”

I shrug. “We’re still figuring it out.”

He laughs. “A blind man can see how you feel about each other. Don’t let that woman get away. You two have something special.”

Stubbs spends the entire day in the clinic. He mostly hangs out in the rehab gym, but also makes sure to greet clients as they come in for massage therapy. He introduces himself as “First Sergeant James Mackey of the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit, but you can call me Stubbs,” and he returns the salutes of those who offer them. I’m amazed by his talent for instantly connecting with strangers. Four different people invite him to accompany them to their massage session so they can keep talking to him. He hands out card after card to veterans, encouraging them to feel free to reach out anytime they need a listening ear.

He couldn’t have picked a better day to visit, either. Mid-morning, an unfamiliar man in dress blues stops by to speak with Charlie. It was an unscheduled visit, so he has to wait about fifteen minutes for Charlie to finish the massage she’s performing. Stubbs introduces himself, chatting him up the way he’s chatted with everyone else. When Charlie comes out, Stubbs stands, shakes the captain’s hand, and passes him a card, encouraging him to call if he ever needs someone to talk to. As it turns out, the captain is Dr. Reed Martinez, the medical director of the Pueblo VA. He’d stopped by to arrange for Charlie to come to Pueblo and discuss further services her clinic might be able to provide for veterans in this area. Dr. Martinez was extremely impressed with Stubbs, especially when he learned he was scheduled to take his boards to be a counselor to work with veterans. Charlie was grinning from ear to ear when she told Stubbs.

“Dr. Martinez said he’d love to hire you to help vets through our clinic. You’d be perfect here. I know you’ll have plenty of offers, but keep us in mind. We’d love to have you.”

Stubbs hangs out with me and Terrell during our PT today. Tom joins us, and the camaraderie between the three of them reminds me so much of the guys in my platoon that it makes my chest ache. I miss my guys. I miss the brotherhood, the teamwork, the sense of accomplishment when we succeeded on missions. I love Charlie and Lila and Tucker, but I miss having a sense of purpose. I’m like an old boat in the middle of the ocean, worse for the wear and without a functional navigation system. I’m drifting, tossed by the sea, with no agency of my own.

Twelve more days. Just twelve more days, and then I’ll be normal. I can do whatever I want after that.

I can manage for twelve more days.

Late Sunday afternoon, I admit to myself that Tom was right. I wish our outdoor weekend didn’t have to end. I was skeptical about staying in tents instead of a cabin, but the weather has been gorgeous, and the scenery is nothing short of spectacular. The lake is nestled in a valley surrounded by tall peaks, the highest of which still has a dusting of snow. Tall birches and narrow pines surround the water. The lake was formed when a glacier carved out a bowl-shaped dent in the landscape. The water is crystal clear, reflecting the bright colors of the surrounding trees and shrubbery. In the daytime, the temperatures have been in the seventies; after dark, it’s in the upper forties. Chilly, but nothing we can’t handle with a light jacket and a campfire.

The six of us – Tucker and Lila, me and Mark, Stubbs, and Tom – have had a blast these past three days. Maya and Skyler opted to stay behind with Tom’s sister Tracy when they discovered she was taking her kids to an amusement park. We drove up Thursday afternoon and immediately started setting up camp. We didn’t need a U-Haul, but it was close. Our vehicles were stuffed to the gills. Mark and I quickly assembled our tent and inflated our air mattress. Stubbs and Tom worked together to put up their tents in short order, too, and the four of us stowed our belongings and mattresses in our tents while being thoroughly entertained by our lone married couple. Lila and Tucker squabbled relentlessly over the proper way to erect their tent. The rest of us finished before Tucker even hammered in the first tent peg. He and Lila were still grumbling by the time the rest of us had put up the large fifth tent to hold our (theoretically) bear-proof food containers and outdoor gear. Lila and Tucker were both sweaty and red-faced when they were done.

“Problem?” Mark had asked innocently.

“Only if you consider a man being too stubborn to read the damned directions to be a problem,” Lila muttered, glowering at Tucker.

Stubbs grinned. “Just think of the quality time spent making memories.” When she’d rolled her eyes, he added, “If that doesn’t work, you can always push him in the lake.”

Our campsite ran parallel to the water’s edge, so we spent our first evening relaxing in camp chairs and fishing from the shore. Tom, Mark, and Stubbs caught an impressive haul of rainbow trout, which we cooked with butter and lemon and served with potatoes baked in the coals of our campfire. Lila and Tucker both caught several huge catfish which they released, agreeing it seemed wrong to eat animals that had lived in the lake for so many years. My sole catch was someone’s old waterlogged sneaker. I didn’t care. It was enough to be there, smelling the fresh damp air and green trees and listening to the friendly banter.

When we’d gotten up Friday morning, Tucker announced our itinerary: hiking up one of the easier trails, having a picnic lunch, and hiking back down. Mark had raised an eyebrow as he gestured to his crutches. “Relax,” Stubbs said with a shake of his head. He’d headed for the tent with our extra gear. “I’ve got you covered, Pretty Boy.”

Tucker turned to Mark with a huge grin. “I think that’s my new favorite nickname for you. I just love the way it rolls off the tongue. Pretty Boy…”

Mark had rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. “It won’t sound the same without your teeth,” he’d said, and Tucker laughed.

Stubbs reappeared with a pair of black forearm crutches. Instead of resting under one’s arms, these fit around the wrists. “These are more user-friendly for hiking than those,” he’d declared, tipping his head toward Mark’s usual crutches. “Stand up. I’ll help adjust them for your height.”

That was the end of any worries about scaling a mountain on crutches.

We didn’t hike far, maybe a mile or so at a leisurely pace, and we stopped often to admire the scenery, surreptitiously giving Mark a chance to rest. Tucker had one of his brother Shepherd’s cameras. Shepherd is a well-known nature photographer, and I couldn’t fathom him letting Tucker drag one of his expensive cameras out here. Tucker caught my curious look and grinned. “Yes, he knows I have it. He picked this one for me to use. He swears it’s idiot-proof.”

Lila muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “So was assembling our tent.” I’d hidden my giggle with a cough, but not before Tucker made a face at both of us.

The wildlife was active, and during our frequent breaks, Tucker captured pictures of deer, moose, and even a mother bear with her three cubs (from a safe distance, with a zoom lens). I’d sat on a log and patted the spot next to me. When Mark sat down, I’d tugged him toward me by his shirt front for a kiss. What started as a quick peck ended up being a lot more substantial. The whirr of the camera eventually broke through my bliss, and I blushed when I saw Tucker scrolling through what were obviously multiple photos of us kissing.

“You have serious voyeurism issues,” I’d grumbled, but he’d simply smirked.

“He’s not the only one with an issue,” Mark murmured in my ear, his warm breath tickling my neck and making me shiver. “How long till we’re alone again?”

My voice was quiet enough that only he could hear me. “Too long.”

When we’d reached our destination, Lila removed her backpack and spread a waterproof blanket on the ground before passing out sandwiches, fruit, and water. We all sprawled on the ground, soaking in the sunshine and fresh air, and I remembered again why I’m happiest in nature. After lunch, Tucker unearthed cards and colorful chips from his pack, and the guys played several hands of poker while I laid my head on Mark’s lap. I dozed off, only to wake when he’d ruffled my hair and stroked my cheek.

“Hey, Sleepyhead. We’re going to head back down soon,” he’d said quietly.

I sat up and stretched. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to use your lap for a pillow.”

He’d leaned in and whispered, “I have a much better use for it later.”

I was certain he did, but unfortunately, we’d discovered last night that the air mattresses squeaked every time one of us moved. There was no way we’d be able to have sex without everyone hearing the squeaks, knowing exactly what we were doing mere feet from them.

“Monday night,” I’d whispered back. “Stubbs flies home Monday evening.”

The trip back to our campsite was easier for Mark, likely because we were headed down the mountain. When we got there, I’d glanced at our pile of firewood. We’d need more before nightfall. “I’m going to get wood,” I told Lila. “I’ll be back.”

Mark had grabbed his rucksack from our tent. “I’ll go with you. I can haul a lot in this.” I’d nodded and grabbed my empty pack as well.

We were several minutes away from the campsite when he’d veered off down a side path. “Where are you going?” I asked.

“Just over here,” he’d replied. “Give me a hand.”

I’d added another dry log to my pack before trailing after him. When I followed the path he’d taken, I found him tossing a blanket on the ground beneath a tree. “What are you doing?”

He sat on the blanket and leaned back against the tree. “You can’t kiss me like that and expect me to wait till Monday,” he’d growled. “That’s three more days.” He’d reached for me then, pulling me onto his lap, and I was more than willing. His mouth closed over mine, hot and possessive. I moaned and straddled him. Strong hands cupped my breasts through my clothes, and I’d arched against him. He’d dragged my shirt up, pushed my bra aside, and clamped his mouth over my nipple, and I’d sucked in a sharp breath, praying none of our friends wandered this way. I rocked against him and he’d groaned, then reached for the zipper of my jeans.

There wasn’t a lot of finesse in our coupling – no soft bed or warm shower — but finding this stolen moment in nature more than made up for it. Our lovemaking was heated and frantic, clothes pushed down and out of the way as our bodies fit together perfectly. I sank onto his thick shaft, and he guided my movements. When I came, I buried my face against him to muffle my cries. He sank his teeth into my collarbone as he spasmed inside me a short time later, wringing a second orgasm from me.

“I can’t believe we did this. I’ve never had sex outside before,” I said breathlessly, raising my head off his chest.

“This was all your idea.”

I’d shot him a glance. “It most certainly was not. You told me to follow you.”

He’d grinned wickedly. “You’d said you were going to get wood.” He wiggled his hips teasingly beneath me. “I gave you wood.”

I’d groaned. “You did not just say that.”

His sinful grin had widened. “Don’t look at me. You were the one talking dirty.”

I’d brushed the bits of bark off his shirt and he’d pulled the leaves from my hair, and we’d straightened our clothes before filling both our rucksacks with wood – actual wood, not teenage euphemisms. We’d returned to the campsite, and as soon as Lila had looked at me, I’d turned beet red. She’d given me a questioning glance, opened her mouth, then closed it and smiled knowingly. We’d been in the tent collecting food for dinner later when she’d grinned. “Tell Mark not to leave bite marks if you don’t want us to know what you were doing,” she’d murmured, tugging the collar of my tee shirt closer to my throat.

I wanted to crawl under the tent, but she’d just laughed. “I don’t think anyone else noticed.”

“You couldn’t hear us, could you?”

She’d laughed again as she shook her head. Then she’d looked thoughtful. “Next time, I’ll go get wood… with Tucker.”

Saturday was nearly as much fun as Friday had been. We’d rented canoes and paddled around the lake. The water was so clear, you could see everything along the bottom of the lake. Tucker took picture after picture, not just of the wildlife, but of all of us. Finally, Lila took the camera from him. “Get out from behind the camera and enjoy this,” she’d said, then snapped a few pictures of him as well. He’d rolled his eyes when she said, “I want to remember the gorgeous scenery, too.”

Now it’s Sunday afternoon, and after spending a relaxing morning exploring another trail, it’s time to break down our campsite. Tents disassemble faster than they go up, but packing them in their storage bags is a much slower process. The same goes for rolling up and repacking sleeping bags and air mattresses. Still, with six of us, it goes relatively quickly, and before long, our campsite is as clean as it was before our arrival.

We’re getting ready to climb into our vehicles when Stubbs speaks. “Let’s mix things up for the ride home. Green Eyes, how about I ride with you?”

Mark’s eyes flick curiously to mine. “Okay,” I say, shrugging.

“I’ll ride with Tom,” Lila announces, and Tucker turns to Mark. “Okay, Pretty Boy, you’re with me.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Mark says with a wink.

Tucker flips him off. “It’s a long walk home on those crutches,” he teases.

“Is that a cripple joke? You know those are in poor taste, right?”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Just get in the car. Stubbs and Tom get to ride with beautiful women, and I get stuck with a smartass.”

“Better than me. I got stuck with the dumbass,” Mark quips.

The drive with Stubbs is pleasant. He’s a great conversationalist, and the more we talk, the better I understand him. Yes, he has a larger-than-life persona, but beneath that beats the heart of a true Renaissance man. He loves full-contact sports, action movies, and military biographies, but he also loves art, poetry, and music. He’s complex, a mysterious enigma wrapped in a riddle.

We’re halfway home when he turns to me. “I asked to ride with you so we could discuss Mark’s upcoming surgery.”

“What about it?”

“It’s not going to be easy for him.”

I remember what I’ve read about the process. “I have no doubt about that. Any surgery involving drills and hammers won’t be a walk in the park.”

But Stubbs shakes his head. “I’m talking about the psychological aspects of the surgery.”

I glance at the man in my passenger seat, drumming his huge hands on thickly muscled thighs. “What do you mean?”

There’s a long pause as Stubbs carefully chooses his words. “This procedure requires a certain level of self-acceptance that I’m not convinced Mark has achieved.”

I furrow my brow. “I don’t understand.”

“I hope I’m wrong,” he says vaguely, “but if he’s anything like me…” He trails off, leaving me hanging with his incomplete thought. I wait for him to go on, but he doesn’t.

“So you had a hard time with the surgery?” I prod him.

He nods soberly. “I wasn’t always the Zen type, you know? I eventually found myself, but not until after I spent a long time fighting.”

“Fighting what?”

“The doctors. Friends. Family.” He hesitates. “Myself, mostly.”

Stubbs’ nebulous responses leave me struggling to grasp his point. “You’re giving me a lot of non-answer answers,” I complain, and he laughs.

“I don’t really have an answer to give you. More of a warning, I suppose. Don’t expect him to suddenly be the Mark you knew a year ago just because he’s had the surgery.”

I frown. “I don’t. Besides, I know him even better now than I did a year ago.”

“Do you really?” he asks cryptically. “Or do you only know what he’s letting you see?”

I huff in exasperation as I toss one hand up and glance at him. “Do any of us really know more about someone than they let us see? If you’re going to get all philosophical on me, this discussion will have to wait until we got home, because I’m going to need a drink.”

He chuckles, but it’s a humorless laugh. “I’m probably just projecting my old feelings,” he says, then adds, “but if you need me, I’m here.”

“I know,” I say quietly. “Thanks, Stubbs.” The car falls silent, and I’m left wondering what exactly he thinks is going to happen after Mark’s surgery.