Page 2 of Dreaming of Home

Demon from Hell: What kind of name is Kai? Go in gentle, will you? Give her a hug. Tell her it’s from me.

I squeezed the bridge of my nose.

Me: All right, but you owe me.

Demon from Hell: It’s the other way around, and once you pull your head out of your ass, you’ll know it.

Me: Gotta go.

I shoved my phone into my rucksack and headed upstairs to the mezzanine. The sad part was I had pulled my head out of my ass and I did know how much I owed Mike. After my last surgery, there was some kind of nerve connectivity issue with my right foot. The docs couldn’t figure out what had happened, so they couldn’t go cutting on me to fix it. They said PT was my only option.

In came Mike Kowalski. Former linebacker for the Philadelphia Eagles. He’d gotten hit one too many times in the knee. Went back to college and graduated as a Doctor of Physical Therapy. Ended up at Walter Reed hospital, and I ended up with him. He was a demon from hell. He was also a godsend. I ended up walking within three months. Riding a bike in five. But my back and neck were still issues. It was going to take a while before the docs would lift the medical restrictions. Hence, there I was, lifting twenty-five pounds of shit and some magazines and water, and my fluffy pink pillow.

I saw the sign for the USO and followed it until I got to the doors. Inside stood a woman anywhere between thirty-five to fifty-five staring at me with a wide smile.

“Well, come on in,” she said with a subtle Southern accent that soothed me immediately.

“Your name wouldn’t be Blessing, would it?” I asked.

She smiled brighter. God knew how that was possible. “Well, yes, it is.” Her forehead crinkled as she looked at me. “Have we met before?”

“Nope. I was just told by a mutual friend to ask for a woman named Blessing.”

“Isn’t that wonderful. Who’s our friend?”

“Mike Kowalski. Big guy, used to⁠—”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me about him,” she laughed. “I’ve missed that man. Rarely do you run into a soul like his, and when you do, you treasure them.”

She got a faraway look on her face. Then she shook her head as if to clear it and bit her lip. “Is he still working at Walter Reed?”

I gave a stiff little nod. It was the best I could do.

“And you, did he take good care of you?”

“In that gentle way of his,” I sighed.

Blessing threw back her head and laughed. “Oh my. I’ll just bet.” She took a quick moment to look me up and down. “Gentle,” she chuckled again. “Just like your military training I assume,” she murmured.

She had me there. The special forces training was no joke. But there was something about wondering if one of your appendages would be paralyzed for the rest of your life that ate at you and was a worse mind fuck than the interrogation resistance training I’d gone through. At least until Mike had pulled me through to the other side.

“Sargeant?”

“Huh?”

Shit, I missed what she had been saying.

“Can I get you to sign into the book?”

Gingerly, I pulled my rucksack off my shoulder and dropped it to the floor, then I signed in. I pulled out my wallet to get her my ID and a well-worn picture fell out.

“I don’t need your ID,” Blessing said with a soft smile. She was looking at the picture.

“They’re darling. May I?”

I shrugged.

She picked up the picture. “Carrot tops, but your hair just has a bit of auburn in it now. How old were the two of you when this was taken?”