It takes us only about an hour and a half to get there from Ashton, Idaho. Along the way, Jillian was able to get noon reservations so we could go paragliding. We lucked out and got reservations for three of us due to a last-minute cancellation. I have to think it's providence of some sort that's allowing Connor to have another bucket-list item checked off.
Of course, there's four of us and only three slots, but Jillian quickly and gladly gave up a spot. She said she had no desire to go paragliding. Connor and I teased her mercilessly about it, but then she set me way fucking back on my heels.
"Tease all you want," she'd said back to us primly. "But I'm more likely than not to have a heart attack if I run off that mountain with the shape my heart is in."
I wasn't prepared for the feeling of dread and unease that statement provoked within me. I sometimes get so focused on Jillian's impending blindness that I forget she has a serious heart condition too. She could actually die without warning, and I had to choke back the nausea that welled within me.
I wasn't ready to let her go.
Another horrifying thought had slammed into me, and I'd whipped my head toward her. I muttered low, but I know the others heard me, "Is it safe for you to have sex?"
Jillian busted out laughing. After I let her get through it, tears and all, she was finally able to say, "Christopher... my heart is weaker than an ordinary person's, but it's not really in danger of giving out right now. It could get worse later, but maybe not. But to reassure you, I'm good to have sex. And I'm using the heart excuse because I'm just too terrified to jump off a mountain."
I was so relieved I didn't care that the others were listening in. But if I had any question as to whether my feelings for Jillian are real or merely a product of so desperately wanting something good for once, it was dispelled by the terrible roiling of fear that went through me when she teased she could have a heart attack if she jumped off the mountain. Whether that would happen or not, I realized... having someone like Jillian in my life is as complicated as her having someone like me. Sometimes, I get so dazzled by her brilliance and spirit I forget she's as physically broken as I am.
Needless to say, Connor and I didn't tease her about her clear fear of paragliding again.
Rendezvous Mountain is what we'll be jumping off. It's at the southern end of the Teton range with a peak of over ten-thousand feet. Connor wanted adventure. We'll be strapping ourselves to a paraglide pilot, who will sit in a harness underneath a baffled chute, and we're going to run off the edge of the mountain and fly down to the ground.
After we park at the Teton Village, which sits at the base of Rendezvous Mountain, Jillian and Connor scramble out of the vehicle. Their little hamster bladders are at the point of bursting since we were on a time crunch to get here and I wouldn't stop. They take off running to the large crop of buildings at the base of the mountain, while Barb and I take our time. She rummages in her backpack for her earbuds, and I'm betting she's going to have some crazy jams cranked as she flies through the air.
After she puts her pack in the rear cargo area and I lock up the SUV, we start walking in the direction that Jillian and Connor took off in. I'm glad for the moment alone with her because we need to have a serious conversation, although I intend to keep it short.
"Tonight... I'm going to sleep with Jillian," I tell her.
She turns her head and shoots me a look that says, No shit, Sherlock.
I forge ahead, because I know what I just said wasn't a surprise. It also isn't the reason we needed to talk. "Do you want to get a separate room?"
"Nah," she says without looking at me. "I'll just take your bed or sleep in the Suburban again."
I know I should tread carefully and handle this with some sensitivity, but honestly, our walk isn't going to last very long until we run into Jillian and Connor, so I get to the point. "Are things cool with you and Connor?"
Barb stops so abruptly that I take two more paces before I can stop myself. I turn to face her, and she looks pissed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she grits out.
"It means I'm worried that he's seventeen years old and you just provided him with his first and only sexual experience last night, and I'm not sure what expectations he'll have tonight if you stay in the room with him," I tell her candidly.
Connor's parents were not all that crazy about him extending this trip, and it wasn't only because they missed him and were anxious to have him back in the fold. The clock was counting down for them too. Although they very much wanted him to have this trip, they are missing out on precious time with him. Connor's dad asked to speak to me, wanting some details on where we intended to go and a time frame for being home. I think he really wanted some assurances that everything was truly okay and that we weren't leading his son off on an adventure he'd never want to quit. I assured him everything was fine and laid out my plans going forward. I also assured him Connor was doing great and having the time of his life.
I obviously didn't tell him that the highlight was losing his virginity, because I'm pretty sure his dad would not like that, but for whatever reason, he trusts me with his son and I had to make sure things were really cool with Barb.
I expect her to lash out at me for questioning her at all, because... well... she's an angry woman ninety-nine percent of the time. Instead, her face sort of crumbles before she hides it away from me with a downward tilt of her head. Her shoulders slump and her voice is small... the smallest I've ever heard it. "I would never hurt Connor."
"I know you wouldn't," I automatically say, but up until that very moment when I heard the angst in her voice, I didn't know that for sure. But I believe her now. It's the only time I've ever seen Barb feel for another person in a deep way.
"We talked last night," she says as she raises her gaze to mine, and I can tell by her expression she's bothered by his impending death. "A lot. Not only about what happened with us, but about life and death. We talked for hours after. Trust me when I say that Connor is probably the most mature out of all four of us in this group. He has a better handle on what happened between us than I do."
My chest constricts inward as I realize that Barb has actually opened herself up and let someone inside her narrow little world. Who would have ever thought a pimply faced teenager with a death sentence would do it?
"Alright," I say as I turn toward the buildings where I can see Jillian and Connor waiting for us. "It's all cool then."
Barb doesn't respond, just follows me across the parking lot.
And holy fuck, it's cold up here. The temperature was in the low seventies at the base of the mountain when we arrived, but by the time the tram got us to the top, it had dropped almost thirty degrees. We were told to expect this by the paragliding company, but none of us had planned for this type of cold while driving across the United States in late July.
Jillian's heaviest coat is a light windbreaker and she's shivering, even as she stares around in awe. As I look out over the valley, which is rich with horse pastures, swaying grasses, and fragrant sagebrush, I realize it's weird sitting at the top of a cold mountain with patches of snow still all around while doing so. It's like standing in one world while looking at another.
I offer Jillian my heavy denim jacket but she refuses, telling me it's going to be a lot colder for me than it will be for her as she's taking the tram back to the bottom of the mountain after we launch.
Poor Barb... I don't think the girl owns a pair of jeans without rips in them, but at least she has a thick leather jacket on.
Connor is next to me, getting strapped into the harness with his pilot. We'd spent almost half an hour getting instruction as a group--there was a total of seven of us taking these flights--and now it was almost go time.
"You okay?" I ask him, because his face is a little pale and I can see sweat glistening just above his brow. His bald head is covered with a knit cap I loaned him.
"I'm fine," he says as an assistant helps to buckle him in the harness in front of his p
ilot.
"You're pale," I point out.
"I'm one month past my last chemotherapy, I'm dying, and I'm getting ready to jump off a mountain," Connor says dryly. "I've got reasons to be pale."
I laugh as his instructor's head pops up at this news, and Connor grins back at me. I thought my own pilot's eyes would bug out of his head when he asked me if I had any physical restrictions that he needed to be aware of before we launched. I'd pulled the bottom of my jeans up so he could see my C-leg and told him that while I could run, I couldn't run as fast as he could. After he got over the shock, he assured me we really didn't need to run hardly at all. Once the chute above us filled with air, it would practically lift us off the mountain when we were ready to go.
As my pilot helps to get me secured into the harness, I take another look at Jillian. She's watching me with hooded eyes, so I jerk my head in an indication I want her to come closer. She walks up to me, arms wrapped around her middle for warmth and her head tilted to one side.
I ask her the same question I just asked Connor. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she says with a small smile. "Just worried."
"You're the eternal optimist," I point out with a grin. "You can't be worried."
"You're getting ready to run off the side of a mountain," she returns dryly. "My optimism has limits."
"This is perfectly safe," the instructor behind me says, but Jillian and I ignore him.
I crook my finger at her, beckoning her closer. She does... close enough I can put my hand behind her neck and pull her in for a brief kiss. Our intimate relationship is so fucking new, and yet, casually kissing her right now seems so damn natural. Not a single awkward moment for me, and I can't fathom how I can be so open to this. How I could have been so jaded just days ago, and now it feels right that Jillian should be the last thing I see before I jump off the mountain, and that her kiss inspires within me the knowledge that my life is going to be just fine.
When I pull back, I tell her something I'd been thinking about last night just before I fell asleep. "You're a cup-half-full kind of girl."
She nods with a smirk. "True."
"I'm a cup-half-empty kind of guy," I add.
"Also true."
"Both of our cups are still missing something." My thumb rubs along the side of her neck, and it doesn't matter that it's scarred and missing compatriot fingers.
"About four ounces each," she quips, but I can tell she knows where I'm going with this.
"You put us both together and we're full," I tell her tenderly.
The pilot I'm strapped to shifts uncomfortably behind me, I'm sure feeling completely awkward to be witnessing this.
"Okay, you're freaking me out," Jillian says with a playful push on my chest. "You can't go from asshole to romantic in just a few days."
The pilot gives a slight cough.
I grin at Jillian as she backs away. "See you down at the bottom."
"Hopefully in one piece," she calls back to me.
The aide who was checking Connor's harness comes over to me and does a lot of pulling and checking of straps. He gives me a thumbs-up and moves down the line.
"You ready?" the pilot behind me asks, and a surge of adrenaline leaves my skin tingling in its wake.
I nod my answer but turn my head to the left to look at Connor. "You ready?"
He nods back at me, face still pale, but there's excitement sparkling in his eyes. I look past him to Barb on his other side. "You ready?"
She gives me the smallest hint of a smile and nods back. "Ready."
And out of the three of us, I'm sure she is because she probably doesn't care if she lives or dies. In fact, she might even be hoping for a rip in one of the baffles that will help to keep her airborne.
"All clear," I hear shouted from the end of the line of seven people strapped to seven pilots, prepared to hurtle ourselves off the side of a ten-thousand-foot mountain.
I look back to Connor. "You scared?"
I'm asking about this moment as we prepare to experience a thrill of a lifetime, but I could be asking about life in general.
He nods. "Scared shitless."
That answer could be about us leaping off a mountain or about the fact he'll probably die before the year ends. It could be about so many things, least of which is what we're about to do.
"Okay," my pilot says behind me as he gives a last pull on my harness. "We're ready."
"How about you?" Connor asks as I watch him and his pilot get prepared to run for the edge. "You scared?"
I look over my shoulder at Jillian and she gives me a thumbs-up signal, her smile encouraging. Her belief in me is contagious.
Looking back at Connor, I tell him the truth. "I'm scared shitless too. But there's no reward without the risk, right?"
"Right," he says with a firm nod of his head.
"Then let's do this," I say as I turn my gaze to look over the valley spread wide before me. It's fine... because I know Jillian and my future wait below, and my future is nothing like I thought it would be just a few short days ago.
Chapter 27
Eight weeks ago...
My fingertips pushed against the large stack of mail on the tiny, wobbly kitchen table. I hadn't been through it in days, and I really didn't want to go through it at all, but the voice mail I'd just listened to from a woman named Mags had motivated me slightly.
Either I went through that mail and laid my hands--or well, hand and a half--on the letter addressed to me from the Wake County Clerk of Courts office, or I would go to jail.
This Mags woman had left me a friendly reminder that tomorrow was the first group therapy session I'd been ordered to attend in exchange for commuting my jail sentence for assault. Apparently, I should have received a letter giving me the details on where we would meet and the program itself.
I located the letter and pulled it from the pile. I didn't bother looking at anything else as I'd put all my living expenses on auto draft so I wouldn't miss anything. I wasn't the best about paying bills, mainly because I didn't give a shit. But this crappy little apartment kept a roof over my head and the meager disability payments from the government were enough to at least keep me in beer, weed, and pills. So I used auto draft so I wouldn't fuck up my pitiful existence.
Draining the bottle of beer in my left hand, I tossed it in the garbage can, heard the glass break, and pulled another one from the fridge. The only thing in there was beer, a half-empty bottle of vodka, and a pizza box with two slices left over. I should have put something in my stomach but that would take effort, so I closed the refrigerator door and twisted the cap off. I carried the letter and bottle of brew to the couch and sat down heavily. My stump was aching because when I put on my prosthesis that morning, I didn't bother with a sock liner. I'd be well served to take the damn thing off and let it breathe a bit, but I knew as soon as I popped a few of the pills in the little clear baggy on the table beside the couch, I wouldn't be feeling anything.
I took a long swig of beer and looked around my apartment. It only had two rooms with the main portion consisting of a tiny kitchen where on any given day I'd find a cockroach in the sink, a living area that was basically a worn couch and a battered side table, and a twin bed up against one wall. The other room held a small bathroom that had a toilet, sink, and shower, also home to cockroaches. I'd been living here about three months, and only because the dude I'd been living with back in Jacksonville had kicked me out.
I supposed he had reason. Rich was a buddy I'd served with in Afghanistan. He was three vehicles back when my Humvee rolled over the IED. We'd kept in periodic contact and when I was officially released from rehab and was just awaiting my final medical board discharge, he told me I could crash at his place for a while. He had a small duplex out in town rather than on base, and it was sort of a party central type of place. Which was cool and all, but even Rich had limitations when it came to partying.
First, he only did so on the weekends, and only with beer. He couldn't afford
to pop on a random piss test that the Marine Corps was so keen on throwing at us. Eventually, Rich just got a little tired of the fact I was constantly drunk and a permanent haze of pot sort of hovered just under my bedroom ceiling. He told me I had to go.
So I did. Westward to Raleigh, North Carolina where I only went because the dude I got pot from in Jacksonville had a cousin there who was looking to sublease this shithole of an apartment. I figured what the fuck... I could afford it so why not?
When the government processed me out of the military, they looked at my injuries and they rated them to determine how much money they'd pay me for the rest of my life for my sacrifices.
Turns out, the loss of two fingers was worth twenty percent. My amputation, since it was from mid-to-lower thigh down, was sixty percent. I found out it would have been ninety percent if it would have been from the hip down, but whatever. I still made a hundred-percent total by the time they put in my shredded forearm and PTSD. There was some talk about a complicated diagnosis of Traumatic Brain Injury, but honestly... I wasn't sure what the fuck was wrong with me really. I just knew it was enough to pay me about three thousand bucks a month.
I was afraid and pissed and I hated the world so passionately that I really didn't want to live in it anymore. This made me not only an asshole, but also violent, particularly when I was wasted. I had absolutely no recollection of the douchebag I'd beaten the shit out of in a dive bar, but I was sure he had it coming to him.
And now I was going to be forced to start hanging out with a group of losers and expected to share my pain with these strangers.
Fat fucking chance of that.
I tossed the letter on the couch beside me, not wanting to open it up. I was in a mood.
A terrible mood.
Deep in my heart, I knew I should take advantage of some of the counseling programs the VA offered, but the thought of opening myself up to scrutiny was too scary. I took the easy way out and decided wallowing in my misery was just easier. With enough alcohol and drugs, I could keep things numbed somewhat.
The Hard Truth About Sunshine Page 18
