Chapter 11

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. This place is… nice . Countless towering pines camouflage the two-story brick fa?ade. A colorful garden of flowers compliments a courtyard with benches and a birdbath. My favorite feature is the walking trail that loops the building, or at least, it would have been my favorite feature before I broke both of my legs.

We follow Liza's best friend into the condo, which I'm grateful is on the first floor. It would be a bitch to navigate those stairs every day, especially with groceries in my arms. Right away, the smell of cinnamon assaults my nose, but it's pleasant, homey; like fresh baked pies have been baking in the oven.

"I didn't realize the place came furnished. Will I have to pay extra for that?"

Marcy laughs. "This isn't my stuff, hon. It's yours."

"Mine? You must be mistaken. I don't have stuff."

Liza squeezes my shoulder and smiles. "Come on, let's take a look around."

The front door opens into the living room with the kitchen off to the right. The two rooms are separated by a breakfast bar. I follow the girls down the long hallway, passing a coat closet and a linen closet before we come up to the bedroom. It's spacious and bright, with a big window and a walk-in closet. There's a connected bathroom with a walk-in shower, and another bathroom with a bathtub down the hall for guests.

"So, what do you think?" Marcy asks.

"It's nice. Real nice." The hallways are wide enough to not squash my shoulders and bump my elbows as I clumsily make my way on my crutches, and the shower stall is big enough for my plastic chair.

But it doesn't feel like home. I'm not sure it ever will.

I remind myself that everything is temporary, and this is just another phase of my life I have to squeeze through. All this stuff, it's not me. It's too fancy to be me. Growing up in my mama's house, I was surrounded by antiques and mismatched furniture. Even still to this day, my childhood bedroom remains untouched, exactly as I left it with my old twin bed with cartoon sheets and second-hand furniture. Then I moved into the barracks where everything smelled like mildew and sweaty socks. Nothing issued by the Army can be described as high-quality. I had a twin bed with a squeaky metal frame, a desk made of pressboard that was as sturdy as cardboard, and a thin mattress that I'm pretty sure at least fifty other guys had slept on before me. And now, this…

Whoever decorated this place has a hard-on for IKEA. Everything looks new, every piece matches, and everything smells and looks modern and clean. I feel like a fish out of water, swimming in someone else's pond.

Marcy slaps a packet of lease papers on the breakfast bar and offers me a pen. "All you have to do is sign on the dotted line and it's yours for the next six months."

I'm out of options, and I would be a fool to pass this place up. It's in my budget, but nicer than I can afford, so I eagerly sign my name.

"Welcome home. I'll make a copy and mail it to you," she tells me on her way to the door. "Am I giving you a ride back, Liza?"

I was hoping she'd stick around and help me settle in, but she drove me here in my car, so I understand she can't stay.

Liza squeezes me in a perfumed hug. "Take care, Marshmallow. Don't think I won't be checking in," she warns with a smile.

I hold the door open as the girls leave, and just as I'm about to shut it, I jump, startled at Liza's squeal. It's one of those high-pitched girly sounds akin to nails scraping a chalkboard.

"Mandy! I was hoping to run into you," she gushes excitedly.

I don't know whether to slam the door shut on them or grab her by the arm and haul her back inside. This guy Mandy looks like a hulking beast of a man, whose only job is to kick ass and take names. Half his face is burned, the angry puckered skin crawling down his neck into his collar. He has white scars crisscrossing his forearms and hands that are mostly covered by tattoos, and even scars on his other cheek, the one that's not burned. The guy looks like he could deadlift a Mack truck without breaking a sweat.

"Come meet Marshmallow," Liza squeals.

Fucking wonderful. Compare me to a goddamn mushy sweet treat in the presence of this badass alpha male who's probably related to a pro wrestler, from the looks of him. That doesn't fuck with my masculinity at all.

He ambles into my living room, his wide shoulders effectively blocking my exit. "Hey, I'm Mandy. Are you Rhett?"

"Who wants to know?" I ask.

He chuffs like he's amused I'm trying to hide my identity from him. "I live next door. Also, I'm your ball buddy."

Fucking ball buddy? Suddenly, I'm less worried about my life and more worried about my dick. No, not my dick, my ass . "Is that some sort of euphemism for being down to fuck?"

For a big guy, he sure does scare easily. His face blanches white and his eyes become huge. "What? No! No, no, man. I'm your BALLS buddy."

"Yeah, you keep sayin' that like I'm supposed to know what it means."

Laughing, Mandy runs a hand through his short hair. "You know, Beyond the Army: Legion of Love Soldiers. I volunteer there, and they've got this program where they pair up buddies with other vets in need."

What the fuck? "They just hand out friends?" In preschool, we followed the buddy system when we went to the bathroom, or on field trips, and in the Army, we were assigned battle buddies, but I don't think either of those things apply here.

Mandy smiles. "No, not like that. But when you need a ride to the store or just someone to talk to, you call your buddy. I've got a buddy myself. He comes with me to doctor visits."

"So, you want to be my Ball Buddy?" I'm trying to keep a straight face.

"I know. It sounds fucking stupid, but it is what it is. BALLS saved my life, so now I'm giving back, trying to save someone else's."

"So, you're trying to save me?" The ladies at my mama's church tried to save me. They haven't succeeded yet.

Mandy snorts. "Something like that, smartass." He shakes his head. "Here, give me your phone. I'll put my number in it."

Reluctantly, I hand it over and he punches his number in and then hands it back and walks over to the kitchen, pulling open the door on my fridge. Mandy looks inside like a nosy biddy.

"Shit, I should eat here," he mumbles, then shuts the door and straightens. "You've got plenty of food for now, but when you get low, I'll take you to the store."

What the fuck? Who just goes through someone's fridge like that? "I sure as fuck didn't pay for any of it. I don't know where it came from."

"Knock, knock," a voice calls out from the front door as they rap on it.

I know that voice.

From the kitchen, Mandy calls, "Riggs?"

"Hey, Mandy." They exchange a one-armed hug.

"What are you doing here?" I'm stunned that Riggs is standing in my living room. "How'd you find me?"

They laugh and Mandy says, "He'll catch on soon." He claps my shoulder. "It's a small town and an even smaller circle. News travels fast."

"Are you settling in?" Riggs asks. His eyes travel up and down my body, almost like he's drinking me in, and it makes my heart skip a beat.

"I don't know. I feel like Dorothy plucked out of Kansas and dropped flat on my ass in Oz."

Riggs chuckles. "Mandy, are you keeping an eye on my patient?"

His patient? No two words could sound sweeter.

"Trying to. He thinks I'm trying to get into his pants."

I'm so busy gawking at Riggs that it takes a moment for me to realize he just threw me under the bus. "What? No! I mean, that's what you made it sound like when you said you wanted to be my ball buddy. You know, like buddies who sit around feeling up each other's balls. What was I supposed to think?"

He chokes on his laugh, trying to hide it. "Don't worry, the ball jokes will grow on you," Riggs assures me.

"Well, I'm gonna take off," Mandy mumbles. "You know where to find me."

He shuts the door behind him, and I'm left standing in my living room with Riggs. Alone . He's staring at me and a delicious curl of heat licks through my body. Fuck, the sexual tension with this guy is ridiculous.

"Why don't we sit so you can take some weight off your leg?" he suggests.

I wait for him to take a seat first so I can sit as close to him as possible. The soft gray microfiber gives way beneath my ass, and I sink into the plush cushion. "Damn, this couch is nice."

"Yeah, I got lucky."

"Wait, you did this? All of this? You're the one that furnished my apartment?"

Color blooms above the scruff on his cheeks. "I made a few calls, cashed in a few favors. It's no big deal."

"Are you serious? Of course, it's a big deal! I have nothing. Literally just two boxes downstairs in the trunk of my car. That's it. I can't believe you did all of this for me. And the food…"

"You were in need, and I was able to help. It's that simple, Rhett."

It's not simple at all. He went out of his way to make my life easier. To make sure that I have what I need. He's looking after me, caretaking my ass. I fucking love it.

"This is just part of what BALLS does. Helping vets in need."

I doubt this has BALLS written all over it. More like Riggs. This isn't what the organization does, this is what Riggs does.

"Well, I really like everything you chose for me. I've never had nice things like this. Feels kind of weird, actually, but I'm sure it'll grow on me."

"Wait until you see the sheets," he says with a wicked smirk.

Just thinking about Riggs touching my bed, or being anywhere near it, makes my dick kick in my pants. "Maybe we should go to my bedroom, and you can show me what you chose for me to sleep on yourself."

His eyes narrow as he realizes I'm hitting on him. "I'm gonna go downstairs and grab your boxes from your trunk." Before I can even relax, he's back, juggling two stacked boxes in his arms. "Where do you want these?"

"Um, here, I guess," I decide, pointing to the coffee table. "I need to go through them. I haven't seen this stuff in almost a year. I can't even remember what's in there."

Riggs looks sympathetic. "I remember that feeling. After coming back from my second deployment, when I received possession of my stuff, I just felt so detached from it all. I crossed an ocean and a desert and fought in the same war twice, and all I had to my name fit inside two boxes. I couldn't understand how those few unimportant things defined me. It was all I had. Then I started thinking of all I sacrificed and how I had nothing to show for it." Riggs shakes his head. "That's not true, you know. I had plenty to show for my sacrifice, but none of it was in that box, nor could I understand it at the time. I had such a tough time adjusting." My heart sinks down to the pit of my stomach. He's seen some shit, like me. I can hear it in his voice, his sadness. "How are you adjusting?"

I breathe out a heavy sigh. "Some days are easier than others, and I don't mean the pain in my legs."

"I know exactly what you mean," Riggs empathizes.

"It's sorta like I got up and went to take a piss before the credits rolled on the movie; like it switched off mid-production. Everything over there was so loud and busy and… and… brown." Riggs chuckles softly. "Life here is slower, quieter, and so much more colorful. Sometimes… sometimes I just feel lost."

He reaches over to cover my hand with his. The warmth from his skin bleeds through mine, and I suddenly realize I'm cold. Or maybe I'm just lonely, and that feels like being cold. I flip my hand over, my fingers grasping his, and my heart jolts when he doesn't let go.

"You're not lost, soldier. You're right where you're supposed to be. I promise it gets easier with time."

"And in the meantime, if I feel lost, I can reach out and hold your hand?" I ask hopefully, a playful smile on my face.

Riggs barks out a laugh. "You never quit, do you?" he says fondly. "It's getting late. I'm going to leave you to settle in." He pushes to his feet and walks over to the breakfast bar, grabbing my phone. Riggs tosses it to me and thankfully, I catch it before it hits me in the face, which would be totally awkward. "Open it for me."

I punch in my passcode and toss it back. Riggs enters his number and places it back down on the bar. He rocks back on his heels, taking a last glance around. "You've got Mandy's number, and if he doesn't answer, you can call me."

"Can I?—"

"Call him first," he emphasizes, cutting me off.

Too bad Riggs can't be my ball buddy. I'd totally let him in my pants.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the gym. I hope you sleep well tonight because you're going to need your rest for tomorrow," he says with an evil grin, shutting the door behind him.

Fuck, he's gonna work my ass to the bone, and not in a sexy way, unfortunately.

After sitting for a few minutes, I get stiff when I try to move again, so it's a struggle for me to get up so I can lock the door behind him. I grab my phone and dial the only number I know by heart.

"Hey, Mama. It's me, Rhett."

"Hey, my little pecan. Are you settled in?"

"Yeah, the new place is real nice, Mama. You should see it. I have all new furniture and before you ask, I have a whole fridge full of food."

"How nice. If only you knew how to cook it," she teases.

The truth is, I do know how to cook because I grew up watching her and I learned from the best. But I've never needed to practice because my mama always beat me to the stove. She loved to cook for me.

"I'll be fine, I promise. How do you feel?" The last couple times we've talked, she sounded tired… off somehow. I haven't seen her in more than a year, so I have no idea what's wrong, and it's just like her to keep things from me so she doesn't worry me .

"Oh, you know, tired as a tick but blessed as a bluebird."

"Are bluebirds particularly blessed?" I tease.

"Don't you sass me, pecan. You're never too old to get a lickin'."

My smile stretches from ear to ear. "Yes, ma'am." Despite my unfamiliar surroundings and slight feeling of detachment, hearing my mama's warm voice feels like a comfort, reminding me that no matter where I am, I'm never far from home.

We talk for nearly twenty minutes and when we hang up, I shuffle into my bedroom, intending to pass the fuck out, but when I pull back the khaki green comforter on my bed, a sharp bark of laughter echoes off the walls.

That fucker Riggs put kids' sheets on my bed!

The beige background sets off the Army-green paratroopers jumping from helos. Shaking my head, I don't even try to hide my smile. Why should I? I fucking love them, and there's no one here but me. From the way things just went down, I'll be the only one sleeping on them for a long time.