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Perfect season to stay in, stay warm, and work on his pet project.
He had wanted to be left alone.
Had. That past tense was pushed farther into the past after his family refused to stop showing up with takeout and after he’d reached out to Zach.
After you kissed your personal assistant.
Yeah. About that.
He was intertwined with Isa, not only because he’d curled her close and tasted her mouth. He’d let her talk him into attending an unnamed event he was dressing like a penguin to attend.
He’d let her believe he’d agreed so she wouldn’t ask Zach, but his needs ran deeper than a competing male. Being needed was a rare occasion in Eli’s life. Being needed by a woman an even rarer one.
Eli slipped on his shoes and pocketed his keys, setting off for a destination he’d been putting off for weeks. Months.
To visit Benji’s widow.
Eli had reconnected with Christopher’s widow, Amie. He knew too well what it was like growing up without a parent—his own mother had died when Eli was a kid. He’d wanted to make it right with Amie, to help her and her sons in any way he could.
Amie had been polite and agreeable when he’d asked if he could honor Christopher by posting the picture of the three of them—Eli and Benji included—on the Refurbs for Vets website. She’d wished him well and mentioned she was seeing someone. “A great guy I used to date in high school. He loves my boys,” she’d told him.
Knowing she was moving on, that she had someone who loved her—that Christopher’s boys were loved—had made it easier for Eli to shed some of the guilt that had built up over his friend’s death.
Benji’s widow, Michelle, was another issue altogether. She’d been just twenty-two years old when he died. They’d been married a handful of months. Eli’s stomach twisted every time he thought of her.
He started his car’s engine and navigated the route he’d driven many times, only to fall short of Michelle’s house. He wondered if he’d make it there today or stop at the edge of her neighborhood and go home instead.
Eli had been a lauded a hero, but after his injuries and surgeries and the realization he’d never measure up to the two men who’d saved his pathetic life, he didn’t feel like one.
He felt like an invalid, and not because of the leg. He felt like an invalid because in the clutch, when he could have saved two men—one a father, both husbands—he hadn’t done it. His counselor at the hospital reminded him repeatedly that he hadn’t had a second to react, and she was right. He hadn’t.
One second he’d been laughing at one of Benji’s horribly uninventive limericks, and the next his ears were ringing and there was sand in his eyes. And then the pain.
God help him, the pain.
Searing hot like red pokers through his foot and leg. He’d had a hell of a bout with phantom pain after. The military doctor explained it was because his foot had been so severely damaged that his brain held on to the image Eli could to this day call up without trying too hard. Getting past it had required a lot of meditation and a brief stint with prism glasses to make him see two whole legs instead of one and a half.
But. He’d survived. He’d rehabilitated even though it broke him into a sweat simply to put pressure on his prosthesis. He’d learned to shower without it, was careful not to drink too much water before bed so he didn’t have to get up to pee in the middle of the night and fuss with snapping it on. He’d learned to move without a stagger or a noticeable limp, his new walk a far cry from his formerly smooth, confident gait.
He hung a left when his GPS told him to, though he knew the route by heart. He’d traveled it the second he’d been able to drive.
The traffic blurred as he slipped into autopilot, his mind on Isa’s curves and thick hips, perfect for a man’s grip. To her molasses-colored hair and deep, dark eyes. He wanted to know the way she moved during sex. Hear if she moaned or mewled or was as quiet as a church mouse. He wanted to know what color nipples rested on the tips of her lush breasts.
A distant honk drew him from his imaginings. He raked a hand through his hair and blew out a harsh breath. If he played his cards right, maybe he’d find out exactly the sounds she made, her hot breaths in his ear.
He hadn’t had to contend with women or sex for a long, long time. He’d compartmentalized his life into medications, diet, rehab, and then the charity, adding challenges as others became routine or fell away completely. Sex was just another challenge to check off his list.
Or that’s what he kept telling himself.
At the mouth of Bay Street, Eli came to a stop. Michelle’s house was two turns away. He’d thought he was ready to tackle this moment—to look her in the eyes and apologize for not saving her husband. To ask if he could honor Benji by posting his photo on the Refurbs for Vets website.
He sat at the stop sign, head turned to the right, watching as an elderly woman raked the leaves in her yard. Heart heavy, lead in the pit of his stomach, Eli popped a U-turn and drove toward home instead.
Looked like another challenge on his list wasn’t getting a check mark today.
