Page 36 of Hold on Tight

Jake had started biking, too, on a special bike outfitted to work with his new cycling prosthesis, and next week he’d start swimming. In the mornings he worked out, and in the evenings he worked with a trainer, a guy named John Spiro, who specialized in men like him. Men who’d lost limbs and wanted to get back into army shape. Who wanted to convince the Medical and Physical Examination Boards to give them another shot. Every millimeter of his body, muscles he hadn’t known he had, hurt like a motherfucker every hour of the day. Every night he fell into bed exhausted.

He hadn’t told anyone what he was doing, not his physical therapist, not his mother, not his siblings—although it had occurred to him that maybe he’d give Pierce a call, see if he wanted to run a mile or two together. As they once had, growing up, and when Jake came home on leave.

But he hadn’t yet, hadn’t told anyone yet, because he didn’t want to see doubt on anyone’s face.You? Fight again?And because he didn’t want to jinx it. Didn’t want to tell too many people what he was trying to do, in case he couldn’t pull it off. It was a long shot, after all, as strong as he felt, as quickly as he was getting mobility and nimbleness back. There was still the fact that he was an above-the-knee amputee, and trying to do anything with a manufactured knee took a lot of goddamned work.

Plus, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if he wanted to fight without Mike. He doubted his own motives—was he pursuing this route because he didn’t know what else to do? Working towardsomething felt great, but he didn’t have confidence that it was therightthing.

He hated not being sure.

He jogged to a halt and sat down at a picnic table. He watched kids play on the nearby playground.

“Jake!”

One of the kids was running toward him. Sam. Behind him, slower, came Mira. She wasn’t quite smiling. Well, neither was he. Because this was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. Open-ended, casual time with her.

And yet, he was ridiculously happy to see her.

“That’s a cool leg!” Sam said, pointing at the curved metal foot of his running prosthesis.

“It’s my running leg,” Jake said.

“Watch me climb!” Sam instructed, and ran back toward the playground. Jake got up from the table and followed him.

Mira fell in beside him. “Fancy meeting you here. What are the odds? You don’t have to watch him if you’re busy.”

“I’m not busy.” It was the truth, and the run had made him feel loose and a little reckless. Plus, the sun was out, and it had gotten in her hair so it looked like something was shining out from the inside. She wore a scoop-neck tight T-shirt and jeans that hugged her ass, and as much as he wanted to run and hide, he hated that man. Soldiers engaged, and even if he wasn’t one anymore, he wasn’t going to be a fucking wuss.

Sam began climbing on a structure that looked like a rope spiderweb.

“It’s seven-year-old boy heaven,” Jake observed.

“So, this is weird.”

“Small world.”

“How have you been? You were running?”

“Trying.”

The last time he’d been this close to her, he’d had his hands all over her. Shoved her up against a wall. It was hard to get those pictures out of his head. Even harder to get rid of the feel of her, how soft she’d felt, the cloud of hair, the curve of her breasts and ass, the way her mouth had slid and opened under his.

Jesus.

How fast could he get himself out of here, before he did something stupid again?

“I’ve been meaning—I should have called you,” she said. “Can we talk?”

His stomach sank. Not fast enough, then. “Here?”

They stood together under one of the taller trees. The ground was smattered with round, sturdy pinecones over a thick carpet of long pine needles. Other kids played and shouted on the structure, their parents scattered around the perimeter.

“As good a place as any, right?”

“I guess.”

She laughed. “You guess?”

“Look, I’m not much for talking.”

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