Page 130 of Walking Wounded

“None taken. I do too.”

Will scans the room. “Lotta people showed up.”

“Yeah. Way more than I thought.”

“Must be some kinda fancy-pants author around here somewhere,” Will says, and shoots him the barest of wry grins.

“Maybe one of these days.” Luke turns to face him, a hand finding his shoulder, dropping the pretense of nonchalance. “Hey, Will–”

“Aw, don’t get sappy on me, kid.”

Luke grins. “I wanted to say thank you.”

Will grumbles something.

“I wouldn’t have this book if it wasn’t for you.”

Will looks at him, grief and memory caught deep in the corners of his eyes. He’ll never give voice to the emotions that haunt him, even all this time later. But Luke sees them; Luke hopes he did them justice in the pages of his first novel.

“I hope I did you proud,” Luke says, quietly.

Will reaches with one leathery, shaking hand, and covers Luke’s on his shoulder. “You probably ought to get up there.” He nods toward the stage.

“Yeah.” Luke gives him one last squeeze. “I should.”

Someone taps on the mic and it squeals before it settles. “Luke?” Linda calls through it. “Luke, where are you? Get up here. Our esteemed author, everyone!”

A raucous echo of applause follows him up to the stage. Linda mouthsgood luckbefore she slides away. And then he’s alone, facing the crowd, the lights too bright in his eyes.

His body knows what to do here, even if his brain doesn’t. He sucks in a breath and says, “Good evening.” He’s too close to the mic and feedback crackles; he catches a few winces in the crowd.

“Um…”

His breath settles like concrete in his lungs. He licks his lips and they feel dry, chapped. He imagines the audience can see the pale peeling skin. Shit, he must look like a deer in headlights, all tiny pupils and slack mouth.

“Th-thank you,” he stammers, “for being here tonight. With me. Um…”

Movement in the front row catches his attention. It’s Hal, shifting just enough to get noticed. He throws Luke a tiny, covert wave, eyes crinkling as he smiles.You got thishe mouths, clear as day.

Luke’s mom is standing on one side of him, Sandy on the other. And beside her, Matt, and Tara, and Maddie.

Tara rolls her eyes at his awkwardness, but grins.

Matt gives him the sort of proud, fatherly, senator-patented smile that ought to look fake, but it so, so genuine.

His mother looks like she could float with happiness.

And there’s Will, eyes sparkling, the tiniest of smiles twitching at the corners of his mouth. Will went to Korea and fought communists. Lost his best friend. Married his best friend’s girl out of terrible grief and obligation. If he can do that, Luke can do this.

He looks at Hal one last time, hoping all his love shines through his eyes; he can certainly read Hal’s.

He takes a deep breath and says, “Tonight’s not about me. Tonight’s about the book,Walking Wounded, and the hero who inspired it…”

THE END