Soldier's Heart: a Wounded Love novel

by Megan Green

  “Haylee decided one night I needed to get out. Get away from everything that reminded me of Chris. And get away from Joey for a while. I fought her every step of the way. I was perfectly content to sit at home and stew in my despair, but she dragged me to our old hangout. Which was seriously ironic considering she wanted me not to think about Chris. And that was one of our favorite places to go together. But I’ll admit it was good for me to see some friends.

  “When Earl, one of the owners of the bar, got up to sing karaoke though, something he and Chris used to do, it became a bit too much for me. I excused myself, claiming my phone was ringing, and stumbled my way out to the alley behind the bar. As I stood there hunched over, desperately trying to catch my breath, I saw her.

  “She was dirty and frightened. It took me several tries to even get her to come out from behind the trash can she was hiding behind, but eventually she came over and licked my hand. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  I can hear the shift in my voice as I tell him the rest, my words coming so fast, my brain can barely keep up. But speaking about Maggie makes me insanely happy. She brought me so much light when there was nothing but darkness surrounding me.

  “I ran back inside the bar and made Haylee come help me get the dog into her car. She scoffed a bit because Maggie’s fur was caked with mud, but once she saw how much it meant to me, she immediately agreed. I Googled all the veterinarians in the area, leaving messages with their answering services until one finally called me back and agreed to meet me at his office to look her over. At that point, I wasn’t sure if she was even a boy or a girl. I just wanted to know if she was okay.

  “I’d never been a big dog person. I liked them alright, but I’d never really had the desire to own one. Looking back, I think the idea of having something to take care of, something to take my thoughts off the shitty hand I’d been dealt…well, there was something immensely appealing and almost therapeutic about that. I quickly became absorbed in caring for the neglected dog.”

  Jasper uses my short pause for breath to jump and put his front paws on my knee, yipping at me softly. I pull the dog onto my lap and scratch him behind the ears as he settles himself. He turns to look at Isaiah as I continue speaking, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

  “After the vet examined her, he determined she was fine, if not a little skinny. I took her home with me that night, staying up most of the night washing her over and over until all the muck and grime was off of her fur. I didn’t have any dog food, but I did have some ground beef in the fridge, so I browned it and fed it to her. I watched every bite she took, warmth filling my chest with each one. When she finished, she sauntered over to the kitchen chair I was sitting on, leaning her weight against my leg. I slid from the chair, coming to rest on the linoleum floor right next to the dog. When I met her eyes, her mouth dropped open, and she licked my face. It was wet and disgusting, not to mention the state of her breath, but for some reason, it made me laugh. And once I was laughing, I couldn’t stop. I doubled over, rolling around on the floor in a fit of giggles, Maggie clearly confused but delighted by this weird behavior. She continued to lick my face and prance around me, which only made me laugh harder. It was the first time I’d laughed since Chris died. And it felt…good.”

  I think back to that night. How terrified I’d been when I found her. And the elation I felt when the vet had told me she’d be fine. She’d begun healing me before I’d even gotten her home. And those few simple licks, they kick started a chain of events that led to me remembering. Remembering myself. My friends. My life.

  I smile at Isaiah, who is still staring at me with rapt attention. Lucy and Loki are asleep at his feet, and while I talked, he must’ve pulled Max into his lap. He’s absently stroking the dog as he listens. I press my lips together to keep from smiling wider. I’m ninety nine percent sure he doesn’t even realize he’s done it, and I want to bask in the moment a little longer before pointing it out to him.

  “Maggie became my constant companion. Everywhere I went, she went. Joey took one look at the two of us and told me I’d lost my damn mind, but after spending a few hours with Maggie himself, he was smitten. The two of us started meeting every day. Taking her for walks together. Training her. At her first follow up visit, the vet said she was probably less than two years old. And based on her coloring and structure, he guessed she was a pure bred Golden Retriever. A beautiful dog. It was unthinkable someone had neglected her the way they did.

  “But anyway, she was incredibly easy to train. She picked up on things so quickly. Joey trained her to do all sorts of impressive things like opening and closing doors, getting the newspaper—hell, he even taught her to open the fridge and bring him a beer. The vet was so impressed by how smart she was, he said she’d likely come from an extraordinary blood line. Most likely show dogs.

  “The rest sort of fell into place. I went back to school and finished my psychology degree. When I graduated and it was time to look for work, all I could think of was how therapeutic Maggie had been for me. And for Joey. Joey and I brainstormed one night, and the idea for Keen Komrades was born. It’s taken us several years to get to where we are today, and we still have a ways to go before we get to where we want to be, but I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”

  When I turn to Isaiah, I find Max chewing on his fingers. His eyes are wide with something I can’t put my finger on. His mouth hangs open a bit. I can’t decide if he’s looking at me like I’m crazy, or if he can’t believe everything I’ve just admitted to a complete stranger. Honestly, I can’t believe the last part either. I’m still not sure why I did it. I only know it felt right to tell him.

  A brief flash of anxiety crosses his face as he looks at me, and I realize we’ve been sitting in silence for several minutes. And after all that, I’m sure he has no idea what to say to me. So I save him the trouble. Placing Jasper back on the ground, I grab Max from his lap and take the leashes.

  “C’mon soldier, we’d better be getting back.”

  To say I’m shocked by the last half hour would be the understatement of the year. After Joey took off, I was convinced the next several hours would be spent in awkward silence, and I would be forced to try to come up with a valid explanation for my leaving before the day was over. Once we set out on our walk, the only thing that had crossed my mind was the fact there would now be witnesses to our uncomfortable companionship. I never expected ten minutes into our walk, she’d be telling me some of the most personal things about her life. Things that shaped her into who she is today. When I asked her why she’d chosen dogs as her career, I thought she’d giggle and say something ridiculous like “They’re so fluffy!” like that little girl on the damn movie with the yellow dudes. Aside from our first meeting, she’s always come across as super friendly. Always quick to laugh and joke, even at her own expense. I never would’ve guessed she’d been through something so terrible. It isn’t fair. Someone like her should have never had to experience such pain.

  And the deftness with which she’s changed the subject on our way back to the house is admirable. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I made up the last thirty minutes. As we walk, she jokes. The conversation switches from somber to outright gleeful. And she does it in such a way it doesn’t feel forced. Not with her. I’ve never seen this woman come across as anything less than genuine.

  She bounces on her toes a bit as she smiles at me. “So tell me, Zay, would you—”

  “Zay?” I interrupt, unable to keep the laugh out of my voice. Anybody else and I would’ve leveled them for that little nickname. But it’s Emma. And it’s impossible not to laugh with her.

  “Yes, Zay. What? It was either that or Izzy. And you don’t strike me as an Izzy. Though, I’ve been wrong before. So please, enlighten me. What do people call you?” She smirks at me, a playful look in her eyes.

  “Isaiah.”

  She doesn’t look impressed with this answer and waves for me to keep going.

 
; “Um, Lieutenant Wright? Sir?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh please. I don’t mean the men you lead. What do your friends call you?”

  My blood warms at her comment. Does this mean she wants to be friends? Why would she possibly want me for a friend? And why does the idea make me so damn happy?

  “Asshole, mostly. Unless I’ve pissed them off. Then their terms of endearment get a little more creative. I’ll spare you the specifics. My mother would murder me for using such language in front of a lady.” I wink. I fucking wink at her. What in the good holy hell is going on? Am I flirting with her now? I think of what she told me earlier. About Chris. How Chris just as easily could’ve been Jonah. Or Rob. And Emma could’ve been Amy. Or Gina. The wives they left behind. The families they left behind. I think about the look Jonah’s younger brother gave me at his funeral. Pure hatred filled his eyes as they burrowed into my skull. Jonah had told us he was all the kid had. And now he had nobody. Because of me. They all lost their loved one because of me. Because my men thought they could trust me, and I let them down.

  My good mood immediately shifts gears. Instead of wanting to flirt with her, I now want nothing more than to get as far away as possible. Before she sees me for the person I really am. Before she looks at me with the same eyes they did when they’d found out what I’d done to their husbands. My shoulders tighten, and my pulse quickens. Fuck. Not here.

  Emma seems to notice the shift in my demeanor. She eyes me cautiously, pursing her lips together in a contemplative line.

  “Well, I’ll stick with Zay. Unless you piss me off. Then I’ll try to come up with something to put your buddies to shame.”

  Her words sound muffled through my rising panic. I can feel my palms growing damp, and I flex my fingers in my agitation. I try taking a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. But it’s not working. My thoughts instantly turn to the fastest way to get out of here.

  I’m contemplating taking off running down the street back to my truck when her next words register.

  “…handful of bumblebees?”

  I’m pretty positive I’ve never heard anyone utter those words before. Especially not in reference to each other. Momentarily distracted, I turn and look at her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  She sighs dramatically and laughs. “I said would you rather eat a poison ivy salad, or a handful of bumblebees?”

  She’s looking at me as if she didn’t just ask the most ridiculous question in all of mankind. In fact, she’s looking at me as if she expects me to answer. Wondering what she’s getting at, I decide to answer.

  “Uh, neither?” Obviously.

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Oh my God, you cannot say neither. Have you seriously never played this?”

  I shoot her a dubious look. “Played what? You asked me if I want to eat poison ivy or bees. Neither of which sound appealing in the least. So I answered you honestly.”

  Emma shakes her head at me. “It’s a game, you killjoy. You ask a question that really has no right answer. And the other person has to answer it. There’s no saying neither. It’s fun. So answer my question, dammit!”

  She stomps her foot at me. Something I’ve never actually witnessed a woman do before, other than in movies. Before now, I was convinced it was something Hollywood made up to make women look cute when they’re mad. And though I can tell Emma isn’t really mad at me, she’s still adorable in her mock indignation.

  “Can I say I’d rather starve for a few more hours until I can hit Mickey-dees or something?”

  “No. You’re stuck on a deserted island, and your life hangs in the balance of either eating the poison ivy in your left hand or the bees in your right.”

  “Well, if I’m holding handfuls of poison ivy and bees, I guess it’d better be a pretty dire situation. Considering both my hands are going to be pretty much incapacitated after.”

  The sour look she shoots me causes laughter to bubble out of my chest. She evidently doesn’t appreciate me trying to make sense of her little game. Fine. If she wants an answer, I’ll give her one.

  “I’ll go with the bees. Once they’re in my hand, I can trap them in my shirt or something and smash them with a rock. Then pull their ass ends off so they don’t sting me on the way down. Much less miserable than my airway swelling shut.”

  She sneers. “Well that’s a boring answer. Being all logical about it. You suck at this game.” She tears the leashes from my hand and raises her head in a haughty gesture, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she looks away from me.

  I laugh as we round a corner, and her property comes into view. The sight of my truck instantly reminds me only moments ago, I was desperate to get back to it and get away from here. And then this woman…well she calmed me down faster and better than even the heaviest dose of my anti-anxiety meds. And she did it without even knowing. Or trying.

  I look at her as we make our way to the kennels to leave the dogs with their mother. As she opens the door, she gives me an almost knowing look, as if she’s measuring my mood. It’s as if she too just realized how effectively she was able to stave off my panic attack.

  Hmm, I think to myself. Maybe Emma is even smarter than I thought.

  I pull into the familiar parking lot. Over the past six months, I’ve visited this place at least once a week. And still, the sight of it causes me to cringe. The red brick building looks unassuming. It blends in with the houses and businesses surrounding it. Looking at it, you’d never guess how much pain and heartache waits on the other side of those doors. I pull into my usual parking spot and take a deep breath. Getting the courage to go in there is always the hardest part.

  With a loud exhale, I exit the cab of my truck and make my way to those awful doors. The receptionist smiles at me as I walk past, but doesn’t say a word. Everyone here learned quickly not to talk to me when I visit. I never answer. I’m here for one reason. And idle chatter with the staff is not it.

  The door to room 110 is closed. Is someone in there with him? If maybe I’d be interrupting something important. I almost turn to leave. That would be the easy thing to do. Turn and leave without even having to face him, but it would also be the cowardly thing to do. And I may be a lot of things, but a coward is not one of them. I cock my ear toward the door, trying to detect voices. The soft sounds of a television are the only detectable noises. Squaring my shoulders, I knock firmly before swinging the door open.

  Jim’s face instantly brightens when he sees me, which only further dampens my mood. He shouldn’t be so excited to see me. Not when I’m the reason he’s in here in the first place. It’s testament to how miserable he must really be that something as simple as a visit, even from the likes of me, can enliven him. He never lets on to his true feelings about being here though. He acts like he loves it here. As if someone could love being in a place like this.

  He tries to sit, struggling with his weight on his weak arms. I rush to his side to help him. He grimaces when I touch him. I can’t say I blame him.

  Once we get him situated on the bed, he smiles weakly at me. “One of these days I’ll be able to sit up and greet you properly when you come in.”

  I shake my head. “You know I don’t mind.”

  “No, but you know I do.”

  Jim has always been a warrior. From the stories he told on those long patrol nights, I gathered it had been that way since he was young. Out on the schoolyard playground, he’d always been the defender. Always the one to stand up for the meek. And always the first to defend whomever is in need. I was the team leader of our unit, and Jim was my unofficial second in command. My weapons sergeant. My men looked up to him almost as much as they did me. I was always the tail end, staying back to cover and watch out for my boys. But Jim… Jim was always the first. First into whatever situation we were rushing headlong into. First to take out the enemy and ultimately, the first target.

  Visions of Jim laying broken on the floor of a rundown room in enemy territory have filled my thoughts all afternoon. A
s soon as Emma told me what happened to Joey, and her fiancé Chris, I’d become consumed with thoughts of the day my life changed. I’d left shortly after we returned from our walk, blaming an appointment I’d forgotten about for my abrupt departure. But really, I’d just needed to get away. I had gone home and while the panic never returned, I had been unable to get that day out of my head. So here I am. No matter how much it kills me to see this man lying here before me, there is nothing more important than for him to know I still stand behind him. That I will be here for him as long as he needs me. Even though I don’t understand it, he seems to want me around. Seems to draw strength from my presence. So no matter how much easier it would be to leave. To go somewhere and start over. Or hell, even to end it all. Because Lord knows I’ll never be able to forgive myself for what I’ve done enough to live a normal life again. But I can’t do it. I can’t do either of those things while Jim still needs me. Some days, that’s the only thing keeping me going.

  I pull a chair over next to Jim’s bed and settle in. “What’s on today?”

  He looks back at the TV. “Some damn home improvement show. Weekday television sucks ass. Lately, I’ve gotten sucked into this damn HGTV channel. I have a million project ideas for when I get out of here and build my dream home.” He grins at me, and I can’t hold back the small smile tugging at my lips. He’s always so optimistic. Here he is, still confined to his bed after six months of surgeries and extensive physical therapy. Yet, he’s still smiling at me like a fool and telling me what he’s going to do when he finally gets to leave this place.