The Wounded (2 page)

The bed shook when Michael flumped down, his blue-eyed gaze capturing Jay’s own. His hand, callused from helping out on his grandpa’s
farm, cupped Jay’s cheek. “You’re watching out for me, just like you always have.” Jay closed his eyes and breathed
out a sigh of relief a moment before his lover’s lips connected.

The kiss ended too soon. Michael seemed to stare into Jay’s soul. Over the past few weeks something had been building. Michael spoke less and
touched less, sinking ever deeper into himself. No way in hell would Jay sit back and watch the man he loved disappear. Somehow, he had to get through.
Though Michael’s immediate family and friends offered unwavering support, he needed to understand that there were more folks like him, struggling
day to day to rebuild the lives that war had destroyed.

“You just don’t understand.” Words Michael spoke often.

The words shattered Jay’s hope. No, he didn’t understand, could never understand, what it was like to watch friends die, and then have
to return home pretend you were the same carefree soul you were before you left. More than anything, Jay longed to understand, to be everything his lover
needed. “No,” he acknowledged, “but I know people who do.”

Michael didn’t answer with words, but with his arms, clinging to Jay as though his life depended on the connection. Jay returned the embrace,
fighting hard not to eye the clock. He lost the fight. 6:05.

Following Jay’s line of sight, Michael sighed. “I know, time to get dressed and head downstairs.” He’d never
sounded so reluctant in all the time Jay had known him.

They dressed in silence, trading jeans and T’s for dress slacks and button-downs. Michael paused several times to stare off into space. Each
time, Jay grabbed him and held him until Michael chose to pull away. “We don’t have to do this,” he’d say.

To which Michael always replied, “No, I don’t. But I need to.”

That you do.

***

Side by side they left their room and worked their way down the hall. The elevator door opened and a woman stepped off. She gripped a white cane in one
hand.

“I wonder what they’re serving at the banquet,” Jay said, moving aside to let her pass.

The woman stopped. “Hi! I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but are you talking about The Wounded banquet downstairs?”

“Umm… yes.” The elevator door closed without them.

“Me too! I’m Lisle.” She shifted her cane to her left hand to hold out the delicate fingers of her right.

“Jay Ortiz and Michael Ritter.” Jay shook her hand then released to let Michael follow suit. “From Alabama.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m just going to freshen up then go back downstairs for dinner. I’ll talk to you then?” She
ended her sentence on a questioning lilt.

“Umm… sure.” Michael glanced down the hallway, unsure about asking if she needed assistance. Sure hands dipped into her
purse to produce a key card, which she slid into the card reader in a nearby door.

The moment she disappeared into a room Michael hissed, “See what I mean? Huh? That woman lost her sight! Her sight! She can’t see!
Losing a little hearing can’t compare to that.”

“If you don’t want to do this—”

“Jay? Is that you?”

Michael appeared ready to bolt when two men approached, one bounding down the hall, the other following a few steps behind with a shuffling gait.

“Mark? Jase?” The second man caught up at the moment the first wrapped Jay in a bear hug. “Oh, man, it’s so good to
finally meet you in person.”

“Hi, Mark.” Jay thumped the guy on the back.

Squirming began in the pit of Michael’s stomach to see his lover embracing someone else.
It’s his friend, numb nuts. Quit being jealous.

Mark released Jay and turned to Michael. “You must be Michael. I’m Mark, and this is my husband, Jase.”

To his credit, Michael smiled and greeted the two men Jay’d told him about, even as his gaze traveled downward to Jase’s legs, the
stump and prosthetic hidden by stiffly pressed khakis.

“We were just coming to get you,” Jase said, “to see if you wanted to go downstairs with us. Safety in numbers and all
that.”

“Jase gets a little nervous around folks he doesn’t know,” Mark offered.

Jase gave his husband an affectionate smile. “And Mark chats up people in grocery checkout lines. He’s never met a stranger.”

“Stranger? What’s that?” Only a few years separated Jase and Mark, but in that moment, Mark appeared so young and carefree,
that is, until Jase winced. “What? What’s wrong?” He immediately hurried to Jase’s side.

“I forgot to turn the iron off.”

Mark blew out a relieved sounding sigh. “I’ll go get it.”

“No.” Jase locked eyes with Mark. “No, you three go on down. I’ll catch up.” He nodded to Jay and
Michael. “Meet you downstairs?”

A questioning glance at Michael received a nod. Oh shit. No way to back out gracefully now, not with others watching.

“Should we wait for Jase?” Jay asked.

“Nah,” Mark replied, eyes on Jase’s retreating back. Though he shuffled a bit slowly, if Mark hadn’t told Jay about
Jase’s injuries, Michael would never have guessed that the man lost a leg in the attack on his base.

Jay raised a brow in Michael’s direction.

Michael did his best to exhale slowly and not huff out a sigh. “Come on then, let’s go find a table.”

“So, Michael,” Mark said, finally ripping his eyes from his mate, “Jay tells me you’re in college. So am I.
What’re you taking?”

They talked about school during the elevator’s descent. Michael took a deep breath when the doors opened. A few people stood chatting in the
lobby, but not enough to induce fight or flight instincts.

Tasteful decorations in the banquet hall welcomed them. And not a military insignia in sight. Some attendees dressed in business casual attire, like Jay,
Michael, Jase, and Mark, others wore jeans, and Michael spotted a suit or two. A dozen tables, each surrounded by eight chairs, filled the room.

They sat down at an out of the way table. “Can we join you?” a man and woman, who looked roughly the same age as Jay, Michael, and
Mark, asked. Michael tried not to figure out what infirmity found the newcomers at a The Wounded event.

***

Jase keyed into their room and slammed the door behind him. He rattled through his suitcase looking for his anxiety medication. He slumped onto the bed,
his breathing ragged.
Forgot to turn the iron off. Yeah, that was believable.
He raked his fingers through his hair, trying desperately to quell the
panic. All those people, together in one room. Looking at him, judging him because he’d only lost a leg, while others had lost multiple limbs,
eyes, parts of their faces.

He snapped the lid off the lorazepam and popped one into his mouth, swallowing without water. He did some of the relaxation techniques he’d
practiced with Mark until his heart stopped trying to burst from his chest and he felt more normal. He sucked in a deep breath and made it to the banquet
room without a full blown panic attack. Mark turned and waved to him. It seemed Mark was always aware of where Jase was. Jase gave a weak smile and strode
toward the table.

“Did you get the iron taken care of?” Mark asked, reaching out to stroke Jase’s leg.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

Jase glanced up and caught Michael’s eyes. A moment of silent understanding passed. Though Michael didn’t walk with a limp, the
sympathy in his eyes said he understood. Perhaps he did.

Chapter Three

Dinner was good. Creamy tomato bisque started off the fare, followed by a field green salad, steak and potatoes, and some kind of chocolaty dessert that
puffed up like a marshmallow, but tasted like pudding.

Michael tuned into the conversation around him, content to hear from the others, only contributing when asked a direct question. Jay knew the drill and
handled the situation well.

Terri and Greg, the other couple at the table, had met in service, and looked each other up once they were stateside.

“What about you two,” Terri asked, zigzagging a finger between Mark and Jase.

Jase flushed, but Mark spoke up without hesitation. “Jase here was my first and only crush, and my brother’s best friend.” He
bestowed an affectionate smile on Jase. “We were meant for each other. He just needed some convincing.” The muscle twitching in his
upper arm made Michael believe that, under the table cloth, Mark had just squeezed Jase’s hand.

Terri gave a dreamy sigh. “And now you’re married.” She stroked her hand over Greg’s shoulder.

“Yep. All legal.” Mark raised their joined hands to display his wedding band.

Michael glanced at Jay, who seemed riveted by the tale. Jay deserved a shiny band as well as a home. Even if the state of Alabama wouldn’t
acknowledge them legally at the moment, the thing Michael wanted most in the world was to sweep Jay into his arms and ask him to spend the rest of their
lives together.

Now wasn’t the time, in a roomful of people. What if Jay said no? Michael still had a lot of issues to work on, and naturally outgoing Jay might
get tired of Michael’s wanting to hide in the house all the time. He’d not even been home to see his folks in ages; especially since
Michael wasn’t ready to travel so far from home.

At the end of the meal a speaker approached the podium, breaking into Michael’s thoughts. The woman Michael had met in the hallway stood beaming
to one side. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the speaker began, “although she needs no introduction, allow me to introduce a special
guest, Lisle Finney.”

Murmurs grew at a nearby table. “Holy shit!” someone hissed. “I didn’t know she was blind.”

Michael shot a glance at Jay. “Who’s she?”

Jay’s eyebrows reached for his hairline, and then he frantically began punching buttons on his iPhone before passing it over. The petite blond
smiled from the screen, surrounded by dozens of busts of men and women. Michael had gotten as far as “blind from birth” before the lady
herself called his attention back to the podium.

The woman from the hallway addressed the crowd. “I was born perfectly healthy, ten fingers, ten toes. As I developed it quickly grew apparent
that I wasn’t like other children. My birth mother, feeling she wasn’t up to the task of raising a blind daughter, gave me up for
adoption.”

Oh shit. While Michael’s father hadn’t been up to the task of being a father at all, he couldn’t imagine his mother giving
him up for any reason.

Despite the harshness of the words, the lady smiled. “My adoptive parents couldn’t understand the problem. You see, they say I was
perfect, but you know how biased parents could be.” A few people chuckled.

Her smile fell. “My birth mother did me a kindness. If I’d grown up with her, I might have limited myself, as she saw limitations.
Instead, I was taught there was nothing I couldn’t do. Otherwise, who’d believe a woman who’d never seen a face could sculpt
one?”

A trio of men entered from a door behind her, each carrying a likeness of himself—a startling likeness.

She continued, “The first bust I created was of my uncle when he’d returned from Desert Storm. He often babysat for me while he stayed
with us during his recovery, and was indulgent enough to sit for hours.” Another man entered, carrying yet another bust, this one of a man with
scars marring half his face.

Even from a distance Michael couldn’t miss the misty eyes or Lisle blinking back tears. “He later told me that during that time
he’d often thought of taking his own life, but stuck around so I could finish my work.” She managed a weak smile. “I took my
time. Since then I’ve created twenty-seven works of men and women whose lives were forever changed by war.”

The men placed the sculptures on tables then found a seat in the banquet hall. “My uncle credits me with giving him new purpose. He stopped
mourning his losses and set himself to helping others. May I introduce the great man himself, Raymond Finney, founder of The Wounded?”

The man who rolled a wheelchair up to give Lisle a quick peck on the cheek appeared normal from the side, until he turned and showed waxy scars over half
of his face. Michael bore a similar mark on his arm, caused by a bit of burning shrapnel. One hand remained in the man’s lap. A blanket covered
him from the thighs down.

The story Raymond told ripped at Michael’s heart. How had the man endured losing his entire platoon, the use of one arm and his legs, spending
months in the hospital, and still find strength in his heart to surround himself with fellow veterans who also bore the scars of their time in service?

“Here is the message I wanted to deliver to the world when I started The Wounded,” the man said. “When you see us, with our
wheelchairs, crutches, or one empty sleeve pinned to our chests, don’t feel pity, for we don’t want or need your pity. Instead, reflect
upon the sacrifices others have made to ensure all of our freedom. Take pride in this great land of ours, as we do. We did our duty and hold no regrets.
Save your pity for those who have no voice, who live in fear every day of their own governments. Where there is injustice, our nation brings balance, where
there is hunger, we bring food, where there is despair, we bring hope.”

The ever increasing pressure around Michael’s heart clenched hard, fear replaced by pride unlike he’d ever known. Here he was, a simple
country boy, once called a silly faggot by his stepfather, and he sat with some of the finest men and women to ever wear a uniform. At the end of the
speech a string quartet played, first the Army’s anthem, then the Navy’s, then the Marines’. It mattered not what branch of
service the assembled represented, when the music died, every voice joined together to proclaim, “Hoo-ah!”

***

“Michael? Are you okay?” Michael glanced up. Very few people remained in the room, though a small group huddled around the artist,
asking her questions. Most folks left to prepare to march the next day. The other couple had left the table, leaving only Michael, Jay, Mark, and Jase.

Jay had checked constantly over the last few hours, and Michael seemed to be okay, though several times he’d noticed Michael’s hand in
his pocket. More than likely, Michael’s fingers clutched the pill bottle he sometime clung to like a small child seeking comfort from a Teddy
bear. A least he hadn’t taken one during the past three hours, or not that Jay had seen.