Chapter 50
CHAPTER FIFTY
Miles scuffled Nix’s ears as the dog rested his head in his lap.
Though he longed to sink to his knees, he settled for leaning forward on the couch—all his body could manage for now.
His fingers rubbed the velvet nap and traced the constellation of four spots, then he pressed his forehead to Nix’s, breathing deeply.
The dog smelled wrong, but Miles appreciated that Abby had washed him before bringing him home. It would be a while before Miles would be able to tackle the task, though he’d get there.
Eventually.
“He was lovely, of course,” Abby reassured him. “Gen even shared her bed. I think she has a crush.”
“Wow, you must be pretty special, boy.”
Abby sank into a chair beside him. “We also worked on his obedience. He should be good to go off-leash most of the time, as long as you practice regularly, so you’ll be able to manage him until you can switch from crutches back to a cane.”
“Thanks.” Miles swallowed through the lump in his throat. “That means more to me than I can say.”
“Do you have a prognosis?”
“Maybe another couple weeks. I don’t want to rush it this time.”
She nodded. “Probably wise.”
James hadn’t once said I told you so, a testament to his professionalism, but Miles had learned his lesson. Learned it the hard way.
Lost everything because of it.
James had warned him. Repeatedly. And he’d discounted his PT’s expertise.
He swallowed the sick swirl of shame gathering in the back of his throat. He had no one to blame but himself and his own hubris.
“If you think you’ll be mobile by the start of the school year, I have a proposal for you.”
Abby’s voice jolted him from the dark spiral of his thoughts.
“How soon?”
“Probably a week or two after Labor Day,” she replied. “There are a few things to set up first.”
Miles hugged Nix, fitting his hands to the dog’s barrel chest and matching his breaths to the rise and fall beneath his touch.
He gauged his progress thus far, the pattern of his recovery the last time, and how much slower he’d have to go this time, his pain threshold, and the days until Abby’s proposed date.
“I think...” He paused.
He’d let so many people down. He couldn’t stomach doing it again. He didn’t want to make a promise he couldn’t keep.
“Tell you what,” Abby said when the silence spooled out for too long.
“I want to bring you on full-time. I signed a contract with the school district to provide classroom support, and you’re the only one I have with experience.
Suri, Jess, and even Willow are willing to work visits in between their other responsibilities, but I want you to be point on this.
I’m too busy right now with the certificate program at the college, running the Providence and First Responder programs, and doing training with new teams.”
“I’d rather handle First Responder...”
“Really?” Abby interrupted, leveling him with a piercing stare. “Would you?”
Miles opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. Until this very moment, his answer would have been yes, of course, no question. But Abby’s challenge hung between them, calling out the lies he’d prefer to tell himself.
He loved his brothers. He wanted to help them.
He couldn’t imagine going back if he’d never be one of them again.
“I’m not saying you can’t visit, and if you tell me you want the First Responder program, I’ll give it to you, but are you certain?” Abby’s gentle, inexorable voice forced him to confront a truth he didn’t want to admit, yet.
“Let me think about it?”
“Okay.”
He closed his eyes, his fingers tracing the lines and bones of Nix’s form, a touch-map grounding his mind and his body.
Nix bumped his hand with his head, demanding more attention, and Miles switched back to his ears.
“Whichever you choose, the position is full-time, with benefits. Including mental health.”
Miles jerked upright. “I’m not...”
“You are.” Abby leaned back in her chair. “And I may not be able to empathize perfectly, but I’ve been in a similar place. Starting over. Scared.”
His throat closed. She couldn’t understand the monumental journey before him, rediscovering himself without the touchstones of his identity, but she’d walked a similar path, and he’d done her a disservice by forgetting.
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, eyes shimmering. “Don’t be. You get to feel everything you feel. And, don’t forget you have friends who love you. Who want to help. Do better than I did.”
When her husband died, Abby isolated herself, quitting her job as an EMT and abandoning all her friends.
Her friends had failed her, too, not keeping up with her, not fighting alongside her as everything she’d once relied on collapsed around her.
Miles still regretted that years had passed before he’d fully understood the pain she’d been through.
Only that kind of agony could lead to such tender affirmation. Only a person as full and whole as Abby could take such hopelessness and turn it into hope.
Could he be that person, too? Not now, of course, but in time?
“I’d want you to use them. All of them.”
When he’d failed his CPAT, his insurance hadn’t covered the subsequent medical care.
He hadn’t sustained the injuries in the line of duty, and since he wouldn’t be returning to firefighting, they’d cut him loose.
Full medical, even if it didn’t cover the surgery, would go a long way toward relieving the pressure of his ongoing therapy. But mental health...
As if she could read his mind, Abby continued, “I trust you, but if you’re going to work with kids, I have to verify you can be a steady presence for them.
If you stay with the First Responders, I want to be doubly sure.
I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t highly encourage you to use every tool at your disposal to take care of yourself. ”
His experience with a therapist after his initial injury had been positive, but too expensive to maintain without benefits.
With insurance, maybe he’d be able to unpack the mess his mind had been for months now.
His shame that he’d ever been stupid enough to fall through a floor in the first place, the betrayal of Tessa leaving, the long road to recovery, breaking his body beyond repair, the complete reorientation of his identity. Losing Jif.
A new life built on the ashes of everything he’d burned.
It wouldn’t come easy.
Or soon.
Go slow to go fast.
This time, he’d do better.