HANNAH
“Y
ou aren’t going back
to combat?” My question only pulled a grunt from the man lounging next to me, and I frowned lightly. James’ expression darkened, and he patted his leg hard over his pale, serviceable jeans.
“I’ve got a fake hip and femur. Got blown up. I was honorably discharged, and now I work for my brother as head of security. It’s alright, I guess… not as much fighting, though, so I started boxing.” Flexing my fingers, I fought back the itch to touch James’ leg. He had a scar on his face, a slice across his left cheekbone raised enough to see in the dull light. Watching him take a swig of his beer, I scooted closer to rub his arm in a tender gesture.
“I’m glad you found something new. I can’t imagine how hard the transition was.” My response only drew another grunt f
