“It’s not some big news story, if that’s what you’re hoping for.” I sounded beat down, even to my own ears.
“I’m curious.”
“You’re also a reporter.”
“I’m a reporter because I’m curious, not the other way around.”
“Yeah.” I pushed away from the window and gave her a quick wave. “Gotta get going. Take care.”
“I… Wait! Maybe you could just explain the…”
The wheelchair handles were cold, but I didn’t take the time to slip my gloves on with this woman after me. Besides, I liked the feel, the way they’d created calluses on my palms and between my fingers, although nowhere near as bad as Sebio’s hands had been.
“Take it easy, O’Neal.”
I flipped up the brake lever and shoved the chair forward, falling back into the familiar rhythm of gravel crunching under thin tires.
Take it easy take it easy take it easy take it easy, they spewed with every revolution. With enough turns of the tires, the words lost all meaning. Just empty rhythmic sounds, as pointless as turning wheels.
Take what easy? Life? No fucking way. Death? Not even that was easy.
I swallowed and pressed forward. About another half mile, I figured, until the picnic area and the trail where I'd camp tonight. Then up, up, up.
I was so close to the end now that it scared the crap out of me.
After the top of this mountain, I had no idea what I'd do, where I'd go, or—worst of all—who the hell I even was.
2
O’Neal
* * *
Disappointed, I sat for a couple minutes and watched him walk away. He had a story. I could feel it buzzing through me, down to my bones. I wanted that story, but something about him made me hesitate.
Pursue it or don’t pursue it?
He said no. But some people needed prodding before they’d let it out. And for some people, letting their stories out was cathartic. It made my job easier to keep that in the forefront of my brain.
It’s for a good cause. People have a right to know. It’s good for them to get their stories off their chests.
He disappeared around the bend and I sighed. The man wanted to be alone. So I’d leave him alone.
I let my conscience guide me into a three-point turn and down the mountain.
Curve after curve, I drove, and all the while, I couldn’t stop thinking about that set, resigned expression in a face that clearly hadn’t seen a mirror in ages. Seriously, though, how had Kurt gone from high school golden boy—and literally the cutest boy I’d ever seen—to…
I shook myself.
Man, those eyes. Not quite dead, but close. Sad. Tired.
How the hell long had he been pushing that chair? And where was the endpoint? The top of Mount St. Jacob? Or was this just one part of whatever quest he was on?
The word crusader flitted by and I saw him as some old-fashioned knight. Heroic to the death. What a headline. What if getting his story, getting him to open up, also helped him?
My skin heated at the memory of that night in high school. Never a big football fan, I'd gone to the homecoming game to watch him. Not that he’d have paid me any attention if I hadn’t followed him to the ER, where I'd found him on a gurney in the hallway, totally out of it.
It was just a stupid kid crush, of course. And looking back, I couldn’t believe how much energy I'd spent on it, considering how out of my league he was. It got so bad even Jared noticed. And Mom. I remembered the conversation with her, frank and open, as she always was.
Jared’s friend, the boy you’re obsessed with, is old enough to be sexually active, O’Neal. And unless there’s something you haven’t told me, you’re not quite there yet. Am I right? Just don’t be surprised if his expectations exceed yours.
She’d been right, of course. Fourteen-year-old me had no idea about sex. I knew about the penis and vagina part, but I didn’t know about the intimacy of it, the smells and sounds. That uncomfortable closeness I still wasn’t all that into.
It had all been moot anyway, given his celebrity football status. Even though he’d spent all his time with my brother, Kurt Anderson hadn’t had so much as a second to spare for a little kid like me. That night, I’d couched the whole thing as professional—just a journalist hunting down a good story—but when I'd finally gotten an excuse to talk to him, things had gone haywire inside. Like out of breath, dizzy crazy.
He’d been kind, but I'd barely been a blip on his radar.
Something about that idea stopped me—literally, stopped the car halfway through a sharp curve. If I drove away right now, Kurt Anderson would carry on walking. He’d trudge up the mountain, pushing that chair, flying that flag, and keeping a tight hold on whatever motivation pushed him to do this strange thing. He’d be a blip on my radar, nothing but a moving speck on the map.
And that seemed tragic beyond words.
But crap, I had to get this turkey piece in on deadline, which was only an hour off. Rather than race back to the office, I found a place to park and wrote it up—total fluff—and sent it to my editor, along with the couple decent pics I'd gotten.
Finally, breathing hard, I hooked another ridiculous five-point turn and accelerated back up the mountain, nervous, but excited to be following my instincts again.
I was doing this. I was actually doing it.
I conveniently ignored the guilt, along with the voice that told me to mind my own business and go home. Listening to that voice had never gotten me anywhere.
Driving slowly, I passed the spot where we’d spoken, my eyes searching the near dark along the side of the road.
A couple miles past the picnic area, I decided to circle back. He had to have turned off there.
I came close to giving up when I didn’t immediately see him, but that need to know—to help by telling his story—pressed me to get out of the car. I grabbed my coat, water, and a few protein bars, and after a second’s hesitation, threw my crampons and sleeping bag into my backpack, then headed up the wheelchair-accessible trail.
It wasn’t quite freezing, and my body warmed fast. After a few minutes, I caught up with him. The chair’s tires crunching over dirt and rocks must have been loud, because he obviously didn’t hear my approach. Rather than scare the hell out of him, I called out quietly, “Hey, Kurt.”
His bent back straightened, but he didn’t turn. In fact, he didn’t show much reaction at all, aside from that quick stiffening and a big inhale.
“It’s me again. O’Neal.”
After another sigh, he let out a defeated sounding “Yep.”
The path was wide enough for the two of us to walk side by side, so I slid in beside him.
“Can we talk for a sec?”
“Look, um…”
“O’Neal.”
“I know your name.” He stopped and turned. “I’m just trying to find a polite way to make you leave.”
I stopped myself from cringing. “Why?”
“This is private.”
He started up again, faster now, and I hesitated. Let it go, O’Neal. Leave the man alone.
My eyes stayed glued to his back. It was bigger than in high school, wider and thicker, straight, as if he fought to keep it that way. He looked as if he’d carried too much on those shoulders, for way too long.
Suddenly, I wasn’t entirely sure why, but this was something I had to do. I had to. I wouldn’t push him too far, but I had to know what had happened to this man.
Quickly, I caught up and slid in beside him.
There were no birds up here, especially this late in the day, no animal sounds at all. The grinding of wheels and scuffing of feet was the only accompaniment to the huffing of our breaths.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I just… I told you about my insatiable curiosity, right?” I tried for humor. “Some people are anxious about money and stuff like that. Some worry about their health or their family. But me? I’ve got this deep need to fill in life’s gaps.” Oth
er people’s lives, at least. My own was just fine riddled with Swiss-cheese holes.
He glanced my way, one eyebrow raised, but didn’t say a word.
“You planning to walk all night?”
An eternity of about two minutes went by before he spoke. “There’s apparently a spot a little higher up. Quarter mile or so. I’ll set up camp there.”
Relieved, I smiled. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For answering a question. Not leaving me hanging.”
“You’re relentless, O’Neal.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He huffed out a laugh.
I searched for something innocuous to ask him. “You been up St. Jacob before?”
“No.”
“It’s a good climb. Although I’ve never taken this trail.” I didn’t need to ask why he’d chosen this route. The wheelchair wouldn’t make it up any other way. “Are you okay with this?” I asked, a while later, unsure what I'd do if he said no.
“What?”
“Company.”
His only response was a half shrug. I’d take it as a resounding yes.
We carried on up the path, shoulders almost brushing, legs stepping in time, breaths synchronizing.
I started slightly when his voice broke into my thoughts. “No more questions? I thought you couldn’t keep your insatiable curiosity under wraps.”
“Just trying to figure out my angle of approach.”
“I believe you mean attack.”
“What?”
“Your angle of attack.”
Oh. Was that how he saw me? As an enemy? That sent something tight and uncomfortable to my belly. “You think this is about hurting you?”
“I doubt that’s your objective, but it could happen.”
I wanted to protest, to tell him that I’d never write something that could hurt a person, but his words made me doubt the way I pursued stories—like a battering ram, I'd been told.
No. It wasn’t an interview subject who’d told me that, it was a guy I'd dated. He’d complained that I wouldn’t let anyone get close. I almost snorted as I pushed the memory away. Whatever, dude.
I carried on in silence, beside this big, quiet man, whose outer shell I was dying to pierce. Despite his hardened, leathery exterior, the guy was hurting inside. I could see that in the way he worked to keep his back straight and his pace constant, the way he took care of that freaking chair.
Finally, he stopped and forced the thing into a clearing.
I stood awkwardly as he locked the brakes and set up his camp with quick competence. Not his first rodeo. By a long shot.
He looked at me. “What’s your plan here?”
Eternally late, always unprepared, I had never planned a thing in my life. Winging it usually worked, but here I was at a complete loss for words. Because what? Because, though I’d ostensibly come up here in pursuit of a story, I had the sudden, uncomfortable conviction that this was not actually the case.
Had I followed him for his story or for something else?
I opened my mouth, closed it, and finally let unexpected words flow out. “I had a crush on you.” What am I doing? This isn’t how it works. Shut up! “In high school. That’s why I was at that game, where you got hurt. It’s why I went to the hospital that night. I mean, I’d read something about concussions being bad, so when I heard you’d been hit in the head, I…I didn’t go to the hospital to ask you questions, I went to check on you.”
The truth. It tasted strange in my mouth. Not that I lied usually, but I wasn’t much of a sharer. It was half the reason I was a reporter—I loved people, but one-sided relationships just seemed to work better for me.
I forced a wry smile to my face. “Would’ve been weird, right? Jared’s silly little sister hanging around the ER? So, I ran with it and…” I couldn’t look at him when I told him the rest. “You got a football scholarship, right? Well, I got into college based on that series. Starting with that piece.”
He didn’t look pleased, which confirmed every one of my misgivings. I might spend all my time getting people to open up, but nobody—including me—wanted my stunted insides out in the world.
“You’re kidding.”
“No.” I met his eyes defiantly, doing my best to hide my embarrassment.
“Is that what’s gonna happen here? You follow me around, take pictures, use some messed-up version of my story to get ahead, and destroy my life in the process?”
What? One of my hands flew to my mouth, covered it, held in a surprised little “oh.” I wanted to sink to the ground, but managed to keep myself straight. “Is that what happened?”
“Yeah. You didn’t hear about how they cut me off? Coach M and the entire team—including your brother? Everybody blamed me for your story. Figured I’d gone to you instead of the other way around.”
“Oh. I had no idea, Kurt. It wasn’t my intention to—”
“That policy change you worked so hard for? They called it the Anderson Rule. I graduated that year and took off, but my reputation as a shithead whistleblower followed me to college. After that, my best friend—your brother—threatened to kick my head in again if I so much as looked at you. Ever.”
“I didn’t know.” I squeezed the words out. “God, you must be even angrier now that you know I did it because I liked you.”
“Actually…” His head cocked to the side. “A crush, I can get behind. It was the naked ambition I couldn’t wrap my mind around.” He reached into his pack for a stove and set to work prepping dinner.
I couldn’t count how many times I'd camped growing up, or around here with friends, but I'd never seen anyone go about it quite so efficiently. Like he does this every day. Like I’m in his home watching him prepare dinner for the night.
I had to go. He was right. I was a bad person, doing this for the wrong reasons.
“I shouldn’t have followed you up here. It was mercenary and selfish. I’m sorry, Kurt. I’ll go.” I turned to leave, my face hot with shame. I’d barged up here against his wishes, whatever my reasons.
My reasons. I’d felt so justified marching back up here. The story. There had to be a story. Get the truth, whatever that means. Was I the most delusional person in the world, or what? Had I lied to myself? I’d decided to come up for the story, along with some notion that I could help him out—which seemed insulting when I thought about it. Or had I?
Had I followed him because I liked him?
I got redder, because that last one rang truest. And none of those were good enough reasons to blatantly ignore his wishes and barge into his life like this.
Voice thick with emotion, I said, “Take care of yourself, okay, Kurt?”
I had to get down the path, to my car, and off this mountain before I did something stupid…like cry.
Walking was slower now in the full dark, but I pushed on as fast as I could, through the hot shame. I'd hurt this man. Whatever’d happened to him since then, I'd somehow helped propel him to this place. I'd gone only a dozen or so steps when he called out my name.
I stumbled to a stop and half-turned. “Yeah?”
“I thought you were cute, too.”
“Seriously?”
“Obnoxious as hell, but cute.” He snorted. “Your brother picked up on it. Wouldn’t let me anywhere near you.”
“Well, you had a reputation.” I considered. “And I was a mega pain in the ass.”
“You were a kid.”
“We both were.”
We’re not kids now. I did my best to ignore that thought.
“I’m sorry I bothered you today, Kurt. And I’m so sorry I ruined things for you. Before.”
He nodded, once. “You know what stayed with me, from that night? In the hospital?”
I shook my head, waiting, breath bated, knowing I had to leave now. Nothing moved on the mountainside, but a cloud must have skittered across the sky because the moon washed him out like a floodlight from the heavens.
“You
held my hand.” His voice broke on the last word. “Remember that? They made you leave eventually, when my parents finally got there. But you held my hand for what felt like forever. Yours was so little in mine, but it was warm and strong.” He paused for so long I thought he’d finished, but just when I opened my mouth to reply, he went on. “I looked for you when I woke up the next morning. You were gone.” I stood shocked, mouth hanging open. “I looked for you at school again, later that week, all excited. Thought I’d tell your brother to fuck off and ask you out. Then the paper came out, and I swore I’d never talk to you again.”
Something sharp twisted in my chest. I opened my mouth to apologize again, say goodnight, and get out of his hair forever, but his next sentence shut me up.
* * *
Kurt
“You hungry?” The words were out before I realized what I was up to. “Got more of this freeze-dried stuff than I know what to do with.”
“What about never talking to me again?” She sounded young and unsure and I chose to deflect.
“I mean, it’s not five-star dining, but it’s mushy. And lukewarm.”
It was dark where she stood under the trees, but her surprised little laugh hit me in places I hadn’t acknowledged in a while; places I hesitated to expose, like a cat’s soft white underbelly.
“When’d you become such a smooth talker, Kurt?”
“You kidding me? My best moves were in high school.”
“Never saw those.”
“No, you got the extra-special concussed version.” She didn’t move and, for those few seconds when I was sure she’d turn me down, I went from wanting her company to craving it. The loneliness I'd ignored came crashing in, turning me needy and desperate. “Please have dinner with me, O’Neal. It’s been a while since I talked to anybody.” Besides Sebio here. But that level of crazy wasn’t something I was gonna let out of the bag. “Just you and me, okay? No reporter looking for a byline. No story.”
“I’m so sorry, Kurt. I shouldn’t have—”
“Seriously. New leaf. No more apologies.”
“Right. No story. No apologies. I can do that. But I’m bringing dessert.” She reached into her pack and pulled out a handful of bars.
Loving the Wounded Warrior Page 2
