Only Love

by Garrett Leigh

  “Jed!”

  He sighed. Dammit. Didn’t they know he was sleeping? He opened his mouth to tell them. Gas, the unmistakable scent of an IED filled his senses, and his pleasant dream evaporated in a cloud of murky, choking smoke.

  “Jed!”

  He tried to roll over. Nothing happened. A weight pinned him down. Fuck! For a split second, it crossed his mind that the limbs he was trying to move were perhaps no longer there.

  Huh.

  Apathy filled him. He’d been freezing his balls off moments before, but now he felt warm, like the sleep he’d chased for the best part of a week was suddenly possible. Moving was hard work. Staying still was easy, too easy….

  The weight crushing him lifted. “Get up, J. Come on. We need to move.”

  Jed stared into the wild eyes of his third-in-command as Luke grasped his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. Once upright, Jed surveyed his surroundings, and his brain slammed back into place with a strange, vibrating thud. He took in the patch of ground where he’d been standing when the device went off. The dusty, cracked concrete was gone, and in its place was a six-foot crater filled with blood.

  Blood, so much blood, but it wasn’t his.

  Jed whipped around, searching for a body, and found the crumpled form of the young Iraqi he’d urged forward to take his place. There wasn’t much left of him.

  “J?”

  Jed shook Luke’s hands from him and stepped forward. He skirted around the man’s body, the world briefly darker than it should’ve been, but as he left the scene, his vision cleared and he didn’t look back….

  November 2006

  THE DISTINCTLY American hospital waiting room came back into focus. Jed blinked, surprised to find himself awake. He was used to the past haunting his dreams. So much so, he often welcomed his ingrained inability to sleep more than a few hours at a time. A waking flashback? Damn. That was something he could do without. The IED blast was nothing—a blip and a shitty day at the office. At least until he got back to base, pulled off his helmet, and a pint of his own blood fell out.

  Paul said he was never the same after that. Maybe he was right. The shrapnel lodged in his helmet had taken a small chunk out of his head. Perhaps it had taken a piece of his soul too.

  “Jed Cooper?”

  Jed tore his eyes from the floor to find the elderly receptionist stooped right in front of him. From the look on her face, she’d called his name more than once. He tossed the newspaper he’d failed to open on the table and followed her to a room at the end of a corridor. The shiny nameplate on the door caught his eye, and he suppressed another sigh.

  Dr. William Howarth MD. Gastroenterology

  Great. He’d put off the appointment with the specialist for as long as he could, but a bizarre meeting with his physical therapist the day before had spurred him into action. Carla Valesco had made it clear that he couldn’t start PT without the specialist’s approval and guidance.

  Yeah, that’s right. Dan had failed to mention that his kid sister’s definition of “working at the hospital” turned out to be as Portland’s newest physical therapist.

  “I can find you someone else if you want, but we might as well get started in the meantime. I’ve read your file, Jed. It got back here before you did. What have you got to lose?”

  He had been too stunned to formulate an intelligent response at the time, but he allowed himself a slight smirk as he pushed open the door to Dr. Howarth’s office. Carla Valesco was a spitfire—a tiny Ecuadoran powerhouse, like her mom. Perhaps she was just what he needed.

  “Sergeant Cooper?”

  For the second time in as many minutes, Jed found himself caught off guard. A slim, bearded middle-aged man appeared in front of him and offered his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you. My secretary had some trouble tracking you down. Sit, please.”

  Jed shook the proffered hand and folded his body into the leather chair on his side of the desk. Dr. Howarth’s tone was dry, but Jed felt no urge to utter an apology he didn’t mean. It was his habit to analyze people, and the doctor’s keen eyes suggested he didn’t take kindly to bullshit, a theory proved when, after the introductions, he cut to the chase and directed Jed to the examination area.

  Dr. Howarth passed practiced, cool hands over Jed’s tender abdomen. Jed flinched. Dr. Howarth paused and pressed a little deeper. “Is that sore?”

  “A little.”

  “Nausea?”

  “Yes.”

  “Vomiting?”

  Did he really have to spell it out? “Yes.”

  Dr. Howarth nodded to himself, seemingly immune to Jed’s patented death glare. “When was your last major flare-up?”

  “In the hospital, after the second surgery on my leg.”

  “And since then?”

  “It comes and goes.”

  “That’s the unfortunate way of gastroparesis. It won’t ever go away entirely, but there are things we can do to make your quality of life better. The right diet, plenty of rest. I know you’re eager to get back on your feet, and when your leg is healed sufficiently you’ll find regular exercise a boon.”

  Jed let the medical spiel go over his head. He’d heard it all before. “I guess.”

  “It is guess work at the start, make no mistake.” Dr. Howarth finished up his abdominal exam and pulled a chair up close to the bed. He didn’t seem to expect Jed to get up anytime soon. “Everything seems in order, relatively speaking, at least,” he said, “but I want to talk about the blood work you had done a few weeks ago. Your iron count is too low. I’m surprised you’re still standing.”

  Jed sat up carefully and shrugged, recalling a similar conversation with a doctor at the VA hospital in Boston. “They gave me a shot.”

  “That’s something, I suppose, but they probably should’ve kept you there a little while longer. Did the shot help? Iron injections can be hit and miss. Sometimes the side effects are as bad as the actual anemia.”

  “It made me puke.”

  “I see.” Dr. Howarth made a note. “Perhaps we can try a lower dose. What are you taking for pain? I see they prescribed you some tramadol. Is it working for you?”

  Jed was silent. He hadn’t filled the scrip yet, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the doctor already knew that. Doctors were like that: an all-knowing force that seemed to see everything, even when there was nothing to see. Glenn’s face flashed uninvited into his mind. The medic was one of his oldest Army friends, and he’d saved his life that fateful day in Kirkuk, but Jed pushed the image away, back into its locked vault. Glenn was still in the field on the other side of the world. There was every chance he’d come back in a box, like Paul.

  “Sergeant Cooper?”

  “Hmm?”

  Dr. Howarth eyed him for a moment, weighing him up. “You might find it more difficult to manage your pain when you commence physical therapy. If you need something, come and see me. We’re here to assist you in any way we can.”

  Jed didn’t respond, and Dr. Howarth sighed. “Let me tell you something, Jed. I spend two days a week at the VA, and you soldiers are all the same. There’s no shame in asking for help.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine.” Jed slid off the bed, finding his feet on the second try. Part of the reason he’d opted to do his rehab at the local hospital and not the VA had been to get away from misplaced psychological bullshit. He’d been shot in the leg, not the brain. He didn’t need any help to understand that, but it seemed the sky bridge that connected the civilian hospital to the VA just wasn’t fucking long enough.

  HE LEFT the hospital with an iron shot crawling through his veins and made his way back to Kim’s flashy BMW. The car lit up like a flare when he unlocked it. He cringed. Really? Like it wasn’t bad enough that he was driving around in a pimp wagon? The last vehicle he’d driven had been a military Humvee. Not exactly heated leather seats and electric windows.

  He backed out of the parking space, going easy on his throbbing leg, and pulled out onto the main street
, considering his options for the rest of the day. For the next few months, most of his time would be taken up by rehab and physical therapy, but there was no denying he was already bored with life in sleepy Ashton. He didn’t miss dicing with death, but he missed being part of something in constant motion. Add in the restriction on his physical activity, and he felt like he was losing his mind.

  The town border flew by as he debated doing yet something else he’d been avoiding. Kim’s brother lived in a cabin by the lake on the outskirts of town. Jed had put off stopping by his place for a few weeks, perhaps in a vain hope that life at Nick’s place wasn’t like sticking pins in his eyes, but as he rounded a bend in the road and saw the mountains surrounding the lake in the distance, they suddenly seemed more welcoming than Nick’s chaotic family home.

  Mind made up, Jed left the main road and headed north to the lake. He pulled the car to a stop in front of the only dwelling for miles and hauled himself out, taking in his surroundings as he calculated the distance back to the Cooper house. Three miles, he reckoned… a quick jog six months ago.

  Probably a two-day crawl now, if you could make it at all.

  Jed glanced around the tidy yard, stifling the pessimistic monster who’d taken up residence in his brain. He knew the lakes around Ashton well, but he didn’t remember the cabin, which was exactly as Kim had described it—small, run-down, and very much a work in progress. Curious, Jed looked beyond the cabin and cultivated vegetable patch to the strange outbuilding opening onto the banks of the lake. Complete with doors and windows, the huge upturned boat was an interesting retirement for a disused vessel. The boat was far too big to have sailed on the lake, and Jed wondered where it had come from. It reminded him of the giant wooden houseboats he’d seen in Sri Lanka, just upside down and without the vibrant decorations.

  A black-and-white collie appeared in the yard. The dog sniffed Jed suspiciously, padding a full circle around him before she set off toward the outbuilding. He followed her, figuring she’d lead him to her owner eventually, and his faith turned out to be well placed. The collie was a few feet away from the wooden structure when she let out a bark that brought her owner out.

  A youthful man emerged from the boat shed. His face was smooth and boyish, set off by a buzz of dark stubble cropped close to his head. Jed wanted to call him a kid, but he knew from Kim that Max O’Dair was twenty-five.

  Damn. Jed trailed to a stop, swallowing hard. Kim was an attractive woman, but she had nothing on her brother. His coal-dark eyes were almost black in contrast to the small silver studs in his ears, and they were warm as he held out his hand. “Hey, I’m Max. Can I help you?”

  Jed took his hand, taking in the soft British accent and weathered leather bracelets covering his strong forearm. “Jed Cooper, Nick’s brother. Kim said you might have a spare room?”

  Max smiled, recognition washing over his features, but then he froze, blinked rapidly, and his bright eyes appeared to glaze over. The strange, vacant blip was brief, over in a split second before he came back into himself, but Jed was perturbed.

  What the hell was that?

  Max released his hand, the hands they both seemed to have forgotten were joined, and his grin widened like he didn’t have a care in the world. “You’re Nick’s brother?”

  Jed allowed himself a rueful smirk. Perhaps he’d imagined the whole thing. He was good at that these days. “Don’t hold it against me.”

  Max laughed and rubbed his hand over his head. “I won’t. It’s… bloody hell, never mind. You don’t look anything like Nick, but I can see where Tess came from. I always wondered where she got her Goldilocks genes.”

  “Can’t take credit for those chocolate button eyes, but the blonde is from my mom’s side.”

  Max nodded. “Kim said the witches at the kindergarten thought you were her dirty little secret. Do you want to take a look around? There’s not much to see, but have at it.”

  “Sure.” Jed pointed at the boat shed. “What’s in there?”

  The fact that he wanted to see inside the boat shed first seemed to amuse Max, but he led the way inside without comment. Jed looked around the workshop, hiding his own bemused grin. One side, the side where Max ran a limited operation renovating small fishing boats, was tidy and well-ordered, but the other—the side where he designed and built custom furniture—was in complete chaos: tools, materials, sketched plans. The place was a mess, like it contained a split personality.

  Jed took it all in. “This is your work?”

  Max shrugged. “The furniture is my hobby. I don’t build enough to make any real money.”

  “What about the boats? How did you wind up here doing that?”

  “I don’t know how to do much else. My dad had a fishing boat in Poole. I spent every summer on it for a while.”

  “Poole? Where’s that?”

  “It’s a seaside town in England. We used to go there on holiday…um….” Max broke off and frowned, as though he’d said more than he should.

  Jed felt his curiosity spike again, but he let it go. “Business good?”

  “Some days.”

  Jed looked beyond the tattered old couch and dog bed and pointed to an unvarnished oak dresser separated from the rest of the workshop. “Is that finished?”

  “Nearly. It’s not for sale, though. It’s a wedding present. You know Dan Valesco, right?”

  Jed nodded.

  “His second cousin’s brother’s niece or some shit is getting married,” Max said. “I went to high school with her.”

  “Ah, I see.” The Valesco family was huge. Jed had spent half his childhood in the bosom of their family home, and he’d never been able to keep track of the hordes of cousins. “You went to high school here?”

  “Just my senior year. I never graduated, though.”

  Jed raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t picture Max and his British accent in Ashton’s tiny, oppressive high school.

  Let it go. He’s not a fucking jihadi.

  Jed followed Max to the cabin. There wasn’t much to see inside, though the eccentricity of the décor amused him. The furnishings ranged from threadbare to downright flashy. The battered old stove and worn rugs didn’t fit with the flat-screen TVs and expensive lamps. Jed gestured to the sleek L-shaped leather couch. “What’s with all this?”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Anything aesthetic is down to my sister, and probably cost more than I make all year. Anything crap is mine.”

  Jed rather liked the intricate homemade stools by the window, and the rustic coffee table, but he held his tongue. Another man’s pride could be a complicated thing. A series of prints on the modest kitchen wall caught his eye. They were similar to the art he’d seen hidden away in Nick’s office. “Are these Congolese?”

  Max raised an eyebrow, his open expression subtly shuttering up. “How can you tell?”

  “The drums.” Jed stepped closer and traced the tribal pattern. “I’ve seen them before.”

  “You’ve been to the Congo?”

  “No. Uganda, and I spent some time in Rwanda once. Where did you get these? Not much gets out of that region intact.”

  “My mother was born in Kinshasa.”

  Ah. Jed filed the information away in the new Max part of his brain. His African heritage explained his dark complexion and eyes. Jed suspected Kim’s parents were dead, and the sadness in Max’s eyes told him he was probably right. Perhaps that explained the distinct nagging sensation that he didn’t know something really important. “Do you speak French?”

  Max laughed, and all trace of melancholy disappeared. “God, no. Kim does. If you want to shoot the breeze in gibberish, you’ll have to talk to her.”

  “I think she wants to get rid of me.”

  “No, she just worries like an old woman. She doesn’t like me being up here alone.” Max reached down and petted the collie by his feet. “She should know by now that Flo can take care of me better than anyone else. Right, girl?”

  The dog’s solemn expression
made Jed smile, but Max’s words led him back to the strange haze he’d seen in his eyes. Since the first time, it had come and gone, but there was no denying there was something different about Max. For brief, heart-stopping moments, he seemed to fall off the earth. “What am I missing?”

  Max opened the door to the bedroom that would be Jed’s if he chose to move in. The room was basic and plain, with a huge window that opened out onto the lake. Jed loved the window and the nightstand carved from the trunk of a tree, and he was intrigued by the huge atlas pinned to the far wall. The map was littered with tiny black pins, and he pondered their significance.

  Max seemed to read the question on Jed’s face. “Kim didn’t tell you?”

  Jed shook his head. “No. She didn’t tell me much about you at all.”

  Max shrugged. “There’s not much to tell, really. I’m gay, but I’m guessing someone already told you that. It’s the worst-kept secret in town; I reckon you wouldn’t be here if it was a problem for you?”

  The only problem Jed had with Max’s sexuality was that he was the most disarmingly attractive man he’d seen in years. Leonine, agile… beautiful. “I don’t care who you bang, but that’s not it, is it? What else do I need to know?”

  Max walked to the window that looked out over the yard. Jed couldn’t see his face when he spoke again. “I guess there’s no reason trying to hide it from you. Everyone knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  “I have epilepsy. It’s not so bad right now, but sometimes….”

  “That thing with your eyes?”

  “You caught that?” Max faced him with a heavy sigh. “Absence seizures. I have those every day. I’m not usually gone long enough for anyone to miss me, though. Most times, I don’t even notice. Sorry if they freak you out.”

  “They don’t.” Though Jed still felt like a piece of a puzzle had gone astray, he was faintly reassured he hadn’t imagined the odd interference in Max’s eyes. “Do you get grand mal seizures?”