Return to Glory

“Don’t you dare give him the big brother speech.”

“Wasn’t going to. We already did that Saturday morning.” Jack’s friend smirked.

“Oh really?” She scowled and put a hand on her hip.

“Yes, really.” He was unfazed.

“I don’t need you to fight any battles for me, Caleb.” Color rose in her cheeks.

“Who said we were fighting? Did you forget that Jack and I are friends, too? Go play dolls with India.”

“I’m going to tell her you said that.” Betsy and Jack shared a grin. He knew that if India thought he’d actually said any such thing, the consequences would be dire. He didn’t know how she did that—switched subjects and emotions so easily. She let each one roll through her—pass over her—just like a storm.

“You do that.” Caleb smirked again.

“I know that’s just a ploy to get rid of me, but I’m going along with it because I want to see her hand you your hind parts on a platter.”

“Bloodthirsty, isn’t she?” Caleb said casually as Betsy went inside the house.

“That’s tame compared to what’s going to happen if India thinks she’s serious,” Jack warned his friend.

“I know, but it’ll be worth it. I love that look of incredulity India gets when I say those things. It just completes my day.” Caleb laughed. “You should’ve seen her last week when we were watching the game and I told her to go get me a sandwich and a beer.”

“You live to annoy her.”

“I do. It’s brought me untold joy since we were kids.” Caleb shrugged again.

Silence reigned for a moment that stretched on forever. Jack got the impression that Caleb was waiting for him to fill it with something, but he didn’t know what to say.

“So, you wanted to get rid of Betsy. I assume to talk about her?”

“No, I just wanted to rile her up, too. It’s a spectator sport.”

“Living dangerously.”

“No, living dangerously would be to have a few more beers and challenge the girls to a round of Ghost in the Graveyard after dinner.” Ghost in the Graveyard was essentially a mashup of tag and hide-and-seek played in the dark.

“Oh yeah, that’ll be fun,” Jack said in a tone that indicated it would be anything but fun.

“It’ll be like old times. Except Betsy’s old enough to play.”

Jack cut a sharp glance at his friend, wondering if he meant the double entendre the way it sounded. “Man, if you want to chase India around in the dark, you don’t need a game of Ghost in the Graveyard. You should just tell her. That way I don’t have to fall and break a hip just so you can get into her fatigues.”

“You’re a crappy wingman.” Caleb took another pull off his beer.

Jack was surprised Caleb hadn’t argued with him about wanting to be with India. He’d refuted it so many times when they were growing up, his protestation had started to sound like a scratched CD.

“I’m crappy at a lot of things.” Jack would be the first to admit it.

“Did you really tell Betsy that we should go play with our dolls?” India stood like a raging Valkyrie in the arch of the door, eyes narrowed and cheeks flushed.

Caleb smirked at Jack. “See what I mean?”

For the first time, Jack looked at India and really saw her. She wasn’t the tomboy kid who always had a dirty shirt, tangled hair and a scowl on her face any longer. India George was a woman—a beautiful woman. Not as beautiful as Betsy, but Jack could see the appeal and knew why Caleb liked to bring that flush to her cheeks.

“Yeah, I think I do.” Jack nodded.

“Oh do you?” India turned on him. “And just what is it that Mr. Soon to Be Dead meant?”

“That you’re hot when you’re angry.” Jack didn’t hesitate to dump his friend from the proverbial frying pan into the fire.

Then Caleb did what any sane person would do when faced with the wrath of India George.

He ran.

Caleb took off toward the property line and the tree house that had once offered him protection against her fury, but India launched herself at him the way she would have a perp and took him down.

“They’re like puppies,” Betsy said, laughing.

“He thinks it’s a good idea to play Ghost in the Graveyard after dinner and a few more beers.”

“He’s still twelve.” Betsy shook her head. “It could be fun.”

Jack couldn’t help wondering if things had been different, if he’d come back whole, whether he’d be chasing Betsy through the grass right now. If he’d be thinking about a few more beers and stalking her in the dark until she was breathless and wanting underneath him.

Instead he had to worry about navigating unfamiliar and unsteady terrain—the very real possibility that he could fall and break something vital that would further impede his mobility. He couldn’t think like he was twelve, or seventeen, or even twenty-four. He had to think like an old man who was at the end of his life and whose body had started to fail him.

The sensation that his skin was too tight washed over him again and he wanted to rip it off, along with the mask that told the world everything was okay. It wasn’t.

It never would be.

He needed a bottle of whiskey, but he’d have to settle for another beer.

“Come on. Don’t you want to chase me? I’ve been chasing you since we were kids. It’s your turn.”

“Bets, I can’t.” He gritted his teeth as he spoke. Damn her for making him say it.

“Yes, you can.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“What? Because of your prosthesis? People do triathlons, cross-country and all manner of things. You just have to do it.”

“And how do you know so much about it, huh? You go missing anything vital lately?” he snarled.

“Yeah, I did.”

He’d had enough of this. “It’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

“Isn’t it? I feel like there’s a part of me missing, Jack. I’ve had to start over. Aren’t we in the same place?”

Her face, her innocent determination, it was all just too much. “Only you, Bets, would equate moving back to Glory with fighting a war.”

“That’s a mean thing to say. You know that’s not what I meant.” She bristled and straightened her spine, obviously gearing up for a fight.

“Isn’t it?” He laughed, but the sound was cold and empty. “I feel as if there’s not a piece of me missing. In fact, it still feels like it’s on fire. So you should really know what you’re talking about before you make that comparison.”

“You know, Jack, you’re not the only person who’s ever suffered. Your pain isn’t so much bigger and worse than everyone else’s. You’ve got it worse than some, but better than others.”

“Really? Who do I have it better than?”

“The ones who didn’t come home.”

“If I could trade with any one of them, I would.” Jack watched as Betsy deflated. All the fight seemed to just wilt out of her, faded away with an exhaled breath.

“I wonder if they’d say the same, if they could speak.” Betsy turned and went back into the house, carefully pulling the door closed behind her.

CHAPTER SIX

THE BRIEF GLIMPSE of the old Jack was gone and in its place was this hard, angry man who’d come home in his stead. Maybe Betsy shouldn’t have been so hard on him, but she couldn’t stand to see him like this. Their conversation earlier had felt as if she was being cruel, but he needed someone to tell him these things. Didn’t he? She wished she could just take away his pain, Betsy thought as they ate dinner.

His gaze met hers over the mashed potatoes, and she was surprised to see how unguarded his expression was. His eyes were pools of sorrow, and they were so clear she could see all the way to the bottom.

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