3. Moving Forward #2
Grey stood on the other side, a heavy framing hammer in one hand and a handful of galvanized nails in the other. "If Carrick drops his end on your foot, Garrett, you have my full permission to throw him over the fence."
"I'd like to see him try," Carrick shot back, flashing a cocky grin.
"My reflexes are peak today. Yours, on the other hand, are looking a little prehistoric, old man," Garrett teased, working hard to keep a straight face.
Stopping with his hammer poised mid-air, Grey gave Garrett a deadpan stare. "I am four years older than you. If I am prehistoric, you are a fossil in training.
The absolute absurdity of the quick and easy banter hit Garrett right in the chest. It was so familiar, so unscripted, so entirely safe that a sound rumbled up from his throat, bursting out before he could even think to contain it.
Laughing… no, he was literally guffawing.
It wasn't the polite, strained chuckle he had forced out over the last few weeks to make everyone feel better. It was a genuine, full-throated laugh that echoed across the open pasture. It was like the laughter he had privately shared with his Mate.
All motion stopped.
The hammer hung in Grey's hand above his left shoulder as if attached to a string. Carrick froze, his grip tightening on the timber until his knuckles were white.
Then, in slow motion, both Guardsmen turned their heads. Stopping at exactly the same time, they looked at Garrett as if he had just spoken in ancient tongues.
Opening his mouth to ask what was up, a tickle at the nape of his neck had Garrett turning around. There he saw her. Up on the wrap-around porch of the main house, a hundred yards away, Sydney stood frozen in place.
Fingers wrapped around the handles of a wicker laundry basket, her shoulders trembled slightly as she pressed a hand to her mouth. Garrett could feel the sudden, overwhelming wave of pure, tearful relief radiating from her and flowing through their Mating Bond.
“He's laughing,” she mentally whispered the beautiful, fragile thought. “He's really healing.”
Garrett grinned, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.
"What? Y’all gonna stand here and look at my handsome face all day, or are we gonna get this done?
” With an exaggerated sweep of his hand, he kept right on going, smiling all the way.
“Line up the nail, Grey. We don't have all day. "
His brother’s chest rose and fell in a deep, steady breath. A look of profound, quiet pride settled into Grey’s eyes. "Right. I’m moving. I’m moving. You don’t have to get all high and mighty."
For the next twenty minutes, the rhythm was perfect. They worked in tandem, a well-oiled machine just as it had always been. The lingering awkwardness of Garrett's return melted away into the shared sweat of physical labor.
He belonged. He was coming back to himself.
Grey finished securing the top rail and stepped back. "We need one more baseboard to finish the anchoring."
"I've got it," Garrett said, stepping toward the pile of spare lumber resting in the grass.
Reaching down, his fingers brushed the rough surface of the cedar board. Hand wrapped tightly around it, he prepared to lift.
Then, his world went entirely silent.
Garrett didn't freeze because he thought of something terrifying. His mind didn't flash back to the dark cells or his captors. Mentally, he was perfectly present. He was looking right at the grain of the wood, thinking about lifting it.
But his muscles simply refused the command.
It wasn't paralysis. Jason had told him that could happen, but that wasn’t it.
There was no pain, no numbness, no tingling.
His body had just decided to become a statue.
He was locked in a half-bent posture, his fingers resting lightly against the wood, unable to close his grip, unable to stand back up.
One second. For one really long second, he was… well, he was stuck.
He tried to force his arm to twitch. Nothing happened. It was as if the signal from his brain was hitting a solid brick wall.
Two seconds passed, and nothing changed.
The wind blew. The grass rustled. He could see his own shadow on the dirt. He could hear the distant hum of a tractor from the neighboring field. He was completely conscious, completely trapped inside a shell that wouldn't move.
Three seconds that seemed like forever passed. A drop of sweat rolled down his spine. He was getting nervous.
"Garrett?" Grey's voice cut through the quiet, a subtle note of sharp concern instantly piercing the air. "You okay?"
Suddenly, like a light switch being flipped back on, the connection snapped into place.
Garrett blinked. His chest heaved as he drew in a sharp breath. His fingers closed tighter around the wood. He hoisted the board effortlessly and stood up, turning back to his brothers with a perfectly calm expression.
"Yeah," Garrett said smoothly, walking the board over to the fence line. "Just thought I saw a spider on the timber. All good."
Trying to ignore what had just happened, he kept working. Lining up the board against the post, he turned and reached for the hammer.
His heart pounded against his ribs. He hesitated for a split second. Would the same thing happen again?
He had no idea, but knew he had to keep going. He couldn't stop. And for the first time since he came home, a cold, uncomfortable prickle of dread settled deep in his stomach.
Later that afternoon, the house was quiet, filled with the lazy warmth of summer. It was comfortable, inviting.
Sitting at the kitchen island, Garrett watched Sydney slice fresh peaches into a bowl. She had been quiet since they came back inside from the fence line, her eyes occasionally darting to him with a soft, analytical gaze.
"What happened out there?" she asked softly, setting the knife down and leaning against the counter. "When you were picking up the lumber. For a second, you looked like you were a million miles away."
Garrett met her eyes, offering a self-deprecating smile. "Honestly? I don't know." He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a soft sigh. "I just... I forgot what I was doing. My brain completely blanked on the concept of picking up a board."