by Mya O'Malley
Folding her arms across her chest, Morgan resigned herself to the fact that there would be no shower, which was fine, really, but why was he acting so grumpy? “Fine, it’s fine, Mike.”
“Good. Now, we’re almost at the cabin.” Winking at Morgan, Mike rubbed her thigh softly.
She smiled at Mike but something deep down, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, nagged at her.
Sparkling wineglasses had been set before them. They had the coziest table in the room, and there was a sparkle of mischief in the waiter’s eye as he uncorked the Chianti. Morgan’s pulse sped up, alarm bells clanging inside her head. This has to be it, this has to be the night, otherwise why would Mike have been so insistent on coming to this very restaurant?
Frowning ever so slightly, Morgan recalled that Mike hadn’t been himself for the last few weeks; he was slightly on edge, anxious even. Until this evening, she hadn’t given it much thought, but now she pondered over his recent behavior. Even if he was intending to propose to her, Morgan couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it. Something was off; she just couldn’t name it.
Clearing his throat, Mike glanced at the waiter, causing the man to scurry off, a small smile playing on his lips. Morgan’s breathing became labored as she gulped. She had decided that she should say yes, right? That was right; she had even gone as far as to tell Elle that she had made up her mind.
Allowing a quick glimpse back to her past, she saw Declan down on one knee, proposing to her in that tiny wine cellar. He had been shy with her all evening, and then after dinner he lit the fireplace at his place, perfect, cozy, just right…
“Morgan? Morgan… hello?” The dreamy look on her face must have caused Mike to worry. “Are you with me? I was just talking to you and…”
“I know, I know. I was just thinking about work, sorry. It’s been a hectic day,” Morgan explained, using her hands to dismiss any negative vibe.
“Okay, well I was just saying how beautiful you look tonight. That top brings out the brown in your eyes.”
Clearing her throat, Morgan forced herself to the present.
“Thank you. You’re not so bad on the eyes, either.”
Morgan meant what she said, he was quite attractive and had obviously given extra thought to his attire tonight, choosing a dark blue sweater and black dress slacks. He was also wearing Morgan’s favorite cologne. Reaching out for his hand across the table, she gazed deeply into his eyes, searching for that feeling that was somehow just out of reach.
“I… I have to tell you, Morgan, how very happy you have made me.” Mike pulled at his collar, taking a deep breath inward.
This. Was. It. Was she being ridiculous? Maybe the man just wanted to have a nice weekend; perhaps he had no intention of proposing. There she was again, overanalyzing everything. Morgan bit her lip, glancing around the crowded room. Not sure if it was her imagination or not, it seemed the hum of chitchat had decreased.
The waiter appeared at the table with a determined look. Approaching Morgan, he stopped and addressed Mike. “Sir, There’s a bit of a problem. It seems as if your car is blocking someone in.”
His car? But they had handed over the keys for valet parking. “I don’t understand. Your guys, they parked the car, they would have the keys,” she stammered, a bit annoyed.
“Nope. They said they gave the keys back to you, sir.” The waiter addressed Mike. “Please come with me.”
Morgan stood to accompany Mike so that she could give these guys a piece of her mind. Morgan’s jaw dropped as the waiter guided them toward the lobby. Turning to glance at Mike, he shrugged, following the waiter.
The lobby was crowded and couples waited for their tables on cozy chairs. Twinkling white lights sparkled from the ceiling and the windowpanes. A gentleman ran his hands softly across the keys of the grand piano, creating a romantic melody. What was that song he was playing? Morgan recognized it as one of her favorite songs.
“You see, we don’t have the keys, I don’t know why you insist on…” Morgan was irritated with the man; her waiter just didn’t want to listen. Why was he just standing there? With a smirk on his lined face, the waiter turned to leave.
“But, where are you going?” Morgan threw her hands up in disbelief, spinning to face Mike.
“Morgan? Just be quiet, please.” It appeared that Mike couldn’t contain his grin. Dropping down to one knee, he drew a small box from behind his back. Morgan’s eyes opened wide as a small crowd of people started to gather around them.
“Morgan, if I searched far and wide, I couldn’t find someone that I love more. Marry me, Morgan, and make me the happiest man in the world.”
Clamping her hand to her mouth, Morgan felt her heart thumping, smacking her chest. The crowd around Morgan thickened, wide smiling faces all around. Her knees buckled ever so slightly as Mike pulled her close for a kiss.
“Morgan, will you marry me?”
Staring at him through a flood of emotions, Morgan steadied herself. At this moment, she could see happiness. Mike’s smile was contagious, at this very moment she couldn’t dream of turning this man down. Yes, she would marry him, and for the first time in a very long while, her mind was only on him.
“I will. I will marry you, Mike.”
Cheers and clapping filled the room as Mike pulled her closer and laid his lips upon hers. Morgan lifted her head and through tears, she allowed him to slip the shining ring on her finger.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RISING EARLY AS HE always did, he guided his hand to reach for his crutches. In the darkness, they weren’t always easy to find. Grasping onto the rubber tops, he launched himself forward and made his way to the bathroom. Morning stiffness made it necessary for him to perform his stretching routine upon rising.
His life had become a routine of sorts after the explosion, rising early, checking on his mother, heading to volunteer his time at the veteran’s hospital, and then rehab for himself. Once a week, he visited with his therapist, Kathy.
Once upon a time, he believed that therapists didn’t help, but now he felt differently. Kathy helped him to put things in perspective, Kathy and Tach.
His life was predictable, it was monotonous, and it was his alone. One of these days he would get that dog he had promised himself. He had decided to rescue a dog from the shelter¸ save a life. Soon, he told himself, as he was becoming lonelier as the years crawled by. It was hard to believe that he had come so far. He couldn’t have done it without Tach — the man had saved his life.
Around the veteran’s hospital, they had called him Tach, short for tachometer. It was a clever nickname for Robert Peter Miller. Nobody even knew who had started to call him that; it just seemed natural that with the initials of his name, RPM, the nickname would be appropriate.
Declan had been in a coma for a week or so after the accident. When he woke, he was disoriented and down on his life. He was in such a dark place that he didn’t even wish to speak with Morgan.
Upon waking, the doctors had informed him of the numerous skin graft surgeries that would still need to be performed in order to cover his burns that spread across parts of his torso, both arms, and legs. His face was spared somehow, miraculously. He must have covered up when he went down, the doctors had guessed. He was told he may or may not be able to walk on his own again, depending upon how his amputation went. His back was also a concern for the physicians who treated him. How many nerves had been damaged? It was too early to tell.
For the first time in his life, Declan had felt as if he didn’t care what happened to him. In his mind, he figured it would be a miracle if he ever came close to being the same man again.
Once the surgeries had been performed and what was left of his leg had healed, he had been fitted for a prosthetic leg, starting just below the knee — the doctors had to amputate his left leg under the knee joint. They said he had been lucky, that if his leg had been cut above the knee, his rehab and outlook wouldn’t have been as positive. Lucky? Who woul
d call it lucky to have been involved in an explosion from hidden enemies, and a gun shot at close range?
Hearing loss in his right ear, burns, and damage to his leg and back permanently altered his life. The scattering of burns was the least of his problems. Who would call it lucky that the doctors weren’t sure that he would walk again? Was it good fortune that he had watched Sean get blown away, while his friend had been trying to save his life?
There was no luck in any of this, especially whenever he thought of losing the most important thing in his life, his fiancée, his soul mate. More than once, he had stared down those bottles of painkillers and thought, What if? What if I just said forget it all?
He had come close, one too many times during those frightening first months back home from the hospital. Internal strength and perseverance must have been by his side, for each time his dark thoughts took over, a stronger presence took hold of him. Fear had gripped him many times in his past, but what worried him most, what scared the heck out of him, was the fear that he would forget her face, her warm smile, the mischief in her sparkling eyes, the sound of her voice. It had been a grueling decision to cut Morgan off, but it was made and that was final. He wouldn’t put her through the burden of caring for him, no way.
He recalled the first time he had met Tach. Rehab wasn’t going well, his heart just wasn’t into it. What was the point? Without Morgan in his life, he was as good as dead anyway. As the passing days accumulated, he grew increasingly depressed. Half the time he didn’t even show up for his rehab appointments. It was humiliating, the fact that a nurse had to pick him up, help him into the van.
It had been an hour past the time he was due to show up at the veteran’s hospital. They usually called to remind him that he missed an appointment; this time he hadn’t heard from them. That was just fine with him. He huddled under the covers, content to go back to sleep. He’d recently taken one of his painkillers, so sleep found him easily.
An incessant pounding entered his consciousness. It had started as a low, distant sound, perhaps part of a faraway dream, but then the noise increased, becoming downright irritating to his senses.
“What the hell?” he shouted, tossing his covers away from his face. He was not getting up. After another minute or so, the pounding stopped. Good, whoever it was had gone away.
Suddenly, he saw his bedroom window opening; a large hand moved the window up then a large head came through. The man was coming inside, inside his bedroom. His first gut reaction was fear; this man was breaking and entering. He was disabled, lying there, unable to defend himself. Like hell. Moving quicker than he had in weeks, Declan bit his lip, sat up, and grabbed for his crutches. He yelled for the man to get out and instead of resorting to fear, Declan hurried to meet the man head-on.
“I knew it!” the man bellowed. A wide grin spread across his weathered face. “I knew you had it in you.”
The man had mild burns on his face, and judging from his appearance, he looked to be about fifty years of age or so.
The sound of the man’s voice stopped Declan in his tracks. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?” Declan gasped through ragged breaths. Was this man out of his mind?
“Let’s go. I’m taking you to rehab.” With a self-satisfied grin, the man walked closer, his hand extended.
There was no way this man was taking him anywhere.
“You have got to be out of your mind,” Declan exclaimed.
“Yes, I’m sure that I am. Now let’s go.”
“What gives you the right?” Declan couldn’t believe the nerve of this man. He couldn’t stand people who believed they knew what he was going through. Nobody else could even begin to understand his heartache and loss.
“I’m here to help you, man. Don’t make my job any more difficult. I will get to you. It’s just a matter of time. Why don’t you save yourself a lot of time and aggravation and come with me now?”
Declan opened his mouth to yell at the man, but felt tired and worn. “Give me one good reason, one reason why I should bother? It’s not worth it to me, not anymore. Man, I’ve given up. I’ve given up the fight.” What was the point? He was happier just passing the days in his dark place.
The man was rolling up his pants leg, a determined look set on his face. What was he doing? Declan’s eyes opened wide at the sight of the man’s own prosthetic limb. He had been there; he had been in Declan’s shoes. Speechless, Declan just gaped at him.
“Before you go ahead and give me your little speech that I don’t understand, save it. I’ve walked a mile in your shoes, man, more than a mile. Why won’t I let this go? Because I’ve been where you are, through hell and back. I made it back and I won’t stop until you make that very same trip.”
From that day on, Declan was in the hands of Tach. He was somewhat of a legend around the hospital. He was a tough man with a heart of gold. Tach had been injured during training years ago. By all standards, he should have never walked again; he was lucky to simply be alive. This man’s story rang so close to home that Declan was amazed at the shape the man was in, physically and mentally. Now Tach helped to rehab wounded soldiers, playing the role of a tough-loving uncle or brother.
It was a slow, laboring rehab, but once Declan set his mind to it, each day became somewhat of a reward. Every day was a blessing, and Declan figured if Tach could do it then he could do it too. The man became a friend, mentor, and role model to Declan. The only thing that Declan refused to listen to him about was contacting Morgan again.
Tach had a beautiful wife and grown children to love; he said it filled his life with peace and happiness. That was one thing that Declan didn’t have and knew for sure wasn’t in the cards for him.
Months passed into years as Declan grew stronger. Muscles defined his arms and his cardio was stronger than ever. If Declan couldn’t make himself stronger mentally, he was sure as hell going to succeed physically. He had continued to stayed in touch, but now Tach’s days were filled with new soldiers, men who needed him desperately.
Solitude was more than just a passing phase; he figured it was slowly creeping up on him, ready to take him down and strangle him if he wasn’t careful. But his heart wasn’t into searching for new friends to pass the time with. Sean was no longer alive; Declan was still plagued with nightmares of his friend’s death. He blamed himself; he knew that a piece of him had also died that day out in the field. His childhood buddy, Stephen, was back home, so far away. Women? There was only one woman who claimed his heart, and destiny had played a cruel trick on their love. Declan couldn’t deny that Morgan Matthews would haunt his very being as long as he lived.
Ambling over to his prosthetic limb, he proceeded to begin the process of donning his limb — slipping his sleeve upwards, while shutting his eyes tight, willing Morgan to leave his thoughts and his heart alone.
Why did he expect that the feeling he got deep in his bones would change each day when he visited his mother in this place? The building itself was a dreary gray on the outside, reminding him of a prison, perhaps? Nah, that was probably just in his head, for he knew that his mother was, indeed, a prisoner of sorts, for she would probably never leave.
Sighing loudly, he pulled his collar around his neck and forced a smile on his face as he nodded to one of the nurses passing by. Approaching the front door, he felt that familiar twitch of pain in his leg. The pain came and went and he was left walking with a slight limp. Much better, he supposed, than not being able to walk at all.
“Good morning, Mr. Blake.” The young desk attendant beamed from ear to ear each time she greeted Declan at the sign-in desk.
Winking at the pretty blonde, Declan signed his name on the guest sheet for the day. “It’s Declan, Sally, please call me Declan.”
Sally’s cheeks bloomed red as they always did. Chuckling to himself, Declan knew there was a day long ago, long before she came into his life, that he would have entertained the thought of asking Sally out. Those days were long gone.
/> “Yes, Mr… um… Declan,” Sally stammered.
Declan tilted his head as several nurses passed by in the hallway. When he reached the main elevator, he pressed the button for the second floor. The elevator was empty which allowed Declan to be alone with his thoughts.
Each time he visited, he was terrified that it would be the last time. But how was that more terrifying than seeing his mother lying there in that cold hospital bed, unable to remember anything about her past, her own son? There were fleeting moments of lucidity from time to time, but those moments had become few and far between.
The second floor was quiet this morning as Declan made his way to the nurse’s station, as he always did before entering room number 212. Wanting to be prepared for the current state that his mother was in, he inquired about her health.
“Good morning, Declan. How are you today?” Betty, his favorite nurse said. Betty was an older woman who reminded him of his mother in her better days, soft-spoken and kind.
“I’m fine. How are you?” He hadn’t seen Betty in several days, as her shift changed from time to time.
“Great. Your mom is okay. She’s remained in stable condition since yesterday.”
“Any moments of clarity? Was she asking for me?” Declan asked the same questions each day and his answer was met with the same response lately.
“I’m afraid not, sweetie.” Betty turned her eyes down, shuffling the papers on her desk.
His heart sank as he said goodbye and made his way to room 212. The sound of Betty’s voice resonated from behind him and he spun toward the desk.
“What did you say?” Declan walked back toward Betty.
“I said that it was strange, sorry, I almost forgot to mention it,” Betty began.
Placing his hands forward on the front desk, Declan urged Betty to continue.
“A young woman came to visit your mom the other day.”
