Page 1 of Trussed In Hope
HARDISON
The drive up to Cadell’s Fields was quieter than I expected. Too much open sky, too much space to think, and my body ached with every bump in the road. My flight had been delayed, so Elijah had left his truck at the airport for me to drive in. It was a work truck, but still nice. You could feel the power of the engine, and how it navigated the terrain like a beast. Yeah, I felt the bumps in my body from the movement, but it was much better than it would have been in an older model. I doubt this thing was even a year old.
When the truck finally rolled to a stop, Elijah was already there waiting. Arms crossed, leaning against the porch rail of the guesthouse like he’d been standing there for hours. Same sharp eyes, same cocky half-smile that never quite reached his eyes anymore. It was late, and I hadn’t expected him to be awake when I got here. Should’ve known that there was no way that Elijah would sleep until I was nestled in bed. I loved that about our brotherhood. We looked after one another no matter what.
“About damn time,” he said, pushing off the rail. “You drive like an old man now?”
I smirked, shifting carefully before swinging my bad leg out of the cab. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of sprinting up hills anymore. Besides, thought you’d appreciate me taking it slow. Wouldn’t want me wrecking your truck.”
“Not my truck,” Elijah shot back. “That beast belongs to Cadell’s Fields. I’m just the guy stupid enough to hand you the keys.”
I barked out a laugh, even though the movement tugged at hips. “You're still giving me hand-me-downs, huh?”
“Tradition,” Elijah said, reaching to clap my shoulder as I finally stood. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t linger—just enough contact to remind me we were still standing here, both of us breathing.
For a beat, neither of us spoke. His gaze flicked over me, reading the limp, the brace, the stiffness I tried to mask. I caught the shadow that crossed his expression before he tucked it away.
“Guesthouse is ready,” he said, breaking the silence. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
The place smelled of fresh wood and lemon polish. Too damn clean for me. I set my bag down inside the door and let out a slow breath. I whistled, taking in how pretty she was. Everything looked brand new in here.
“You rebuilt all this?” I asked, scanning the exposed beams, the wide windows looking out onto the fields.
“Yeah. Thought it’d keep me busy.” Elijah shoved his hands in his pockets, that casual posture that never fooled me. “Didn’t think it’d end up being a rehab center for broken-down bastards.”
“Lucky for you, I make a great tenant. I don’t eat much, and I clean up after myself.”
“You snore like a chainsaw, Hardison.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “Still holding that against me? Afghanistan. One tent. Years ago.”
“Some scars don’t fade.” He grinned, but it slipped too fast. His eyes darkened, dragging us back to the moment neither of us wanted to name.
“Elijah.” I leaned against the counter, meeting his gaze. “It wasn’t your fault.”
His jaw tightened. “I wasn’t there. Should’ve been. Maybe it would’ve been different if?—”
“You were in a hospital,” I cut in. “With your wife bleeding out and your baby’s life in jeopardy. Don’t cheapen that. Don’t twist it into something else.”
He swallowed hard, shoulders bunching. “And you were holding the line without me. Men died. One of ours died. You almost—” He broke off, exhaling through his nose. “Feels like I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.”
“Brother, you were exactly where you were supposed to be,” I said quietly. “You think I’d trade your wife’s life for mine? For anyone’s? Not a chance.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was sharp. He nodded once, clipped and reluctant, like agreeing out loud would break him. That day was something that nobody in my squad would ever forget. Losing someone–our brother–broke something inside of us.
Finally, he smirked, but it came out crooked. “Still bossy as hell, even half-crippled.”
“Better than sulking like a teenager,” I shot back.
That cracked him. He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he moved toward the fridge. “Fine. Beer?”
“Now you’re speaking my language.”
Elijah popped the caps off with the edge of the counter like it was second nature, sliding one bottle across to me. Leaving two more on the counter between us.
I caught it, careful not to let my hand shake too much when I twisted to settle onto the couch. The brace tugged at my leg, reminding me of every step, every failure I didn’t want him to see.
He dropped into the chair opposite me, sprawling in a way only Elijah could, like the world hadn’t once tried to chew him up and spit him out. He raised his bottle. “To second chances.”
