When in December (Home Haven #1)

Chapter 24

twenty-four

. . .

Aaron

I hated the way the paper crinkled under me as I sat, waiting for the doctor to come back in. But that quickly changed when I realized how much more I hated the way he sauntered into the room with a small too-happy smile on his face as he looked over my records. He hummed as he jotted down his notes.

I tapped my fingers against the side of the table. I’d made this appointment what felt like ages ago when I got back to town. Now, I was here to be told whether my life was over, and I didn’t get to go back to the one thing that I was good at and loved.

Or at least, that was what I’d thought the appointment was going to tell me when I made it. It felt … less important now for some reason. Less intense. Even if I was just as impatient.

“You look good from where I see you were a few months ago,” the doctor said, glancing back down at my file once more as if he was going to see something new there.

“Great. I guess you can sign off, and I’ll be out of your hair,” I said.

He glanced up at me for less than a second. “I’m not signing off.”

“What?” I asked. “You said I was doing well.”

“And you are.”

Not good enough.

The doctor folded his hands on the desk, a wedding ring flashing on his finger. His gaze remained steady. “But you still have a ways to go, Aaron,” he said. There was no reason he wouldn’t use my first name, but for some reason, knowing I would never be called Hayes again according to him, felt like a shot to the gut. “You’re mentally and physically fit from what I can see here, but …”

“But what?”

“This is only the first step. You know that. First is my signature. Then you’ll go back through the entire induction process, including a physical, fitness test, and anything else they need to declare you fit to go back into action.”

“You don’t think I can do it.”

“My medical advice is that you’re unprepared to return,” he said. “You had a TBI less than a year ago and an honorable discharge. That’s not going to hold you back from finding new work or whatever you choose to do.”

“I’m going to go back. It’s what I am meant to do.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone to write you off on this,” he said, closing his computer. “I’m just not going to be the one to do it.”

I hung my head between my shoulders.

“Talk to me, Aaron.”

I shook my head. He wasn’t going to sign it. I wasn’t going to be able to reenlist. For some reason, I’d expected to be angrier or more upset. I should’ve been. Shouldn’t I?

I glanced up at the clock above the door. Poppy was probably finishing up with the photographer who was supposed to stop by two hours ago. After making sure that he was decent enough, I’d put Oz in the mudroom and left them to it. She had been fretting about where everything was in the house for the past day and a half now, mumbling to herself about needing to make sure everything looked perfect as she adjusted trinkets on the edge of the bookshelves, filled with my and my grandmother’s books until she took a step back and smiled at her hard work.

When she smiled, her face lit up.

In my opinion, the cabin had turned into more than her unreasonable need for perfection. What she’d done was amazing. I honestly couldn’t believe it myself—from the way the lights sparkled on the tree with ideally spaced ornaments, to the gas fireplace that was as homey as true woodfire.

It felt like home.

“Aaron,” the doctor interrupted my train of thought.

“I’ll find someone else then.”

The doctor let out a deep breath. “Determination is a good quality. But, do you really want me to sign off on this and send you back to your commanding officer who might or might not accept it to get, what? Another year or two? Less than that?” he asked. “Don’t answer. Think about it. I’m sure being home has reminded you that a lot of people love you. Your family. Maybe a significant other who would be happy if you stuck around.”

Poppy’s face flashed in the front of my mind. I shook it away.

“Do you want me to be honest with you?”

“You haven’t been?” I nearly scoffed at the man.

I stood up from the table and slipped my coat over my shoulders.

“I don’t think you’re getting back out there. You had internal bleeding. Your leg is likely to produce chronic nerve pain if you keep pushing it. Having a medical discharge isn’t the end of the world, but people rarely reenlist after it, Aaron. You and I both know that. Make peace with it. Consider yourself lucky. Consider this a second chance for you to do whatever you want with your life and your future.”

But what if I had no idea what that meant anymore? Weeks ago, the future had been planned with getting back to where I had been. Where I was supposed to be. That way I’d be sure that I didn’t forget. That way, I’d make sure Vassar’s life—his sacrifice— was worth something.

I sucked on the inside of my cheek as I offered the doctor a single nod.

His sincerity followed me out the door. “I don’t suggest living in the past.”