Even if you walk toward it one step at a time.
You haven't lost me. I'm right here. Still loving you. Still carrying the best part of both of us. Still believing that you're more than what's been taken from you.
When you're ready... come find me. I'll be waiting.
Yours always,
Lucy
Later, after PT, I'm drenched in sweat and pain. The prosthetic digs into my stump, the skin red and angry. I grit my teeth as I wheel back to my room.
Noah's waiting.
He steps out from around the corner, arms crossed. His face is carved in stone.
"You want to tell me what the hell is going on with you?"
I sigh. "Not in the mood, man."
"Well, tough. Because I am."
I try to roll past him, but he steps in my way.
"You either show up for her, or you leave her the hell alone."
I glare up at him. "You don't get it."
"No? Try me."
"You weren't there. You didn't wake up in that hospital wondering if anyone would ever look at you the same. You didn't lose half your damn body in the dirt and wake up to find out the only thing you had left was pity."
"Are you fucking blind? You think these scars are a fashion statement? They go down the entire side of my body. In places you don't ever want to see scarred. I woke up in the same hospital you did after a blast, looking like this. Lexi loved me and still does despite my scars," Noah growls.
"Scars are one thing, losing a limb is different," I tell him.
"I can put you in touch with at least five guys who have been at Oakside who survived the loss of a limb and went on to have the life they wanted after the military," he says.
I don't answer.
Noah leans in. "You think Lucy pities you?"
Again, I don't answer.
"She loves you, dumbass. Not only is she carrying your child, but she stayed when you pushed everyone else away. And you're still sitting here throwing stones at the only people who haven’t walked away from you."
I clench the wheels of the chair until my fingers ache.
"You hurt her. You don't get to do that again."
Silence. Thick and heavy.
Noah pulls something from his pocket and sets it on my lap. Another letter.
"She wrote this last night. Said she didn't know if you'd read it. But you should."
He walks off without another word.
I can’t bring myself to open it right away. I sit there sweating, furious, and shaking. Then, finally, I tear it open because her words are a drug to me, and I'm ready for my high.
