Page 97 of Everlasting Vows

“You pretty much did.”

Murphy waves his hand out in the direction of the parallel bars. “Bullshit. I took maybe ten steps, man.”

He looks at Murphy as if he has two heads. “Are you for real? You do realize your body is in the process of healing and recovering. Not to mention relearning your center of gravity … your balance. The adjustments your entire musculoskeletal, physiological, and neurological systems have to make to account for only having one full leg is massive. Your body’s working fucking hard, man. You need to acknowledge that, or you’ll do more harm than good,” he tells Murphy. His voice is full of authority, yet still holds compassion.

Murphy shakes his head. “I want to do it again.”

Nix steps closer, and I stick by his side, concern for Murphy’s state of mind urging us closer. He’s always been closer to Nix. His admiration and desire to be just like him meant he always listened to and followed Nix’s advice, except when it came to joining the military. Nix didn’t want him to sign up, but after years of watching his dad serve, he was determined to follow in his footsteps. It’s the one time he didn’t listen.

Murphy turns his head, his eyes catching on us. This close, I’m privy to more details; the obvious tightness around his eyes and mouth, the strain in the muscles down his neck, and the jutting of his collarbones. He’s in a world of pain, and he’s lost a significant amount of weight. I want to go to him, embrace him and tell him that he should rest, but everything in his demeanor says we’re not welcome here, so I freeze in place, pressing my lips together to block the words from escaping.

Murphy’s therapist shakes his head. “Not this morning. You’ve already done more than you should, and I can see you’re exhausted. You need to reset and rest now, and we’ll come back again this afternoon.”

The stubborn set of Murphy’s jaw tells me he’s not going to let this go. “I want to do it one more time. There and back.”

Nix steps closer, gripping Murphy’s shoulder. “You need to listen to your therapist, Murph. He’s had years of training and experience. You need to trust his expertise and judgement. If he says you’ve had enough for this morning, then you’ve had enough.”

Murphy hasn’t shaved since the attack, but his thick facial hair doesn’t hide the tremble of his chin. “I need to learn how to walk again. That’s not gonna happen if I’m lying in bed on my back,” he snaps at his father.

I suck in a sharp breath at the venom in his tone. He’s never spoken to Nix or me like that before. I get that he’s hurting, and he has to make a lot of adjustments to his new reality, but I think beneath all of it is a man who’s afraid. His trembling chin reminds me of when he was little and broke his collarbone when he came off his bike. He tried to hold it together, but his chin would tremble even though he was doing his best to be brave.

“Watch your tone,” Nix says firmly. “I understand what you’re trying to achieve, but if you overdo it, you’ll go backward, not forward. I’ve seen it before. You need to trust the process.” He squeezes his shoulder, and Murphy drops his eyes to his lap, the muscle in his jaw tensing.

The therapist—Johnathon, it says on his badge—watches the exchange between Nix and Murphy. “How about you take a ten-minute break, catch up with your folks, and we’ll do one more walk? But that’s the last one for this morning, okay?”

Murphy nods, grumbling his thanks. Nix grips the handles of his wheelchair and pushes him closer to the windows where there are a couple of chairs so we can sit.

I lean down, wrapping my arm around his shoulder, and press a kiss on his cheek. “Morning.”

“Morning,” he returns.

I cup the side of his face. “I was surprised they already have you up and about.” Shocked, more like it.

“I don’t wanna be stuck in a fucking wheelchair for the rest of my life, so I need to learn how to walk again,” he snarls, sending daggers to my heart. He’s never spoken to me so sharply. But I get it. He’s in pain, hurting, and devastated. His life is forever changed, and for a young man who has planned his life out, this will be an incredibly tough time for him—mentally, emotionally, and physically.

“Watch your tone with your mother,” Nix chastises, not giving Murphy any leeway.

My stomach sinks. I don’t like confrontation; it’s the main reason I never speak up about my wants or needs with Nix, but I can feel the energy shift toward something heavy, something negative between the three of us. The air grows thick with turmoil—concern for our son from me and Nix, swirling with anger and animosity from Murphy—it’s heavy; the combination potent and stifling, and I struggle to draw in a proper breath.

I touch my fingers to Nix’s forearm and capture his gaze, hoping to telegraph that he should ease back a little. He just shakes his head. It’s not often we disagree when it comes to raising our kids; we’ve always been on the same page, but I’d prefer to take a softer approach with Murphy right now.

Murphy peers up at me, reminding me of when he was younger and would get into trouble. “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to snap or be disrespectful. Not to you.”

I smile softly. “I know.” I hold his gaze, looking deeply into my son’s eyes. The pain I see there undoes me, causing the backs of my eyes to sting. I blink and blink again, forcing the tears to stay back. “We want what’s best for you right now. You need to listen to the professionals. They have all the expertise to get you through this.” I capture his chin, ensuring he can’t look away from me. “We have no doubt that you’ll be walking on your own in no time, Murphy. Because when you set your mind to something, you always … always achieve it. We have faith in you.”

Nix crouches on Murphy’s opposite side, nodding his agreement. “We do. This isn’t going to stop you. You’ll need to make adjustments, but you’ll make it to the other side. The important thing is to listen to your body and the team of professionals around you.”

Murphy nods slowly. “It’s just … it’s tough,” his voice shakes on the last word.

“I know,” we both respond, but we really don’t know. Neither of us has experienced this level of trauma. Nix’s injuries from the explosion he survived were nowhere near as severe as Murphy’s.

“I’m being transferred to Walter Reed late tonight. I just wanted to move around a bit before I’m stuck on a plane for nine-plus hours.” I watch his throat move as he swallows. “You guys may as well organize your flights home.”

His doctor told us they would transfer him to the States once he was stable, and part of me is relieved that we’ll have him closer to us, but the other part worries that it’s too soon for him to tackle such a long journey. What about deep vein thrombosis? It’s not like he’ll be able to stretch his legs up and down the aisle.

“Do you want us to follow you?” Please say yes. I don’t want to leave him behind just yet.

He shakes his head, sending disappointment rippling through my body. “No. I need to do this on my own.”