“Seriously, Leo? That’s how you’re going to play this? Unbelievable,” Ella huffs.
“I’m not talking about this. It’s in the past. Over. No reason to discuss it.”
“Well, that’s an incredibly healthy outlook,” she says with a bitter laugh.
“Ever heard the expression, ‘no use crying over spilled milk’?” I ask.
She glares at me. “You’re comparing a glass of milk to your friendsdying, Leo. That’s not a normal reaction.”
I shrug, watching as Oliver smashes a bunch of Play-Doh pieces together. “Maybe if you walked a mile in my shoes, you’d see how my reaction is actually pretty normal.”
“I’d love to walk a mile in your shoes, but you won’t let me actually see anything,” she retorts.
I sigh. “This conversation is pointless, Ella. God, how many times have we been over this through the years? You wouldn’t like what you saw. You don’t need to know every detail of my deployments. Yeah, they sucked. It’s over. Move on.”
I hear her audible intake of breath. “You know what? I think it’s time you go. How much do I owe you for the light?”
My head pops up to stare at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
Ella stands, placing Violet in a jumping contraption next to the couch. “You did a service for me. Obviously you should expect to be paid for your time at the very least.”
“El. That’s bullshit, and you know it. We’re friends. Friends do things for one another to help each other out.”
Her eyes narrow. “We are not friends, Leo.”
“Yes, we are. Pretty sure you know me better than anyone on the planet.”
A flash of pain crosses her eyes before Ella schools her expression. I watch as she turns her neutral gaze to mine. “I don’t think I know you at all, because the Leo that I fell in love with wouldn’t gloss over what happened in Afghanistan. That man —”
I interrupt her as I rise to my feet. I take two steps until I’m toe-to-toe with Ella, my face only inches from hers, as I hiss, “Yeah, well the woman I fell in love with wouldn’t have broken my heart for no fucking reason. So I guess we’re both outta luck, huh, Ladybug?”
Color drains from her face, and I realize what I said. As I open my mouth to apologize, she shakes her head. “No. Get out.”
“Ella …”
“Get out,” she whispers. “I don’t want, or need, your help. Don’t come back here.”
“I promised Oliver I’d fix the dishwasher,” I stammer, humiliation vibrating throughout my body.
“I don’t care. I’ll figure it out.”
“I know you don’t like to get your hands dirty, El,” I tease, but her expression only darkens.
“Things change. People change. I don’t want to ask you again, Leo. Please leave.”
Oliver looks up as I pause at the door, waving happily at me, and I wave back. Poor kid. I kinda liked hanging out with him. But it’s clear Ella won’t see things from my perspective, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to hash through my final mission just to appease her.
Head held high, I stride out of Ella’s apartment without a backward glance.
Afew weeks later, on an unseasonably warm day, I’m relaxing in one of the large Adirondack chairs we have around multiple fire pits on the Everlasting property. I’ve been cleaning up the property this week. Lots of tree limbs, dead leaves, and various other debris are strewn throughout the acres my family owns. While it’s not my most favorite task, it keeps me busy, so I do enjoy it.
But my leg is on fire.
I’ve lost track of how many surgeries I’ve been through on my leg. There was so much shrapnel that doctors worried they’d have to amputate. In some ways, I wish they had. Phantom limb pain is a thing, but there are some days where I’m in excruciating pain. It is exhausting trying to find the right medication, creams, and therapies to help me get even half of my leg strength back.
I’m at least thankful it’s my left leg that’s injured, because it means I can still drive without issue. This town is already too nosey, so if I had to be hand-delivered to every place I go, I’d hate it. I don’t like being the center of attention on a normal day, so the thought of being the focus of the entire town because of my injury makes me want to curl up and die.
That’s why I drive to Denver for physical therapy. And that’s why the follow-up surgeries I’ve had have always been outside of Colorado. No one knows what I’m doing. Not even my parents. I keep to myself, and as long as I get the work done that they needfrom me, I don’t feel like they have to know my everyday whereabouts.
