28

“You’re driving me fucking nuts!” Aldo yelled from the living room. If he ever learned to speak at normal volume again, it would be a miracle straight from the little baby Jesus.

“That’s a fine way to talk to the woman who dropped everything to nurse you back to health because you couldn’t swerve around a bomb,” his mother snarled back from the kitchen.

“You played Candy Crush and yelled at me if I didn’t turn on The Price is Right every day,” Aldo roared.

“You aren’t driving yourself to PT. I don’t care how big and tough you think you are. So you’re welcome to walk. Go ahead and hitchhike. See if I care. I didn’t raise you to be a grown man who shouts at his own mother.”

“That is exactly who you raised me to be!” If he had to spend one more second listening to Ina Moretta grouse about the evening news or the price of cream-filled donuts or his lack of gratitude when she woke him from the only sound sleep he’d had since the fucking bomb to show him a funny dog video on her phone, he was going to murder her.

“Hey!” A third voice joined the fray from the area of the front door.

Aldo crutched into the foyer, and his mother poked her head out of the kitchen.

Harper stood in the doorway, legs braced as if for a fight. She had a bulging bag in one hand.

“Come right on in, bursting into my house like that. Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” Ina yelled.

“They must have died too soon, I guess,” Harper said several decibels above conversational tone.

Aldo blindsided her with a bear hug, dropping his crutches on the floor. He didn’t question this sudden rush of affection that welled up in him like hope. He didn’t care if he was just relieved that there was now someone present who would keep him from going to jail for homicide or if he was happy to see a friend he hadn’t let down.

Harper grabbed on to him and held tight. Aldo knew Luke would have given anything to trade places with him in that moment.

“Pick up your goddamn crutches! You know the doctors don’t want you walking unassisted yet!” His mother continued on, sprinkling some colorful Italian for variety.

“I’m glad you’re home. And alive,” Harper said into his chest.

“I will marry you and have your babies if you get me the hell out of this house. I have a PT appointment in thirty.”

Harper looked him up and down, and he tried not to flinch when her gaze lingered on the gleaming titanium that was now part of him.