Chapter 27
Damon’s coming home.
Grace’s heart rate kicked up at the knowledge. She felt all the emotions. Nervous, excited, and anxious. They made her feel intoxicated and nauseous at the same time.
It had been a long seven weeks since they got the call that he’d been injured. She’d continued to fly back and forth with Charity almost every week, putting some of her mom’s life insurance money to use.
She stepped back and studied the fresh cinnamon rolls. It was her first solo attempt. They weren't as pretty as Charity's, but they looked good enough to eat. Hopefully they tasted that way.
She glanced at the clock on the stove as she spread the last of the frosting.
I have twenty minutes to clean Charity’s kitchen.
It had been almost thirty minutes since Charity texted her saying she'd just picked up Steven and Damon at the airport and was headed home.
Grace wanted to be the one to fly home with him, but she and Charity both agreed Damon wouldn’t appreciate that considering the scowl he’d given her each time he spotted her watching him do his PT exercises through the window at the rehab center.
He sent her a sincere thank you letter via email on Christmas Day and they'd texted ever since.
Sort of. She sent him daily messages of encouragement, jokes, and stories about Lily.
He only responded occasionally, and his communications felt impersonal.
There had been no flirty undertones in his messages.
No new bucket list items. And no real emotion.
He planned to get his prosthetic from a company in Washington, in the Tri-Cities area. So he wouldn't have to travel so far every time he needed an adjustment. His first fitting was in two weeks. In the meantime, he’d continue his PT with Gabe and work on his mental health with Emily.
Grace cried when she learned of Damon’s struggles with PTSD.
“I know he’s downplaying it, so I don’t worry so much,” Chairty had said. “But his PTSD is pretty bad. He has flashbacks and nightmares all the time.”
When Grace finished cleaning up, she grabbed her coat and headed to the front door. She caught a glimpse through the family room window of Charity's car pulling into the driveway.
Shoot.
As eager as she was to see Damon, she doubted he wanted to see her. Yet. Hopefully, that changed soon. Besides, his welcome home party wasn't until tomorrow evening. He needed time to adjust before being bombarded.
She retraced her steps to the kitchen, paced for a moment, then darted out the back door into the cold. After Damon and the others went inside, she would sneak out the side gate and across the front yard.
"Are you ready for this?" Steven asked as Mom parked the car in the driveway.
Damon studied the house that he grew up in. For the first time in twelve years, he was coming home to stay. That in and of itself was a strange thought, but the fact that he was not the same person he used to be made it all feel foreign.
"Does it matter?"
Over the last two months, Damon had learned that life didn't wait for him to be ready to face it. If it did, he wouldn't be home from deployment two months early, honorably discharged from the Army and missing part of his leg.
Being discharged from the Army didn't bother him so much as not being able to make it happen on his own terms. Although, the benefits and compensation package were much better than he would have received if he’d left of his own accord.
Nor was he ready to face more PT and therapy appointments, fittings for his prothesis, as well as finding a fertility doctor. He didn’t look forward to any of it, but he dreaded that last one the most. He didn’t want to find out that—in his case—there were no options.
Steven threw open his car door. "Do you want to use the wheelchair to get into the house? I can see if Matt or Robert are available to help me haul you in."
"No. I can get inside by myself with the crutches." Being treated like an invalid was getting old.
Damon's progress up the stairs was slow and exhausting.
He'd practiced going up and down stairs at the rehab center, but their set-up only had three steps.
His mom's house had eight. At least the bedrooms, family room, and kitchen were all on the main floor.
He doubted he'd have to venture downstairs very often.
The mouth-watering smell of fresh-baked dough and cinnamon hit him the moment he walked through the door. He inhaled deeply.
Now, this smells like home.
Mom must have gotten up early to make cinnamon rolls before driving to the airport.
Steven was right behind him with the suitcase he'd brought to carry home the stuff Damon had accumulated. "I'll put your stuff in your room. I'm sure Mom will have it unpacked before you know it."
Damon watched his brother walk down the hall to his old room. He turned to his mom. "I thought you moved your sewing room into my bedroom."
"I did, but then I moved it into Faith's old room." She shrugged. "I figured you'd be more comfortable in your room. Although since Grace helped me paint and redecorate it, it doesn't look like your old room anymore."
Grace.
The name was like a knife to his chest. He didn't have the heart to keep ignoring her after her thoughtful Christmas gifts. He’d restrained himself, however, to keep from pouring out his heart to her.
To not complain about how painful PT was, how frustrated he was with his slow progress, and how horrible the nightmares were.
He wanted to share new bucket list things with her like watching the sunrise over the lake. With her, of course. He wanted to do everything with her.
Knowing Grace continued to accompany his mom every time she flew out made him love her even more, which was exactly the opposite of what he wanted.
His heart beat so hard each time he caught sight of her at the rehab center that he could hardly breathe.
But he couldn’t let her know how much he still cared.
He couldn't have a life with her yet. Not when he was so easily triggered. Loud noises sent him into combat. Almost nightly, he woke up screaming, ready to fight anything and everything. He recalled the chokehold he had on his pillow last night.
Nor did he want to hurt her.
"I unpacked your duffel bag when it arrived." Mom walked into his room. "Your BDUs and uniforms are hanging in the back of your closet for now. I figured you wouldn't be ready to pack them away for a while. Your rucksack and other gear are down in the basement."
"Thanks." He let his gaze roam the room.
The walls were now a soft tan color. Sage green and tan bedding now covered the bed with more pillows than he knew what to do with. His old dresser was painted olive green with tan and sage accents in the curtains and throughout the room.
He spotted a blur of black hair and a bright pink jacket outside his window. Knowing Grace helped decorate the room must have pushed her to the forefront of his mind, because he was certain he'd just seen her in the front yard.
He adjusted his crutches and made his way to the window, but when he looked out, he couldn't see her or anything else black and pink.
"Do you...like it?" Mom's words were hesitant.
"Yes, very much." He turned from the window. "It's different, but it looks...comfortable and inviting."
In fact, he wanted to throw himself on the bed and take a nap. He'd woken up way too early today, and the flight had felt eternally long, making his muscles cramp, worsening the phantom foot pain that he still experienced more often than he’d like.
Mom patted his arm. "Come on into the kitchen. We'll have a snack then you can rest for a while if you'd like."
Before long, he was seated across the table from Steven who'd already scarfed half a cinnamon roll. Mom slid a gooey sweet roll in front of Damon, making his stomach rumble.
Conversation was stilted until his mom asked, "Would you like me to ask each family to stagger their visits tomorrow, so they don't all come at once and overwhelm you?"
"I'm not a porcelain doll, Mom." Getting all the staring and explanations over with at once was better than having to relive it all again and again.
"Of course you're not. I just don't want you to overdo it."
Steven rolled his eyes and gave Damon a sly grin before rising to his feet to take his plate and milk glass to the sink.
"Do you guys need me for anything?" When they both shook their heads, Steven bent and kissed Mom on the cheek.
"In that case I need to check on things at the store.
" He headed toward the door, then called over his shoulder.
"Tell Grace the cinnamon rolls were amazing. "
The bite Damon had been chewing stuck in his throat. He washed it down with a swallow of milk. "Grace?"
Mom gave him a surprised look. "You didn't think I had time to make them this morning, did you?
" She didn't give him a chance to answer before going on.
"I mentioned how much you enjoy coming home to fresh cinnamon rolls and felt bad that I wouldn't have time to make them before leaving for the airport, so she offered to make them. "
Of course she did. Because Grace was amazing like that.
He took another bite of his sweet roll and savored the sweetness and the moist softness of the dough. They were almost right out of the oven fresh. Which meant it was Grace he'd seen outside his window.
He wasn't sure how he felt about that. On one hand, it touched him that she would go to so much effort for him—-like she had with so many things these past couple of months—and on the other hand, it grated on his nerves that she had so fully ingrained herself into his family's lives—and his—even though he'd tried to push her away.