“Luke might have a problem with the first, but I’d pay money to see the second. So it’s a deal. Besides, I want to see what you can do with that hardware.”

“I can do anything. They just won’t fucking let me.” The frustration bubbled up again, bleeding into the happy.

“If you don’t do what the doctors tell you, you’ll end up screwing up your stump or breaking that thing,” his mother warned pointing at his prosthesis.

“Mrs. Moretta, I’m going to take Aldo to his appointment today,” Harper said as a grin spread over her face. “Is there anything you need while we’re out?”

Ina grumbled for a moment. “Well, I suppose I could use another box of Chardonnay.”

Aldo used the cursed crutches to get to Harper’s VW Bug and then tossed them into the back seat before lowering himself gingerly into the passenger’s seat. Everything still hurt. Everything still exhausted him, and he didn’t like the whole “be patient” line about waiting for his strength and mobility to come back. What if the pain never went away? What if he missed his leg for the rest of his life?

Harper slid behind the wheel and started the ignition. The car purred to life, thanks to a complete overhauling Luke had surprised her with before deployment. His friend might be a scaredy-cat dumbass, but he was a thoughtful, generous one.

Aldo dropped his head against the seat. “I love that woman, but I swear to God, one of these days one of us is going to murder the other.”

Harper snickered and shifted into reverse. “That was World War III in there.”

“That’s what happens when you spend two fucking weeks straight with Ina Moretta. I think it was her goal to drive me crazy.”

“I hear that’s what moms are for,” Harper said, backing down the driveway into the street. “Where are we going?”

Aldo gave her directions, and they cruised their way out of town.

“By the way, there’s a bag of goodies in the back for you,” she told him.

Aldo swiveled in his seat and grabbed at the gift bag. “Where’s the candy?” he demanded. He treated his body like a temple ninety-nine percent of the time. That one percent was reserved for Skittles and Sour Patch Kids.

“It’s in the bottom. I consulted with Luke on this, so a lot of it you can thank him for.”

“New earbuds and an MP3 player?”

“It’s full of get-pumped playlists for therapy, and you can also use it to drown out your mom.”

He pulled out a tiny plastic egg next. “Earplugs.”

“Luke said your mom snores.”

“Like a fucking company of lumberjacks at a chainsaw convention. What’s this? A bracelet?”