Everything Changes(4)

“I don’t know, about six months or so? I’ve been really busy at work, and time just gets away from me. Congrats on the long-term gig, by the way. This club is really nice, and it was a good crowd out there.”

“Thanks, man,” said Quinn, leaning up to kiss his wife on the cheek. “Or actually, thanks to this little bulldog. I think the club manager just agreed so that she’d go away and stop bothering him.”

Layla gave Carey an impish smile and a wink. “It helps that I just don’t take no for an answer.” Quinn grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap, growling something into her ear and making her squeal.

Carey watched them fondly for a moment, but then his gurgling stomach reminded him he still hadn’t eaten anything, and the two beers he’d already had were making him a little light-headed. He pushed to his feet, then staggered and caught himself on the back of the chair he’d been sitting in.

“Whoa. You okay, dude?” Quinn asked with concern, lifting Layla off his lap and half-rising, one arm outstretched as if to steady Carey.

Carey waved him off with a quick smile, saying, “Yeah, I’m fine. Please don’t worry,” he added when he saw Layla’s frown. “I just need to grab a little something to eat. It’s been hours, and I’m feeling the beers.”

He moved toward the refreshment table and filled a small plate with some cheese and crackers and some fruit, snagging a bottle of water to wash it down with. When he retook his seat, he noticed Layla still watching him with a furrowed brow.

“I’m fine, Layla,” Carey said gently.

“But you were limping.” Layla bit her lip and her eyes fell to Carey’s right leg, which he’d stretched out in front of him. “Does it—does it hurt?”

Carey rubbed his thigh, trying not to grimace. “I’m a little stiff from two days of driving, that’s all. It’s really not a big deal.”

Layla moved over to sit on the chair next to him, watching him narrowly as he ate a few crackers topped with cheese.

“It’s amazing. Looking at you no one would ever know that you don’t have a leg.”

Carey was used to Layla’s bluntness, and he smiled. “I have both legs, hot stuff,” he teased. “One is just made of plastic and titanium.” He pulled up his pant leg to show Layla the metal ankle above his athletic shoe.

“You sure it doesn’t hurt? I can have Quinn drive you back over to Jase’s—”

“I’m sure,” Carey said firmly. “Now go work your magic with the label execs and let me finish my snack while I wait for Jase.”

“Come on, honey.” Quinn drew Layla to her feet, then steered her away with his arm around her waist. “He’s a grown man and been taking care of himself for a long time. He don’t need a mama.”

Carey watched them go, warmed by Layla’s concern, knowing it stemmed from genuine affection. He hadn’t had a whole lot of that in his life, not until he met Jase and eventually was drawn into his circle of friends.

Jase. Carey wouldn’t be where he was today if it weren’t for him. Hell, he wouldn’t even be alive today; he would be just another statistic on the battlefields of Afghanistan, another shattered body sent home on a military transport in a coffin draped with a flag.

As Carey absently ate a fistful of grapes, he remembered the first time he’d seen the man who would become his lifesaver… and best friend.





Four years ago—Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, California



CAREY STOOD nervously on the parade field, itchy and sweaty in his camo fatigues, trying not to shift from foot to foot. It was his new unit’s first day after officially reporting for duty, and they were all assembled, ready to meet the unit leaders. It was early morning, but the sun was already beating down, adding to the general air of discomfort and nervousness.

As Carey did his best to stand at attention, he heard laughter and a husky voice from somewhere off to the right. No brass was there yet, so Carey dared to turn his head to find the source of the voice. He caught sight of a man, tall and lean, eyes sparkling with humor, making the rounds and introducing himself to the newbies. Finally he got to Carey and stopped, his eyes tracing Carey’s face.

“Hey, kid,” he said at last, sticking his hand out for Carey to shake. “I’m HM1 DeSantis, the unit corpsman.”

“PFC Everett, sir,” Carey mumbled.

“Okay, Everett, you and me are gonna get to know each other real well. Athlete’s foot, jock itch, aches and pains, you come see me day or night, got it? My door’s always open.”