The sky is darkening fast, turning everything to shadow as I reach the outskirts of Cherry Hollow. I always wait for dusk if I have to come down here, so it’s too dark for people to see my leg. I’m not ashamed of being an amputee—just hate feeling watched. Twenty years in the military have left me on the defensive, and my adrenaline spikes when strangers look at me.
And they always fucking look.
Hell, guess it’s just human nature. They see a giant brute of a man with a piece of metal where his calf should be and can’t help glancing. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it. That’s why I stick to the woods as much as possible, keeping away from people and all the mental landmines they trigger.
The streets are mercifully quiet as I continue up the sidewalk toward Stirling’s Lumber & Hardware. My truck is still there from when I bought the drill earlier, and as I near it, I pass a store called Blushing Bridal. The window glows in the darkness,lined with mannequins wearing lacy white wedding dresses. I shake my head and look away, thinking of Thorne.
Poor bastard.
My buddy just got engaged. I saw him in the woods this morning, where he told me the news with a big, dumb grin on his face. Didn’t want to burst his bubble, so I congratulated him. But honestly? I think he’s gone and lost his whole damn mind. Hell, he’s known Aria for two weeks, and he’s already put a ring on her finger. Already set a date for the wedding.
I still can’t wrap my head around how a fellow veteran can buy into all that shit.
When I was serving, I lost count of the number of soldiers who ended up divorced. Some guys left home with a wife and kids and came back to nothing; other guys had loving families and still fucked their way around every foreign brothel they could find.
It’s all bullshit.
Love. Marriage. They’re lies people tell themselves so they don’t have to feel alone. I don’t buy it. Tying myself to another person forever? Fuck no. I’ve seen how that story ends too many times, and I hope Thorne comes to his senses before it’s too late. Don’t want to see my buddy become another divorce statistic.
The sidewalk turns icy, pulling me from my thoughts. There’s a sheet of it blocking the path ahead, black and shiny in the glow of a nearby streetlight. It’s impossible to judge how slippery the ground is with a prosthetic leg. I’m not wearing ice cleats on my boots, so there’s no grip—no way to feel the ice beneath my foot and adjust my gait.
I step onto the road to avoid the ice, sticking close to the sidewalk. I’m just a few feet from the hardware store, about to enter the parking lot. Suddenly, I hear the screech of a swerving vehicle behind me. Headlights glare, and I whip around just in time to see the car.
It slams into me.
I tumble backward, twisting as I fall. My prosthetic catches awkwardly on the icy curb and clicks free, skittering across the road. I land hard on my side. My shoulder slams against the asphalt.
Fuck.
I can taste gravel in my mouth. My body aches like a motherfucker, but nothing feels broken, and I ease myself into a sitting position with a groan. The car’s headlights blind me. My vision goes white, and I shield my eyes, listening as the driver’s side door opens.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” a young woman calls out. I hear her hurrying toward me before she lets out a strangled gasp. “Oh God…your leg!” she cries hysterically. “I cut your leg off!”
A sadistic part of me wants to clutch the stump below my knee and start screaming, “My leg! My leg!” But the girl already sounds like she’s about to faint.
“You didn’t cut it off,” I grunt. “A doctor did. Years ago.”
“Wh-what?”
“I have a prosthetic.” I point vaguely toward the road. “Fell over there somewhere. Can’t see a damn thing with these lights on me.”
I close my eyes against the beams, hearing the woman’s feet crunch against the icy road as she grabs my prosthetic. I feel her place it carefully on the ground beside me.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice still trembling. “One second, I’ll cut the lights.”
She heads back to her car while I run my hands over the prosthetic. I’m always on edge when I’m not wearing it. Makes me feel vulnerable. Undefended. Thankfully, it doesn’t feel broken, and I slide it back into place, the pin locking with a quiet click.
The headlights finally turn off, but my vision is still swimming as I plant my hands against the road and push myself onto my feet. I glance around the quiet street, relieved to see there’s nobody around. The last thing I need is people rushing over to help.
“Hey, don’t get up!” I hear the woman say as her car door slams shut. “You need an ambulance!”
I ignore her. Pain gnaws at my shoulder, and my hands are grazed from the road. But I’ll live. I’ve survived worse than a few cuts and bruises.
“The hell’d you swerve into me for?” I ask, anger flaring inside me now that I’m over the shock of being hit.
“I’m so sorry.” I see the girl moving toward me, just a shadow in the darkness. “I didn’t mean to…”
The streetlight catches her face as she approaches.
