Chapter 4
Caden
The world comes back to me in pieces.
First, it's the smell. Bleach. Antiseptic. That weird, sterile hospital scent that clings to the back of your throat mixes with something burnt and metallic. Blood and fire and chemicals I can't name.
Then the sound. Beeping. Steady and sharp. A rhythmic monitor that seems to pulse in time with the pounding behind my eyes. There's a low hum too—machines, maybe a fan. The shuffle of shoes on linoleum. A voice, soft and distant. Muffled like cotton has been stuffed in my ears.
Then pain. Sudden, blinding, ripping so fast I can’t think.
Every nerve ending has been scraped raw and flayed open.
My chest burns, and my side feels like it's been carved open.
My mouth is bone-dry, the taste of gauze and ash coating my tongue.
When I try to swallow, even that hurts. My mouth is dry, throat raw like I've been screaming.
There's pressure against my ribs, a deep, burning throb in my chest. When I try to move, my body doesn't cooperate.
There's weight everywhere, on my chest, my arms, my legs.
I remember the heat first. Then the silence. The kind that comes right before everything goes to hell. Then screaming. Someone else's at first. Then mine.
Flashes hit me. The sudden blast. Dirt flying. A blur of shouting. Fire. My body twisting in midair. The impact. The crunch.
I blink slowly, forcing my eyes to focus. The ceiling above me is pale and too bright. White tiles. A humming fluorescent light. My body feels heavy, like someone has draped concrete over me. I move my fingers. They respond, sluggish but present.
Shifting, I attempt to sit up when fire explodes through my side. A groan rips out of me as everything burns. My right arm won't move. I glance down and see it strapped into a brace, thick, white, and stiff. My eyes follow the sheet, dread building as I reach my leg.
My stomach lurches.
My left leg is gone. Just... gone. The blanket dips past where my knee should be. There's nothing there. Nothing.
My breath hitches, and my chest tightens. The beeping next to me speeds up.
"Caden?"
The voice is soft. Familiar. Distant.
Mom.
I turn my head toward the sound. Her face swims into view. She's older than I remember, with lines around her eyes, and her mouth pulled tight, but her eyes are the same, gentle.
When I try to sit up, I immediately regret it. Fire rips through my side, making me groan in agony.
My left leg is gone. Gone.
I can't breathe. The machine next to me beeps faster.
Jake's voice cuts through the panic. "Caden, you're okay. You're safe. You're in Germany. It's over. You're here. We've got you."
I shake my head. My vision wavers and my throat tightens until I think I'll choke. Brentley's there too, at the foot of the bed, his face grim and pale. Even North's standing near the door, his uniform crisp and his jaw tight.
When I try to speak, nothing comes out but a hoarse croak.
"You're okay," Mom says quickly, leaning forward. "You're safe now. We're here for you."
All of them. Standing around my bed like it’s a goddamn funeral.
I try to sit up again, and my body screams in protest. Jake's hand is suddenly on my shoulder, steady and grounding.
"Caden, don't. You just came out of surgery. Listen to me—you're safe and in Germany. Just breathe."
Safe. I want to laugh. My leg's gone. My arm's fucked. And they're looking at me like I'm broken glass.
I can’t stand the thought of them seeing me like this. So, I turn away.
"Jesus," Brentley murmurs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You scared the hell out of us."
"I'm fine," I rasp.
Jake sighs. "You're not. But you're alive. That's what matters."
I want to shove them all out the door. I want to be alone.
But they don't leave.
They stay.
Their voices are low, almost careful.
Jake feeds me the updates in pieces. Shrapnel, burns, and surgery.
A medic who wouldn't let go of my hand. The doctors saved what they could. But it wasn't enough.
It doesn't feel like enough.
Mom brushes my hair back from my forehead like I'm five again. I flinch. She pulls back.
"I'm sorry, baby. I just... I needed to touch you."
"Don't," I rasp.
They all go quiet.
Brentley steps up, trying to lighten the mood. "Hey man, remember the time you broke your arm and still tried to race me through the woods? You're too damn stubborn to let this keep you down."
I glare at him. "It's not the same."
"No," he admits, sobering. "But you're still here. That means something."
North approaches slowly. "You'll walk again," he says confidently.
"You don't know that," I bite back.
"No," he says, standing, "but I damn sure believe it."
I want to scream at him. At all of them. Don't lie to me. Don't feed me that bullshit about what matters. I'm not whole. I'm not okay. And I'm not the man I was before.
But I don't say any of it. Instead, I let the silence stretch until they get the message.
Eventually, they leave. Jake squeezes my shoulder before he goes. North hesitates, then nods once. Mom kisses my cheek, though I don't stop her.
When the door clicks shut, I finally let myself breathe. Barely.
Pain hammers in my head. My chest aches. I'm bone-deep exhausted. All I want to do is sleep for days and disappear.
I feel the tears before I realize I'm crying.
I hate all of this.
I hate the weakness. The helplessness. The look of sorrow on their faces.
Most of all, I hate the fact that my body is no longer mine.
I reach for the stack of letters on the rolling table by the bed with my good hand.
Lucy's letters.
I slide one free. Her handwriting is neat and soft, every loop and curve familiar. I unfold it carefully and read.
This one doesn't have a postmark. It doesn't have an address. This one was hand-delivered by Jake.
Caden,
I passed by the old caretaker's cottage today. This is where I feel you the most, where your memory is the strongest.
Sometimes when I miss you too much, I go back there. It's quiet. Safe. Like you.
You left something behind last time. One of your old shirts. The one I stole after that first night. It still smells like you, or maybe that's just my memory holding on tighter than it should.
I remember every word we spoke the night we spent here. Every kiss. Every brush of your hand down my spine as if you were memorizing me.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel you. Still hear your laugh. Still picture that porch with wind chimes and muddy boots on the steps. I don't care what that dream looks like now. I just want you in it.
Whatever's happening out there, I hope you know and accept this: there is nothing broken in you I wouldn't still love. You are not less to me. Not ever.
Come back to me, soldier.
Yours in every way,
Lucy
I read it twice. Then, a third time.
And then I crumble.
I press the letter to my chest, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight it aches. That future she wrote about? I lost it the moment that blast hit me. The porch. The nursery. The rocking chairs. The kids running barefoot in the grass.
She deserves that dream. She deserves it with me whole.
I'm not that man anymore.
I don't even know who I am now.
Dropping the letter. I stare at the ceiling until my vision blurs again.
The door creaks. I don't look. Footsteps. A chair scraping against the tile.
Jake.
For a minute, he doesn't say anything. Just sits quietly beside me. Then he lets out a breath.
"You don't have to be perfect, man."
I close my eyes.
"But you do owe her your truth," Jake says.
He leans forward, voice low but firm. "She's not just waiting on a letter anymore, Cade.
She's building a life around you. Don't make her do it alone.
You've got people at home who love you. A woman who sees you, not the scars, not the wounds, but you.
The guy who wanted a porch and a family and a forever. "
I blink hard. The words dig in, deep.
Jake rests a hand on the edge of the bed. "You've still got time to be that man. Maybe not the same way. But better. Real. Honest. Don't waste it."
He stands, heading for the door, but pauses before opening it.
"When you're ready, she's waiting. But don't make her wait too long."
He's gone, and I'm left with the sound of the machines, the letters in my hands, and a heart that's still somehow beating.