Saved
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Note to the Reader
Dedication
1. Leilani—OklaHOMEa
2. Clay—Porcupines
3. Leilani—First Impressions
4. Clay—Building Bridges
5. Leilani—Ugly Duckling
6. Clay—Lies That Hide the Truth
7. Leilani—Purgatory
8. Clay—Goals and Gratitude
9. Leilani—Robin Hood
10. Clay—Starfish
11. Leilani—What Goes Up
12. Clay—All or Nothing
13. Leilani—The Bright Side
14. Clay—Losing My Senses
15. Leilani—The Hero and the Bad Guy
16. Clay—Jackass Number Nine
17. Leilani—Flying and Falling
18. Clay—Blue Falcon
19. Leilani—Face Your Battles
20. Clay—The Fifth Smile
21. Leilani—A New Lease
22. Clay—Feel the Burn
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
Depression Self-Assessment
Playlist
About the Author
Saved
Copyright © 2018 Hazel James
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
Editing by JaVa Editing
Cover Design by Pink Ink Designs www.pinkinkdesigns.com
Formatting by Champagne Book Design www.champagnebookdesign.com
Cover photo by Charles Grubbs. Used with permission.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Note to the Reader
Dedication
1. Leilani—OklaHOMEa
2. Clay—Porcupines
3. Leilani—First Impressions
4. Clay—Building Bridges
5. Leilani—Ugly Duckling
6. Clay—Lies That Hide the Truth
7. Leilani—Purgatory
8. Clay—Goals and Gratitude
9. Leilani—Robin Hood
10. Clay—Starfish
11. Leilani—What Goes Up
12. Clay—All or Nothing
13. Leilani—The Bright Side
14. Clay—Losing My Senses
15. Leilani—The Hero and the Bad Guy
16. Clay—Jackass Number Nine
17. Leilani—Flying and Falling
18. Clay—Blue Falcon
19. Leilani—Face Your Battles
20. Clay—The Fifth Smile
21. Leilani—A New Lease
22. Clay—Feel the Burn
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
Depression Self-Assessment
Playlist
About the Author
Dear Reader,
I almost didn’t finish Clay and Leilani’s story because depression is a bitch who stole my words and my creativity and my love for books.
But here’s the thing—I was already on an antidepressant. I’d already gotten help. Turns out, I needed to ask again. I went up a dose on my medication and held on to the knot at the end of my rope until it wasn’t so high above the ground anymore.
There is NO SHAME in asking for help. None. Nada. Zero. Zilch.
I’ve included a self-assessment for depression at the end of this book. If you think you may be suffering from depression, or if you know someone who could be, please consider looking over the questions and discussing your responses with a medical professional.
All my love,
Hazel
To Alyson Santos, Jennifer Mock, and Imagine Dragons.
Thank you for being the beauty in my darkness.
OklaHOMEa
KIKI NUDGES THE LAPTOP IN my direction. “These?”
“Too pointy,” I say, my eyes barely leaving my swear word coloring book. Mom wasn’t happy I bought it, but that’s more her fault than mine. If she would’ve let me go to the store by myself like a normal adult, she wouldn’t have seen it in the first place.
“Okay, how ‘bout these?”
I shake my head. “Too round.”
“Picky, picky,” Kiki grumbles, typing in a new search.
Exchanging the yellow pencil for orange, I shade the outer edges of each letter. Coloring was part of my physical therapy years ago. I felt like a preschooler when I started, but it’s something I grew to love. It’s also why my handwriting looks halfway decent. Some of the other survivors in my group never got past the “blind doctor” phase of their penmanship journey.
“I got it!” Kiki shifts herself on my bed and angles the screen toward me with a victorious smile. I almost feel bad for hating these too, though in all fairness, I told her I didn’t feel like doing this tonight.
I muster as much gentleness as possible and say, “Too Xena: Warrior Princess.”
“Oh, come on, Goldilocks,” she huffs. “You can’t hate them all. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to pick something that’s not too hot or too cold.”
“It’s been a while, but wasn’t it Goldilocks and the Three Bears, not the Three Boobs? That would make me an even bigger freak than I already am,” I add under my breath, returning to my coloring page. Just a little more pink and it’ll be done.
Kiki sighs and flops onto her back. “If I have to tell you you’re not a freak one more time, I’m going to slap you.” We both know she won’t. The only time she hit me was in middle school when I borrowed her favorite shirt, then spilled ketchup on it. After that we resorted to more passive-aggressive tactics, like hiding the other’s toothbrush.
“Says the whole one.”
“You mean the smart one,” she retorts.
Of course, she had to bring that up. It’s her failsafe in any argument. Still, I smile. We might be identical in looks, but no matter how hard I studied, Kiki always beat me on tests. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Not a chance. Now quit coloring the word ‘fuck’ and pick out your new boobs.”
“Jeez,” I mutter, “the girl gets a two-minute head start in life and thinks she’s the boss of me.” With a playful side-eye, I close my coloring book and scooch toward her.
Nearly an hour later, I find the perfect pair—teardrop shaped and slightly bigger than my old ones, but still natural looking. And thanks to a private browser window and the digital crop tool, no one will ever know it came from a porn site.
“Knock, knock!” My bedroom door swings open, and Mom breezes through without actually knocking. I think she only says that to make herself feel better for invading my privacy, which she does at least once an hour while I’m awake. Who knows how many times she checks on me at night. “What are my girls up to?” Her footsteps start toward my bed, and I swap my X-rated website for Facebook faster than she can say “Sunday sermon.”
“Just checking on a few friends back home.” Kiki holds her phone up, covering for me. She texted her roommate and some of the newspaper staff a couple of hours ago, so she’s not technically lying, but we both know Mom is better left clueless when it comes to the details of my reconstruction research. “They’re all fine. Just some minor damage at Sergeant Brower’s house.”
“Tornadoes on Mother�
��s Day morning. Can you imagine?” Mom tsks, lowering herself beside me. “Even if it is Oklahoma, that doesn’t seem very nice of Mother Nature.” She shakes her head as if funnel clouds are a crime against moms.
“Maybe Mother Nature was tired of her own mother breathing down her back,” I mutter.
“Nonsense,” Mom says, completely missing the point. “Mother Nature doesn’t have a mother. And if she did, I’m sure she’d appreciate her, just like my girls appreciate me.” Ugh. She runs her hand over my forehead and face, assessing me. She used to do the same thing when we were sick as kids. Except I’m not a kid, and I’m not sick. Well, not anymore.
But don’t tell her that. Her instincts never got the message that the chemo worked and I don’t need her hovering over me like a fucking Chinook helicopter. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had asked my surgeon to reattach my umbilical cord when he did my mastectomy.
“I have an idea,” Kiki interjects, lifting Mom’s hand off me. God bless the twin psychic-connection thing. That, or my resting bitch face has gotten out of control in the last two minutes. “I’m taking you for an impromptu Mother’s Day manicure.” Kiki stands and pulls Mom to her feet.
“That’s sweet,” Mom says, patting Kiki’s back, “but not necessary. Having you home for the weekend is enough of a gift for me.” Saccharine alert.
Undeterred, Kiki links arms with her and heads toward the door. “I insist. We haven’t had any one-on-one time since I got here, and I’m driving back to Fort Sill tomorrow.” Mom is three words into her protest when Kiki plays the trump card. “Besides, I’m sure Leilani is worn out. It’ll be good for her to rest while we’re gone so she’s fresh for dinner.”
She’s got a point. Dad made reservations at Mom’s favorite restaurant tonight. The food is great, and now that my appetite is coming back, I plan on taking full advantage of the menu. Hopefully my taste buds cooperate. Tasting food is still hit-or-miss, thanks to chemo.
“Well, that is true,” Mom says. “Honey, are you feeling tired?”
I glance up in time to see Kiki fake-wink behind Mom. “Yeah, a nap would do me some good,” I fib, adding a yawn. “You two go ahead and I’ll rest up.” Mom studies me for a full ten seconds, no doubt calculating my current health status and wondering whether any rogue cancer cells will pop up while she’s away. “I’m fine, Mom. I promise.” I even offer a reassuring smile.
Satisfied, she turns toward Kiki and giggles. “Looks like we have a date! I’ll grab my purse and tell your dad bye.” As soon as she leaves the room, I sigh with relief.
“Thanks, Kiki. I owe you big.”
“Well, you know what they say… you can’t spell ‘smother’ without ‘mother.’ I figured you could use a break.”
“I told you she was getting worse. If she’s not checking me for a fever, she’s treating me like I’m an invalid. Twice last week she pre-cut my food!” I hold up two fingers to drive my point home. “I know she means well, but damn, I wish I could go with you tomorrow.” I don’t bother hiding the wistfulness in my voice. Moving back in with my parents was not my idea, and even though it’s only been a few months, I’m ready to pull my hair out.
Well, the smidgen that’s grown back anyway.
Kiki offers a sympathetic smile. “I wish you could, too, but at least you have a couple hours of solitude now.” I settle back against my pillows after she shuts the door but don’t fully relax until her 4Runner backs out of the driveway with Mom in the passenger seat.
Feeling victorious and not at all tired, I continue scrolling through my Facebook feed, stopping at a post one of Kiki’s friends tagged her in.
Here’s what you missed today! Too bad this guy is married. He’s cute ;)
The link takes me to a video on a news website.
Local Man Delivers Daughter as Tornado Sweeps Through Moore
“The line of thunderstorms that pushed through central Oklahoma this morning produced three confirmed tornadoes between Lawton and Oklahoma City. Amateur storm chaser DH Rhoads is no stranger to extreme weather, but even he wasn’t prepared for what this Mother’s Day storm would bring. News 9’s Jill Baker has the story.”
The clip continues with aerial footage of the damage across the state, then switches to a reporter interviewing a man whose wife went into labor overnight. By the time she was ready to go to the hospital, the tornado sirens started, so they went to their storm shelter instead. The story itself is nuts, but it’s what the reporter says when she’s done with her interview that has me sitting up.
“Longtime viewers of News 9 might recognize DH from his involvement in VETSports and other community events. I asked him for an update on Operation: OklaHOMEa, the housing program he launched last fall to give veterans the fresh start they deserve. He said over the past nine months, they’ve helped four veterans, and they’ll have another vacancy next month. We’ll post a link on our website—”
Too excited to watch the rest of the video, I scroll down and find the information I’m searching for.
The transition from military service to civilian life can be tough. We want to help. Operation: OklaHOMEa gives veterans:
Up to six months of free housing in Moore, Oklahoma
Employment
Access to mental health services
Free gym membership
It’s like the universe just handed me a ticket to freedom. I skim the rest of the application and complete it as fast as a one-handed person can type.
Name: Leilani Moretti
Age: 27
Address: 303 Badger St. Colorado Springs, Colorado 80919
Phone number: 719-555-1125
Years of military service: 2012-2015
Branch: Army
Military Occupational Specialty: 36B, financial management technician
Reason for applying to Operation: OklaHOMEa: Because I might strangle my overprotective mother if I don’t move out of her house and the state. Yes, I said state. She’ll still come over every day if I’m within a 100-mile radius.
My finger hovers over the submit button as I re-read the last part. It’s one hundred percent true, but I don’t want these people to get the wrong idea about her. Or me. I quickly add another line, just in case.
She means well, and I love her, but seriously. Please pick me. I’ll even bake cookies.
With a silent prayer on my lips, I hit send.
“Are you sure?” Mom asks for the millionth time. She’s gone back and forth, packing me snacks and drinks one minute, then offering to help me unload my Wrangler the next. I know this is hard on her. Hell, the last four months have been brutal on everyone in our family. Cancer’s a bitch like that.
“I’m sure.”
“What if you hate your roommate?”
“I lived with roommates in college and in the Army. I’ll be fine.” I toss my purse next to the box on the passenger seat, then turn to face my parents. Mom looks two seconds away from bursting into tears—again—and Dad is his usual serene self. I hug him first.
“I’m proud of you, Limp,” he says. I smile into his chest at the sound of my childhood nickname. I was six, and he’d gotten home from a deployment a couple of days before my first gymnastics class. I begged him to drive me there and spent the whole ride talking about how I was going to be in the Olympics like the girls in the Magnificent Seven.
I’d perfected cartwheels in our front yard that summer, so I was showing off in class by only using one arm. Turns out, those were much harder. I landed wrong, hurt my leg, and demanded that he take me home. He refused and said something he’s repeated more times over the years than I can count: ‘Fear makes a terrible compass.’ Then he said Olympians got their name because they had to learn how to get up and try again, even if they were limping.
I ended up falling in love with gymnastics, and while I never went to the Olympics, I did score a college scholarship and graduated as a national champion. “Thanks, Dad,” I whisper. With a final squeeze, he releases me and I shift to my mom. S
he cups my face in her hands and gives me a tearful smile.
“Call me when you stop for gas, or if you get tired, or if you just want to talk.”
“I will, I promise.” Mom had been in my room—big surprise—when I got the call from Operation: OklaHOMEa saying I’d been accepted. She’d looked offended that I’d even considered applying for the program, much less having done it without consulting her first. Dad had reminded her that I was a grown woman and, up until my diagnosis, had been living on my own just fine.
When that didn’t work, he went into the story about the young Hawaiian girl who fell in love with the Italian soldier wearing U.S. Army boots. Dad had met Mom at the end of his assignment in Oahu in the early eighties. They’d dated for a short time and eloped right before he left for his next duty station. “So at least our daughter isn’t marrying a stranger and running away to live with him,” he’d said. That shut Mom up for a while.
The truth is, my love life is another reason I want to move away. Dating is hard enough, but doing it as an amputee is especially challenging; most guys don’t know how to act around a girl who’s missing half her arm. But Travis McKay had been different. He’d interviewed me during a live broadcast from my bank’s fiftieth anniversary celebration. Thank God it was radio and not television, because I hadn’t been able to stop staring at him. The best part? He’d been the first man who made me feel as confident as I was before my accident. Our relationship had been amazing… right up until Valentine’s Day. What had started as a promising night of dinner, drinks, and love making turned into him feeling a lump on my left breast.
It went downhill from there. Once my diagnosis was confirmed, Travis broke things off. His mom died of cancer several years ago, and he said he couldn’t watch someone he cared about go through that again. I felt equal parts understanding and betrayed.
Okay, maybe a little more betrayed.
Mom nudges my shoulder. “Leilani, have you heard anything I said?”