Chapter 12
Jordan
My stint in the military has been anything but uneventful. While I may not have found myself at the other end of a rifle, grenade, or handmade explosives like Jackson and Sergeant Montgomery have, trouble seems to find me on every mission and seemingly with little searching.
During this morning’s seizure, my fucked-up brain ran through those near misses—the dozen or so situations that threatened to end my life. The fear I felt in those final moments, crawling up my spine and rolling in my gut. I don’t make a habit of thinking about those times. Facing my mortality isn’t a favorite pastime, and nothing good comes of it. I prefer to focus on the present, making the most of every day I’m blessed with.
But when the wreck played on repeat through the chaos and in full technicolor like I was there, everything changed. I’ve been living in the past since I woke up.
I remember feeling free the minutes leading up to the truck T-boning my pristine, antique, Ford Mustang. Not borrowed. Not a rental car. Mine. I remember buying it the day before, giving a good chunk of the cash I saved over the last eight years to the pretty, gray-haired lady excited for her vacation. I remember driving to Richmond to celebrate my discharge with friends.
Discharge.
After my body heals, I’m not going back to the base, and I’m unsure how to feel about that. I’d been excited to experience life when I left. Now, it feels like I’m mourning the loss of a best friend, my only constant (other than Josie), and life as I’ve always known it.
My entire adult existence, I’ve been a Marine. I don’t know how to be or do anything else. I don’t even know if any of my combat skills translate to a job without serious threats, war, terrorism, or combat. Civilian life.
Before the crash, I planned to travel the world. But facing this new chapter seems like a blinding neon sign with arrows pointing in every direction. Where do I go next? Which direction is the right one? How do I even start when I have no intel?
I hadn’t realized my life is an unfinished puzzle until a few missing pieces slid into place while I slept. I’m a veteran with no real-world skills, no job, and no prospects. If I hadn’t had Josie to take me in after the accident, I don’t know where I’d be. A charity case for my friends or VETS?
I awoke after the seizure with so many unanswered questions about the future on my mind and wondering how Nora fits into it.
Last night reminded me of how much I love her. How I’ve loved her since we met at the marathon. She’s tattooed herself onto my soul, and I’ll never be me without her. And with the way she held me in the moonlit shadows, I thought she finally felt the same.
Then, the seizure and subsequent puzzle-building memories told me more than Josie or Nora have since the wreck. Nora and I are not together. Not in the way she’s pretending. Far from it.
Some of the details of our history are missing or frayed at the edges, but the truth is as undeniable as the bullet now lodged in my chest. Waking up this morning, the pain of losing my brothers, my career, and the love of my life all over again ripped me in two.
It took everything I had to fight the urge to lash out. Looking at her and feeling her hands on my skin sent a surge of anger through me I never experienced before. She was wearing my sweatshirt and looking at me as if the last year hadn’t happened. As if the lies are no trouble at all.
I can’t tell Nora I know. Not until I figure out the missing details and remember how we got here. Why we’re not together and why I still love her. Although, I have the sinking feeling that will never change, no matter what she does. And I need to decide how to handle that.
Am I comfortable taking the chance on her when whatever broke us up could happen again? Or would it be best to move on? Then, there’s the service…the only job I know. Do I go on with my life alone as I planned when I retired, or do I re-enlist and drown out my heartbreak with something bigger than myself? But none of those questions matter until I answer the most important question of all: Can I trust her again?
Under normal circumstances, last night’s activities could have convinced me of just about anything, but some things are more important than unforgettable sex. For a relationship to thrive, loyalty, love, and trust must be present, and each is non-negotiable.
◆◆◆
After a quick shower by her standards, I retreat to the bathroom and run the faucet, pretending to be washing up. I stare at my unfamiliar reflection and comb my short hair for ten painstaking minutes, delaying the inevitable for as long as I can. My appointment at VETS isn’t for another hour, and it takes only twenty to walk there. That means forty minutes left to go on hiding. It’s cowardly, but I can see no other option.
Sitting on the closed toilet seat, I read through my missed text messages and voicemails. Josie called three times and left one brief message, asking me to call her back. That’s not going to happen.
She sent several updates on her art show set up and mentioned a few people she’d met like I have a clue who they are. Normal everyday shit as if she has no secrets, schemes, or remorse. Convinced she is the writer and producer of the farce that has been my life for the last month, I ignore her messages and pull up Sergeant Montgomery’s contact.
My fingers hover over the tiny keyboard as I decide how to begin.
Me:Did you know?
I tap the delete key until the abrupt question disappears. Of course, he knows. He signed my damn discharge papers. He witnessed the crash and stayed with me at the hospital until Josie arrived. When he came to visit me shortly after leaving the hospital, he also seemed surprised at my mention of returning to work. He wanted to ask something, confusion wrinkling the skin around his eyes, before Josie interrupted. I remember finding it odd that she cut his goodbye short and walked him outside.
She must have informed him of the plot to control my life that night. And when we went out with Jackson soon after, he said nothing. Why? Whatever the reason she’d given him, it must have been convincing.
Me:I thought brothers had each other’s
Delete. This conversation is better had in person.
“Jordan, are you okay?” Nora calls from the other side of the door. Her voice is like a poison-laced drink to my system—revolting, scandalous, wounding.
“Yeah. Just getting ready.”
“Need any help?”
“No,” I say adamantly and all too quickly. “I’m almost finished.”
“Okay. The chair is in the hallway when you’re ready. We need to leave in ten.”
Give me fifty terrorists poised to tear my head off, and I’ll run toward the threat. But faced with having to look at the woman in the process of breaking my heart, and I want to hide away in a bathroom the size of a closet. I hate confined spaces. Hated crawling through pipes, being pushed together like sardines in planes with crates of supplies, and camping under vehicles or inside thick brush in the dark for hours on missions. But I did it for my country and for the safety of my brothers. I did it because each activity had a purpose.
Hiding from my so-called girlfriend in a tiny apartment bathroom serves no purpose other than showcasing my cowardice. And no Marine is weak. Grasping the doorknob with fervor, I swing open the door. The abrupt motion startles Nora, who had been waiting with the chair, into gasping audibly.
I hop twice, spin, and drop into the wheelchair without a word or a glance in her direction. Not exactly man-of-honor behavior, but it is all I can muster.
“I guess this means you’re ready to go?”
“Yes.”
She attempts to make conversation during our walk but gives up somewhere around the halfway mark. Once we enter VETS, I check in and she deposits me in the physical therapy suite.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby in an hour.”
“Actually, I’m meeting with Jackson afterward.”
“For how long?” she asks, perturbed that I hadn’t told her before now.
“Not sure.”
“That’s fine. I can check in with Sydney and get caught up on a few things around here. Take your time, and text me when you’re finished.”
She stalks out, taking with her the elephant that had been sitting on my chest for the past two hours. Air finally enters my lungs as every muscle relaxes.
“Hi, Jordan,” Avery, a physical therapist volunteer, says as she enters the PT lobby.
“Hi. I thought you were only here on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“I had today off from work and your therapist called in sick.” She shrugs and takes hold of the chair handles. “You’re in my hands today.”
“I can live with that.”
“Such the charmer.”
We enter the dedicated fitness room for PT patients. Unlike the main fitness room in the center of the two-story VETS facility, it’s a fraction of the size and peaceful. Other veterans and therapists are working in hushed tones, and a clank of metal weights coming together occasionally rings over the calming music playing through the PA system. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, designed to prevent triggers and soothe fragile veteran psyches while focusing on healing their bodies.
“I love it here,” I whisper.
“Me, too. It’s why I’m here on my day off instead of gallivanting around the city.”
“Surprising. Every time I see you, you’re drinking, dancing, or letting loose in some way. The very definition of gallivanting.” I smile at my joke, and her fists find her hips in mock disapproval.
“Well, you should thank your lucky stars I’m not. You could be stuck with Gary instead of me.” She glances over her shoulder at the aforementioned therapist, encouraging another patient in that drill instructor way of his, then comes back to me with a sympathetic wince. “He’s a former Navy Seal and wouldn’t let you skip the last rep when your legs give out. So…”
“I’m thanking those stars as we speak.”
“Smart.” She reaches for a chair, slides it closer, and sits before opening my chart. “How much longer until the cast comes off?”
“You tell me. What does it say in there?” I motion toward the folder she’s scanning. She checks the calendar, hanging on the wall beside us.
“You’re over half-way there, depending on how fast you’re healing. We’ll continue to focus on circulation and improving the strength of the muscles around your injuries. How’s the shoulder feel?”
“Okay until I try to move my arm.”
“Putting on that sweatshirt didn’t feel too good, huh?”
“Not particularly, but I didn’t think anyone would appreciate me coming in here shirtless.”
“You’d be wrong about that. Seventy-five percent of the volunteers and employees here are females with eyes.”
I laugh, enjoying our easy banter. Avery and I don’t know each other well, but through mutual acquaintances, our paths have crossed on multiple occasions over the last few years. She’s always been flirtatious and bold, and today is no different.
“Let’s get to work, shall we?”
Over the next hour, she tortures me with muscle stretches and joint exercises, but by the time she’s finished, I feel better than when I arrived. Our light and friendly conversation keeps my thoughts distracted, and I am grateful for the opportunity to get to know her better. She walks me out while we’re in the middle of an animated debate about which is better with beer: steak or burgers, when my cast nearly trips Nora on her way by.
“You two look like you’re having fun,” she says, breathless from her hurried trek across the fitness room.
Avery seems to notice my discomfort, and I wonder how much she knows about my current and past situation with Nora. I should have prodded her for information while I had her undivided attention. She comes to my rescue by responding.
“Yep,” Avery says. “I didn’t realize Jordan here was so entertaining.”
“That’s because you’re usually…occupied when we’re at the same location.”
She swats me on my good shoulder. “You’re just jealous.”
Guess that answers my question. There’s no way she would flirt if she knew Nora and I were quote, unquote together. She thinks we are still distant exes who rarely speak to each other.
Nora stares at us, silent and dumbfounded. I can’t tell if she’s upset or just surprised by the familiarity and casualness between Avery and me. Either way, I’m not in the mood to find out. Her feelings, hurt or not, don’t enter my realm of concern yet. Not until I have all the facts.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be off this week?” Avery asks Nora. “I thought you were on vacation or something.”
“Staycation,” Nora corrects, apparently wanting to keep things between us a secret. Convenient. “I just came in to take care of a few things.”
“Avery, do you have a minute to take me to Jackson’s office?” I ask, ignoring Nora, who would be expected to transport me as my designated caregiver for the week. But since she doesn’t want anyone to know, I’m happy to oblige.
“Sure. I’d be happy to.”
To give me something other than Nora’s betrayal to think about, I text Jackson to let him know I’m on the way to his office. We arrive at the same time.
“Hi, buddy. How are you feeling?” he asks and takes over control of my chair.
“Feeling great right now, thanks to Avery,” I say as she turns to leave. She sends me an appreciative wave before Jackson pushes me inside.
“She is one of the best. Got me walking again.”
“That’s right. And you had two broken legs. Not an easy feat.”
“Amen to that. So, what did you want to talk about?” Jackson set the brake and takes the seat across from me beside his large mahogany stained desk.
My hand combs through my hair when I realize I don’t know how to start without sounding insane. But if anyone can understand, it’s Jackson. He’s been through more trauma than my entire unit—former unit, I remind myself—combined. He is the best person to talk me through the visions and memories and unreconciled feelings.
“This may sound crazy…”
“Just say it. I’m used to crazy,” he says easily.
“Fair enough. I think Nora is pretending to be my girlfriend because she thinks I can’t remember us breaking up. Some moments of our relationship are clear, like they happened yesterday, and some are blurry. Why would she do that? And why would Josie go along with it? She hates Nora.”
“Wow.” Jackson’s light blue eyes darken before he rises and paces to the window, his fingers gripping his chin. With his long hair tied up into a loose bun, I have a clear view of the tension that popped into his jaw and shoulders at the mention of my predicament.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
How could everyone I know be in on this deceit? Everyone but Avery, who may be the only person I can trust right now.
Jackson spins around. “The doctors recommended that we not correct you. That you be allowed to remember on your own to reduce stress. They didn’t know the implications of that advice. No one was thrilled about it, but we all had your best interest in mind.”
“Who asked you to play along?”
“Jordan. That doesn’t—”
“It was Josie, right?”
“She loves you so much. She didn’t want to see you get hurt again. At least, not until you were stronger.”
“But she’s not here, having to see or deal with any of it.”
My pulse drums in my ears, and if Jackson said anything further, I didn’t process it. Josie left when I needed her most. She’s usually the one I go to when I need to talk through any dilemma. Nora lied and led me to believe she was falling for me. After last night, how could I not think that? She touched me with more desire and love than I’ve ever felt from her, and my own grew over the hours we spent in each other’s arms.
Then there’s Sergeant Montgomery and Jackson, who are some of my closest friends. Marines are supposed to have each other’s back. Not go along with pointless charades that will only blow up at the first opportunity. Guess we stepped on that landmine today and there can be no putting any of it back in the proverbial ground.
Poor injured, fragile Jordan.Is that what they all think of me? Is that what drew them all to deceive me? Did they expect me to roll over and accept it? Screw them. Fuck that.
Feeling capable and strong after my workout with Avery, I rise from the chair. Angry bolts of lightning shoot through my left hip and leg, but I hold steady and bite back a grimace in response.
“Jordan. What are you doing?” Jackson asks, rushing toward me.
“I need some air.”
“Sit down. Let me take you,” he offers, but the last thing I want to do is talk about this with anyone involved.
“No. You’ve done enough.” Ignoring the resulting pain, I plant my weight on my casted leg long enough to move the other toward the door. I continue to wobble toward the front desk where I find Avery talking to the receptionist.
With a confused glance behind me, presumably at Jackson, she rushes to lift my right arm and sets her shoulders under it for support.
“What are you doing?” she asks, panic grating her voice.
“Getting out of here.”
“Why? Are you okay?” She places a hand on my chest, and her eyes widen at the rapid thumping inside.
“I’m fine.”
“Where’s your ride?”
“Busy. Are you free?” Since my pride has been trampled to an irrevocably low level, I take no issue with exploiting her friendly compassion.
“I am. I just had the morning shift today.”
“Mind taking me somewhere?”
“Sure, but you’ll have to get back into the wheelchair. I can’t carry you to the car.”