Jane poked around in the half-empty fridge before settling on an apple and peanut butter and jelly sandwich. This was Prett's week to cook, which meant frozen pizzas, boxed mac-and-cheese, and canned soups. But that was dinner. Breakfast and lunch were fend-for-yourself meals, and the pickings were slim now that the week neared its end. Jane had worked alone for most of that, for the men had returned to grouting tile. She missed Prett's company though she worked faster without the distraction of conversation.

Prett had a lunch meeting with A.J. Marquis, and Val was eating with Dona, so Jane's only companion this noon was Danny. She had just assembled her sandwich when he entered the apartment. He gave her a nod before digging around in the freezer compartment.

"Hey, that's not fair!" Jane exclaimed when he pulled out a container of homemade soup. "How'd I miss seeing that?"

Danny grinned. I hide, he signed.

"Is there any more?"

Danny shook his head as he stuck the container in the microwave.

Jane sighed. "Well, we only have tomorrow to suffer through and then it'll be your turn to cook again, right?"

Danny shook his head and signed, V.

"Val? His turn was last week."

Danny signed, Sick.

"So because he was sick he has to make up for it? Is that fair?"

Danny nodded.

"How's his cooking?" Between the holiday meals and Jane's illness, she hadn't yet had a sampling.

Danny tilted his hand back and forth.

"But better than Prett?" Jane asked with hope.

Danny shook his head.

"In other words, get used to frozen dinners." Jane sighed. "And peanut butter and jelly." She took a bite of her sandwich before sitting at the breakfast bar.

Danny joined her with his heated soup and two bowls.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Jane said when he dished out half for her. But he wouldn't be dissuaded, so she offered him half her sandwich in exchange. They ate in silence a few minutes. Then Danny sent a text.

          Thanks for trying with Cady.

He gave a wan smile.

"I'm sorry I haven't been much help there," Jane replied. "And I'm sorry for being so harsh the other night. But you really are an incorrigible flirt."

Danny smirked and gave a nod.

"The truth is," Jane continued, "Cady doesn't think she's pretty enough for you. Because of her scars."

Danny scowled. He pointed to Jane, then to his eyes before motioning his hands down his torso.

"But has she seen your scars?"

Danny shook his head.

"And besides, you can hide yours." Jane touched her cheek. "She can't."

I don't see, Danny signed.

"What don't you see?"

He sent a text.

          Her scars. I don't see them anymore.
          I just see her. She's beautiful.

Jane's eyes welled up at this touching admission. "Have you told her that?"

Danny shook his head.

"I think you should."

He held up his phone.

"No," Jane admonished, "not by text. Tell her. Speak to her."

Danny's gaze dropped. He slumped his shoulders as he put down his phone. He picked up his spoon, running it around his bowl's circumference.

"It isn't that bad, you know. Your speech."

Danny looked at her.

"I heard you talking to Prett when I was sick. The night you woke him up."

Danny's eyes widened.

"He didn't want me to mention it. He says you're sensitive, and maybe you are. But lots of people have speech impediments. You shouldn't let it hold you back. I don't think Cady would reject you because of that." She added with a rueful tone, "She'd reject you for a million other reasons, but not that."

He gave a sad smile before again concentrating on his food.

Cadence is wrong. He isn't pretending to love her. I just don't understand why he won't speak. He must be hiding something. Like Prett.

She watched Danny take a bite of soup. "How'd Prett get his scars?"

Danny's eyes flicked up as he removed the spoon from his mouth.

"I accidentally saw them when he changed his shirt. He won't talk about it."

Danny chewed with slow deliberation, his lips turning up in a half-smile similar to Prett's. He picked up his phone.

          If P didn't tell you, I won't.

"Why not?"

          He'd kill me.

"He says you saved his life. When you kidnapped him."

Danny chuckled.

"Is that true? Did you and Val really tie him up and stuff him in the trunk?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

          To save him.

"From what?"

          Himself.

"What does that mean?"

Danny thought about his reply before sending it.

          I talk 2 much.

"You don't talk at all."

He saluted her.

"What's the name of the girl I look like?"

Danny put up his hand and shook his head before clearing his dishes to the sink. With a defeated air, Jane followed suit. But as she came near Danny, he gave her a slight scowl before striding out of the kitchen. She watched him leave, her bowl and plate in her hands. Great. Now he's avoiding me. She put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. At least I can make Prett happy by cleaning up.

She had just turned on the dishwasher when Danny returned. To her surprise, he tapped her arm and held up a small photo album. He gestured for her to follow him to the living room.

They sat on the sofa, so close that their arms brushed. Jane's body heated from the slight contact, and her skin tingled with the memory of the back rub he'd given. Now I know why Prett made him stop. She flushed more. Trembling fits of adoration. How does Cadence resist him?

Danny seemed unaffected by their closeness. He sent a text.

          You want to know about us.
          This is what I can show you.

He opened the album before handing it to Jane. The first photo was Danny in his army uniform.

"I've seen this before," Jane said. "Cady has this picture next to her bed."

Danny raised his eyebrows.

Jane elbowed his ribs. "See, she doesn't hate you."

He gave a shy, pleased smile.

Jane turned back to the photo. "I only recognized you from your eyes. You're so young. How old were you?"

Eighteen, he signed.

"Right out of high school, then?"

He nodded and indicated she should turn the pages.

A series of photos showed him living the typical army life: emerging from a tank, posing with fellow soldiers, playing cards in barracks. He wore fatigues in most of the photos, but some showed him shirtless with dog tags. He almost always held a rifle.

Danny pointed himself out if it wasn't obvious, and after Jane had flipped a couple pages, he pointed out another young man who showed up in the shots.

"Who is it?" she asked.

He texted.

          Kyle Cooper. My best friend.

"He's nice looking."

Danny gave a nod.

Jane stopped at a photo of the two standing in front of a pagoda. "Wait a minute. This isn't Iraq?"

Danny shook his head and pointed to the next photo—one of him standing near a sign that read US ARMY IMCOM KOREA.

"Korea? They sent you there first?"

He nodded.

          Before 9/11

Next came a photo of Danny in civilian clothes sitting on a couch Jane recognized as the one in Genevieve's family room. After a moment she also recognized the two men beside him.

Despite being clean-shaven with short hair, there was no mistaking Val's build and coloring. Prett, flanked by his brothers, also had short hair, but a few days' beard growth familiarized his features. What struck Jane most, though, wasn't their difference in grooming, but their expressions. 

Danny's previous photos had been filled with excitement, fun, and goofiness with his compatriots, much like he acted with his brothers now. But in this photo he seemed distant from the two, despite being mere inches from them. He and Val sat unsmiling at the camera while Prett stared vacantly at nothing and nobody.

"You don't look happy."

          After we kidnapped P. Bad time

"Why?"

Danny thought for a moment.

          He was mad

"But he said he forgave you. In Illinois. So he could sleep in the motel and not get stuffed back in the trunk."

Danny chuckled and shook his head.

          Took him years to forgive. Not till he saw how
          what I did saved me. Saved us all.

"I don't understand."

Danny considered his words, typing and deleting several texts before finally sending:

          2 hard 2 explain

The adjacent photo showed Danny's friend Kyle also on a sofa, flanked by two pretty blondes. His arms around them, he grinned with contentment at the camera.

His sisters, Danny signed. He touched both photos as if to point out the contrast of family dynamics. He then took a deep breath and flipped the page.

Here he and Kyle stood in fatigues against a background of sand, their faces sweaty and dusty. Arms flung around each other's shoulders, they smiled at the camera, but their expressions weren't as carefree as before. 

The next photo was one of a white marble gravestone which read:

KYLE S
COOPER
CPL US ARMY
JULY 31 1978
OCT 14 2003
PURPLE HEART
OPERATION
IRAQI FREEDOM
SET YOUR MINDS
ON THINGS ABOVE

"Oh!" Jane exclaimed. Tears stung her eyes. She looked at Danny. "I'm so sorry."

He gave a nod and composed another text.

          In Tikrit clearing a building. Lots of trash.
          I stepped over a box. He stepped on it. IED.

"How awful."

          Should be me there, not him. He was the better man.

Danny contemplated the photo a moment longer, then turned the page. Here he lay in a hospital bed, extensively bandaged, numerous tubes and wires attached everywhere, his eyes closed, and his face so swollen and bruised as to be unrecognizable. A man leaned over him, pressing his forehead against Danny's temple, one hand resting on his head, the other on his bare shoulder.

Prett.

Jane swiped the unbidden tears rolling down her cheeks. "You two are really close," she murmured.

Danny smiled.

          He likes taking care of people.
          He took care of our mama.
          He took care of me.

Danny nudged her with his elbow.

          He took care of you.

"Yeah, well, the flu is a far cry from this," Jane replied with a sniffle.

The next photo showed Val, thin and haggard, leaning over his unconscious brother, his arms resting on the guardrail, looking at the camera in weariness.

          This is why P forgave me.
          I needed him to take care of me.
          I never let him do that before. Now I had to.
          He could keep his promise.

"What promise?"

          To our mama. To always take care of me.

"I thought your mom was his step-mom."

Danny scoffed.

          She was their mama too. Still working on making them say it.

"Why? I'm confused."

          I didn't want to share her when I was a kid.
          But she was their mama just the same.

I still don't understand.

Jane wanted to question more, but Danny turned the page. Here was a photo of him awake. Prett sat next to his bed, his face showing aching exhaustion while Danny stared at him in distress.

          Such pain. I wanted to die. He wouldn't let me.

In the other photo, Danny's eyes were closed, his face tight.

          Drugged

He involuntarily shuddered.

          Nightmares of pain

The next set of photos highlighted the extent of his injuries and his recovery: bandages being removed and exposing burns, surgically implanted metal rods sticking out of his legs, skin grafts, physical therapy, struggling to hold a spoon, struggling to walk.

He stopped at a photo with him sitting in a wheelchair, glaring at Prett, his right hand raised mid-sign. Prett sat opposite him, his face an angry scowl, hands tensed into fists on his thighs.

"He looks like he's about to hit you!"

Danny laughed.

          He did. Gave me a bloody nose.

"Why was he so mad?"

          I refused therapy. Was nasty to nurses.
          He told me I would walk again whether I liked it or not.
          I told him to f off.
          He punched me.

"That's terrible!"

          He should have done it years before

"Why?"

          I would have listened. But he was a pacifist.
          Never hit me. Till he did.

Danny grinned.

          He says I should've been smart enough to duck

Jane stared at Danny. He's actually glad Prett hit him. "Prett said Val would never hit you, either. But he did, didn't he? Over the flap about the pink panels?"

Danny rubbed his jaw as if it still hurt.

          He said he'd give me a light tap. The liar.
          But one measly right hook doesn't avenge
          the years of beatings I gave him.
          So I can't complain.

He can't complain. He's glad they hit him. Jane shook her head. I'll never understand men.

The remaining photos showed continued progress. Danny's attitude in these seemed different; more determined. In a photo of him taking a step between parallel bars, he and Prett stared at each other, the former triumphant, the latter with his arms crossed, his lips in his trademark half-smile.

"I think it's great you're so close to Prett. It's too bad Val is kind of left out, though. Do you suppose he's jealous?"

Danny scoffed.

          They have unbreakable bond. I am the outsider.

"That can't be. You're closer to Prett than Val is."

Danny shook his head.

          Not then. Not now. Not ever.

"But you're so affectionate with each other. Val and Prett aren't."

          Don't be fooled. They're unbreakable.
          I spent years trying. Then I gave in and joined their madness.

"Madness?"

          This hiding from the world.
          They'd be hermits if not for me.
          I dragged them out this far. 
          Long ways to go.

"Val said he's trying to do the same thing. Break free from this self-imposed prison. That's what he called it. He seems worried about Prett. And Prett thinks he's holding you guys back. Though he wouldn't tell me how."

           They told you this?

"Yeah."

Danny chuckled in disbelief and made a sign Jane didn't know, so he followed it with a text.

          You're amazing. They never tell me these things.

"Well, I'm not sure why they're telling me. Val's been especially...well, he seems to be trying to use me against Prett somehow. Makes me uncomfortable."

Danny shrugged.

          Let them play their mind games.
          They won't see what I'm doing.

"What are you doing?"

Danny grinned and pointed at the last photo. Here the brothers sat on another sofa, this time with Danny in the middle. Prett's arm was draped across Danny's shoulders while Val's arm stretched across the backrest. The latter two looked tired but resolved. Danny's mouth was twisted in a half-smile, palms resting upright on his thighs, both middle fingers flipping the bird at the camera.

Danny texted.

          Dragging them towards normal.

***

"I have your first paycheck," Prett called.

Jane dropped the paint roller and bounded down the stairs.

"And here's the hundred I promised Monday for entertainment." He pulled a wad of twenties out of his shirt pocket.

"I ended up painting, remember?" Jane wiped her hands on her sweatpants before accepting the cash and check. "And taking down decorations."

"Yet I was still entertained."

Jane grinned before reading the check. Not quite four hundred dollars. She'd hoped for more, but this was a start. Then a sharp pain shot through her stomach as she read the rest. Her grip on the check tightened. She looked up at Prett, her eyes wide in shock.

"I know," Prett said. "Between you being out sick and Uncle Sam taking his cut, it isn't much. But your next one should be better. Anyway, I'll give you a ride to the bank so you can cash it if you like."

"I, ah," she stared at him a moment before looking back at the check. "Yeah. Okay. Let me just, ah, get my wallet." Her head pounding, she stumbled up the stairs.

"Hey, careful!" Prett yelled after her. "We don't need a repeat of your bloody lip!"

Jane didn't answer. Running to her bedroom, she grabbed her wallet and took out a folded envelope from an innermost pocket. From inside this she pulled out a check, which she held side-by-side with the one Prett had given her. 

His check was a standard size, while the other was larger, printed from a computer. The banks were different, but the account holder was the same: Westfall-Montgomery, LLC; as was the payee: Janellen Johnson.

One check signed by P.J. Marvel.

The other signed by Vivian Montgomery.

One dated today.

The other dated twelve years ago.

One for three hundred eighty-six dollars and twenty-seven cents.

The other for two hundred fifty thousand.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please help me improve my writing by pointing out problems. And if you like what you read, please click the Vote button below. And comment! I love comments!😊

Fun Fact: Several years ago I had a co-worker with deep facial scars. (She'd been attacked by her mom's dog. Sound familiar? 😉) The scars marred her otherwise pretty face. They were the first thing I noticed every time I saw her.

But a couple years into our working relationship, I was chatting with her when it hit me: I no longer noticed the scars. They were still there, just as prominent as before, but now that I knew her better, I saw past them to see her. I didn't even know when I'd stopped noticing them, since it had happened gradually. 

Naturally I filed away this phenomena in my brain for future use in a novel. 😄

So, when Danny tells Jane he doesn't see Cadence's scars anymore, he's telling the truth. 💕

Bonus Fun Fact: I've chosen the song, It's Been Awhile by Staind for this chapter. I've found songs that fit various characters, and this one is Danny's theme during the aftermath of his injuries and his subsequent addiction to pain killers. I generally don't like songs with explicit/bad language, but I make an exception for this one. (The video at the top of the chapter is the clean version.) The relevant lyrics that fit Danny:

And it's been awhile
Since I could hold my head up high
...
And it's been awhile
Since I could stand on my own two feet again
...
And everything I can't remember
As fucked up as it all may seem
The consequences that I've rendered
I've stretched myself beyond my means
And it's been awhile
Since I can say that I wasn't addicted
And it's been awhile
Since I can say I love myself as well
...
And everything I can't remember
As fucked up as it all may seem
The consequences that I've rendered
I've gone and fucked things up again
Why must I feel this way?
Just make this go away
Just one more peaceful day
And it's been awhile
Since I could look at myself straight
And it's been awhile
Since I said I'm sorry
...
And everything I can't remember
As fucked up as it all may seem to be I know it's me
I cannot blame this on my father
He did the best he could for me
And it's been awhile
Since I could hold my head up high
And it's been awhile
Since I said I'm sorry

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