“It is?” Lennox’s eyes widened. “I thought so!”
Aaron pulled the leg of his jeans up, exposing the prosthetic foot and leg. “Yup. Everything below the knee is fake.”
“You’re like a pirate,” Lennox said, and then grinned when he saw the titanium prosthetic that vanished into Aaron’s shoe. “Or arobot! That’s pretty cool!”
Aaron’s smile widened. “Sometimes it’s pretty cool, yeah.”
What the hell else was he supposed to tell a nine-year-old? That it hurt like fuck most of the time still? That he sometimes wished he’d died instead because at least then he wouldn’t be in pain? They were ugly thoughts to share with a kid, and they were ugly thoughts to have to begin with, because Aaron knew, rationally, that he was glad to be alive. It was just that it was sometimes hard to remember that hour by hour, day by day when his whole body ached and flashes of excruciating pain shot up from his knee to his hip and back again.
If he’d died in Afghanistan though, he wouldn’t have seen Mom again. He wouldn’t have seen Charlie again, or met Lennox, or made love with Quinn again. Of course he was glad to be alive.
“How does your shoe stay on?” Lennox asked curiously.
Aaron peeled his sock down. “There’s a fake foot so I can wear shoes. You can get prosthetics that are shaped like real legs too, but I didn’t like those. They look weird to me.”
Lennox hummed thoughtfully and reached out to touch the titanium. “Is it heavy?”
“No, it’s pretty light,” Aaron said. “It’s about the same as a leg would weigh.”
He smiled as Lennox lifted his feet off the floor, testing how much his legs weighed.
Aaron gripped the arm of the couch and pulled himself to his feet. He grinned at Lennox as he headed for the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s make some sandwiches or something, huh?”
“Okay,” Lennox said, darting to his feet again. Then he stopped suddenly and stared out the front window. “That’s that truck again.”
“What do you mean?” Aaron walked over to him and looked outside just in time to see a black truck vanish out of his sight down Main Street.
“It’s gone past three times already since we’ve been here,” Lennox said. “And we haven’t even been here that long.”
“Yeah,” Aaron said, dread pooling in his gut. “Let’s go make that sandwich, huh?”
Quinn wandered toward the kitchen, and Aaron watched the window a little longer.
The truck was back again in minutes, slowing as it passed Aaron’s driveway.
Aaron only got a glimpse of the driver, but it was all he needed: Jimmy MacGregor.
* * * *
The knock on the door came fifteen minutes later, and Lennox darted forward to answer it. Aaron let him, because he’d already seen the cruiser pull up into the driveway. Lennox pulled the door open, grinning up at Uncle Will.
“Hi, Sheriff Henderson!”
Uncle Will reached out and tousled Lennox’s hair. “Hi, Lennox Kyle. Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Lennox shrugged and wrinkled his nose.
“What’s your mom thinking letting this reprobate babysit you?” Uncle Will asked. His tone was stern, but he winked to let Lennox know he was kidding. “Aaron can’t even cook! Luckily he can use his phone though, because he sent me a text message saying you guys had a breakfast burrito emergency.” He produced a paper bag from behind his back and handed it to Lennox.
Lennox opened it with a grin. “Thanks, Sheriff! It smells great!”
“Go eat in the kitchen,” Uncle Will said.
Lennox hurried away.
Uncle Will’s smile vanished the moment he was gone. He said, in an undertone, “What’s going on, kid?”
Aaron drew a shaky breath. “You’re busy. Shit, I know you’re so busy this morning, and I wouldn’t have texted you unless it was an emergency.”
