Okay, that was fair. I rode a bike, but I wasn’t a biker. I was a gym teacher and a volleyball coach—not exactly a passion of mine, even if I loved it, but I was able to go back to that, so I’d never really understand what Creek was going through. Or the kind of loss he was facing.
Even surfing wasn’t an impossibility for me. I just had to learn a new way of doing it.
But that didn’t mean the guy had to hate me on sight just because we were different. “I don’t know why I piss him off so badly.”
Kent laughed and shook his head. “You don’t?”
I rolled my eyes. “Dude.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I get it. You work with kids. Your social skills with grown-ups need some work.”
I grabbed a wrench with one hand and flipped him off with the other, making him laugh harder. “My skills are fine, thank you very much.”
“Mm.” He was quiet for a moment, and the mood between us sobered. “He needs a lot more work than you. Not physically. Mentally. He lost a lot more than a leg, and no matter how much progress he makes, he can’t ever have his old life back.”
There was a new ache in my chest—one made of pity, and yeah, I was definitely keeping that to myself. The one thing I hated more than anything in the world after the accident was thelook of pity on people’s faces. It was the one joy of working with kids—they didn’t care if they hurt my feelings, and they didn’t shy away from the awkward questions.
“I’ll try to be nicer,” I grudgingly said.
Kent laughed. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
I shot him a grin. “Please. I’m a delight. Eventually, he’ll see that, and we’ll become best friends.”
“If that happens,” Kent said as he pushed himself up to stand and bent over the seat of his bike to adjust some of the wires, “that will be the day you find my ass wobbling out there on a board with you.”
“Promise?” I asked.
Kent looked over his shoulder. “No, you know what? If you can get that fucker to actuallylikeyou, I’ll throw you a beach bonfire party. And I’ll supply all the booze.”
“I’m definitely holding you to that,” I said with renewed vigor. The one thing I was good at was compartmentalizing my emotions. And with a sweet party on the line, there was no way in hell Sergeant Grumpy would be able to get under my skin.
I had a mission now, and I was going to see it through.
CHAPTER THREE
CREEK
By all accounts, Nash’s grandparents had been amazing people, wonderfully accepting of their grandson’s sexuality—unlike his own parents, who had promptly turned their back on him when he’d come out. He came from a military family on his father’s side, but following in their footsteps had not been enough to earn their approval. Being gay was inexcusable in their book, and so he’d been kicked out of the family.
His grandparents had embraced him, however, furious with their daughter for rejecting her own son for something he had no control over. They’d become his staunch supporters, and his grandmother had sent him home-baked cookies till the day she died—and we’d all loved her for it, as Nash had shared them with us. His grandfather had followed his wife swiftly, too brokenhearted to continue living. They’d left Nash with a legacy of unconditional love…and the house the four of us lived in now.
It had been a godsend. We’d all been lost and broken in our own way, and Nash had told us to pack up our shit and move into his grandparents’ home with him. When Nash told you to do something, it was an order, not a suggestion, and so I’d shipped my meager belongings from Austin and had settled with Nashand two corporals from our company, Tameron and Merill, who everyone called Bean. Long story.
I’d arrived here as soon as I’d been discharged from the hospital after my amputation, and now, I had my own sunny room on the second floor, overlooking our garden. I even had a little balcony—not that I’d spent much time there so far. I’d been a little too busy surviving.
I’d gotten my prime location fairly because Nash had made us draw numbers to decide who would get which room. He hadn’t even pulled rank or used his privilege as the actual owner of the home, but that was Nash for ya.
On the other hand, I’d also not been automatically handed the first-floor bedroom because of my injury, so there was that. Not gonna lie, that had pissed me off at first, but then I’d realized it was only fair. Besides, it was good practice for me to go up and down the stairs with my crutches. Or without, which I could do with my eyes closed by now, sure enough of my balance while hopping. Using crutches indoors was a major pain in the ass, so I usually left them at the front door.
Living with four grown-ass men might not sound like a dream for most folks, but we liked it well enough. We’d spent enough time shoulder to shoulder and nut to butt in combat to know each other inside and out, so we got along well. We’d all taken some of that Army discipline with us, Nash most of all, and it served us well.
“Dinner’s ready,” Nash announced with a holler up the stairs.
Oh, I hoped he’d made the food tonight because Bean couldn’t cook worth a damn, and anything Tameron made was so fucking spicy it hurt as much coming out as it did going in. I liked spicy, but his was a whole ‘nother level. He claimed we’d get used to it, but I hadn’t reached that point yet.
I made my way downstairs, hopping confidently down the stairs, then plopped down on my chair.
“Wash your damn hands, you pig,” Nash commented.
