Duchess (3 page)

Shaking off the memories, he walked toward a rundown strip mall with flaking paint and broken signs. Before he could move past the woman in front of him, a loud bang sounded. Without thinking, he grabbed the old woman and pulled her roughly to the patch of grass next to the strip mall parking lot. Looking up, he scanned the area for the enemy while reaching for a rifle that wasn’t there. His vision immediately went cloudy, and he could see the battlefield before him. Instead of the streets of Santa Monica, he saw the streets of Baghdad, shelled buildings all around him. The enemy could be anywhere. Fear seeped deep into his bones as he waited for the next gunshot to ring out.

“Let go of me!” The woman lying on the ground hit Chase with her purse, causing him to come back to reality.

He’d thrown his body on top of hers to shield her, but from what? He looked up as an old truck rolled past with another quieter bang. It was only a backfire. There was no gun. There was no battlefield.

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Chase rolled over, allowing the woman to sit up.

“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded as she looked at him. She opened her mouth to say more, but her hand landed on his right lower leg as she moved to push herself up, stopping abruptly at what she felt. The confusion on her face led him to lift his pant leg and reveal the foam and metal that formed Chase’s new excuse for a leg. “Oh,” was her response.

Chase watched as her anger dissolved into something else. Something he was getting used to seeing.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize,” the woman said as he pulled his jeans back over the prosthetic.

He swallowed down the anger that came after seeing the pity on the woman’s face. He wished she would go back to yelling at him.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” Chase rolled over onto his knee before pushing himself up with his good leg. Holding out his hand, he helped the woman up and noticed that a small crowd had begun to gather around them. “Are you all right?” he asked, trying to ignore all the stares. He couldn’t help but wonder how many of them had seen his leg. He couldn’t bring himself to look any of them in the eyes.

“I’m fine,” the woman said as she brushed the grass off her pants. “What about you?” The concern in her gaze caused him to look away.

“Fine,” he said brusquely. “Do you need me to walk you anywhere?” He knew that was a stupid thing to say as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Why would she want to walk anywhere with the man who threw her to the ground?

“No, I’m all right.”

“Um, okay. Again, I’m really sorry,” he said as he walked past the crowd that soon surrounded the woman. He wondered if they were going to call the cops. How would he explain his way out of that? Post-traumatic stress disorder was something most people didn’t understand. Unfortunately for him, it had become a part of his life, though he had thought he had it under control. This incident proved that wasn’t the case.

Walking toward the strip mall, he went straight to the door crammed between the check-cashing store and the taco shop. The words “Veterans’ Aid” were stenciled onto the glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows exposed the whole area to the parking lot. To the average person, it looked like a sad excuse for a gym, with weights and treadmills scattered throughout the space. A desk or two littered the area as well.

He entered, and a smile instantly lit his face when he saw Shirley standing behind the counter. The older woman had been volunteering at Veterans’ Aid almost as long as he had been coming.

“Shirley, you’re back! It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you.” His eyes narrowed at the way her clothes hung. He hoped she wasn’t going on one of those fad diets that were popular in L.A.

“Good morning, Carter. How’s my favorite soldier today?”

“Much better, now that you’re here.” He knew it sounded like flattery, but it had never been so true. He wasn’t sure how she did it, but just seeing Shirley made the earlier incident almost disappear from his mind. She was like the mother he’d always wished he’d had.

“Oh, you always know how to make an old lady blush.”

“Where’s the old lady? I don’t see an old lady.” He looked around the room in mock surprise as he leaned his arms on the counter.

“Carter, you’re a big flirt.” Shirley gave him a playful smack on his shoulder.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Chase?” The exasperation in his voice was dramatized because he kind of liked that she called him by his first name, but he would never in a million years admit that to her.

“And how many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a soldier? I’m a mother, and mothers give their children a first name for a reason. I plan on using yours.”

A quick stab of emotion shot through him at the thought of his mother. He’d like to think there was a time when his mother had cared enough about him to lovingly pick his name. But in his experience, she’d only cared about her drugs. He wasn’t going to burden Shirley with those thoughts. Instead, he would imagine, not for the first time, that his mom had been more like the woman before him—selfless, kind, and a bit of a spitfire.

“All right, all right, I surrender!” He put his hands up in the air like he was under arrest. “You can call me Carter. But only you.”

“Like you could stop me,” Shirley shot back, and he chuckled as he stepped away from the counter.

“Have a great day, Shirley.” He started to walk away, but she called out.

“Oh, and Carter?” He stopped and turned back toward her. “Tommy Jones is waiting by the equipment.”

This information gave him pause. “How is he doing today?”

“His spirits seem to be a bit down in the dumps. Not unlike you when we first met.” She winked at him, and Chase was struck by the fact that apparently, not much had changed. He was still a mess, though not as bad as two years ago. Luckily, he found Veterans’ Aid when he needed it most.

“I guess that means there’s hope for the boy. After all, look how well-adjusted I’ve turned out.” His voiced dripped with sarcasm.

Instead of answering, Shirley snorted with laughter as he walked away.

“Hey there, Jones.” Chase walked up to the young man sitting in a wheelchair next to the weights. Unlike Shirley, Chase would only call the veterans who came here by their last names. One thing he realized in his own recovery was that he still needed to feel like a soldier. That was also the reason he kept his hair cut short and continued a daily routine of PT.

Jones didn’t look up, but just stared down at his new prosthetic leg. The shock of losing a limb wasn’t easy to overcome.

“How’s your physical therapy going at the VA?” Chase asked as he sat down on the weight bench next to Jones’ wheelchair.

“Fine,” Jones answered, then sat silently for a moment before speaking. “I feel like a toddler trying to learn how to walk all over again. It’s humiliating.”

Chase didn’t answer right away. It was like watching himself two years ago. He’d thought losing his leg was the worse pain in the world, but it didn’t take too long to find out he was wrong. There were worse things than losing a leg, like getting your heart obliterated. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. The first few weeks of coming to Veterans’ Aid, the founder had given him a speech. The words had struck him to the core, and he knew they were the words Jones needed now.

“You only lost your leg, Jones. Think of your buddies who lost so much more. Are you going to tarnish their memories by taking your life for granted? Think of the men who will never see their families again or hug their children or marry their high school sweetheart. You get to live your life. It might not be the same life you had before, but now, you’re not just living it for yourself. You’re living for each man who didn’t get to come home. Live the life you imagine they would have wanted you to live. Can you do that, soldier?”

“Yes, sir.” Jones held his head up a little higher and quit slumping in his chair.

“That’s the spirit. Now let’s get you onto the bench.”

As Chase stood up and turned around, he came face-to-face with Amber, who had tears glittering in her eyes.

“You remembered my speech?” Despite being older than him, Amber looked younger. Maybe it was the fact that the top of her head barely reached his chest. How she was able to juggle a husband, children, and run a charity, Chase didn’t know. But what he did know was that he owed her and the rest of the people at Veterans’ Aid so much.

“It was the only thing that would get through that thick skull of mine. And I share it with fellow soldiers who are as thickheaded as I am.” He smiled over his shoulder at Jones, who only shrugged back guiltily. “Besides,” he continued, “it helped me quit pitying myself and get to work finding out what kind of life I wanted to live. I can never repay you for that.”

“Well …” Amber suddenly looked devious. “Maybe you can.”

“Uh-oh. I don’t like the look in your eyes right now. What do you have up your sleeve?” Chase knew Amber well enough to be wary.

“It’s good news, actually. We’re going to have a benefit concert to raise funds for that new building across town.”

“That’s great, Amber. Who set that up?” Chase knew this could be just what they needed. With a bigger building, maybe they could get more weights and other gym equipment. Just thinking of it brought a smile to his face.

“Well, it’s not quite set up all the way yet, but I know I can count on you to make sure it works out.” Her smile rivaled that of the Cheshire Cat.

“Make sure
what
all works out?” He didn’t like where this was going.

“You’re going to meet with Katie Murphy on Friday. She’s the manager of Duchess!”

“Duchess? You mean that pop diva who dresses like a slutty version of Queen Anne? Why would I do that?” Chase narrowed his eyes.

“Because once we get Duchess to sign up, lots of big name acts will follow, and we can charge mega bucks for the tickets. Do you know how many rooms the new building has? Enough for two weight rooms and lots of treadmills, bicycles, and elliptical machines, and it has a kitchen. A real kitchen that’s been coded to cook in, not just to reheat stuff. Think of how many more people we could help.” She looked up at him with big, pleading eyes. She was changing the subject.

“Why me? What do I know about a benefit concert?” He hoped she would give up this idea.

“Didn’t you help in Iraq with the USO shows?” Amber asked innocently.

“I cleared garbage and debris off an area they used for the USO show. Hardly comes close to putting on a concert.”

“Yes, but weren’t you an MP?” Again, she asked the question innocently enough, but he couldn’t help thinking she was setting him up for something.

“Yes,” he answered slowly.

“Perfect, because we’ll need someone who can be in charge of security for the concert. That means looking for venues you can secure, and making sure all the people involved don’t have any ties to, you know, terrorists or something.” She smiled widely, like she’d just won the argument.

“Seriously, Amber? Isn’t that what the police are for?” There had to be a way out of this.

“Not at a concert. We have to hire our own security for that, and if you haven’t noticed, we don’t really have the money. Thus, the benefit concert.” Amber’s voice had a bit of an edge to it, and he knew he was pushing her past her limit.

“Fine.” He huffed. “I’ll help with the security, but that’s all.”

“Great, because Kate already agreed to meet with you. She’s a friend,” Amber paused a moment before continuing, “from my hometown.”

“Then why don’t
you
meet with her?” Ticked-off veterans were more his expertise, not a Hollywood manager who was probably just as spoiled as the pop star she managed.

“I would, but the fire inspector is doing a walk-through that day. You know I have to be here for that. Plus, I have so much on my plate right now, I can’t do one more thing.” Amber’s voice quavered.

Chase shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Then reschedule the meeting.”

“Do you know how hard it is to get a meeting with Duchess’s manager? Besides, as the head of security for the concert, you will really need to be involved in all aspects.” He gave her a look that said she should get real, and she changed her tactics. “Please, Chase? We really need this concert.” She looked up with pleading eyes.

He thought back to his first moments at Veterans’ Aid and the pillar of support Amber was for him.

“I know it’s outside your comfort zone.”

“Outside my comfort zone? It’s in a completely different galaxy from my comfort zone. You need someone to blow up a car at a checkpoint? I’m your man.” He knew his voice was getting louder, but he wasn’t sure how else to talk sense into her when she already had her mind made up.

“Did someone say ‘blow up a car’?”

Chase looked back at Jones, who had suddenly perked up in his wheelchair.

“See, Amber, Jones and I are simple men. We don’t need glitz and stage lights and loud music. Just give us a grenade or two and some cars that need blowing up and that’s all the excitement we need. Right, Jones?”

“Oh, yeah!” Jones called back, looking a lot more enthusiastic than when Chase first saw him that day.

Amber rolled her eyes and sighed. “It won’t hurt you to try new things. It will help with your healing process.” She put on her therapist tone.

“Really, Amber? You’re going to the healing process argument already? You must be desperate.”

“I am. Look, Chase. I know it’s not what you want to do, but I really do need your help. Please help with this concert? I’ll owe you big time.”

It was her last sentence that caught his attention. What would it feel like for Amber to be indebted to him instead of the other way around? Would he finally be able to lose the shame he felt? He knew it wasn’t logical—it was okay to ask for help when he needed it. At least, that’s what he told every veteran who walked through the doors at Veterans’ Aid. But it didn’t apply to him. He wasn’t sure why—it just didn’t.

“All right, but you definitely will owe me big time. Especially if I have to babysit this manager. She probably has a nose ring and purple hair.” He tried to mutter the last part under his breath, but Amber heard him.