The Embattled Road (Lost and Found Series) (4 page)

He parked himself next to Gunny. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

They didn’t say anything for a long time. Chad’s breath fogged the air. He pulled the blanket from the back of his chair to cover his lap. “You wanna share?”

Palmer snorted. “Fuck no. I’ll freeze first.”

The Gunnery Sergeant was only wearing a black T-shirt in the forty degree weather, so Chad thought it was definitely a possibility. Though it didn’t seem to affect the big, muscled Marine. Many a night this fall they’d sat out here just breathing, waiting for the next sunrise. Most of the time they didn’t say a word. The conversation wasn’t what they met for.

“They’re kicking me out next week.” Palmer sighed. “Knew it was coming, but didn’t think it was going to be so soon.”

Chad felt like he’d had the rug pulled out from beneath him. The Gunny could be a royal pain in the ass, but he still counted him as a friend. “North Carolina?”

Palmer nodded. “I guess they have an awesome VA down there that would ‘better suit my needs’.”

Chad winced. Basically he was being shuffled away. “Hell, Gunny. I thought they’d give you more time.”

Palmer shrugged his big shoulders. “Other soldiers need the space, I guess.”

They sat in silence until the morning sun crested. Chad didn’t sleep at all once they finally went back to their rooms. Though the Gunny played a good game, Chad knew he had to be upset. In the entire time he’d been in the hospital, he’d only seen him have a few visitors. The first was an aide who came to deliver his medical discharge paperwork. The second was his commanding officer. And the other few were grunts he’d trained and served with. All of the visits were painfully short.

Chad felt bad. His family irritated the crap out of him, but they were still blood. They still came for visits and brought cookies and news from home. Still kept him in the loop, even though he was a thousand miles away. They were already making plans for him to return to the ranch in Texas.

He honestly didn’t know what he was going to do when he got out of the hospital. Ranching just did not appeal to him.

Palmer had no family. No parents or siblings or even cousins. Chad had made the mistake of asking him and had his ass handed to him. The only thing waiting for him at Lejeune was an empty rack.

After PT, Chad rolled himself down to Duncan’s room. Palmer was sitting at the window and a nurse was holding Duncan’s chair as he transferred into it. Once she left, they all agreed to go out to the balcony. Palmer rolled out first, anger in every movement he made as he shoved his chair down the hallway. Duncan went next, pushing the wheels of his chair more calmly.

Chad got there last, of course. His left hand wasn’t recovering as quickly as they’d hoped, so the thing was wrapped like crazy. They were talking about shipping him to Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, where they specialized in burn treatment. It didn’t help that he banged it in the night, sometimes undoing the work from whatever surgery he had last.

So, his one leg didn’t drag as fast as their healthy arms pushed on the wheels of the chairs. He couldn’t wait to be fitted with the prosthetic. Then he could get out of the chair and use a cane or crutches at least. How sad was it that he was hoping for a cane.

It was cold outside, but nobody felt it. Palmer stared off in the distance, refusing to make eye contact with either one of them.

“So, what’s your itinerary?” Chad asked him finally.

Palmer glanced at him. “I fly out Friday. A volunteer will meet me at the airport and take me to my old barracks. Collect my stuff. I’ll be in a step-down program before I’m released completely into the world. Then I guess I’ll get an apartment and stare at the walls.”

Chad cringed in sympathy. The scenario was something they all could be facing. “Are you going to go to school?”

Palmer shrugged. “I’ve been an MP for years. Have no frickin’ idea what I’d go to school for.” He snorted. “Fuck, I barely made it out of high school. And I’d be older than everybody there.”

They were each lost in their own thoughts for a while, because it was a reality they all could envision. Having no purpose in life other than to collect a disability check from the government. It gave him chills to even consider it. “We may not have an option.”

Gunny shot him a furious look. 

“You know,” Duncan said, “we all have experience. We trained Marines for years. Military Police, no less. We have leadership abilities, decision-making skills, armory experience, and a boatload of other things the government considered us valuable for. No, we can’t drive anymore or run around shooting people, but somebody has to need what we can offer. We just have to find them.”

Palmer looked unconvinced. His dark brows were furrowed over his black eyes and Chad knew that nothing was sinking in right now.

He was ashamed to feel relief that he wasn’t the one leaving the hospital first. It had become a haven for all of them, where they’d been through similar things and experienced similar losses. Worry tightened his gut. Palmer had no family to rely on, very few friends and slim prospects for recovery.

But he knew guns like nobody’s business.

The thought of never seeing his friend again sent a chill through him. At least here, Palmer could bitch at the two of them. It was a relationship, whether he wanted to admit it or not. So many Marines had not been able to integrate back into civilian life. And the suicide rate was even higher for wounded service-men. John Palmer
so
fit the profile.

“We need to make sure we stay in touch,” he told them.

Snorting, Palmer shook his head. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious. We’re Marines, we stick together.”

“I’ll move on and somebody else will take my place. It’s how it works here. You’ll forget about me by lunchtime the day after I’m gone.”

Chad shook his head at the man’s stubbornness. “No, I won’t. You’re a brother. I won’t forget that. Just like I won’t forget any of the other men I served with.”

Palmer stared at him hard for a couple of seconds, then turned to look out over the parking lot without saying anything. If Chad didn’t know any better, he’d think the Gunny had just gotten a little emotional. He glanced at Duncan, who gave the tiniest shake of his head.

It was hard to convince somebody who had never been cared about that you actually cared.

Chapter Three

John refused to acknowledge the pain that rolled through him from Chad’s words. Didn’t it figure? He’d looked for acceptance all his life. The Corps gave him that for a while, and, sadly, being in the hospital even more so. He’d served with these men on the front lines, and even though it was an adopted brotherhood, it was more than he’d ever had before.

He felt pretty salty right now though. He’d served his country faithfully, through all conditions and three deployments, and they were turning him out like a relative who had stayed too long.

Panic made his heart race and his hand slipped to his hip automatically, looking for iron confidence. But it wasn’t there. Hadn’t been there for almost half a year now.

Hell, maybe it is time to move on.

There wasn’t a lot of stuff at Lejeune. Which was good because he had no idea how he was going to get it anywhere. He’d say goodbye to some people and reminisce a bit, then be gone. If those meetings were anything like the few he’d had here in the hospital, they would be quick and final. The able-bodied grunts didn’t like to see the wounded because it reminded them of their own mortality. Any one of them could step on a landmine or drive over an IED.

He looked at the watch on his wrist. Twelfth of the month. Three more days and he’d be out of here.

In a way he was relieved to be moving on, before he became any more attached than he already was. Chad talked a good game, but he’d forget him eventually too. The kid had family that appreciated his service and were already making plans to welcome him home, with a parade and everything. The Lowell family had made a concerted effort to always have somebody at the hospital every week. In spite of the trek from Texas, his parents came out every month like clockwork. They’d have a heck of a surprise when they came out this month. Their boy would have his leg back.

Genuinely, he was glad for Chad, but he couldn’t help but be envious at his recovery. The damage from the Humvee panel landing on his own back in the IED explosion was permanent, and no hoping in the world was going to change that. Yes, there were drugs and trials they could try, he was told, but there was no guarantee. Yes, every once in a while his leg twitched. Oorah.

His dick remained a useless lump. It pissed like it was supposed to now and that was it. No arousal even when he tried to imagine fucking a woman. Or, God, getting a blow job. He’d deliberately tried to get hard several times with no result. He wouldn’t be trying again.

All his life, he’d prided himself on being a good lover. It was a great cosmic joke that the thing he would miss most would be denied him.

Rolling forward in his chair, he looked over the balcony. Five floors up probably wouldn’t do the job. Rather than killing him it would only injure him. Yet again.

Fuck.

Their rumbling stomachs eventually chased them indoors to find food. Chad left for his room and promised to be back in a while so they could watch Jeopardy together.

John hated the thought of dragging himself back up into that hospital bed. He was so sick of it. If the nurses wouldn’t constantly nag at him he’d just sleep in the chair. He angled it near the window, facing the door.

Duncan turned Comedy Central on while they ate, but they didn’t laugh. They were both dealing with crap and the chatter in the background sometimes helped drown out what cluttered their minds.

“If the three of us went into business together, what would we do?” Duncan asked, flicking the mute button on the remote.

John stared at him in surprise. “Are you asking seriously?”

Duncan nodded his head, running his hand through his too-long hair. It had gone grayer in the time he’d been here, John noticed. “I am.”

John squinted at him and shook his head. “Hell, I don’t know. Wheelchair test pilots. Medical disability collectors.”

Duncan glared at him. “If you have to go out and try to get a job in three days, which you
do
have to do, I might add, what are you going to look for?”

The question aggravated John because he had not the foggiest inkling. “I don’t know. I guess I would look at working for the city as a police or fire dispatcher or something.”

Duncan seemed surprised to get a straight answer. “Huh. You know, that’s actually not a bad idea. With your MP experience that actually fits really well.”

For some reason, Duncan’s praise eased some of his worry. Though he hadn’t known him long, he trusted the man’s opinion implicitly. If Duncan thought he could do it, he probably could.

Chad rolled in just then carrying a colorful tin box on his lap. “What’s not a bad idea?”

“Palmer being a police dispatcher.”

The kid’s eyes widened. “Hey, I can totally see you doing that. Although you may have to unlearn the word ‘fuck’.”

John flipped him the bird.

Laughing, Chad rolled over to him. “Sign language, huh? That may be okay. At least the public wouldn’t hear you. Here, have a cookie, sour-puss.”

John peered into the tin. Obviously, Mrs. Lowell had been busy. He selected two chocolate chip cookies, appreciating that Chad had shared. He bit into one and chewed slowly, for the first time in a long time appreciating the flavor of something. “These are damn tasty, Lowell. Tell Mom she did good.”

Chad grinned, his mouth full. He held the tin out to Duncan, but was waved away. Duncan looked too contemplative to chew anyway as he surveyed Chad sitting in the chair. “Chad, what do you see yourself doing three months down the road? When you’ve got your leg and are mobile.”

Swallowing, the younger man sat back in his chair. “Well, I guess it depends upon how mobile I am with the prosthetic. I know I’m not going to stay in the Marines. Obviously. Desk job just doesn’t appeal to me. As much as I hate to say it, I may go back to the ranch and see what I can do there. Mom and Dad would love to have me back in the house.” He shrugged. “Not sure, really. As good a place to start as any though.”

Duncan nodded at his answer. Then Chad turned the tables. “What about you, Dunc?”

The First Sergeant crossed his arms over his chest, wincing. John knew it had to hurt to stretch the recovering skin that way, but he knew Duncan did it anyway just so he could hold his favorite position. Countless talks were given to new recruits when they landed in Wilde’s company, he’d heard. Procedure, tactics, hygiene- you name it, they talked about it. And learned. Chad had told him he’d never had a Company First Sergeant more knowledgeable about all things tactical, procedural, statistical. He’d compared Duncan Wilde’s brain to a computer more than once.

John hadn’t served under him, but Chad said he had always stood in the same position. He called it his thinking pose. Personally, John thought it was a way for Duncan to appear more intimidating than he already did.  The dude was big without flexing his biceps and chest. Duncan was five or six years older, but in their prime they probably would have been pretty equally matched in a bar fight. Well, before they’d gone to war and been kicked in the ass.

“Honestly, I’m in the same boat. Not sure exactly what I want to do. Or can do.”

“Where are you going with this, Wilde?”

Duncan looked at him and shrugged. “Nowhere, really. Just thinking out loud. I’ve talked to a couple of my guys that have been discharged, and it’s hard. They haven’t been able to find a job. At least nothing more than manual labor, for those that are able. One is going back to school, but it will take time before he becomes productive again. Seems like there should be a way we can help each other out. We have too much knowledge in our brains to sit at home and vegetate.”

John could tell the ex-Sergeant was still worried about his men. That was admirable, but ultimately useless. They would all have to find their own way in the world.