Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Zach hadn’t moved when Harvey stretched his bare legs out in front of him again. Both of them drank in the sight of his pale skin, the even whiter scars twisting along the inside of his calf. Hair grew at irregular intervals where constant friction from the brace wore it away, and in the bare patches, the skin was often dimpled, peppered with scars from the smaller pieces of shrapnel.

“Almost lost those two toes,” he said, pointing at the smallest pair. “Then they brought in a new French doc who worked wonders.” He grinned, in spite of feeling so self-conscious about exposing himself like this. “You almost had to call me Stumpy.”

“I saw it happen.” His hand hovered over Harvey’s knee. He could almost feel the warmth from Zach’s skin. “Just before the mortar exploded, I shouted. I don’t know if you heard me. I always wondered what would have happened if I was just a bit closer, or shouted a bit louder…”