Page 4 of Love Her

Fortunately, the long stretch of road means there is no traffic. It is, however, still long enough that I have plenty of time for my mind to wander. Too much time. I like to keep busy. Ward off the dark thoughts that lurk in the shadows of my mind.

Never one to focus on the solitude of life, I’ve found myself doing just that more and more these days. After I left the military, I was lost. Wandering but never really going anywhere.

Eventually, I found a place I felt welcome and a part of something bigger. I became closer with friends, making us more of a family than anything else. Then, it all changed in an instant. Almost two years ago we lost one of our own in a motorcycle accident. Henry was a miserable asshole most of the time, but I loved him like a brother. When he died, it upended the little bubble I was living in. Life as I knew it—as we all knew it—changed.

My mom has always said things happen for a reason. It is hard for me to believe death will lead to anything positive. Then, I watched Henry’s widow, Scarlett, fall in love and build a family in Lexington with Taylor. It wasn’t long after she settled here that Grant followed, finding a life and family of his own. Maybe my mom is right. If it hadn’t been for the one tragedy, none of us would have moved to Lexington. My friends wouldn’t have found their perfect match and I never would have finally found some direction since leaving the military.

As I pull into the parking lot of the physical therapist’s office, my phone signals a text message. Killing the engine, I retrieve my phone from the cup holder, bringing it to life with a tap.

Grant: You need to come to dinner.

Shaking my head at the order instead of an actual invitation, I tap out a response.

Me: I see domestic life hasn’t changed how you extend an invitation.

Grant: I’m just the messenger. Dakota worries about you. Come over, hang out with us and let her feed you.

Me: I’ll let you know when I have a night off.

Exiting the truck gingerly, I slowly rise to my full height, or as much of my full height as possible. Walking slowly, I don’t miss the way my right leg is dragging a bit. I’m about to get my ass handed to me and if I know one thing, it’s that I’ll need more than lasagna tonight.

As I approach the door, I spy Brian through the windows and say a silent prayer he’ll take it easy on me. He must feel my presence because when he looks up from the tablet in his hand, his expression quickly morphs from concern to annoyance and then . . . well, I don’t know what that third expression is but my gut twists a little at what I’m about to experience. Before I can tug the handle, he pushes the door open, a scowl on his face.

“Don’t start.”

“You know, if you didn’t cancel your last ten appointments this may not have happened.”

“Good morning to you too. Don’t worry, I have a feeling I’m about to pay the price for my life choices.” He grunts and I return the sentiment by saying, “In more ways than one.”

Clapping his hand on my shoulder, he guides me toward one of the treatment rooms. At least in here I’ll get a short reprieve from whatever torture he’s going to put me through with some heat and electric stim therapy.

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