Ricochet (Renegades #3)(62)
Author: Skye Jordan

So many emotions crowded inside Ryker at once, he felt as if he were caving in—relief, grief, gratitude, anger, fear, joy, surprise—a big tangled mess drawing everything to the surface.

He hadn’t gotten a handle on it before Travis turned out of a room in the distance and ran back down the hall and toward the door again. But Ryker’s gaze held on the man following—Carmello, pushing himself along in a small wheelchair with one arm. He wore gray gym shorts and an army-green tee with the words GO ARMY across the front. The white bandages covering the stumps of his other three limbs seemed obscenely bright.

“Sorry, Mister.” Travis’s apology barely reached Ryker through the ringing in his ears.

“What in the hell…?” Carmello’s voice brought Ryker’s gaze into focus again. His buddy was smiling—that huge, all-teeth smile. The infectious one that put sparkles in his dark eyes. “Ryker? Are you standing on my fuckin’ porch? Or is this some crazy-ass flashback?”

He cleared his throat, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he couldn’t. Emotions he’d thought he’d found a place for rose up and flooded his chest. His eyes stung. His lungs burned.

Ryker lowered his face into one hand and leaned into the jamb on a whispered curse.

“Travis,” Carmello said, voice low and serious, the voice Ryker had heard so many times in the field. “Get Segeant Ryker a glass of water.”

The boy’s feet thudded away on the hardwood, and Ryker exhaled. The breath came out as a laugh, but his knees gave, and he sagged against the wood.

Carmello grabbed Ryker’s arm, guided his hand to the cold metal of the wheelchair, then clasped his own over top. “Dude,” he said in that same low voice, “in case you hadn’t noticed, I can’t haul your sorry ass off the ground no more. The best I can do is to drag you to the carpet by the hair after you drop. I wouldn’t advise it.”

Ryker laughed, but his eyes were already wet, and he couldn’t do anything about the tears squeezing out onto his face. He wiped at them before he dropped his hand. “Can I…I don’t know…hug you or something?”

Carmello released his hand and lifted his arm in invitation. His concern vanished, and joy filled his face again. “You’d better.”

Still using the chair for support, Ryker leaned down and hugged the man. Tears kept pouring out of him, more than he’d known he possessed. But Carmello just kept his arm, his only arm, wrapped tight around Ryker’s shoulders, his hand fisted in Ryker’s shirt.

“Missed you, man,” Carmello said, voice thick.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Here’s your water, sir.”

Ryker straightened at the sound of Travis’s voice, rubbed his eyes on his forearm, and took the glass. “Thanks, buddy.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned to Carmello. “Can I play my game now?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning, love filling his face. “Go.”

Travis scuttled down the hall.

“Let’s get your ass in a chair.” Carmello breezed past Ryker in the chair, his single arm still bulging with muscle as he pushed the wheel. “You’re makin’ me nervous.”

Ryker exhaled, downed the water, and wiped the wetness from his face before following Carmello into a small living room and dropped onto a leather sofa. He set the glass down on the table, clasped his hands, and looked up at Carmello again.

“Fuck,” he said. “You look great.”

Carmello’s grin returned. “You oughta (?) see me with the fancy prosthetics they’re making for me at Bethesda. I’m like the six-fucking-million-dollar man.”

Ryker laughed, and another wave of damn tears rushed forward. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to the sting. When he finally looked at Carmello again, his friend’s expression had turned serious. And concerned.

“What are you doing in the states, Ry?”

Ryker shook his head. “Fucking Barker…” He dropped his gaze to the softly patterned cream carpet covering the hardwood. “Said he wouldn’t accept my reupping papers until I took a two-month leave Stateside.”

“He knows you,” Carmello said. “What kind of support are you getting?”

“Jesus, don’t you start.” Ryker sat back. “Barker doesn’t know shit.

Carmello’s lids lowered. “How’s that denial working for you, buddy?”

“Great, as a matter of fact. Thanks for asking.” He sat forward. “Dude, I’m not here to talk about me, I want to know how you’re doing. How you’re healing. Tell me about these new gadgets you’re getting.”

“How often do you have nightmares?”

Ryker frowned at him. Shrugged. “They’re no big—”

“Every night? More than once a night?”

He exhaled and scratched his head. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about, yet it was all he wanted to talk about. No one would understand better than Carmello, yet he was the last person who should be hearing how his own tragedy had affected Ryker.

“Mike,” he said, “I appreciate your concern, but—”

“That bad,” he said, eyes narrowed, voice soft. “I knew it. I knew this would be slowly killing you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Mike leaned forward in the chair, his dark eyes solid and stern on Ryker’s. “This. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

Ryker’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. In his mind, he saw that damned goat dart into the middle of the road. Over and over and over, it played in his head. “I should have killed it.” The words scraped out of his throat in a voice he didn’t recognize. “I…hesitated. I…”

“I could have killed it too,” Mike said. “The others could have killed it too—”

“I didn’t give the order.”

“Fuck orders,” Carmello said. “When’s the last time any of us listened to you anyway?”

Ryker dropped back on the sofa again. He wanted to turn back time. Step out on the front porch again and start over. Stay upbeat. Keep the focus on Mike. “How the hell did we get here? Tell me the good stuff, man. Tell me about Travis and Julie. Tell me about being home, all the great food, great beer, great weather.”

“I’ll tell you about the good stuff, Ry,” Mike said. “I get to see my kid every day. I get to do his homework with him, build Lego battleships, watch movies. I even play basketball with him. When those prosthetics come through, I’ll be able to do everything every other dad gets to do with their kid. And I get to wake up to Julie every morning. I get to kiss her good night every night. I get to whisper to her in the dark, laugh with her every day, and, yeah, eventually, I’ll even be able to make love with her again. All because you saved my life, Ry.”