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Eli cleared his throat. Seeing someone for the first time since it happened was always the hardest part. They either reacted apologetically, awkward, or casual. He’d heard everything from “Thank you for your service” to “Tough break, buddy.”
He didn’t have a preference of reaction, save for he’d rather not have one at all.
“I’m sorry for…” Zach gestured.
Eli threw a hand to end the awkward pause. “Yeah, thanks. Beer?”
“Sure.”
There. They were through that.
Beer bottles uncapped, Eli handed over Zach’s. “Nickel tour?”
“Hit me,” Zach said, taking a swig.
Eli showed him around the warehouse. When he reached the front room again, he said, “Home gym equipped with rehabilitation equipment. You may have noticed I don’t have to worry about widening the doorways since I’m not in a wheelchair, but if I did, I only have a few. The bedroom”—he pointed to the end of the hallway—“office and bathrooms. Other than that, I have no problem getting around in here. Some soldiers aren’t as fortunate as I am.”
Zach’s gaze meandered down Eli’s prosthetic leg like he was wondering how any man could consider himself fortunate after losing a part of his person.
The answer was easy.
“Like the two men who died from the grenade that blew my leg off,” Eli said, his casual demeanor doing nothing to stop the flood of acid from pooling in his stomach.
Christopher. That stupid bastard. Two kids, a wife, and he was just twenty-five. Threw himself on the grenade at the same time Benji shoved Eli to the ground.
Eli swallowed down the bitter-as-vinegar memory before he continued.
“Injured men and women come home from the military to apartments and homes with narrow hallways, doorways, countertops that are too tall, and various other obstacles that make it difficult to feel like you’ll ever return to normal.”
But there wasn’t a “normal,” only the new normal. New normal was wily. Slippery. Harder to get a handle on than he ever would have dreamed. After spending time trying to relearn the basics and realign himself into his previous life, he’d accepted that there was no alignment possible. He’d simply have to wedge himself into a new life. One that was a shadow of his old one.
On good days it left him feeling bitter. On bad days…well, he didn’t dwell on what the bad days did to him.
Zach’s wheels were turning. Eli could tell by the way the guy’s eyes narrowed in thought. Zach walked through the gym equipment lined along the wall and pointed to the upstairs loft.
“Don’t get a lot of use out of that area, I’m guessing?”
“No.” Eli used to have his bedroom up there, near the exit to the rooftop. He used to sit outside and take in the city. It was the perfect ending to an evening. Stars, tall buildings, and a cold beer. He hadn’t been up there since he’d returned home permanently.
Where he’d tackled every physical barrier with fervor, the metal staircase and railings were a no-go zone. They used to be his favorite part of the warehouse, but now they represented loss. No longer did he wake in the morning to take in the entire apartment spread out below or roll over with a girl in his arms and offer to get her morning coffee. No reason to go up there now.
That memory stung the way memories of Crystal always did. His relationship with her was the last one he’d had before he shipped out. She’d been upset that he was rarely home and said she was moving out. He’d been angry but mostly hurt. When he returned home injured, he’d called her to see if what they’d had was beyond repair. She’d e-mailed him back rather than called, writing that she’d heard about his injuries and while she was sorry, she hadn’t signed up for a life of complications.
Being abandoned twice by her had stung like a bitch.
“What do you need from me?” Zach, beer in hand, sat on the weight bench, his fit form suggesting he wasn’t a stranger to the equipment.
Eli rested a palm on bars he’d used to learn how to walk again, the metal a cool reminder of how far he’d come.
“I’d like to provide a service for our soldiers who come home with less than they had when they left. You’re a good contractor. You know good people. And if you give me a decent rate, we can help a lot of men and women acclimate.”
Zach nodded once.
“What’s in it for you is the free advertising,” Eli said, answering Zach’s unasked question. Eli was asking for a cut rate considerably less than what Zach usually pulled in. “I’ll mention your company on the website, on the flyers, and at every event held to raise money. Ferguson Builders will be synonymous with reliable work and a golden heart.”
“Golden heart.” Zach’s mouth hitched and he looked to the window, his messy dark blond hair, shaved face, and country-boy good looks hinting at just that. “I know a few girls who would argue that sentiment.”
“Then leave them off your references.”
Zach chuckled. “All right. I’ll work up an estimate.”
“You can think about it. I don’t need an answer immediately.”
“Nah. I do better when I go with my gut.” Zach stood. “You have more to show me, or was this all the pitch you had?”
“I have more.” Eli paced to his office, Zach following, and for the first time in a long time, felt a genuine smile of pride crest his mouth.
Finally, Eli had a purpose again.
