Page 4 of Embattled Return
“I’ve got your bag,” Shannon told the man, seeing that he was going to have to maneuver to even get his crutches through the obstacle course of chairs. He gave her a reluctant, almost glaring look, before relinquishing his hold on the case. “I’m not going to steal it,” she told him, grinning, trying desperately to lighten the weight around him.
Without responding he turned away from her and followed the hostess to a table in the far corner. There was a short fence around the seating area, then the flow of traffic on the other, and Shannon knew he wouldn’t relax there. “Miss,” she called. “Can we get that one back there?”
It was against the wall and there was a convenient power outlet right beside it. The hostess gave the man a significant look and nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, leading them over. She placed the menus at opposite chairs and faded away. Adjusting his chair, the young man backed into it and lowered himself down. It was obviously painful and Shannon looked away, settling into her own chair.
The man was glaring at her, and she wasn’t sure why. “We can move back to the front if you want, but my phone is almost dead and I need to plug it in.”
Suiting actions to words she dug her new charger from the side pocket of her laptop bag and handed him one end. “Can you plug that in?”
The man blinked and she could tell she’d kind of stolen his building thunder. He thought she’d wanted the back corner because she didn’t want to be seen with him or something. She stuck out her hand. “Shannon Palmer.”
He took her hand, still scowling. “Logan Vance.”
“Nice to meet you, Logan,” she grinned, looking at his full face calmly. Yes, his injuries were bad, but not as bad as some they’d hired at LNF. It looked like he’d been in an IED blast or something, which would also explain the damage to his legs. “So, what branch are you in? I’m guessing Army.”
Logan stared at her for a long moment before he gave her a nod. “That obvious, huh?”
She shrugged lightly. “I work with veterans.”
He got an odd look on his face. “Yeah, I guess I’m that now. I’m medically retired from the Army. And I’m a veteran,” he sighed, a world of experience in the sound.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Twenty-three. Almost done with my six-year contract.”
“IED?”
He gave her a single, tight nod, watching her curiously. Shannon could see the wariness in his eyes, until he remembered to look away. The skin on the right side of his face had the rough, melted look of burns, but they didn’t seem to have been incredibly deep, like some of Zeke’s scars. Some of his hairline had been affected but she could see thick dark curly hair behind his ear. It had been at least a few months since he’d had a fade or a crew cut.
“Your scars don’t bother me,” she told him softly.
“Whatever, lady.” His square jaw tightened, but he didn’t look up at her, and she thought he might have been fighting emotion. She picked up her phone and scanned through her notifications as she waited for him to get a hold of himself again.
A waitress stopped at the table a few minutes later and took their drink order, and he seemed fine, even glancing up at the girl for a moment.
“So, is Denver your home?” Shannon asked him.
Logan looked up at her and made a motion with his lips. “Not exactly. My family was from there years ago, but we moved away. I wanted to see it again before...” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Well, I just wanted to see it again. The place where I was born. And I have some other business out there.”
Shannon stared at him, something niggling in her brain. She hadn’t liked that phrase,before. Before what, exactly?
Working where she did, she’d seen more than her share of PTSD and veterans struggling to find their balance after they’d been released from the military. In her opinion, they got kicked out, often with very little aftercare or reintegration training to civilian life, and it pissed her off. Even before she’d become involved with John, veteran’s issues had affected her strongly. Duncan did his best to make sure his employees got the best counseling available, but he could only offer it. He couldn’t physically walk them into it, and he’d met resistance a few times. For the most part, though, everyone went, even years after they’d had their original injury.
Even John went occasionally, though he called it a bitch session rather than counseling. His counselor, a woman named Maddowitz, didn’t seem to mind, as long as he showed up occasionally.
Had this young man, his eyes aching with masked pain, gotten any kind of guidance? Had his family even cared?
You won’t learn anything without asking questions, she told herself firmly. “Do you have any family left out here?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. My direct family is all back east, in Virginia, though we don’t talk much. I get the impression we moved because of something that happened. There were some things we weren’t supposed to talk about at the dinner table.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Shannon said thoughtfully. “You know, my husband is part owner in a detective agency. If you’d like we could check and see if you have any outlaws floating around.”
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he said stiffly, looking out over the moving tide of passengers, anger tightening his frame. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I wasn’t offering you charity, Logan,” she said softly. “I was offering a fellow military veteran aid. That’s all.”
He blinked, but the anger stayed. Shannon didn’t know how to break through that hard shell. She wasn’t really surprised though. Wounded men were like spiny little hedgehogs. Even the slightest whiff of charity offended them and set their spikes on end.