Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Now there was a level of understanding I hadn’t expected. And I supposed his SEAL discharge wasn’t that different from my chair. Nosy people were everywhere, myself included.
“Yup. And I’m sorry as well. I shouldn’t have pressed you earlier about your service.”
“Nah.” He grunted the reply, then groaned. “Damn it. No idea why this hurts.”
“Maybe because it’s a deep gash?” I suggested blandly.
“Maybe.” He groaned again and rocked slightly in his seat. “Distract me with a story. Not the one you don’t like telling. Just anything.”
“Nah. I’ll tell you the long story.” I felt he’d earned that much from me, but also, I wanted to make my point that he needed to listen to whatever advice the medical professionals gave him at the clinic. And I was too concerned about his increasingly pasty skin and pained expression to search my memory banks for some funny anecdote. “You stay awake for me though, okay?”
“Okay.” After a day of being wet-cat levels uncooperative, a docile Cal was worrying.
“Any other symptoms I should know about? Nausea? Lightheaded? Vision okay?”
“Fine.” He clamped his lips shut. “Story, please.”
“Well, since you said please…” I gave a strained laugh. I hated this story, but maybe it would help him to hear it. “I’d finally gotten myself assigned to the crimes division of the Portland PD, and I was working with the missing persons unit. And loving it.” That needed saying too. Even now, well over a decade later, I still felt the sting of loss over a job I’d loved. “We got assigned a missing kid case. The kind where every minute counts while searching a neighborhood for a toddler who’d vanished from a backyard.”
“Scary.” Cal’s tone was distant, either because of pain or possibly limited exposure to kids. He certainly didn’t strike me as a family man.
“Yep. The parents were beside themselves, and it was all hands on deck. I spotted something at a house of one of the neighbors, an older three-story craftsman with a high, steeped roof with a trellis leading up to the roof. I thought it was a kid-sized shadow, partially hidden by a dormer window. The neighbors were out searching with everyone else, so I couldn’t gain access through the house. I called my suspicion in and was instructed to wait for backup.”
“Let me guess. You didn’t wait?” Cal half-laughed, half-groaned.
“Like I said, dumbass. I ignored the order because the shadow I saw moved. It was a sharp drop from the roof into a rock garden, and I couldn’t risk the kid falling before backup arrived. I started to climb the trellis on the side of the house. I was almost at the top when the whole thing collapsed. And as I fell, my radio crackled. Kid found safe.”
“Oh damn.” Cal whistled. This was one of the reasons I tried not to tell the whole story. The irony was painful. “So you broke your spine, but it wasn’t even the kid up there?”
“Nope. My shadow was a freaking cat. And no, not my spine. Out of everything I broke, I didn’t have a complete SCI, no paralysis. I needed multiple surgeries and metal plates in my legs, hips, and pelvis. I use crutches some, especially at home, but regaining full use of my legs simply wasn’t in the cards for me.” I kept my tone matter-of-fact. Cal’s assumption that I had paralysis was common. I always hated correcting people and tried to gloss over that the real issue wasn’t a lack of feeling or sensation. Rather, I felt too much and had a never-ending struggle with chronic pain. I could walk a little, especially on better days, but exertion tended to bring on pain crises, no matter how much PT I put in, and on bad days, the chair was an absolute necessity.
“Wow. I’m…” Cal grimaced, either in pain or sympathy or both. “I’m sorry doesn’t really cut it, does it?”
“No.” With others, I’d be more polite, but something about Cal made it so I was way more honest than usual. Raw too. “I still miss it. Being out there, on the scene. Heck, I even miss my rookie beat cop days. I could have taken a desk job with the department, of course, but it wouldn’t have been the same. At all. When I say don’t take stupid risks, I mean it. You won’t know what you’ll miss until it’s gone.”
“I get that.” He released a long shuddery breath. “But sometimes it’s the risks you don’t take that haunt you. And for the record, I would have done the same thing.”
“I’m not surprised.” I wanted to follow up on what haunted him but was also wary of making him retreat. He continued to have vibes not unlike a feral cat, but I couldn’t seem to help wanting to get closer to him. “You seem to run on adrenaline.”