Grinded (The Invincibles Book 3)

by Heather Slade

  Margaret looked perplexed. “You don’t want to wait with us?”

  “I have an errand to run, but then I’ll come back. Okay?”

  That seemed to appease her.

  “We’ll all have dinner later, then.”

  I cringed once my back was turned. Soon enough, she’d know her son didn’t want me here.

  I waited until long after visiting hours were over before going back to the hospital. I sneaked past the security guard and ducked into the restroom. I waited a few minutes, came out, and walked to the bank of elevators.

  No one stopped me until I was about to walk into the burn center.

  “Excuse me, who are you here to see?” asked a woman seated behind a desk.

  “Mylos…Miles…Stone.”

  “And you are?”

  “Pia Deltetto.” Before I could say anything more, she stood, walked around the desk, and took my hand.

  “You’re Pia. I wondered. He talks about you sometimes in his sleep.” It was the same thing his friend had said earlier. “You must be very important to him. I’ll waive the rules this time.” She winked and walked back behind the desk.

  I slowly opened the door to his room, relieved to see he was asleep. As quietly as I could, I sat in the chair by his bedside. If nothing else, I could look at him, breathe the same air he did. He shifted his body slightly and opened his hand. There, in his palm, rested the heart-shaped stone I’d sent to him.

  I must’ve dozed off in the chair, but woke when I heard voices coming from the hallway. I grabbed my bag and sneaked out as quietly as I could, praying Mylos didn’t wake up.

  I checked the time; it was one in the morning. I’d been in the room with him for almost three hours. Most of which I spent sleeping.

  The street was still as I walked across, to my hotel.

  I’d get a good night’s rest and maybe try to see Mylos again tomorrow. Knowing he still had my stone, gave me hope that he didn’t hate me quite as much as I believed he did.

  I opened the door to my room and flicked on the switch. The light on the phone was blinking red, indicating I had a message waiting. I called the front desk.

  “Ms. Deltetto, yes, we have several urgent messages for you.”

  “From?”

  “Paolo Viticcio. He said it is imperative he speak with you as soon as possible.”

  Without returning Paolo’s call, I knew. I could feel it in my heart. My beloved papà was gone.

  9

  Grinder

  Two Years Later

  London, England

  After two years in the Koblenz Burn Center, I was finally home.

  A little over a month ago, I’d had my last skin-graft surgery, at least for now. There was always the chance a particular area may need more work. Risk of infection was also something I dealt with on a daily basis, although at the six-month mark of any graft, odds of that happening went down significantly.

  With each graft, the pain got worse instead of better. What used to work well enough to alleviate it, no longer did.

  With the exception of Carson, my caregivers encouraged me to seek and try alternative pain management. How the hell was I supposed to meditate my pain away when it hurt so bad I couldn’t think?

  I’d made plans to meet up with Edge at the local pub at half-past four, but showed up an hour early. I was on my second pint by the time he arrived.

  I stood when I saw him walk in. The stress of seeing me again was evident in the lines on his face.

  Neither of us spoke as he approached. We embraced with the requisite back slaps and then stepped apart.

  “Fancy a pint?” I asked, motioning to the bar.

  “I wouldn’t mind something stronger to chase it.”

  “I’m right there with you, mate.”

  He looked left and right and then rubbed the back of his neck.

  “What’s bothering you?”

  “Would you mind if we went to my flat?”

  Knowing the pub was a regular stop for many who worked at SIS, I immediately understood his concern. “Not at all.”

  A little over an hour later, we were both bladdered. Edge stood, presumably to pour us each another shot of Irish. I got up to join him and saw him fingering the red stone I’d inadvertently left on the counter. I reached over and put it in the pocket of my trousers.

  “Where did you get that?”

  Pia was a topic of discussion I avoided. Not just with Edge, with everyone. “Long story,” I said, downing one shot and pouring another.

  “We’re too pissed to go anywhere, so you might as well tell me.”

  I sat back down and looked up at the ceiling. “When I was sixteen, I went to Italy with my parents…”

  “Blooming hell,” he said when I got to the part where Pia came to the hospital and I told her to leave.

  I shook my head, reached into my pocket, and took out the heart-shaped stone. “She never came back. As much as I told myself I didn’t want her to, part of me was disappointed.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t, especially after…”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You bloody bastard. I just told you my whole life story.”

  “It wasn’t anything she said specifically. I just got the impression she was in love with you.”

  I laughed. “Infatuation. Nothing more.”

  “She’s done a number on you.”

  No more than I had on her.

  “You need to get your mind off of her. Find someone else, even just for a shag.”

  I groaned, hating that Edge brought up anything to do with sex, especially after we’d just finished talking about Pia—who I still fantasized about both awake and in my dreams.

  It had been a long time since I was with a woman. First, it was because we were in Iraq for fourteen months. Then…well…I couldn’t imagine any woman would want me now. Not that it was something I’d discuss with Edge.

  It wasn’t just the scarring, which in itself would be horrifying. Everything about my time in Iraq had changed something in me. I didn’t go a single night without nightmares.

  In most of them, I relived the explosion and being on fire. In some, though, I dreamed about the last man I killed before that mission. I knew I’d never forget the way his eyes had remained fixated on mine, even in death.

  I looked up from my drink, and Edge was studying me.

  “You love her too.”

  I shook my head. “You’re wrong.”

  “Good morning, Son,” said my father, joining me in the kitchen the following day.

  “Morning.” I scrubbed my face with my hand. “Listen, I really appreciate you and Mum letting me stay here.”

  When he raised his head, the look in his eyes almost shattered me. I’d been the worst son imaginable through my ordeal; the worst person, really.

  I lashed out so much at those who cared about me, it was a wonder they ever spoke to me again. The only person I didn’t seem to faze was Carson. It didn’t matter what kind of abuse I hurled at him; it slid off his back, and he went on as though I hadn’t said a word. He also counseled my parents as to how to deflect my anger, but having their son turn into the devil incarnate had worn them down.

  “You don’t need to thank us, Miles. Your mum and I love you. We’d do anything for you.”

  Including blow through their entire life savings to provide for a private combination of nurse and caregiver. The settlement I got from the Royal Army had replenished their reserves. My promise to never speak to either of them again if they refused the money was the only thing that made them finally relent and accept it. As it was, I still had three times as much money in the bank as they did. I’d give them every penny if they’d let me; however, even I knew there may come a day when I’d need it for further medical care.

  “Your sister is stopping by later this morning.”

  I nodded. Yet another person who had suffered my abuse. She and William had plans to be married shortly before the exp
losion that had altered the course of my life forever. It had been planned to coincide with my leave from deployment, but given that had been canceled, they decided to get married by the local magistrate rather than have the elaborately planned wedding.

  Now that I was back in London, there were plans for a combined celebration: homecoming for me, and a wedding party for them. Tonight, in fact. There was nothing I wanted to participate in less. No one should be celebrating my homecoming. No one should be celebrating me at all.

  What few talked about, including my best friend, was that I was not the only person injured in the explosion of the IED I’d driven the BFV onto. Of the nine in the vehicle that night, two had escaped with minor injuries, four were dead, one had lost his leg, and one had such severe brain damage he’d never lead a normal life. And there was me. The one responsible, still living a life I had no desire to.

  It remained a daily struggle to open my eyes and get out of bed. I alternated between believing my family would be better off without the burden I’d become and believing that killing myself would leave them shells of their former selves.

  Carson, my torturer and my protector, lost his temper with me only once. After hours of my constant complaining, self-pity, and unrelenting talk of ending my life, he’d had enough. Among many other things, he called me the most selfish, self-pitying, piece-of-shit wanker he’d ever had the displeasure of knowing.

  “Instead of feeling sorry for yourself day-in, day-out, you could be helping others who have suffered in the same way you have. Do you not realize there are children in the pediatric burn center at Chelsea who could benefit from seeing where you’re at now compared to where you started?”

  He’d walked out on me that day only to return the next as though we hadn’t had a foul word pass between us. When I met with my therapist later that week, he echoed many of the things Carson had said to me but with fewer curse words. He also suggested that helping others may help me find my self-worth again.

  I still hadn’t looked into volunteering at Chelsea. The idea of it terrified me. What if my darkness was the only thing they saw? What if instead of helping, I made their already impossible struggles more difficult?

  “I’m going for a walk,” I said, grabbing my jacket.

  “Miles?” said my father.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you not hear me say your sister would be stopping by?”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t be long.” I walked out, knowing without needing to look that he was shaking his head in disappointment.

  I was about to go through the front gate when my sister approached.

  “Trying to avoid me?”

  “Isn’t you.”

  “I know. It’s yourself you’re trying to get away from.”

  “Where’s Angus?”

  “With Wills.”

  I nodded. My nephew was terrified of me. I knew that. What child wouldn’t be? It was one of the reasons I didn’t take Carson’s suggestion to volunteer at Chelsea.

  My sister put her hand on my arm. “Miles, we’re all so worried about you.”

  I shrugged away from her. “Don’t be. I’m not worth the energy.”

  “Don’t say things like that.”

  I looked down at the ground. “I say it, Lil, because it’s true.”

  Before I realized what she was about to do, she put her arms around my waist in a near death grip. “Do you have any idea how I felt when we thought we might lose you? Any idea? I wouldn’t have been able to go on, Miles. Mum and Dad felt the same way. You may not feel like it, but you’re the light of our lives, little brother. Not that you’re so little anymore, but, God, how can you not know how much we love you?”

  My eyes filled with tears, and I looked away. “Lily…”

  “Can we go inside? It’s mighty chilly out here,” she said a few minutes later.

  I thought about telling her I still needed the walk, but after her admission, I owed her some of my attention. Also, the left side of my body ached from the cold. It was a toss-up as to which doctor would say it was my imagination and which would prescribe rehabilitation to combat it. It seemed their opinions changed on a regular basis.

  “Oh, good. You’re back,” said my father when Lily and I came in the front door.

  “Never left, actually.”

  Dad took a drink of his tea and looked between my sister and me. Something was up; that was obvious.

  “I’ll just be checking on your mum, then,” he said before walking out of the kitchen.

  “Get to it, Lil. What’s going on?”

  When she bit her bottom lip, I knew it was something big.

  “Two things, actually.”

  “Yes?”

  “First, I’m pregnant.”

  “That’s bloody brilliant.” I smiled and hugged her.

  “And…the second you might not be as happy about, but before you decide to be a wanker about it, remember this party is as much for Wills and me as it is for you.”

  I motioned for her to go on.

  “Pia is coming.”

  “I see.” I grabbed the back of the chair. “Lily, I…”

  “My party too, Miles. And Wills’.”

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see her. I did. Desperately so. What I wasn’t so certain about was how she might react to seeing me.

  “Excuse me.” I went upstairs, pulled my prescription pack out of the bag, and opened the lid of one of several bottles. My modus operandi when it came to my pain management became: if one is good, more are better. I dumped a handful of the small white pills into my palm, tossed them in my mouth, and swallowed. When I came out of my room and walked around the corner, I saw Lily leaning up against the wall, arms crossed.

  “What the fuck, Miles?”

  “Let it go, Lily.”

  “The hell, I will.” She scooted around me, grabbed my bag, and pulled out my prescription pack. The only way I could get it from her would be to hurt her, and even in my compromised state of thinking, I wouldn’t do that.

  “Does Carson know about all this?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “The hell, it isn’t.”

  “What’s going on in here?” said my father, coming down the hallway.

  “This,” she said, pointing to the various bottles the pack held, and reminding me of what a tattler she’d been when we were wee ones.

  My father’s eyes met mine, and in them, I saw the same pain I had so many times before, only now it was so much worse. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve never felt like such a failure as a father and as a man.”

  His words nearly floored me. I stumbled backwards, landing on the bed I’d slept in since childhood.

  “It isn’t you, Dad. It’s nothing to do with you.”

  He sat down next to me. “You are flesh of my flesh. How can this have nothing to do with me? You’re an extension of me. Both you and your sister. Of your mum too.”

  “Don’t get Mum involved in this. I beg you.”

  “I can’t lie to her. I won’t.”

  “What’s this?” My mum came in and sat on the other side of me.

  “Miles is abusing his painkillers,” said Lily, pointing to the bag in the same way she had with my father.

  I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t for my mother to take my hand in hers and say, “Of course he is, Lily.”

  My sister’s mouth hung open in the same way I’m sure mine did.

  “What we must do now is help him find better ways of managing it.”

  My head snapped up when I heard a knock on the front door. “Who’s that?”

  “I told you, Miles,” said Lily. “Pia is here.”

  I ran my hand through my hair. When Lily started for the stairs, I called out to her. “Let me, Lil.” I stood and rounded the corner to find my sister staring at me with wide eyes. “Whatever you’re afraid I’ll do, I won’t.”

  10

  Pia

  It had been two years since My
los kicked me out of his hospital room. Two years since I sat by his bedside and watched him sleep without him knowing I was there.

  In that time, I’d finally graduated, with a degree in viticulture and enology with an emphasis on wine business and marketing.

  Once I reached my degree-level classes, I was surprised by how much I already knew just from growing up at Valentini. So many practices I’d watched my father implement, by intuition alone, were applied principles of my education.

  It had also been as long since my papà died. The doctors said he’d had a heart attack, but I think it was more that his heart was broken. Day after day, he’d sit on the terrazza and look out over his beloved vineyards, knowing he’d never walk them again.

  As hard as it was for me to admit, Paolo had been a godsend, and while Valentini was still struggling, at least we hadn’t gone bankrupt.

  Since I returned from college, I’d taken over most of the day-to-day operations while also trying to come up with alternative income streams for Valentini. Paolo checked in often, offering his help, but so far, I hadn’t needed it. He was also relentless in his romantic pursuit of me. I knew each time I turned him down, he was hurt, but I couldn’t think about things like dating now. I had too much to do to make sure my family’s livelihood remained viable.

  When Lily invited me to come this weekend, I hesitated, but Lucia convinced me the short break would do me good. She said that Matteo would be visiting, and if anything came up, he would be there to help.

  My cousin and Lucia spent as much time as they could together. After my father died, there was less housework to be done at Valentini, so she wasn’t there as often. I’d even suggested to Nonna Carina that she didn’t have to work every day, but she and Nonna Bella still arrived at Valentini every morning to take care of my mamma and me.

  I’m here for Lily. The mantra had played over and over in my mind since I stepped off the plane and now, as I stood outside the Stone residence, willing myself to walk up to the front door just like I had the first time I visited.