Authors: Marissa Farrar
Gabi – Eleven Years Earlier
“You know,” a
male voice said from above, a shadow falling over me, “I’ve always liked a girl with big boobs.”
I was sitting in the park reading and generally trying to avoid going home, when I was so rudely interrupted.
My head shot up, my eyes wide and cheeks flaring with heat, to find a boy with jaw-length blond hair, a leather jacket, and one hand stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, regarding me with blue eyes.
“Excuse me?” I managed to stutter.
“Big books,” he said, holding back a laugh and nodding to the novel I held in my lap. “I said I’ve always liked a girl with big books. Shows she’s not afraid to take on a challenge.”
I wished the ground would open up and swallow me. I didn’t believe for a minute that was what he’d actually said, but there was no way I was going to mention my chest area in front of him.
“Gabriella, isn’t it?” he said, dropping onto the grass beside me. “I think we used to have a trig class together last year.”
“Err, yeah, I recognize you, too.”
“Cole,” he said, putting his hand out to me. A silver ring hugged his thumb. I shifted my book to shake his hand, feeling weird at doing something so formal. His skin was warm and he held onto my fingers for a fraction too long before releasing them. “Cole Devonport. I also play drums in The First and Last.”
“Is that a band at school?” I didn’t recognize the name, though everyone seemed to be making up a band at the moment, thinking they were going to be the next big thing. It was as though they all thought their coolness would be elevated a couple of notches, and therefore their chances of getting laid, just because they picked up an instrument. I mean, anyone with a couple of sticks could surely play the drums, couldn’t they? I kept my thoughts to myself.
“Nah,” he said. “I play with some older guys. Are you sure you haven’t heard of us?”
I gave an awkward smile and tugged on the hem of my skirt to cover my legs. “Bands aren’t really my thing.”
“No? How come?”
I shrugged. “Noisy, with a bunch of guys all trying to outdo each other. What’s there to like?”
“You’re missing the atmosphere—energy and fun.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Hormones and boy sweat. I’ll pass, thanks.”
He leaned back and cocked an eyebrow. “Did you just imply I stink?”
My cheeks heated again. Jeez, what the hell did this guy want? “No, no, I just—”
He clutched his hand to his chest. “Well, now you hurt my feelings, so you have to come. Bring a couple of your friends, if you want. We’ll be on the corner of Tamworth Street and Jackson from seven.”
With that, he hopped to his feet, stuffed his hands back in his pockets and sauntered away.
Bring friends.
Now that made sense. He must be crushing on one of my girlfriends, though I wasn’t sure which. Either of my friends could be easy crushes.
As though my thoughts had conjured them, both Taylor and Jasmine came hurrying across the grass toward me.
Taylor’s eyes widened at me. “Did I just see Cole Devonport talking to you?”
“Oh, yeah. I think he was trying to invite you guys somewhere.”
She perked up even further, if such a thing was possible. “He was?”
“Yeah, he invited us along to see his dumb band practice.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I hope you said yes.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly get a chance to say anything. He just got up and walked off.”
“Where?” asked Jasmine. “What time?”
I told them.
Taylor let out a squeal and clapped. “Oh, my God. This is so exciting. I know you’re kind of immune to the opposite sex, but you know he’s hot, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Hot? No. I know he’s totally full of himself.”
“You can’t blame him.” She widened her eyes again. “Like I said, he’s hot.”
“You guys go. I’ve got better things to do than hang out in a noisy garage all evening.”
Jas’s eyebrows lifted. “Err, no you don’t.”
“And he invited
you
,” continued Taylor. “We’re just the tag-alongs. If you don’t go, we don’t go.”
Jas regarded me. “And if we don’t get to go, we are never speaking to you again.”
I laughed. “Okay, okay. We can go, but don’t expect me to enjoy it. And FYI, I’m pretty sure he only invited me knowing I’d be inviting you two along. No way is a guy like Cole Devonport interested in someone like me.”
“Stop being so down on yourself,” said Jasmine, elbowing me in the ribs. “You’re gorgeous, Gabi.”
My cheeks heated. “Whatever.”
“Anyway,” said Taylor, “you know he’s trouble. He doesn’t even live with his parents, but with Mr. and Mrs. Cowen, who take in problem kids.”
Jas shoved her friend’s arm with her hand. “It’s foster care, dummy.”
“Whatever. His parents couldn’t even handle him, so they had to give him up.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” I blurted.
Her mentioning not being wanted hit a nerve. My mom walked out when I was only little, something that hung over me every day. I tried to tell myself it hadn’t been about me—that I’d only been two, and no real mom abandons her daughter—yet the idea I hadn’t been enough for her wormed its way through me. I hadn’t been good enough to keep her. I hadn’t been cute enough. I hadn’t been well-behaved enough. I hadn’t been loved enough.
Taylor caught the expression on my face and reached out to touch the back of my hand. “Oh, shoot. Sorry, Gabs. I totally forgot.”
I shrugged, trying not to look bothered. “Forget it. I was just saying we don’t really know what the story is, so we shouldn’t make stuff up.”
“Yeah, you’re right. And it doesn’t take away from the hot factor. A little danger is exciting.” She shot me a wink. “It’s not like I’m thinking about marriage material.”
So she
was
thinking about him.
I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself, but the fact Taylor was interested made my heart sink. She was everything I wasn’t—cute, blonde, confident. A perfect match for Cole.
You’re not even interested in Cole, remember?
I scolded myself. The last thing my life needed was to be complicated even more by boys.
***
We heard the
music before we’d even reached the address Cole had given me, the muffled thump of drums and the scream of an electric guitar.
“Jeez, their neighbors must love them,” said Jasmine, raking her fingers through her silky dark hair as she walked beside me in her heels. I’d opted for sneakers, and felt even shorter than I normally did.
Taylor laughed. “I don’t think they’re the kind of guys who give a crap about the neighbors.”
She was right. The front of the garage was swung up onto runners overhead, exposing the band, and their noise, to the street.
Nerves churned in my stomach, and I told myself not to be stupid. Cole had only invited me because he liked one of my friends, and he probably wouldn’t even notice my arrival.
We came to a halt in front of the open garage. My eyes sought out Cole, and I found him sitting behind the drums at the back, rapping on the set with a couple of sticks. He caught sight of us and jerked his chin in greeting. I gave a nervous smile in return.
The guys finished their song, and the older one who’d been singing called to the others to take a break. Cole hopped out from behind the set of drums and ambled over to us.
“Hey, ladies,” he said. “What did you think of the song?”
“It was loud,” I replied, and he grinned.
“Let me introduce you to the band.” He turned back to the other band members—older kids—nineteen maybe even twenty years old. “Hey, guys, this is Gabriella, Taylor, and Jasmine.”
They all turned to look at us, and I gave an awkward wave.
Cole continued. “The guy with the voice is Ryan, Mikey is on guitar, and on bass is Adam.”
Ryan had greasy-looking, dark, spiked hair and had a hand-rolled cigarette tucked behind one ear. He gave us a nod, and then turned back to his friends, not seeming to care that three school kids had turned up. I quickly assessed the other two. Adam had buzzed short, light brown hair, and a scraggly goatee. Mikey had longer curtained hair, like Cole, but his was a similar shade to Adam’s. All three of them wore jeans and t-shirts with various band names scrawled across the front.
Cole turned his attention to Taylor. “So what did you think so far?”
She tossed her silky blonde hair. “I loved it. I’m a real rock chick at heart.”
His face brightened, and Jasmine and I exchanged a glance.
In the garage, the older guys had lit up a couple of cigarettes and were sharing something from a bottle.
Cole put his hand on the garage wall beside Taylor’s head, half boxing her in, and she gave a smug smile. “So what other bands are you into?” he asked her.
I exhaled a sigh. Yep, I’d been right. He was definitely into Taylor. I’d have to amuse myself by watching her fumble around her knowledge of rock bands, which was limited.
“Hey, Cole,” shouted Ryan. “You want some of this?” He held up the cigarette he was smoking. It smelled strange, herbal, perhaps.
Cole glanced back and laughed. “I’m kinda busy over here, guys.”
When I turned my head, I caught Cole staring at me. He flashed me a quick smile and then focused his attention back to Taylor.
I decided to ignore them. This probably wouldn’t be the last time a guy would choose Taylor over me.
I should probably start getting used to it.
Gabi - Present Day
I woke to
the sound of a rocket falling somewhere deep in the house. The noise catapulted me from sleep, my heart racing, a flurry of panic and confusion. For a moment, I had no idea where I was, the adrenaline coursing through my veins telling me only to take cover. But then, as I untangled myself from my bed sheets, which clung in a sweaty mess to my body, the realization of what was really happening dawned on me. I wasn’t in Iraq anymore. I didn’t need to take cover, but I’d brought a little piece of the war home with me, and no amount of hiding would ever let me escape it.
I was back in my own room, the same room I’d grown up in, as though the last ten years had never happened. Only they
had
happened, and I had a permanent reminder of the fact. I wanted to fade back to oblivion, but my sleep was plagued with dreams, so I also didn’t want to sleep. But I knew if I didn’t get some rest, the pain would be worse, so I couldn’t win. My whole life was caught in a cycle of avoiding fear and pain. I wanted to be strong, wanted to remember the person I was before all of this happened, but she felt so far away now, like another woman entirely. I tried to tell myself it could have been worse. I could have been Tom and not lived to see my baby girl grow, or hold my partner again.
It could have been worse. And yet somehow I felt like it couldn’t be.
The sound from my dream had followed me into my waking world, and I froze, my ears straining.
What the hell?
The loud rumble and ending whine that had penetrated my sleep and transformed into that of approaching artillery was actually my dad snoring loudly from across the hall. I recognized that snore. It was the one where he was completely out of it, normally the result of a half a bottle of whiskey before he’d fallen into bed.
“For goodness’ sake,” I grumbled under my breath. The noise was enough to wake the dead.
Pushing my hair back from my face and taking a deep, shaky breath, I tried to compose myself. The t-shirt I wore to bed was pasted to my skin with sweat, and I wrinkled my nose as I pulled the material away from my body with my thumb and forefinger. Ugh, I stank, too.
I glanced at the red glowing letters of the LED clock. It was just after five a.m. Part of me was thankful. At least it was late enough to get up and take a shower. Then I remembered showers were off limits to me now. I couldn’t risk slipping and falling. I had to settle for a bath instead.
I reached down to the side of my bed, my fingers searching for my prosthetic leg. I snagged the rubber sleeve and pulled it up onto the bed with me. My sigh came from the bottom of my lungs. There were so many things now I wasn’t able to do which I’d always taken for granted before. They weren’t the big, active things people might think of when considering their lives as an amputee, but the little things, such as being able to hop out of bed to use the bathroom, without having to go through the hassle of attaching a limb first.
Before pulling the sleeve up and over my stump, I took a moment to assess how it felt this morning—how much fluid retention had caused it to swell, and to make sure I hadn’t suffered any scrapes or bumps overnight. To a certain extent, I guessed I was lucky. My amputation was below the knee, so at least I still had the range of movement that joint offered. But I still hadn’t gotten used to the stump, and I wasn’t sure I ever would. My brain also hadn’t cottoned to the fact there was no longer a leg, and I was plagued by strange sensations when my brain tried to communicate with a limb that didn’t exist.
The pain was always there. It came and went, faded and rose again, but it was never truly gone. I could never forget about it. Never. Certain things made it worse, such as not getting enough sleep, which was kind of ironic as, because I was in pain, and I struggled to sleep anyway.
I also worried about things all the time. I tried to avoid the news, but with social media, it was everywhere. Seemed like every day some crazy person was walking into a school, or a mall, or a movie theatre and shooting up innocent people. I worried for my own safety, and that of my father, but also for every single stranger I saw on the street. I’d thought my time in the Army would have hardened my heart, but instead it felt as though someone had removed my skin and ribcage, and exposed the organ to the world. I’d been offered the opportunity to return to service after I’d been rehabilitated, especially since I’d been so close to promotion, but I couldn’t even think about it. The moment my thoughts drifted in that direction, my heartrate climbed, and I felt sick and panicky.
That part of my life was done now. I just needed to figure out what to do with the rest of it.
***
After my bath
, and swigging a cup of coffee and grabbing something to eat, I still hadn’t seen an appearance from my father.
I needed to head to the drugstore and pick up a prescription of the nerve medication I took to try to keep the phantom limb pain at bay. It didn’t control it completely, but for the most part I had it under control now.
I was thankful to have my car. I was lucky—as far as lucky can be—in that I had lost my left leg so I could drive a regular automatic and didn’t have to have any expensive alternations made. When I was driving I almost felt normal. No one could tell I was the girl with one leg when I was cruising down the highway. Getting in and out of the car, however, was a completely different story. I’d never before noticed just how useful having an ankle was when it came to movement, and with the current prosthetic limb I wore, I didn’t have an ankle joint. That would change in later months when I got a new prosthesis with an ankle, but for the moment it was an absolute pain in the ass.
At the drugstore, I pulled into a handicapped space. I needed plenty of room to the side of the car in order to maneuver myself in and out of the car door. All these things I took for granted before. Now the frustration of doing something as simple as getting out of the car drove me insane.
Grunting and sweating in the early heat of the day, I wished I had the guts to wear a skirt or shorts, but I was still hugely self-conscious and didn’t want people to stare. I managed to get out of the car, slammed the door shut, and pressed the button on the key fob to lock the doors. I started toward the drugstore when a female voice stopped me.
“Hey, you! What do you think you’re doing?”
I turned in confusion to see a woman in her sixties hurrying toward me.
“I’m sorry?” I said, baffled.
“I asked you what you thought you were doing. I can’t stand people like you, parking your big expensive cars in the handicapped spaces, thinking you’re entitled just because you have money!”
I blinked in shock, gob-smacked. I didn’t have money—far from it. The payout I’d received upon my discharge from the Army had gone on my car because I’d needed to be mobile. The small sum I had left over was now my income, as I wasn’t working, and I didn’t know when I would be again. I hoped I would receive compensation for my injury at some point in the future, but the amount hadn’t been decided yet.
Shocked and embarrassed, I couldn’t deal with the confrontation. Going on auto-pilot, I turned away from her and headed toward the drugstore as I’d planned.
“Hey!” the woman shouted again, her voice rising to a screech.
Other people were looking now, and my mortification deepened. Who the hell was this woman?
“You need to move your car!” she continued.
She wasn’t going to just let me go about my business. I wished I still had a bit of the old Gabi about me—the one who went into a warzone and commanded a company of soldiers. This was one woman in a parking lot, not an enemy in a warzone, and yet here I felt more panicked and out of control than I had in Iraq.
“I’m allowed to park there,” I managed finally, though my voice sounded small and meek, not like me at all.
“What?” she screeched. “No, you’re not.”
“Just because you can’t see a disability doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
“Stop making excuses. Just move your damned car.”
I pointed toward the car. “I have a badge hanging from the mirror. You can check.”
“It’s probably your elderly parents’ or something. Just because it’s in the car doesn’t mean it belongs to you.”
I just wanted this to stop. We’d created a small crowd now, people loading their cars, or messing with shoelaces, trying to pretend they weren’t watching when they couldn’t take their eyes off us.
“Yes, I can,” I hissed, and, in desperation, bent and grabbed the cuff of my pants leg. I hauled it up, exposing the titanium steel rod that now made up my lower leg.
I wished I could take more satisfaction in the expression on the woman’s face, but I was too humiliated at this point. My cheeks burned and I knew I must have been glowing—the heat of the day and the altercation causing me to sweat profusely. I just wanted to grab my meds and get the hell out of there.
The woman lifted her hands in defense. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”
“Just forget it, please.”
Clearly now mortified herself, she turned and hurried away from the scene she’d caused. I did my best to hold back tears as I turned, my head down, to continue on my way.
“Gabi?”
The male voice behind me made my heart stop. Did I recognize it after all these years? Surely not.
With my heart pounding, I turned to find Cole Devonport standing in the lot. He was older, obviously, his jaw length, blond hair cut short. The stubble across his jaw was a few days over just being stubble, but wasn’t quite yet a beard. A blur of tattoos ran up both forearms, though I couldn’t see any farther beyond the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. A couple of bird tattoos flew up the side of his well-muscled neck. His face looked harder, more rigid, with cut cheekbones and a sharp jawline. But his blue eyes were still exactly the same, except now they regarded me with sorrow, and what? Regret? He must have witnessed the whole thing with the woman, and seen me pull up the leg of my pants to expose my prosthetic limb. I didn’t know how he felt about seeing me like that—probably horrified and embarrassed for me all at the same time—but I knew one thing.
Cole Devonport still looked like trouble.