Page 1 of My Starry Valentine

Chapter One

LEDGER

My Jeep dashboard flashes eight in the morning and a blustery twenty-three degrees. I take another swig of coffee with cream, staring up at the towering white frozen waterfalls of the Ouray Ice Park and the familiar green “Climber Only Area” and white and red “Crampons and a Helmet Required Beyond This Point” signs. Savoring the heat blasting from my vehicle’s air vents, I only remove the key from the ignition when Chuck pulls up next to me in his red Toyota 4Runner.

The tall, lanky, gray-haired local nods as he glances through the passenger window of his car. His stoic face betrays no hint of disgust as he takes in my scarred left side, oblivious to what most people either can’t take their eyes off or avert them from.

Sometimes, being around him, I almost forget about what happened. Chuck has ice-climbed this park since it opened in the nineties, and over the past three years since my relocation, he’s taught me everything I know about the sport. Without his friendship and kindness, I wouldn’t be alive. A former Navy hospital corpsman, he understands my military past, injuries, and current situation better than anyone.

Nodding at him through the driver’s side window, I put my coffee thermos back in the cupholder, stepping out into the frigid air. I exhale sharply as the chill slams into me despite wearing a toasty base and mid-layer. The icy wind slices into my face and neck, a wolf’s bare teeth biting into my scarred, sensitive flesh. Opening the trunk of my Jeep, I hustle into my alpine jacket, beanie, and an extra layer of pants before losing any more heat from my core.

I bluster in his direction, “Move to Colorado for its sky-kissing elevations and pristine star viewing, they said… I dunno. La Jolla sounds mighty welcoming right about now.”

“Good old San Diego!” he exclaims, rounding the back of his vehicle to wrap me in a bear hug. “All beachy and inviting until you set foot in the freezing Pacific!”

“There’s a reason they train the Seals at Coronado.” I laugh, patting his back heartily.

“Brings back memories of the Silver Strand. Did you ever run that race?”

I nod, feeling the pull from the tight, puckered skin on the left side of my body. “More times than I can count.”

“You gonna do anything about those dreads, dude?” Chuck asks, pointing at my overgrown hair. “You’ve got to be the scruffiest Marine in Colorado.”

I shrug, frowning. My hair may be shoulder-length and unkempt, but it’s not dreadlocked. Tangled is a distinct possibility, though. I bite my tongue instead of mentioning the last hairdresser I went to. The poor woman nearly had a heart attack at the sight of my face. Chuck’s already heard the story… And dwelling on the same thing makes me sound pathetic. The only one who hates pathetic more than Chuck is me.

“The weather forecast looks great for today. The temperature should rise in the early afternoon enough to soften up the ice. I figure the climbing conditions will be perfect. It’s a good thingyou’re wearing hard-shell pants because it’s going to get wet and drippy later.”

“I figured.”

“Glad we could fit this in today. It’s all downhill after this afternoon, with an aggressive storm front predicted to blow in overnight. Just in time to ruin locals’ weekend plans.”

“Yep, I had to get this in even though?—”

“Let me guess. You pulled another all-nighter?”

I frown. “Nah, I went to bed around three, three-thirty. So, I should be in fair form.”

He laughs, moving to the back of the 4Runner to finish gearing up and grab his pack. I follow suit. “Enjoy those short sleeps while you can. Once you hit your sixties, you won’t be able to breathe without a full six hours of shut-eye.”

“I haven’t slept that much since before the Marines.”

His face tightens with concern, and a prick of guilt stings me, followed by anger.Can’t a guy joke around here?The answer comes swiftly.After what you’ve put Chuck through? No.

My friend asks, “You having trouble with sleep again?”

I can’t lie to the man, even though I know it would go a long way toward assuaging his worry. “PTSD’s been kicking in again. Some pretty rough dreams about…you know…the accident and after…”

“You been keeping up with therapy and meds?”

“Kind of.”

Chuck shakes his head disapprovingly.

“I hate how fuzzy they make me feel. Besides, this here’s the best therapy.”

“Agreed,” he says with a half-hearted smile. “But promise you’ll get back with your therapist. You don’t want things to go south again…”

I nod, feeling like a wimp. Bysouth, he means a couple of low points I’ve had over the years. Times when I questioned everything too much…even the utility of my existence.

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