Remember Hope
Healing Hearts
Ginny Sterling
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Afterword
Remember Love
Remember Joy
Lawfully Gifted
Winning the Billionaire
About the Author
Introduction
Daisy Greenwell knows what it’s like to hit rock bottom. Mentally, she climbed her way slowly back to the top after losing her legs. It seemed only natural to want to aid others once she’d learned how to help herself. Her love of people, animals, and keen understanding of loss has pushed her to tackle her toughest client of all: a handsome ex-soldier named Ethan.
Ethan Minter lost everything in the blink of an eye. When a bomb goes off during his tour of Afghanistan, he comes home a broken man to a world he doesn’t recognize. He’s depressed, lonely, and unsure how to start over… until he meets her.
In Daisy’s eyes, Ethan finds a strength he didn’t know he had and hope for dreams he’d once thought were long gone. Could this beautiful woman be just the breath of fresh air he needs? Could loving Daisy give him a second chance at the future he’s always wanted or will her secret take it all away?
Chapter 1
August 2015
Ghazni, Afghanistan
“Wilkes, you’re a bloomin’ moron and the sun is getting to you if you think that the Lakers are going to draft him this next go around,” Ethan Minter laughed, shoving at the other soldier. They were doing another sweep of the hills under their leader, CPO John Griffin – or ‘old man Griff’ as they called him bravely.
“Minter, you are the one who’s the moron. They’d be fools to pass on Watkins. Have you seen him on the courts?”
The two soldiers were marching in the heat, completely loaded with gear and falling off to the side of their group. Their helmets felt like burners on an oven atop their shorn scalps but they didn’t dare take them off. The heavy camouflaged uniforms were sweltering and there was not a bit of shade in sight. The sooner they were done with patrols, the better off they would all be. Ethan hated doing sweeps in the hills.
“No and you haven’t either. We barely get reception out here in the desert.”
“That’s true but I saw part of one game.”
“And?”
“The man takes the court like he’s all alone. It’s a thing of beauty to watch him dunk,” Wilkes said reverently, pinching his fingers together and kissing them, before releasing. “C’est magnifique!”
“Idiot.”
“Takes one to know one,” Wilkes said childishly, shoving Ethan Minter back on the shoulder once again. The two had been best friends since high school. They’d practically grown up together- an inseparable pair.
“Pay attention you two nitwits!” Griffin yelled out, annoyed. They looked at each other and Minter rolled his eyes the moment the man was turned around. Griffin had always been a hard man to work for- but he was definitely one you’d want on your side. There was a code to him, a sense of pride that he expected of his team that drew unwavering loyalty… but it was moments like this, that really irked him. The man treated them like children at times – even though they were grown men.
Griffin’s K-9 dog, Radar, was by his side with both ears perked up and sniffing the air. Ethan hated that enlisting had put him in the middle of the seventh layer of Hell. He believed in serving his country, he just thought he’d be doing it somewhere air conditioned. Afghanistan wasn’t it.
“When we re-up or go back state-side, you and I need to see a game. We can pick up some chicks and have a few brewskies too.”
“Sounds good.”
“Yeah it does- because this moron has some great ideas,” Wilkes announced, pointing at himself proudly as he shoved Ethan one more time on the shoulder, playfully. Ethan stumbled. His boot slipped on a rock, sending a sharp zing of pain into his ankle a moment before they both heard it.
Click.
The dog Radar yelped in alarm, giving Ethan goosebumps instantly as he knew what was happening immediately. He was suddenly airborne and mass chaos erupted around him. He couldn’t hear a thing but knew he’d stepped on a land mine. They’d been sweeping the hills for them.
Blinking up at the bright sun, Ethan tried to focus on the biggest problem surrounding him first but couldn’t put a finger on it. Was it the eerie silence? The sheer panic on the men around him moving soundlessly… Or the burning rush he felt racing through his body? Where was Wilkes? Was he okay?
Just then he caught a glance at Colin Wilkes’ face in front of his, as he slapped Ethan several times on the cheeks. His lips were moving but all Ethan could hear was ringing in his ears. He tried to look around, but Wilkes kept grabbing his face and pointing at his own eyes indicating Ethan should be only looking at him.
Wilkes was… crying?
Something was seriously wrong.
Slapping Wilkes’s hands away, Ethan tried to sit up and saw his Chief Petty Officer, John Griffin, yanking off his belt. Ethan met Griffin’s eyes and knew he was the man that had been hurt. Looking down the length of his body, Ethan saw Griffin grab his leg and tie it with his belt as a tourniquet. Why? Where exactly was his boot?
And then Ethan knew what the men were trying to tell him in all the silence.
He’d been severely injured and the lower half of his leg had been blown off. He was going to die, there in the sand, among his brothers. He couldn’t help the wave of tears he knew were rolling down his cheeks unchecked at that moment, nor the panicked puffs of breath as he struggled to keep from screaming at the unfairness of it all.
He didn’t want to die.
Griffin waved the men back and Ethan stared at Wilkes’ ashen face. He didn’t have to hear the words that his friends’ lips kept forming. He saw them in his devastated eyes. Ethan was picked up bodily by his CPO as they retreated back to camp. He saw his boot off in the distance and almost waved… if it wasn’t so horrifying a thought. He was leaving part of himself in Afghanistan permanently – and if he was lucky, he wouldn’t be buried here.
Wilkes came into view again and clenched Ethan’s hand as they raced quickly back to camp. He could hear muffled echoes returning as the ringing in his ears faded. That only made it where he could hear his own screams of pain that Ethan didn’t realize he was uttering. He knew what Wilkes was saying long before he heard him- because Ethan was saying them mentally in a prayer of his own making…
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
Take me away from this nightmare!
Ethan woke up hours later, blinking several times as he tried to get his bearings. He wasn’t hurting anymore. He was shaking all over, his teeth chattering, and covered with a sheet. He was surrounded by white dingy curtains and felt hot beyond belief. Why was he shaking if he was so hot? If this was Heaven, why was it so terribly stuffy? Rubbing his eyes, he realized his arm was tethered to an I.V. drip and he then remembered what had happened. His left leg just below the knee was gone.
The heart rate monitor began to chime nervously as his chest began to pound in fear. Looking at the sheet he was covered in, he saw the outline of his new body- or what was left of it. His left leg was now a stump just below the knee. His heart beat even harder, making it hard to breathe as the impact of what had
happened finally hit him.
“You need to calm down, Minter.”
A male nurse walked in and pressed a button on the machine nearby. His shirt said Houghton on the embroidered name badge on his scrub top. A wave of chemical dizziness hit him making everything spin around him.
“Morphine?”
“Yeah- and be glad of it.”
“My leg,” Ethan whispered sadly. “My leg is gone?”
“It is,” Houghton confirmed. “But you are still here due to some quick thinking by your CPO. If he hadn’t shut off the bleeding, you’d have died out there. Your leg might be gone but you are alive- and going home in a week or so, once you are stable.”
“Go away,” Ethan ordered softly, feeling dumbstruck and scared at what his future would look like now. Go home? How? To what? How would he get by anymore if he was alone? Wilkes had always been there with him and now he was being abandoned?
“No problem. You need to get some sleep anyhow.”
The nurse put a fresh I.V. bag on the post nearby and tried to put a sensor on Ethan’s finger but he yanked his hand away angrily. He’d been touched enough recently- the most obvious being the bandaged stump he couldn’t stop staring at.
“This is going on you whether you want it or not,” Houghton announced firmly. “I couldn’t care less if you gave me the finger and I put the oxygen sensor on there – but it is going on. I have a job to do. Your job is to heal right now and rest.”
Ethan gave the man the rude gesture and sure enough, Houghton smiled and put the sensor on his middle finger. It made Ethan feel petty to retaliate like that. His soul felt deflated, like there was nothing else left for him. What was he going to do?
Everyone else had a plan for when they got out. Wilkes was going to watch basketball games and drink beer. Griffin was in some sort of strange relationship with a pen pal halfway around the world. Houghton had someone back home according to the ring on his left hand. Post talked about his fiancée all the time and even Luka claimed he had a girl in every town he visited waiting for him. Ethan would have nothing… but a crutch or some prosthetic waiting for him back home.
Chapter 2
December 2015
“Ethan, you need to keep working at getting stronger,” the physical therapist told him for the millionth time. He felt his growing frustration at the shaking in his arms. He was trying to get stronger to move himself about. He didn’t want to be in a wheelchair and didn’t want to try a prosthetic limb yet. He wanted his own leg back. “I know this is hard, but we are here to help you.”
“Do you see me, doc?” Ethan snapped, looking at the man and pointing to his cargo pants that were folded up and pinned in place. “I mean, do you really see me? Look at me! Look, don’t pity me- but really look! Look at this!”
“I see your leg and I see a man that has his whole life ahead of him- if he can get past this roadblock,” the therapist said gently, causing Ethan to laugh sarcastically.
He called it a roadblock? Seriously?
The therapist went on speaking as if nothing had happened. “I think you should take some time, be with your family. Develop a hobby that makes you feel good, something that makes you complete on the inside so you don’t focus as much on what is on the outside.”
“Says the man standing on his own two legs.”
“We can get you fitted for a prosthetic. I told you that, but you need to toughen up the limb so you don’t get so sore when you have it attached.”
“Maybe someday but I think I need to learn how to manage without it first since it’s not like my stump is growing back,” Ethan said hatefully; hot tears of anguish burned at his eyes and he would not allow himself to cry in front of this man who antagonized him three times a week.
Ethan had gotten a few letters from his squad back in Afghanistan and all of them said the same thing – sorry about your leg, man. He was tired of being the recipient of people’s pity. He wanted more out of life. He wanted a reason to go on.
“Ethan, I think you should see a counselor.”
“Is that your professional opinion, doc?”
“It’s my personal one.”
“Well keep your personal opinions to yourself.”
“I understand you are mad right…” the therapist began and Ethan threw a crutch across the floor angrily in reaction to the words he’d heard over and over again since his discharge. No one knew how he felt. He was robbed of his life, or so he felt!
The crutch skittered away and nearly hit another woman there doing therapy. He saw the surprised and scared look on her face in the mirror she was facing, making Ethan feel even more ashamed by his outburst.
“I think it would be a good idea to see a group that can help you deal with the loss you are going through. I will give you some homework exercises to perform so you can maintain your strength until you calm down a bit.”
“You don’t have to doc.”
“But I will,” the therapist said firmly, moving past Ethan to pick up the crutch on the floor and handing it to him.
“I will see you Wednesday at four. Thank you,” Ethan said, accepting the crutch awkwardly. He pushed it underneath his arm and got into a standing position, ignoring the ache he still got under his arms from having to use a crutch so much.
“No. I will cancel Wednesday’s appointment until you can get past this. I can’t have you throwing a tantrum in the building or throwing things.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Me too.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“No, I know,” the therapist said quietly. “I can’t have you losing control or endangering other patients. Please, go see a group and talk to someone. Just get it out of your system and talk to others who are dealing with loss too. I’d recommend talking with Daisy Greenwell- in fact, I insist on it.”
“I don’t need to talk to someone who’s going to sprout nonsense at me or prescribe me happy pills. Nor do I need someone with a degree to tell me I have issues. I can tell you that I have issues for free.”
“Well, she’s none of that and she won’t prescribe happy pills, as you say.”
“Then why her?”
“Because she will understand better than most what you are going through.”
“Why is that?”
“Go and talk with her. Take a flyer, Ethan, and at least think about it.”
Ethan had wadded up the flyer that he’d taken and thrown it on the passenger side of the car. The neon green paper almost glowed, reminding him and piquing his curiosity. Things had changed so much since he’d been discharged from the military. He’d found a place to live by throwing a dart at a map. He had been a loner when he’d joined with Wilkes and now found himself in the same shoes once again- in Texas.
He was looking for anything- something- to give him a sense of normalcy since his world had turned upside down. He had a studio apartment that was barely furnished, he’d grown out his hair and beard as a way of asserting his independence. He didn’t have to have a chit(or permission slip) anymore, nor did he have to fit in.
He actually didn’t fit in anywhere.
A glorified desk job paid the bills, but he found himself wanting to do more – and couldn’t. Most interviews ended quickly when they saw he was missing part of his leg, regardless of being a veteran or disabled… and the word tasted bitter in his mouth. He rarely used his parking pass because he felt like he could move about, it was just a bit harder to do so.
He began to pull out of the grocery store parking lot and saw the flyer again out of the corner of his eye. Sighing heavily, he pulled back into the spot and picked up his cell phone. Putting the car into park and leaving it running, he dialed the number and nearly hung up when he heard the recording.
“Hello and thank you for calling Shamrock Pups – we are good luck for when you are stuck! You’ve reached the voicemail for Daisy Greenwell. I am currently in group or in training, so please leave your name and number after the beep.”
“Uh…” Ethan hesitated nervously and cleared his throat. “Miss Greenwell, I got your number from the VA physical therapist office near Longview. They said you had group meetings and I… uh… you know what? Never mind.”
Ethan hung up the phone nervously and put his head down on the steering wheel for several moments. This was just another chance to have more people pity him or look at him with disgust. The happy go lucky handsome soldier who was once surrounded by friends out there in Afghanistan was now just a bitter, broken man… and the sooner everyone adapted to it, the better off he would be.
His phone began to ring moments later and Ethan saw it was the lady calling him back. Group was a bad idea and truthfully, it was late Friday afternoon. He wanted to go home and be alone, maybe soak in a hot bath to ease some of the aching he felt in his leg. It was the strangest thing to feel like his leg was there, yet it was missing. Sometimes he got pins-and-needles sensations and other times he felt cramping. Tonight, was one of those nights. He didn’t really want to talk to anyone to begin with and it had been a mistake to dial the number after all.
He let the call go unanswered – and to voicemail.
Chapter 3
January 2016
Daisy smiled and waved to the happy faces as they left the building late one afternoon. She’d started Shamrock Pups several years ago and the idea took off. Daisy had come home from the hospital with a bilateral amputation that had sent her spiraling downward into a fit of depression at only twenty years old. She’d lost both of her legs due to a severe infection that had taken hold, turning gangrenous. The doctors didn’t know where or what had happened, only that she had been lucky to live.
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