Page 70 of Warrior's Walk
“Fuck. Off.” I snap, matching his tone.
Unholy light shines from his dark eyes. He’s pissed now. Good, so am I.
“I’m not moving and neither are you until you pick that weight up. I’ll stand here all day if I have to,” he swears.
Fuck. Reluctantly, I bend and pick the weight up, returning it to the rack with a loud thud. When I straighten, I’m glaring. Riggs gets up in my face and lowers his voice.
“You’re the only one of the two of us that sees yourself as less than. Don’t taint my image of you.”
That’s what he thinks this is about? That I’m not strong enough? “Easy for you to say. You didn’t shatter your legs. I hit the ground goin’ thirty miles an hour, maybe more.”
“Our situation could’ve easily been reversed.”
“But they weren’t!”
The vein at his temple visibly throbs, yet he remains calm in the face of my anger. “But they could’ve been, and you wouldn’t have let me quit, so don’t expect me to give up on you so easily. Ten more reps, soldier. Count them out,” he commands.
I glare defiantly, but he stands his ground. “That’s insane! You’re sadistic.”
Riggs shrugs, still maintaining that calm, blank expression. “Welcome to physical therapy.”
“No! Look.” I point to the posters on the wall. “Those guys look happy; they don’t look like they’re in pain. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be done. They’reenjoyingthemselves. I’m not enjoying myself.”
He taps his pen against his bottom lip and then does that annoying ass clickety thing with it. “I am,” he smirks.
I lunge for him because he wanted to see me lunge, right? A pair of strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me back.
“Slow your roll,Rambo.” It’s Nash. I didn’t even see him move across the gym. “What do you say we go for a drive, cool down a little, and then I’ll drop you back at home?”
Riggs nods at Nash, ignoring me completely, before rejoining his patients. “Yeah, sounds good. I’m ready to get the fuck outta here.”
“Where are we headed?” I ask when he passes my exit.
“I need to make a stop. I’ve got to meet up with someone important.”
Great, I just wanna go home. To check on my mama, take a cold shower, and then sit and do nothing for the rest of the afternoon.
“My partner always says you have to talk your way through a problem to get to the other side.”
I snort, ’cause I was expecting some sort of therapeutic bullshit talk. After all, the guy’s sleeping with a therapist. “Is that right?”
“Not me though,” he smirks. “I say, if you can’t get over something, try getting under it instead.”
This time my laugh is genuine—and unexpected. “Did that work for you and Brewer?”
Nash shrugs. “It’s working fine so far.” He takes the next exit. “There’s no avoiding talking, though, not with the people who matter to you most.”
About two miles down the road, Nash pulls through an ornate wrought-iron gate. The sign reads ‘Western Carolina State Veterans Cemetery.’ I have no idea who he’s meeting up with, in a cemetery of all places, but I keep my mouth shut and follow his lead. He gets out of his truck and walks up two rows before coming to a stop in front of what looks to be a newer headstone. Nash runs his fingers over the engraved name.
Victor Gutierrez
Beloved and honored for his heroic
sacrifice and deeds on and off the battlefield.
He kneels in front of the marble stone and makes the sign of the cross before kissing the tips of his fingers and touching the man’s name again. I remain silent when he bows his head. Thisis a private moment between him and the man buried six feet beneath him. I feel like a voyeur just standing here watching.
Maybe fifteen minutes pass before he pulls a small card from the pocket of his cargo shorts and places the blue envelope at the base of the stone. Nash straightens and takes a few steps back.