Page 7 of Everything Changes

They walked for several more minutes like that, and then Carey said softly, “We should turn back. I need to get my prosthetic off and rest my leg.”

“Christ, Carey, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Jase, I’m fine. I know my limits, okay?”

Suitably chastened by Carey’s quiet words, Jase turned around, missing the warmth of Carey’s arm as he dropped it from Jase’s shoulders and let it swing loosely at his side.

CHAPTER 3

CAREY WOKE the next morning and stretched lazily, enjoying the luxury of not having to be up and out the door immediately to face a busy day. He loved his work, but the schedule during the fundraising season could be brutal, and his duties there, along with the volunteer peer counseling he did, meant Carey didn’t have a lot of free time.

As he wallowed there on Jase’s narrow guest bed, he could hear Jase moving about the kitchen of the tiny apartment, the smell of coffee penetrating even the closed door to his room, making his mouth water. The thought of hot, fresh coffee finally motivated him to get moving.

Carey sat on the edge of the bed and carefully rolled down the compression bandage he’d put on his residual leg before going to bed, knowing the stump would probably swell during the night due to the prolonged sitting he’d subjected it to during his long drive from Colorado. If the limb was too swollen this morning, his prosthetic wouldn’t fit right, and that could mean painful abrasions or sores at the end of the day, and those were to be avoided at all costs.

After the bandage was off, he massaged the surgical scar at the amputation site firmly, assessing the pliability of the skin before deciding he didn’t need to apply a softening cream. Carey leaned to the floor and pulled his “leg bag” up to the bed, the small duffle he kept close to hand at all times and that contained his daily stump care supplies. He took out a small hand mirror and assessed every angle of his residual limb, checking the scarring, looking for the telltale red patches and pressure marks that could lead to a dangerous, painful ulcer if left untreated.

Seeing none, he grabbed a clean silicone liner from the bag and rolled it on directly over his skin, smoothing it as he went to force out any air bubbles. Using the edge of the small table next to the bed, he pulled himself up to standing, balancing easily on his support leg as he positioned the top end of the liner high on his thigh, making sure it was comfortable and not pulling anywhere on his skin. After that, Carey reached into his bag and pulled out a different liner, made of fabric this time instead of silicone, more of a sock-like material. He rolled it on over the first liner, then added another one to create the proper thickness before pulling his prosthetic to him and fitting the end of his stump into the socket of the artificial leg, bearing down until a vacuum seal formed before assessing the fit and comfort level. He then rolled up the thick outer liner that was attached to the pylon of the prosthetic itself, anchoring the leg in place, and he was done. After that it was an easy matter to pull on a pair of loose cargo shorts and then lace up his athletic shoe over his good foot.

Yanking a clean T-shirt over his head, Carey followed his nose to the kitchen, where Jase was leaning against the kitchen counter, shirtless and wearing a loose pair of cut-off sweatpants, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands.

“I knew the smell of java would get your lazy ass out of bed.” Jase grinned, turning easily to grab another mug out of the cabinet before handing it to Carey.

As Carey stood next to Jase and lifted the carafe out of the coffeemaker to pour, Jase’s arm brushed his, and Carey was suddenly hyperaware of all the bare golden skin next to him. Jase was supremely fit, a yoga fanatic and runner, and his lean body showed the results of all the hard work, sectioned abs with no ounce of fat anywhere on him. Carey gulped, wondering where this sudden awareness of his friend’s physique was coming from, and he turned and sat down abruptly at the small kitchen table, taking a sip of coffee to cover up his confusion.

“What do you want to do today, Carey?” Jase asked, sauntering over and flopping into the chair across from him, kicking his long legs out with a sigh and crossing them at the ankle. Carey stuck his own foot out and nudged Jase with it.

“What do you think I want to do, man?” he asked. “Beach, and then more beach.”

“Thought you’d say that.” Jase grinned and waved his arm at the beach gear stacked by the front door. “You brought your crutches, right?”

Carey grimaced. He couldn’t wear his prosthetic at the beach and risk getting sand in the components. When he showered he used a so-called “water leg,” an old prosthetic made up of recycled and used parts he didn’t care about getting wet. It wasn’t safe to stand one-legged in a slippery shower, and there wasn’t always room to put a stool or plastic chair in to sit on. Carey didn’t want to get his water leg full of sand either, though, so that meant crutches.

“Yeah, I always bring a set. They’re in the back of my SUV.”

“Okay, we’ll grab ’em before we head out. You hungry? We can stop for breakfast on the way out there. I know a diner that has the best pancakes you’ve ever eaten.”

The day’s plan decided, Carey finished his coffee and went back into his room to put on a pair of board shorts. He grabbed his leg bag and headed to the living room, then busied himself getting beach towels from the small linen closet. Jase dumped a container of ice from his freezer into the large cooler that he’d stocked with water, soda, and beer.

They lugged all their supplies out to Jase’s black Jeep and stowed them in the back, Carey grabbed his crutches out of his own vehicle and added them to the pile before they finally set off. Twenty minutes later they were seated at a small outdoor table with tall glasses of cold orange juice, watching the world go by just a few feet away.

Carey took a deep breath, relaxing back into his chair, sipping his juice. “Fuck, man, I love it here.”

“I can’t imagine living anywhere else,” Jase said placidly. “I keep hoping you’ll decide to ditch that cold, snowy shit and move here too.”

“Every winter I tell myself I’m going to,” Carey said jokingly. “If only Bill would start a satellite operation somewhere like here, or Hawaii. I wouldn’t complain about Hawaii.”

Jase chuckled, then grimaced as his phone buzzed. “It’s Layla,” he said with resignation, looking at the caller ID. “If I don’t answer it, she’ll just keep calling, so lemme get it over with.” He snatched up his phone from the table and pushed out through the swinging gate to the sidewalk, his breezy “Hey babe” floating back to Carey’s ears.

As Jase talked to his manager, a group of young women walked by, and Carey watched with amusement as they caught sight of Jase and giggled, whispering together, flipping their hair and slowing down as they passed him, hoping to catch his attention. Jase grinned at them, and Carey shook his head at his friend’s effortless charm. He attracted women and men like moths to flame.

As he watched Jase flirt lightly with the pretty girls, still somehow managing to keep his conversation with Layla going, Carey remembered the night he’d found out about Jase’s bisexuality and what a shock that had been.

Four years ago—Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, California

“HEY, EVERETT, catch!”

Carey turned just in time to catch the strip of condoms Jase lobbed at him. He looked down at them, then back up to his grinning friend before saying drily, “Thanks, but you’re not my type, dude.”