Morris examines my expression and nods to himself. “Finally coming around to it, are you? Imagine being told that you were unfit for duty, unfit for the job you were born to do.”
Oh god, Roly.“I can’t.”
The old man continues. “I know I’m not the easiest man to get along with, but there’s a reason I work out every day. It gets lonely in the civilian world because nobody understands what you’ve been through. But everybody here understands, Heath. Every. Single. Body. And I know that you haven’t served, but I do know what this influx of cash means. It means we can open up another gym, and another pizza shop, two more business locations that keep the vets in this community healthy and fed. I mean, I’m not entirely comfortable with all this openly gay stuff, but it’s not so bad, considering.”
I decide to let that one go. Morris is a bigger hill than even I can climb today.
I help him put his old man sweater on, even though it’s ninety degrees outside, and I walk him to the door. He’s got a car waiting for him, driven by a man in his midfifties. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Magnus. This one over here had his head up his butt and needed a little help dislodging it.”
The attractive man looks at Morris with fondness and smiles. “Sounds painful.”
It was, but maybe it doesn’t need to be quite so painful anymore.
Chapter Twenty-One
Heath
Roly and I are finally in the gym at the same time, and I watch him in my peripheral vision. Just because I didn’t run important Navy SEAL ops doesn’t mean that I can’t be subtle. He’s helping Morris, and they’re laughing their asses off. The only thing that saves me from full-on creeper status is commotion over in the Corner of Heavy Things.
I drag my eyes away from him and…Shit.Jake is on the floor, hyperventilating. Thane, the de facto king of that corner, is kneeling next to him, his face worried. Nick runs to the back, and I race over to Jake, sending out a quick message to Jean-Pierre. He responds within seconds.
“Thane, what’s going on?” I ask as Nick comes running up with a paper bag. He places it in Jake’s hands and pulls it up to his mouth and nose.
Thane looks Jake over, shaking his head. “I’m not quite sure, but one of the chains got caught on some equipment and it pinned him for a few minutes before I figured out how to unsnag him.”
“Trigger,” Jake chokes out, still on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Sorry.”
I tsk at him. “None of that, Jake. Just focus on your breathing. Jean-Pierre is going to be here in a few minutes, and everything is all right. You are safe.”
He nods, and the bag crinkles with his inhalations and exhalations.
Roly joins us, his energy nonchaotic for once, and he kneels down next to his friend. We acknowledge each other, and it feels… nice.
“Would a hug feel good?”
Yes it would.
He’s not talking to you, dumbass.
Jake pulls away, shaking his head violently. Roly smiles with kindness in his eyes. “Probably for the best. You’d fall in love with me, and that’d be super awkward because smooth and lean isn’t really my aesthetic,” he says, getting a wry smile from the man’s lips.
“I’m sorry,” Jake says again, aware of the attention of the entire gym.
Roly reaches out and pats his arm, his words soothing. “Dude, it’s bound to happen every once in a while. Especially now with the art show coming up. Give yourself a break. This isn’t a step back or anything, it’s just part of the churn.”
Jean-Pierre walks through the front door, and it’s awful to see my friend’s worried face. He runs over right away and takes Jake into his arms—the move aching with sweetness as Jake buries his face into Pete’s neck, his shoulders rising and falling. They whisper to each other in French, working through some kind of trauma response therapy. Within just a few more minutes Jake is standing up and looking sheepish, but no worse for the wear.
I don’t know why, but I’m dying to know what is going on in Roly’s head. His face is telling me a story, and the way he’s looking at Jake and Jean-Pierre’s embrace makes my heart hurt.
* * *
Roly
It’s been a couple of days since the incident in the gym, and I’m at my group meeting for combat veterans. It was super uncomfortable to participate at first because hermetically sealed lids on one’s feelings don’t survive long in this environment, but I’m getting used to sharing.
We’re in a church schoolroom, and there are small desks shoved to the side, and handmade posters with palm-print flowers that dot the wall, announcing spring. We’re sitting on uncomfortable metal folding chairs, and the scent of Elmer’s glue and construction paper is nostalgic and comforting. Benning, our triple amputee, runs the group, and he’s damned good at it.
A few people have spoken tonight, and the young guy in the wheelchair just shared that he’d had his first sexual experience post-spinal injury, noting that it was awkward and enjoyable all in one go. He sends me a shy smile across the circle of fellow head cases, and I feel proud of myself. I can’t remember the kid’s name, but I can tell you which anal plug he’s using.
