Page 103 of Devoured By Peace

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LACHLAN

I walked along the cobbled pathway toward Orlando’s cottage at the back of his parents’ stately mansion.

He opened the door, wearing the biggest smile I’d seen since his accident. He’d returned to his former upbeat self.

After declining my offer to push his chair, he rolled himself down the hallway.

“My arms are getting bigger,” he said.

“They were already pretty big, you gym junkie.” I grimaced. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t remind you of that.”

“Hey. It’s all good. I’m good.”

“I can see that, and it’s fucking awesome.”

He paused at a handrail by the wall. “Hey, check this out.” He lifted himself off his chair.

I went to help, but he shook his head.

His legs trembled, which broke my heart as I recalled how vibrant and athletic he’d once been. After getting over that initial shock, I nodded and cheered him on, since it was a major milestone for any paraplegic to do that.

He looked pleased with himself as he held on to the rail for balance.

I was ecstatic for him. “That’s fantastic.”

“That’s Harry’s doing. Every day, she pushes me. Even when I’m feeling like shit and I say all the wrong things.” He sat back down in his chair. “I’m not proud of those moments. It’s like this monster takes over. I have no fucking control. I never used to be like that.”

I knew exactly what he meant. “It happens. You’ll soon learn to take a breath and wait for the rage to pass. You’ve been through a major upheaval. If anyone would understand, Harriet would. She worked at a drug rehab clinic, Miranda told me. I’m sure she’s seen it all.”

I followed him into the living room. “You just stood up. That’s impressive. You’re on your way.”

“Mom cried,” he said, offering me some M&Ms. “I’ve become a chocolate addict.”

I reached in and grabbed a handful.

“My parents love Harry.”

“Do they know that you’re fucking?”

“We haven’t. I’d like to. But she’s trying to keep it professional. Or so she says. Maybe she’s not into me anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s the case. You had girls throwing themselves at you the other night,” I said, crunching away.

“Hey, let’s have a beer,” he said as though it was something we shouldn’t do.

“Sure. I can get it.”

“No. I’m good.” His tattooed arms flexed as he moved nimbly along. “I’ve got a motorized chair for the grounds. It’s a bit of a hoot, rolling down the hilly path.”

His boyish excitement at the type of adrenaline hit we males craved made me smile, despite Orlando being the sad proof of an adventure gone wrong.

He passed me a beer then unscrewed the top to his bottle and took a swig. “How’s your relationship with Miranda? You seem all loved up.”

I wiped my lips. “Not so fucking good.”

He studied me. “You’ve broken up?”

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