“Hopefully not long.” That part was completely true.
When he’d first broken it, the ankle couldn’t bear weight. He knew because he’d tried—and failed.
After seeing the X-ray, he understood why. His ankle looked like a snapped porkchop bone.
But with the pins and plate they’d put in and with the walking boot and a couple more weeks of recovery, he hoped he would be able to put weight on it.
If he weren’t scared of causing more damage—permanent damage that would definitely cost him his spot on the team—he’d have already abandoned the crutches and been walking on it with just the boot.
“I called during my layover and got an appointment at the orthopedic place in Oneonta for next week. They’ll tell me if I can ditch the crutches yet.” And the minute that doc said he could safely walk normally, he was going to.
“Hmm,” Kurt grunted. “Too bad you’re laid up. Dad and I could use your help. We’ve got a ton of jobs going right now.”
The path not taken—working for his father’s construction company. It was a good job for his older brother that earned him good money, but it wasn’t for Kyle.
Or at least it hadn’t been when he’d been a healthy, active-duty SEAL.
If that changed… God, he hoped it didn’t come to that.
Kyle made some noncommittal sound of agreement. Then frowned. “What about Scooter? Can’t he help you guys?”
Kurt snorted. “Scooter is twenty-one and in college. You think he wants to work with his old man and brother?”
“Yes, I do. If he were smart, he would. He could probably use the money.”
“Mom and Dad pay for his tuition. What’s he need money for?” Kurt asked.
“Beer?” Kyle suggested since his little brother was now of legal drinking age. “Don’t you remember the year you turned twenty-one?”
Kurt nodded. “I do. But if he can’t figure out that a day of work will lead to a paycheck that can be turned into a night of drinking, that’s his problem. Our pretty boy little brother might have gotten the looks, but he didn’t get the brains.”
Kyle lifted a brow at the insult lobbed at the absent Scooter.
It seemed nothing had changed since he’d been gone. Brothers will be brothers.
Kurt swung the truck into their parents’ driveway and chuckled. “Speak of the devil. There’s Scooter now.”
“That’s what he’s driving?” Kyle watched the brake lights flash off on the low sports car parked in front of them, before his little brother crawled out of the driver’s seat.
“Yup,” Kurt confirmed.
Kyle blew out a whistle.
While the rest of the family drove pick-up trucks of various age and decrepitude, all handed down from the construction company, Scooter was driving a souped up hot rod.
“Hate to tell you, bro. But that boy’s not interested in construction if he’s driving that. And he’s not going to work for just beer money either. Where’d he get the cash to buy that thing?” Kyle asked, amazed.
“Damn kid went to the police auction and bought it with his savings for pennies on the dollar.”
“Guess he’s not as dumb as you say he is.” Kyle eyed the vehicle again, impressed at both the car and his little brother’s ingenuity in acquiring it.
“Oh, he is just as stupid as I said. Driving that car in upstate New York winters? Ask me how many times I’ve had to pull him out when he gets stuck in the snow at school.”
Kyle chuckled.
Okay, he’d admit it. He missed home. He missed his brothers. Hell, he might even miss this shit town he’d fled after high school.
Scooter leaned on the roof of his car and watched the extended process of Kyle getting out of the truck.
The kid lifted his chin and said, “Hey, Kurt. Who’s that with you?”
Kurt laughed and glanced at Kyle. “I think he’s insinuating you haven’t been around much.”
“Forgive me for protecting your freedom,” Kyle grumbled, realizing just how high off the ground all the family trucks were now that he was basically one-legged.
“Let me guess. Parachute jump gone bad?” Scooter moved closer. “Gotta roll when you land, bro.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind,” Kyle grumbled.
“Was it? A parachute accident?” Kurt asked, looking interested and a little too excited at the prospect of hearing all the gory details about his maiming.
“No,” Kyle answered definitively.
“IED?” Scooter guessed.
What was this? A new game for the two of them? Guess the injury?
“No.” Kyle scowled.
Jeez. These two rarely, if ever, had been interested in what he had to say when they were growing up. Now, they were all over him. Just because he was refusing to answer their questions.
“Kyle!” His mom came running out the front door and down the steps of the old Colonial-style house he’d never appreciated much—until he’d had the experience of living in base housing.
Now the worn wood steps and drafty windows didn’t seem so bad. And after some of the places he’d been sent to with barebones amenities, he’d gladly wait for the water in the upstairs shower to finally warm up.
“Hey, Mom.” He tried to remain upright as the woman threw herself against him in a hug.
His father and grandmother followed at a more leisurely pace. He noticed his grandmother gripped the white painted railing harder than she used to and moved more slowly down the wide stairs.
“Son.” His father extended a hand, that turned from a shake to an embrace.
“Hey, Dad.”
“See you broke yourself.”
“I did. I think Kurt thinks I did it just so I wouldn’t have to help out around here,” Kyle joked.
His father snorted. “Scooter doesn’t even bother trying to come up with an excuse for his not helping out around here.”
“I told you, I want to be called Ken. Not Scooter. And I’m in school full-time. I’m busy.”
“You can’t be called Ken. It’s too confusing when Kendall is around,” their mom said. “Oh, by the way. Kendall and the kids are on their way.”
“Lucky you. You get to experience the two rug rats.” Kurt chuckled.
“That’s not fair,” Scooter whined. “Why does she get to have the name and not me?”
“Why did Mom name us all with K names? It’s just one of the great mysteries of the universe.” Kurt shrugged.
“I didn’t do it on purpose. It just worked out that way,” their mother said. “And Kendall was born first.”
“Not to mention she didn’t ride around on a scooter rather than walking for the first five years of her life,” Grandma shot that tidbit at Scooter before coming to embrace Kyle.
“Hi, Grandma.”
“Hello, Kyle. You look skinny.” She reached up and slapped both palms against the outside of his arms.
His brows rose at the insult. “I’m not—” He cut himself off and sighed. “Yes, Grandma.”
He might not be as bulked up as he’d been before deploying and before the injury, but he wasn’t skinny. But that was what it was like living with his grandmother and his mother both. If they couldn’t feed him, they weren’t happy.