Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“I know you do.” Her eyes flickered as if a dozen warnings and lectures whirred by before she discarded them all in favor of adding her other hand on top of our linked ones. “And for your sake, I hope it does. Both Avery and your career choice.”
“It’s important work. What Duncan and Harley have done, creating jobs for injured vets and those with PTSD like me. It matters. Security might pay my bills, but I’m going to look for more ways to give back and help those with PTSD especially.” Talking with Avery while here in Colorado had shown me the value of vet-to-vet communication, and while therapy was great and Avery was amazing, I wanted to do more to reach out to those who might not have my resources.
“You could try horse therapy.”
“Are you legit suggesting I learn to ride?” I studied her closer. “Man, Cole must have made quite the impression.”
“He’s an interesting character. Pointed me to some studies on horse therapy for PTSD. Maybe you’ll look into it when you’re back in LA.”
“And maybe you’ll look into the price of airfare—”
“Oh, hush you.” She rolled her eyes at me, but her shy smile had me thinking Cole might manage to get us both to saddle up.
“Ready to go home?” A nurse carrying a plastic bag of my belongings and a stack of papers strode in.
“He’s ready.” Mom patted my hand one more time, a quiet message of support lingering in her gaze. Home might be an apartment back in LA, but it was also Avery. I might be exhausted and battered, but I was still here, and so was he, and I was ready to see if we could make this thing work.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Avery
“Alone. Finally.” I shut the hotel room door behind Keely, who was last to leave, double-checked the locks, and returned to stand in front of the bed where Malik had been holding court, sitting on top of the comforter during dinner. Duncan had brought takeout from a place Malik’s mother had recommended, and our small hotel room had overflowed with people and food for far longer than I’d wanted. “You need your rest.”
I wanted Malik all to myself, yes, but his face had been creased with pain and exhaustion ever since Cole brought him and his mother to the hotel. Malik had done a fair job of hiding how wrung out he was, but I knew him better than the others. I’d been relieved when his mother also picked up on his tiredness and started shooing people toward the door.
She’d left as well, but not before reminding me to take good care of Malik. She’d been nothing but pleasant all through dinner, but I still wouldn’t want to cross her. If she said to let Malik rest, I was going to ensure he got a good ten hours or more, and that scary professor lady could give me an A+ in caretaking.
“I know I should sleep, but I’m dying for a shower. These are still yesterday’s clothes.” Moving with painstaking slowness, Malik scooted to the edge of the bed.
“I feel you, but are you allowed?”
“The nurse gave me a cover for the ankle with my discharge packet. I could have showered at the hospital, but I didn’t want my mom to have to assist.” He made a face.
“I can help. No problem.” I brought his crutches over, balancing them while he pulled himself up to stand.
“Why do you seem so cheerful about all the help I’ve been needing?” Using the crutches, he followed me to the small bathroom. Luckily, Keely, the logistics wizard, had arranged an accessible hotel room for us, and the grab bars and shower stool would come in handy for Malik’s shower.
“Because I’m usually the one needing a hand. Literally.” Laughing, I removed my prosthesis so it wouldn’t get damaged by water and waved it at Malik.
“Ha.” He shook his head at my ridiculousness as he worked on the snaps on his western shirt. “Well, I’ll lend you mine anytime.”
“Anytime?” I waggled my eyebrows at him, knowing full well there wouldn’t be any fooling around tonight.
“Maybe…” He licked his lips before pulling the shirt the rest of the way off with a wince. His torso was mottled with bruising. They hadn’t taped his ribs, but the pain was likely to be an ongoing issue for several weeks. “Okay, maybe not. The spirit is willing. So willing. But the body says it needs a raincheck.”
“I figured.” I bent to help him with his jeans, trying to hide my horror at the rips and stains that spoke to his ordeal. Someone had sliced the pant seam to allow for the ankle cast, a black walking boot contraption with Velcro straps. Eventually, he’d be able to remove it for showers, but at first, the orthopedist wanted the boot on at all times, so we carefully covered it with the plastic bag the nursing staff had provided. Next, I helped Malik hobble to the shower stool and prop the cast outside of the tub to further help keep it dry.