Page 116 of Sloane

“I know Cassie wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I’m not convinced Grace and I aren’t going to be total pushovers with our kids,” Ryan said reflectively.

“Oh yeah?” I asked as he shut the car off outside the white Mediterranean-style house. “Something you need to tell me?”

“Nah, not yet. She says we have to wait. I’m aching to have ‘em though.”

“You guys will be great parents,” I said then quickly opened the car door and swung my legs out before he noticed me choke up. I hated that I was envious of my friends, but I was. Other than the obvious—working and unscarred bodies, they had the women they’d be wifing up soon, and futures that included kids.

I needed to get out of that headspace. I’d worked too fucking hard to get sucked back into feeling sorry for myself again.

The front door opened as Ryan pulled my bags and walker from the trunk.

“Hey!” A kid wearing black joggers and a grey vintage Tom Petty Wildflowers t-shirt, who looked like he’d just graduated bootcamp, called from the porch. “You must be the new guy.”

I took the walker and made my way to the front steps, taking a look at the lengthy wheelchair ramp as I did.

Fuck, that was a long walk for three goddamn steps.

“Sloane Davidson,” I said as I debated whether I wanted to attempt the stairs and risk falling on my ass in front of the kid or take the long way.

“Stu Laughlin,” he replied, then turned his body and held onto the railing with one hand, while holding a phantom walker in the other. “If you turn your walker to the side, you can use it and the railing for support,” he suggested. “Always remember—up with your good leg, down with the bad.”

I remember Judy saying those exact words and attempted the stairs. Fortunately for my ego, I was able to maneuver them easier than I thought while Ryan walked behind me.

“Sorry our PTA isn’t here,” Stu said once we were inside the house. “We weren’t expecting you for another few hours, so she ran to the store to get stuff to make you a cheesecake as a sort of welcome present. She likes to bake.” He patted his flat stomach. “And lucky for us, we get to reap the benefits.”

“She’s making a cheesecake?”

Stu’s revelation almost made me discount the view of the ocean that I could see even from the entry of the house.

I stole a glance at Ryan, who’d narrowed his eyes, so I knew he was thinking what I was thinking. But there’s no way it could be my Ashley.

“It’s sooo fucking good, dude.”

Another guy closer to my age appeared and added, “Ash has quickly learned we’ll do just about anything for her baking or to hold Millie, and she’s not above using that to her advantage.”

“Millie?” Ryan asked.

“Her baby daughter,” the new guy said, then extended his hand. “Crash Davis.”

Unlike Stu, Crash had on a pair of shorts, so I can see he had two artificial legs—one from the hip down, and one just below his knee.

I took his offered hand and shook it. “Sloane Davidson.” After releasing my grip, I said, “So, is there a story behind your name?”

“Not as far my injuries go, no. My given name is Christopher, but the movie, Bull Durham came out when I was just learning to walk, so my dad started calling me Crash, and it stuck. Of course, the guys in paratrooper school had a field day with it. And I guess my accident does add another layer of humor to it.”

“Yeah, if you have a sick sense of humor,” Stu replied.

“Well, we both know the answer to that.”

That boded well for how I was going to get along with these guys, but that still left our PTA.

“So, what do I need to know about Ashley?”

“I mean, she’s funny…” Stu said.

Crash added, “And she won’t hesitate to give you a hard time if she thinks you’re being a pussy, although she’d use much nicer language.”

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