Chapter 6
Caden
Everything hurts.
My leg, or what's left of it, feels like it's on fire. Phantom pain, they call it. Feels pretty damn real to me. Like someone's driving a nail into the part of me that's not even there anymore.
Gritting my teeth, I slam my palm into the side of the bed, trying to breathe through it. My prosthetic sits in the corner, cold and untouched. I haven't worn it today. Might not tomorrow either. Some days, it's too much. Some days, I don't see the point.
I'm angry. At everything. My body. The silence in this damn room. The pity in everyone's eyes. But mostly, I'm angry at myself.
For surviving.
For not being the man I promised her I'd be.
For letting her carry this baby alone while I wallow in misery.
I pick up my sketchbook, the one I filled with dreams—the homestead, the wraparound porch, the workshop out back, a nursery with a rocking chair. All of it. Page after page of a future I thought I could have. I flip through it one more time, then throw it across the room into the fireplace.
The pages catch instantly. Flames devour dreams as if they were never real at all.
"What are you doing?" Jake's voice is sharp as he walks in like he owns the place, tossing a Gatorade on my bedside table without looking at me. Today he has got that older brother energy dialed all the way up, shoulders squared, jaw tight, like he's bracing for a fight.
"Cleaning house."
Jake watches me like he's trying to figure out if I'm past saving.
He drags a chair over and flops into it, cracking open a protein bar. "You know you're not winning any awards for stubbornness, right?"
I don't answer.
Jake takes a bite and chews slowly, giving me time to reply. When I don't, he keeps going.
"You've got people lining up to care about you. Lucy. Mom. Brentley. North. Me. And you're shutting everyone out like you're doing us a favor."
I finally glance at him. "I didn't ask anyone to care."
"No, you didn't. But you sure as hell don't get to punish them for doing it."
When I shift, the movement makes my stump ache. I hate this. Hate needing help. Detest the way my body doesn't move the way I remember.
Jake leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Lucy's still here, Cade. After everything. She's not running. You think that means nothing?"
"I don't deserve her."
"Bullshit."
I blink at the sharpness in his tone.
"You think you're the only one who's broken? The only one who's scared? Lucy is walking around with your baby inside her and still trying to be strong for everyone else. You don't think she's scared, too?"
I look away, jaw tight.
Jake exhales slowly. "You're not doing her any favors by pushing her away. She's not asking you to be perfect. All she wants is you. Whatever version of you is still living."
I want to believe that. I do. But the image of her in my mind, smiling, soft, glowing with the light I haven't seen in months, doesn't match what I see when I look in the mirror.
"I burned the sketchbook," I say quietly.
Jake's brow furrows. "What?"
"My homestead plans. The porch. The nursery. All of it. I set it on fire."
He stares at me, mouth opening, then closing. "Why?"
"Because it's never gonna happen. That guy... he's gone."
For a long beat, Jake is silent. Then he stands and crosses the room. He opens the drawer of my nightstand and pulls out an envelope.
"She gave me this to give you. Said not to read it until you were ready."
I eye the letter as if it might bite me.
"Don't throw this away too," Jake says. "Not everything you dream has to die just because it looks different now."
He walks out, and I'm left alone again.
I stare at the envelope until my hand reaches for it.
Caden,
I don't know if you'll read this. I don't even know if you'll want to. But I'm writing it anyway, because the words are clawing at my chest and I can't keep them in anymore.
I miss you.
Not just the way you held me or kissed me or made me laugh. I miss the way you saw me. Like I wasn't too much or too soft or too complicated. I miss the way you talked about forever as if it were a real place we were both running toward.
I know things are hard. I know you're hurting. And I would give anything to take that pain from you. But I can't. I can only sit outside your storm and hope one day you'll let me back in.
Even if you don't believe it yet, I need you to hear this: I don't love you because of your uniform or your strength or the plans we made. I love you because of your heart. The way you loved me back. The way you saw a life in the middle of all this chaos and said, "Let's build something."
That something still matters.
Even if the porch looks different than we planned.
Even if you walk toward it one step at a time.
You haven't lost me. I'm right here. Still loving you. Still carrying the best part of both of us. Still believing that you're more than what's been taken from you.
When you're ready... come find me. I'll be waiting.
Yours always,
Lucy
Later, after PT, I'm drenched in sweat and pain. The prosthetic digs into my stump, the skin red and angry. I grit my teeth as I wheel back to my room.
Noah's waiting.
He steps out from around the corner, arms crossed. His face is carved in stone.
"You want to tell me what the hell is going on with you?"
I sigh. "Not in the mood, man."
"Well, tough. Because I am."
I try to roll past him, but he steps in my way.
"You either show up for her, or you leave her the hell alone."
I glare up at him. "You don't get it."
"No? Try me."
"You weren't there. You didn't wake up in that hospital wondering if anyone would ever look at you the same. You didn't lose half your damn body in the dirt and wake up to find out the only thing you had left was pity."
"Are you fucking blind? You think these scars are a fashion statement? They go down the entire side of my body. In places you don't ever want to see scarred. I woke up in the same hospital you did after a blast, looking like this. Lexi loved me and still does despite my scars," Noah growls.
"Scars are one thing, losing a limb is different," I tell him.
"I can put you in touch with at least five guys who have been at Oakside who survived the loss of a limb and went on to have the life they wanted after the military," he says.
I don't answer.
Noah leans in. "You think Lucy pities you?"
Again, I don't answer.
"She loves you, dumbass. Not only is she carrying your child, but she stayed when you pushed everyone else away. And you're still sitting here throwing stones at the only people who haven’t walked away from you."
I clench the wheels of the chair until my fingers ache.
"You hurt her. You don't get to do that again."
Silence. Thick and heavy.
Noah pulls something from his pocket and sets it on my lap. Another letter.
"She wrote this last night. Said she didn't know if you'd read it. But you should."
He walks off without another word.
I can’t bring myself to open it right away. I sit there sweating, furious, and shaking. Then, finally, I tear it open because her words are a drug to me, and I'm ready for my high.
Caden,
I don't know what to say anymore, and I'm starting to think that's okay. Maybe it's not about the perfect words, but ones that are honest.
I still love you. That's the truth. I never stopped. Not when you left. Not when the letters stopped. Not when I found out you were hurt.
I know you're angry. I know you're scared. Me too. But you're not alone in this. Not if you don't want to be.
This baby kicks when I read your letters. I like to think that's their way of saying they know you too. And I read your letters to them every night.
I'm not asking for promises or perfection. Just you. However you come. Whatever pieces you have left.
Yours always,
Lucy
That night, I'm back in bed, the pain meds finally taking the edge off. I doze but don't sleep. Sleep is when the screaming starts again. The heat. The silence before the blast. The blood.
Jolting awake, I’m gasping, with sweat clinging to my skin.
There's movement at the door. Then a whisper.
"Caden?"
Lucy.
Slowly, she edges into the room. Her eyes are tired, her cheeks flushed, like she ran here.
"You okay?" she asks.
I don't answer.
"Noah let it slip you've been having nightmares. I was down the hall... in case."
I shift, groaning. "Why? Why would you still care?"
She walks to the chair beside the bed and sits without asking.
"Because you're still you. And I'm still me. And somewhere in all this mess, that still means something."
I stare at her.
"I'm not the man you fell in love with."
"Maybe not. But you're the man I'm still fighting for."
I don't have the energy to argue.
"Do you want me to leave?" she asks.
I shake my head.
She doesn't say anything else. Just moves slowly, gently, climbing into the bed beside me. Her body curves against mine without pressure, only warmth. Her hand finds mine. Our fingers tangle.
For the first time since I woke up in that damn hospital, I breathe deeply.
And let myself believe that maybe I didn't lose everything after all.