Page 15 of Warrior's Walk

ButIdo. I can make him feel again. I can get him to care.

He’s not your patient.

I’m sick and fucking tired of having to remind myself of that. With a deep sigh, I make myself step away from his door and get back to work.

The following day, when Tony rolls Rhett’s wheelchair into the gym, I busy myself in the back corner, folding a stack of towels. With my ball cap pulled low over my eyes and my newly grown scruffy beard, Rhett doesn’t recognize me. In fact, he never even looks my way.

Tony wheels him to the parallel bars, and Rhett grabs on with both hands, his face screwed tight with pain as he hoists himself to his feet. The cast on his left leg is gone. His x-rays show that his fractures have healed. His right leg is a fucking mess, but they did the best they could. It was a miracle they saved it at all. Today he wears a soft cast around it to allow for movement of his knee.

I peek sideways at him, stealing glances. His face is mottled red and dotted with a sheen of sweat. His mouth pulls into a tight line before he bites his bottom lip.

“I can’t,” he huffs, dropping into his chair.

“That’s all right; you’re doing great,” Tony cheers.

My hands ball into fists.

“Let’s try it again,” he urges brightly.

Every muscle in my body tenses as I watch Rhett struggle to pull himself up again. This time, he hangs on for about a minute before collapsing in his chair.

Better.

Tony claps Rhett’s shoulder. “You’re doing fantastic!”

His voice has never bothered me before, so why does it sound like nails scraping across a chalkboard now?

“Let’s try some leg extensions before we add some weight to it,” Tony suggests.

It’s not what I would choose. I would make him take a step or two before giving up. I would make him walk to me.

He’s not your patient.

I’ve seen all I can take for today. I shelve the stack of folded towels in the linen closet and slip out of the gym without drawing his attention.

The following day, he’s at it again, struggling to hold his weight as he grips the parallel bars for dear life. Rhett is dressed in gray sweats and a T-shirt with the army logo, but he’s a mess. His hair has grown out long, and it’s greasy. His face is covered in scruff, a lot like mine. Apparently, we’ve both given up.

Tony positions himself behind Rhett, and he grips his hips to hold him steady. “Take a step forward,” he urges. Rhett struggles but moves his right leg forward, bearing weight on it. Tony closes the distance between them, his body brushing against Rhett’s back. “Good, take another one. I believe in you, Marsh. You can do this.”

A red haze clouds my vision, or maybe it’s green. I’m fucking pissed that he has his hands on Rhett. Tony’s just doing his job, but I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit. I’ve never held him like that. I’ve never brought my body into close contact with his, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, close enough to smell him. I held his hand for hours in the darkness. I listened to the sound of his grief spill from his eyes, but I’ve never heldhim.

Tony helps him back to his chair, clapping him on the back with pride. “You did amazing! I’m so proud of you.”

The clipboard slips from my hand, dropping to the ground with a clatter, and Rhett’s head snaps up. His eyes focus on me. His jaw gapes in shock.

“Riggs?” I meet his wild-eyed gaze. “Fuck, Riggs!”

Fuckis right.

Rhett rolls his chair over to me, and then he engages the brake and braces his hands on the armrests, struggling to push to his feet.

You said you wanted a chance to put your hands on him. Well, here it is.

My hands rest on his waist, keeping him steady as he stands. And then his arms are around me, his slightly sour yet musky scent fills my nose, and I can feel the heat from his body,finally. He squeezes me tight, the stubble of his cheek abrasive against mine.

“How? Why are you… How?” Chuckling, I pull back to look at his shocked face. “You were over there and now…”

“And now I’m here.”

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