Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

BEAN

Fish tacos.

I scratched my chin as I read what I’d jotted down in my little black book yesterday evening. Fish tacos? What on earth was that supposed to mean? Was I planning on cooking those tonight? Was Nash making them, and did I need to buy ingredients? Had someone requested a recipe?

Ugh, I really needed to add more context when I made notes. The whole idea of my notebook was to remember things since I couldn’t rely on my crappy brain, but it didn’t work without details about the why and how.

I could try to remember, but I’d been down that road too many times by now to have even a remote hope of success. The only result would be a massive headache, and I’d had my fill of those, thank you very much.

My brain was not firing on all cylinders when it came to my memory. Heck, it was maybe firing on only one—and a faulty one at that. My long-term memory was fine. It was the new ones that weren’t being stored properly.

Oh, the joys of having a traumatic brain injury.

I couldn’t even remember what it was like to have a working short-term memory. My memory of how my memory was before the accident was faulty too, and if that was a little too meta and existential, my apologies. My current status as unemployed made me prone to such musings, few of them productive, though somewhat entertaining. I’d take my amusement where I could get it.

With a sigh, I checked my book again for any other notes. Every morning, I reread the last ten or so pages to jog what was left of my memory. Hmm, what was going on today? I had a phone call with my case manager at ten, so I set my alarm for that. Did I have anything else?

Oh, right. I needed to prepare for my job interview tomorrow at Zayd’s bar, officially called Eddie’s, for reasons I didn’t know. I could ask Creek’s boyfriend… Crepes, what was his name again? I flipped to the last page, where I wrote down important names. Ah, right. Heath. His name was Heath.

Heath was close with Zayd and had gotten me the job interview, so he might know why it was called Eddie’s, but did it matter?

Zayd was looking for a new cook, and I was woefully underqualified, but he’d still agreed to let me do a trial and cook a few dishes. What should I make? Maybe something with fish? I’d scribbled a note that he had a lot of fish items on the menu. I could make garlic shrimp, which had been a hit here in the house. Or seafood pasta. Easy to make and packed with a lot of flavor.

Did I need to bring ingredients, or did he have everything there? That would be hard, though, if he didn’t know what I was making. But I’d probably texted him about this, so maybe I should check those to see what he said.

Half of my days were now filled with checking previous emails, messages, letters, and anything else that helped me remember. Boooooring, but unfortunately, necessary.

Okay, so I had two things today: the phone call at ten and prepping for the job interview, which was tomorrow at four. I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote them down, then pulled up Google Maps to check the route to the bar and how long of a drive it would be. Forty-five minutes wasn’t too bad, especially with the traffic in San Francisco. I did need to have a bit of a buffer for extra traffic, plus half an hour in case I got confused, which made the total driving time…ninety minutes.

Ten minutes later, I had today and tomorrow planned, my schedule written down in detail with times and everything. Once upon a time, I’d been a chaotic guy who flew by the seat of his pants. But now, my life was captured in lists. To-do lists, checklists, appointment lists—reminders in every form known to man, plus a few I had come up with myself.

Good, now my day could start. Fifteen minutes later, I had showered and made my way downstairs, where Nash was sitting at the kitchen table, reading an actual newspaper while sipping his coffee. “Morning, Bean.”

“Morning, Nash.”

I dumped some cornflakes into a bowl, poured milk on top, and grabbed a spoon. We all had our own spots at the table, and mine was opposite Nash, who’d been our first sergeant before everything had blown up. Literally.

I gestured at the newspaper. “What’s with the flashback to the nineties?”

“They delivered it to the wrong house. I called, but the guy said I could keep it.”

“I didn’t even know they still printed those.”

Nash quirked an eyebrow. “Would you mind emptying your mouth before speaking? It makes the conversation so much more pleasant if I don’t have to watch half-chewed cereal rolling around in your wide-open trap.”

I snorted, almost spitting out my milk. “You can’t say things like that when I’m eating.”

Nash grinned. “If you weren’t eating, I wouldn’t have a reason to, now would I? Just trying to teach you all some manners.”

I took another big spoonful. “I admire your optimism.”

“I’d slap the back of your head for that, but your brain is scrambled enough as it is.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you.”

He let out a deep sigh. “Changing topics. What’s the plan for today?”

Nash made it a habit to go over my schedule with me every day, helping me make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. Stuff still slipped through the leaky cracks of my brain, but they were rarely crucially important, thanks to Nash. “Phone call with Doreen at ten.”

“Anything in particular or just a routine check-in?”

I checked my little book. “Routine check-in. Last time, she said that if nothing changed over the next three months, I’d be considered stable and we wouldn’t have to talk every two weeks anymore.”

Doreen was my case manager at the VA, coordinating my care with the long list of specialists involved. Without her and Nash, I would’ve been literally lost. In fact, I had called him several times because I couldn’t remember where I was going or how to get there.

“Don’t forget to tell her about the headaches.”

“Headaches?” I frowned. Had I had headaches? I remembered a few occasions, but had it been that frequent and serious that I needed to mention it?

Nash nodded. “You made a list on page thirty of your book.”

Right. I flipped to page thirty, and lo and behold, it had a list of dates and descriptions, complete with pain-scale ratings and what I thought had caused them. “Thank you.”

“No problem. What else?”

“Prepping for my job interview at Zayd’s bar tomorrow.”

“You’re making fish tacos, right?”

I slapped my forehead. Of course. We had come up with that during dinner yesterday, and I’d written it down without noting what it was for. “I am now.”

“Good. Those were delicious last time.”

I sighed as I pushed my empty bowl back. “I’m still not convinced I’m ready for this. I don’t have the skills. Creek still bitches about my food.”

Nash shrugged. “Creek bitches about everything, though it’s gotten better now that he has Heath. But your cooking has improved big time, and you like doing it.”

I did. Learning new skills was hard when your brain wouldn’t store new information, but Nash had bought me a recipe binder with plenty of space to make notes on the recipes I had tried with suggestions for improvement, which helped. “Yeah, but is it good enough?”

“It’s a bar, kid. Half the people will be too drunk to taste much anyway and the others will get drunk after dinner and won’t remember the food the next day.”

“Not sure if that was a compliment or not, but I’ll take it. I have to start somewhere. It’s not like I have many other options.”

Nash leaned back, studying me. “And what about your…dating plans? Any progress there?”

Dating plans. Wasn’t that a nice euphemism? “Not really. I’m not sure where to start.”

“I’d say the starting point is to ask yourself if you’re looking for friendship, sex, or a relationship.”

Leave it to Nash to immediately drill down to the core of the issue. “I don’t need more friends. I have you all, and that’s plenty.”

“That leaves sex or a relationship.”

I cleared my throat. “Do you think I’m ready for a relationship?”

I’d been in a relationship when the accident happened. Natasha and I had been together for two years, and we’d talked about getting married, maybe having kids. I was only twenty-eight, so there had been time, but then everything had changed in an instant. I’d lost my job, my brain, and as it turned out, my girlfriend. Natasha had told me she couldn’t deal with my pain and limitations, and before I could even respond, she’d walked out.

Good riddance, everyone kept telling me, and it wasn’t like I disagreed, but it still hurt. A lot. She’d told me she loved me, but wasn’t love supposed to last through sickness and health? Guess she missed that part. Always read the fine print, people.

On the plus side, my medical discharge had made it possible for me to consider coming out as bisexual. So far, only Nash knew, but I wanted to tell Creek and Tameron as well. I just hadn’t found the right time. Or the right words.

“I think that’s a question only you can answer,” Nash said kindly.

“I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, and you think I’m able to gauge something that important?”

“You had cornflakes, kid, like you do every day. Though why you keep eating that processed junk is beyond me, but that’s a different discussion. And you may not remember details, but you sure as hell know what and how you feel. Don’t hide behind your injury in this case.”

I hated that Nash always called us out on our crap. In the long run, it was for the better, but that didn’t mean I had to like it now. “I don’t even get to play the sympathy card a little?”

“Not with me. Life sucks, kid. Get used to it.”

That, in a nutshell, was Nash for ya. I sighed. “You know sex is complicated for me, especially with other men. There’s still a lot of guilt involved.”

Nash put his hand on mine. “I know, but the only way to push through that is by doing it. And yes, in this case, ‘it’ refers to sex.”

“Just do it, huh?”

He nodded, then let go of my hand. “Yup, just do it. Find a guy, rip off the Band-Aid, check that off in your little book.”

“I don’t actually have ‘experimenting with guys’ on my to-do list, you know.”

“No? Then you should put it on there. Sex is not something to feel ashamed about, Bean. It’s a natural need, something most of us feel. And if it’s between two or more consenting adults, there’s nothing wrong with it, no matter what you were taught.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Two or more? You trying to get me to do a threesome now?”

He laughed. “I’d pay good money to see that. Well, figuratively, since you’re like a little brother to me and I have zero desire to see you naked. No offense.”

“None taken, trust me.” I waved my hand at his face. “I can see how others would be attracted to you, with that whole silver-fox thing you’ve got going, but it’s not doing it for me.”

“Thank God for small favors.”

“I don’t know how to navigate casual sex to begin with, let alone with a guy,” I said softly. “What if I pick the wrong guy? What if I end up getting hurt?”

Nash leaned forward, his eyes drilling into mine. “You’re not some helpless virgin, kid. You’re a soldier with ten years of combat experience. You can kick anyone’s ass if necessary. But more importantly, trust your gut. You have great instincts. And if you really want that second opinion, I’m here for you. You know that.”

My eyes lit up. “You wanna go through Grindr with me? I already installed it.”

Nash groaned. “I’m gonna regret that offer, aren’t I?”