“Once you’re through this intensive recovery period and you have full use of your prosthetic leg. What will you do next?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?
Nash, Tameron, and Bean had all been officially discharged from the Army. Nash had served for twenty-one years and had been able to retire with benefits. Tameron had left himself, and Bean had been medically discharged because his brain injury rendered him unfit for duty. But since I was still in my recovery process, I was technically still in the Army.
I only had a few months left, though. What came after that? I had no fucking clue. None. “Any suggestions?”
“You’re a good leader, Creek.”
“Maybe, but what does that get me in civilian life?”
“I know the adjustment isn’t easy.”
“Not just for me. We’re all trying to find our way, you included.”
He slowly nodded. “I haven’t got it all figured out either.”
“And here I thought Daddy Nash always had all the answers.”
He winced. “You may wanna stop calling me that. It has a bit of a different connotation in gay culture.”
I snorted. “Trust me, I’m well aware. Are you saying the shoe doesn’t fit?”
“Jesus, no. I have my hands full with the three of you. The last thing I need in my life is some horny twink who wants me to spank him.”
That created an image in my brain that had me shaking with laughter. God, the idea alone of Nash with some young dude who called him Daddy was too much. “Bet he’d suck your dick real good if you rewarded him.”
Nash groaned. “If I need my dick sucked, there are other ways than sacrificing my dignity by becoming a Daddy. No offense to those who are into that, but it’s a hell no for me. I want someone mature, someone my own age, not some barely-out-of-high-school sugar baby looking for a free ride.”
“Wow, and they call me Sergeant Grumpy.”
“That’s First Sergeant Grumpy for you, Sergeant.”
“Yes, Top.”
We both grinned. First Sergeants were usually called “Top,” and the double entendre of that with Nash being gay hadn’t escaped us. It had made for some excellent jokes.
Then Nash sobered again. “My point is that I don’t know what’s next either. For now, I’m content to focus on fixing up the house, but at some point, I’ll need a job.”
“Same. Though I have a hard time imagining myself in any other job than the Army. It was…”
I choked up unexpectedly, my throat so tight that swallowing hurt.
“It was your life,” Nash finished softly. “I know, Creek. You and I are very similar in that aspect. But you know what my therapist said?”
After his discharge, Nash started seeing a therapist, some tatted-up dude named Dominic. He was the most unconventional therapist I’d ever heard of, judging by what Nash had shared with us, but hey, if it helped him, power to him. Whatever helped someone survive was fine by me as long as itwas legal and consensual. Not that Nash would ever venture on the wrong side of the law.
“What wisdom did Dominic have to share?”
“He said that it’s never healthy to have your identity wrapped up in a job, a position, or a status. Or into a person other than yourself. It has to be firmly planted in yourself, in who you are.”
See, that sounded like total new-age bullshit to me. Firmly planted in yourself? What the fuck did that even mean? “And did that nugget of wisdom happen to come with detailed instructions? Kinda like those IKEA manuals for assembling furniture, with pictures instead of words to make it crystal clear even for dummies?”
Nash sighed. “No.”
“I didn’t think it did.”
“Would’ve been nice, though, right?”
