Page 51 of Warrior's Walk

“I can’t; my leg.”

“I said, on your feet, soldier.” His voice is harsh and direct, like a drill sergeant.

Swallowing hard, I try to do as he showed me, rolling to my left side and getting my knee up underneath me for leverage. My buddies are glaring at him like they want to bury him six feet under, but I get it—because I know him. Four of my brothers, my former unit, dressed in fatigues and fresh from deployment, are standing on their feet, and here I am, a recovering patient, former Army, critically injured, in workout clothes, lying flat on my face at their feet. The differences between us are wide enough to fit an ocean, whereas we used to be on even footing.

Them helping me off the floor is a bridge too far.

Neither will Riggs help me up.

I’ve got to do this on my own, to show them I’m strong enough, that I’m still a soldier, still their brother, still a member of their team, even if it’s only in my heart.

My body is suffering, but I refuse to let my pride suffer with it, and Riggs is making sure that it doesn’t. I owe him for it. He doesn’t deserve my anger from earlier. He only deserves my respect and my unending gratitude for this, and for everything he’s done for me.

I have to physically manipulate my leg to get it to bend so that I’m kneeling on both knees, lunging with my left into a squat to push myself up. I’m breathing like I ran a marathon, my skin flushed with heat and sweat, red-faced and out of breath.

When I straighten up to my full height, my brothers stand at attention and salute me. Hot tears burn my eyes. “Welcome home,” I say in as strong a voice as I can muster.

The tears fall down my cheeks, but I’m not going to wipe them away and draw more attention to them. I’m just grateful that I’m on my feet, and that they’re here in front of me in one piece,all of them.They all made it back home safely.

That’s all that matters to me; not my pride, not my leg.

I nearly fall over again when they crush me in a hug, the four of them at once.

“Come on, brother, show us where we can get something to eat around here.”

“I’d give my left nut for some greasy wings or a burger,” Ormen adds.

“And some beer,” Villaro says.

When I glance back at Riggs, he’s gone. He returned to his patient, but he’s watching me. He gives me a nod.

“Come on, I know a place,” I say, winding my arm around Warren’s neck for support.

Put the phone down!

It’s my twelfth reminder of the day and it’s only ten o’clock in the morning. For two days straight, I’ve held this phone in my hand, waiting for it to ring.Willingit to ring. A phone call, a text message, anything. But they were all from someone else,not Rhett.

I thought maybe, with his fall the other day and overexertion in the gym, that he would need me that night. He probably had his friends over instead.

How many of them has he slept with?

I hate that my mind goes there, but I can’t help it. It’s a toxic thought, followed by the sting of jealousy, like poison in my blood.

Has he had a relationship with any of them? A friends-with-benefits arrangement?

Fucking quit, Riggs.

Aren’t you gonna ask me if my dick works?

He’s got some fucking nerve. I can’t believe he asked me that.

Yes, you can.That’s who he is. It’s one of the things I love about him.

Love?Jesus Christ, I’ve got to get my mind off him before I combust.

Yesterday, when he didn’t show up for therapy, I had to physically restrain myself from going after him. If I don’t see him today, I might just…

My phone beeps, and I check the screen so fast I have whiplash. Again, it’s not Rhett. Instead, it’s the Bitches group chat, which is the last distraction I need right now since it only reminds me of him. The only reason I check the message is to see if he responds.

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