Courtney Cole - Until We Fly

Why does that surprise me? She didn’t bother to call and check on me when I was on the battlefields in Afghanistan, either.

Nausea rolls through my stomach and I swallow hard.

“Well, that’s not a surprise. Thank you for trying to help, Ms. Greene. I appreciate it. I know you must be tired. You don’t need to stay with me.”

She lifts her blue eyes. “Call me Nora.”

I nod. “Okay. Thanks for checking on me, Nora. I’m glad you’re all right.”

Her eyes soften, glistening with something I can’t name. “Thank you for making me okay. You pulled me out, Brand. If it weren’t for you…”

I interrupt. “If I hadn’t pulled you out, someone else would’ve.”

She shrugs. “Maybe. But either way, thank you. I’m going to check on you again tomorrow.”

Something soft lives in her eyes, but then she hides it. I should tell her not to come, I should tell her to not even bother. But the soft look in her eyes, that fleeting expression, kills the words on my tongue. She seems like a person who doesn’t let that softness shine through often.

Instead, I nod. “I’m sure I’ll still be here.”

I glance down at my leg and sigh heavily. Nora almost flinches.

“I hope you get some rest,” she says as she walks out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She walks toward the open door, and I watch her hips gently sway until she abruptly stops in the doorway. She turns and looks at me, her gaze meeting mine. Electricity jolts between us, between her soft gaze and my own.

Hers holds a promise . I’ll be back.

For some reason, I like that. Maybe because I’m from a world where there were never any promises, where tomorrow was never expected or hoped for, where parents don’t even show up at the hospital.

Whatever.

I shouldn’t encourage her. I’m not going to be here for long.

So I look away, breaking our gaze.

I know she walks away because I can feel the absence of her stare. I glance back, and sure enough, she’s gone.

Oddly, I feel alone now.

I don’t really even know her, but now that she’s gone, I feel alone.

I’m not alone for long.

A doctor enters my room after a few minutes.

“Mr. Killien,” he says, flipping through my chart. “You were really lucky today. Your artery was nicked, but we repaired it. Your leg, however… “ he trails off, then refocuses. “Your leg was obviously previously injured, probably severely. You had several plates and screws from your foot to your hip. You hyper-extended your knee today, but you also re-damaged the soft-tissue around your ankle. I know you’re probably tired of physical therapy, but it’s going to take some diligent PT to strengthen that area again. I’m sorry.”

His voice really is sorry and so are his eyes, but that doesn’t make his news any less grim.

“Your thigh needs absolute rest. I don’t want you to break open those sutures. And your knee… stay off of it for now, no weight bearing. You can bear weight as tolerated as time goes by. Did you injure your leg overseas?” he asks. I look at him questioningly. He glances down.

“Your tattoos. I assume you’re a soldier. Or you were.”

I nod once. “Yeah. My HUMVEE exploded. My leg was shattered. It took months of rehab for me to walk.”

The doctor nods grimly. “I thought as much. I don’t know what to tell you for a prognosis this time. Since your previous injury was so severe, it’s going to make recovering this time a bit harder. I have no doubt that you’ll overcome it, you’ll just have to be very diligent with rehab. Rest it, ice it, stay off of it.”

His words are meant to bolster me, but they don’t.

Instead, I close my eyes.

“We’ll send a physical therapist to your house. Where will you be staying?”

That’s a good question.

“I’ll probably be going back home,” I tell him quickly. But he shakes his head.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere for at least a week or two. Primarily, I don’t want your artery disturbed. We patched it up, but as you might be aware, femoral artery injuries are nothing to mess with. I don’t want you jarring it with travel. But also, you’ve got to keep weight off that foot. Your driver’s license listed a Connecticut address. Is that where you live?”

I nod. “My father just died. I’m only here to take care of that. I’ll be going home soon.”

The doctor is already shaking his head. “I would rest here for at least a couple of weeks. If possible, you should stay longer, to get that knee healed up. If you absolutely can’t, then you can travel when your artery completely heals. Until then, though, you’ve got to stay put.”

He goes over a few other things with me, and then he slips back out. I do the only thing I can think of.

I call Gabe.

As my best friend and business partner, he and I have been through hell and high water together. We spent every summer together while he was staying here with his grandparents, we attended West Point together, we made the Rangers together, and we were together when our HUMVEE was bombed by Taliban rebels.

He answers on the first ring.

“Whattup, bro?”

I quickly give him a run down.

“Jesus,” Gabe breathes. “I’m sorry, Brand. I had no idea. I’ll be on the next flight.”

“No,” I tell him quickly. “There’s no reason to do that. It’s just a leg injury, not heart surgery. You can’t make me heal quicker. But can I use your cottage?”

Gabe and his sister Jacey had inherited their grandparents’ lake cottage. I spent so much time down there with them growing up that honestly, it feels like a second home.

Gabe doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t ask about my mother, he doesn’t ask any questions at all. He simply agrees.

“Of course,” he tells me. “Mi casa is su casa. You know where we keep the key. But when I tell Jacey, she’s going to freak out. She’s in Europe with Dominic for a couple of weeks, but I bet she’ll be on the first plane home when I tell her.”

Gabe’s sister. Beautiful, feisty, blonde Jacey. She was like a little sister to me, until all of a sudden, she wasn’t. Hormones and sex appeal suck balls.

I hesitate, and Gabe knows why. I’d fallen in love with Jacey, and she’d married someone else. It was a bitter pill.

“Dude,” he tells me. “She loves you. She’s going to want to come mother you.”

Dude. She didn’t love me enough.

But I don’t say that. I also don’t say that I can’t bear for her to come smother me with attention…. Attention which is only that of someone who considers me ‘like a brother.’ I can’t fucking take it.

“Then let’s not tell her for a week or two,” I suggest. “She’s in Europe, for God’s sake. Let’s not spoil her trip.”

Gabe sighs. “Fine. But you get to be the one to explain why we didn’t call right away.”

“Fine,” I mutter.

“Don’t worry about work,” Gabe tells me. “You know it’s practically taking care of itself right now anyway. Can I set up some sort of home nurse or something? You’re not going to be able to travel home for a while, dude.”

I sigh.

“I know.” The anesthesia has worn off enough that hot fingers of pain are beginning to wrap around my knee and ankle. By tomorrow, it’s going to hurt like hell. “No. I don’t want a home nurse. Thank you, though.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Gabe tells me. “And if you decide you need me, call me. I’ll be on the next plane.”

“Stay home with your wife,” I tell him. “I’ve got this.”

“I know you do.”

Gabe hangs up and I stare at the wall.

Fuck this. I didn’t want to be here in the first place, and now I’m fucking stuck here.