Chapter 28
"Was that Scott Wheeler I saw driving away?" Paige plopped down on the sofa beside Damon.
"Yep."
"What did he want?"
"He offered me a job. Said his wife, who works in the repair shop with him, had a baby and he could use the help."
Damon turned off the TV and laid his head back on the couch. He had a feeling ignoring Paige wouldn't make her go away. He'd only been home for six days, and this was the third time she'd "dropped in" to say hi. He was just glad Gabe wasn't with her.
"That's great!" Paige exclaimed. "Well, after you get your prosthetic next week that is."
Damon gave her a sideways look. "If I wanted to work in a garage, I would have stayed in Providence and taken over the shop from my dad." He loved being able to work alongside his father, growing up, but he wasn't as passionate about cars as his dad was.
As Scott is.
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know, but I'm tired of being everyone's charity case."
"You are not a charity case. People care about you and they want to see you succeed."
"Is that why Austin and Debbie Reed stopped by yesterday, saying they'd give me a job working construction and offered to pay for additional prosthetics for running and other activities?
And why Jake and Emily said the same thing the day before as well as saying I had a job at the ranch, if I wanted it? Never mind that it's winter."
"It doesn't mean they consider you a charity case. They just want to give you a leg up as you plan for the future. They have plenty of money and want to use it to help others."
"A leg up? Really?" He rolled his head to the side to look at her. "Good thing I'm not easily offended."
He'd made his own share of amputee quips at his welcome home party to help set everyone at ease. They were all so worried about offending him or making him uncomfortable by staring that the tension in the room felt like a war zone.
She gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that. It's just a saying, you know that."
"I know." Damon sighed. "Steven has already told me I have a place at the grocery store if I want it—which I don't. Who's next?
Is Robert going to walk through the door offering me a job at the Sheriff's Office or Ben saying he'll hire me at his law office?
" He smirked, knowing how ridiculous that last one sounded.
Paige remained silent, a pensive expression on her face, so he went on.
"The last thing I want to do is hobble around doing a job I'm not passionate about."
Especially when he didn’t need the money, thanks to the disability checks he’d be receiving from the government every month for the rest of his life.
"You'll only hobble for a while. Eventually, you'll develop a smooth gait. People with prosthetics can lead normal lives. Many even run marathons or climb mountains." Paige shifted to face him. "What are you passionate about?"
Two months ago, he would have said marrying Grace.
"I don't know." Damon folded his arms over his chest. "When I was in high school, basketball was my life until I tore my ACL. Since then, the Army has been my life."
"Are you saying you want to re-enlist?" Paige's brow furrowed, and her voice lost some of its enthusiasm. "I'm sure there are still plenty of jobs you can do."
"No. I don't want to re-enlist." Of that he was certain. The future he'd planned for when he got out of the Army had fizzled out, but considering how anxious he was to get home during his last tour, he would never consider reenlisting.
“I want to...help people. Kids. I don’t want to teach, but I’d like to help teenagers somehow.” He shook his head as he struggled to articulate something that wasn’t even clear to him. “To help them find their way, you know?”
“Like a high school guidance counselor?”
Guidance counselor. Like Mr. Edwards.
He was the one who suggested Damon join the Army when Damon said he didn’t want to be stuck in Providence, working at the repair shop or grocery store forever. He wanted to travel and do worthwhile things.
“Yeah.” He slowly nodded his head as the idea sank in. “Like a guidance counselor.”
"You should see if you can be an assistant coach for the high school basketball team while you’re looking into what it would take to become a counselor."
Basketball?
Damon gave her a sharp look as a spark of excitement flared in his chest. Her words made him want to get off the couch for the first time in almost two months.
"I'll think about it."
"You don't have to decide anything right away, you know that.
But we're all worried about you and don't want you to sink into depression.
" She looked pointedly at the TV and his lunch plate still sitting on the coffee table.
The only reason there weren't more dirty dishes was because his helicopter mom cleaned up after him.
Too late.
"I know. Don't worry, I have an appointment with Emily tomorrow and another next week."
He’d hoped coming home would help with the nightmares and flashbacks, but they’d been worse than ever. With how dark and heavy everything felt right now, he’d be working with Emily for years.
After his appointment with Emily, he had PT with Gabe.
Paige's husband had mostly given him the silent treatment after welcoming him home. Damon figured the only reason Gabe hadn't given him a black eye for breaking Grace’s heart was because he pitied him for losing part of his leg.
Paige had certainly given him an earful over the phone after Christmas when she heard the news from his family. Damon had listened to her rant, but he refused to change his mind.
"Grace passed her first course with flying colors." Paige’s tone was casual, but the way she watched his face felt calculated.
Damon's gaze met Paige's. It was almost as if she could tell Grace was on his mind. How could it not be? She came to the house yesterday, walking right in after knocking, acting as comfortable here as at her own home.
When he asked her what she was doing here? She said she was here to see his mom.
Mom stepped out of the kitchen at that moment and motioned for Grace to follow her into her sewing room, where they closed the door and talked and laughed for the next two hours.
He'd been planning to take a nap, but with Grace's musical laughter making his heart repeatedly skip a beat, he opted for a fast-paced action movie instead, even though he was tired of watching TV.
"Good." He kept his tone neutral.
"Except for working and taking Lily for a walk each day, she spends all of her time studying."
Damon didn't comment. He couldn't. He hated the idea of Grace hurting, but he didn't have a defense other than she’d be better off with someone else.
"She's hurting too, you know." Paige's voice grew gentle. "She loves you, Damon, and you're hurting both of you by pushing her away."
Damon bolted upright, grabbed his crutches, and pushed to a standing position. His movements were so hasty he nearly toppled over. "I'm not having this conversation again."
"Again?" Paige was on her feet now too. "The last time we 'talked' about this..." Paige made air quotes. "You hardly talked. You just kept insisting she deserves a whole man."
"She does. That hasn't changed."
"Just because you're missing part of your leg, doesn't mean you aren't whole." She shook her head. "When are you going to see that you’re the only one who's bothered by your leg? It doesn't matter to the rest of us."
Was that true? Did it really not matter to Grace that part of him was missing?
He gave an angry shake of his head. “It’s not just my leg, Paige.”
“I know it’s...a sensitive subject, but if you’re talking about your...uh unplanned vasectomy...it’s not the end of the world. Your doctor said you may still have options.”
"You know about that?" Damon jerked around to face Paige. "Did my mom tell the whole town?"
Did Grace know?
Of course she does.
"No, but I think the family knows the full extent of your injuries." Paige must have seen his jaw clench, because she went on in defense of his mom. "You almost died, Damon. We were so worried about you. We all prayed so hard for you."
When Dr. Campbell first gave him the news, it felt like the end of the world, especially on top of his other injuries. But Dr. C. was quite encouraging when he suggested Damon follow up with a fertility specialist.
He planned to but after doing his own rudimentary research, Damon was certain that—thanks to the nature of his vasectomy—it wasn’t likely that it could be reversed.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t still become a father, but considering the severity of his PTSD, scheduling an appointment with a fertility doctor was the least of his concerns.
What’s the point of becoming a father, if I’m too messed up to be a good one.
But if he took too long to get his head on straight, he might lose any chance he had of winning Grace back.
“You’re in charge here, Damon.” Emily relaxed back in her chair and crossed her legs. “What would you like to talk about?”
They’d exchanged a few pleasantries and discussed the weather, then Emily’s office went eerily quiet after she asked him how he was doing.
Damon gave a barely audible grunt. He didn’t want to talk about how he was doing. Because he wasn’t doing well at all.
Knowing he needed to talk only made it that much harder.
He hated starting over with a new therapist. It took him forever to feel comfortable with the one at the rehab center in Maryland. And now, he was supposed to open up all over again to Jake’s wife, which technically made her his cousin. That thought should make him more comfortable, but it didn’t.
“Is it okay if I ask some questions?” Emily picked up a stress ball and played with it, acting as though she didn’t care whether he answered or not.
Damon shrugged.
“How are you sleeping?”
He rolled his eyes, letting his gaze lock on the corner where the ceiling met the wall. She’d received the records from his doctor at Walter Reed, so she knew that nights were the worst for him.
“Not great,” he finally mumbled.
“Are you still having nightmares every night?”
“Not every night but most.”
“Are they always the same? Or do they vary?”
He scowled at her. Why was she making him rehash all of this?
“Catch.” She tossed the stress ball to him.
He caught it and automatically squeezed. It wasn’t a regular foam stress ball, instead it felt like a squishy balloon filled with some sort of jelly substance. He rolled the ball around in his hand and squeezed again.
Emily picked up another ball and poked at it, making small indents that quickly disappeared. She waited a full minute before trying again. “Are the nightmares always the same?”
“Not always.” He kept his eyes on the ball as he squeezed one side, making the other bulge. “But in most of them...I’m reliving the explosion.”
“Trying to save your friends?”
He jerked his head in a nod as he pressed his thumb into the ball.
“Are you ever successful?”
He shook his head this time.
“What happens after you wake up?”
How did he describe the terror he experienced, followed by the utter despondency and desolation that consumed him when he realized that he’d failed. Again.
He kept his gaze on the toy in his hand as he answered. “It takes me forever to orient myself.”
“Are you able to fall back to sleep easily?”
“Not usually.”
“With the explosion and your abrupt return home, do you feel like you left things unfinished?”
Yes, but I can’t explain what.
He gave a half nod and lifted one shoulder.
“If...” Emily looked at her computer for the first time. “If Corporal Ford and Staff Sergeant King were here, what would you say to them?”
Damon’s jaw repeatedly clenched as he struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to answer, because “I’m sorry” felt so inadequate.
Emily waited patiently for him to answer, but when he didn’t she went on. “I’m sure the therapist in Maryland explained to you that what you are experiencing is survivor’s guilt.”
“Not just survivor’s guilt.” Damon squeezed the ball so hard he expected it to burst. “Outright guilt. It was all my fault.”
“Why do you think that?”
“It was my turn to drive. I should have been behind the wheel not King.”
“Why weren’t you?”
He kept his head down, focusing on the squishy anomaly, as he explained why they let King drive so often.
“Was King a careless driver?”
Damon’s head jerked up. “Of course not.”
“But you think you could have avoided hitting the IED?”
“No.” Damon was back to grunting.
“So, you think you should have been the one to die.”
No.
He thought about how that would have devastated his mother. His whole family. Most days, he was grateful he’d survived, but other days...he wondered why he’d been spared just to feel so lost and damaged.
Emily waited a few beats, letting Damon process. “What do you think Corporal Ford and Staff Sergeant King would say to you if they were here?”
A small smile lifted Damon’s lips as he heard Chevy’s voice. “You got your boring life, like you wanted, so why aren’t you living it?”
King’s voice chased Chevy’s. “Now who’s skipping leg day?”
“Do you think either of them blame you for what happened?”
He pictured their faces; Chevy’s crooked grin and King’s thick brows that only lifted when he smiled even though the rest of his face didn’t get the memo.
“No.” It was little more than a whisper. Even though he believed they didn’t blame him, he still did.
Little by little, Emily drew Damon out.
He mutilated the ball in his hands to the point it should have ruptured as they discussed his PTSD and flashbacks, identified triggers, then ended with some coping mechanisms.
“Damon, look at that ball in your hands.”
He’d hardly taken his eyes off it during the session. For some reason, not looking at Emily made it easier to talk about all the hard stuff.
“It has taken a beating while you’ve been here. No matter what you did to it, it bounced back.” She paused, letting that sink in. “It’s not broken, Damon. And neither are you.”
Those simple words opened the flood gates that he had been fighting to keep locked since shortly after waking up in the hospital. He buried his face in his hands and wept.
Then why do I feel like I am?