But I wasn’t the old Lauren anymore. I had to think about the baby, and daydreaming about Carter wouldn’t help either one of us. Besides, the possibility of Ren coming around was still there. And if he did, Carter was right, we could make it work again. I couldn’t let the fear of rejection get in the way of going after what was best for our baby. There had to be a way to get Ren to see that we still needed each other.
“So, what are your plans after Bridgeport?” I asked, stepping ahead to get away from Carter. His arm fell to his side and I bit back a grunt of disappointment.
“After Bridgeport . . . Hadn’t thought much about it until the other day.”
“The other day?”
“This guy came to the boathouse. Owns a gym in the valley. Noticed my leg. He’s looking for someone to give him some pointers on training amputees.”
I turned to study him, expecting some excitement on his face, but it wasn’t there. “But?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
“You should totally go for it!” I nudged him with my elbow.
“We’ll see.”
Carter looked past me, shoulders drooping. I saw he was gazing at the path that led to the ropes course.
“You said you played football. What about basketball?”
“I played every sport I could get my hands on.”
“Want to shoot around?”
“You play?”
“Nope, but I can get your change.”
His laugh warmed my whole system.
“I’m in.”
Eleven
-CARTER-
“You’re really good,” Lauren said after we’d shot around for a while.
A couple of years had passed since I’d set foot on a basketball court—and only having one foot to set now sucked. I wasn’t terrible, but I wasn’t living up to my two-legged potential either. It stung.
“Back in the day I was a beast.”
And maybe showing off was in my blood. I bounced the ball a few times before I shot it, savoring the sound of the swish.
Lauren went after it and tried chucking it back like she was throwing a softball.
“Shoot,” she stuck a lip out, holding up a finger. “I think I broke a nail.”
The girl was Miss America a hundred percent. I liked her that way. Come to think of it, I’d probably like her any way at all.
“Can you dunk?”
“I used to be able to.”
“You should try it,” she said, before I put the next one up. The basketball circled the rim and fell out. She ran after it.
“You want me to try and dunk?”
She gave me an addictive smile and passed the ball back.
“Why not?”
Why not . . . ? It was a good question. After I’d decided I still wanted to live, I swore I wasn’t going to let this leg beat me. I went through months of physical torture to get my body into better shape than it’d been in even before the injury.
So, why the heck not?
“Miss America wants to see me dunk?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Ready for the magic?”
Lauren started clapping on a beat, dancing to the left and to the right.
“He’s heading for a basket. He’s moving down the floor. His name is Carter Wilson. You know he’s gonna score!”
She shook her hands in the air and jumped a couple of times, and I recognized everything about it.
“You’re a cheerleader,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“Dunk it! Dunk it! Dunk it!”
She clapped again, and gave a couple more whoops. A crowd of campers gathered behind her, joining in her little chant. I chuckled. It’d been so long since anyone had cheered for me.
“Dunk! Dunk! Dunk!”
There was no backing down now. I moved a few feet behind the free throw line and squared up, envisioning my strides. I started toward the hoop, taking the first leap, and then the second, but I barely got any lift off the ground. Instead of springing up, my body tilted backward—but I shot the ball anyway, right before I landed hard on my butt. As the ball bounced somewhere off to the side, I flopped onto my back and grinned up at the sky.
Lauren rushed over, brows creased, but when she realized I was laughing, her perfect mouth curled up at the corners.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Might’ve hurt my pride, but yeah. I forgot I wasn’t wearing the right dang prosthetic.” I tapped on the plastic. “I needed my running blade—helps me jump.”
She offered her hand. I gripped it and used as much of my own strength as I could to get back up.
The crowd clapped.
Before my prosthetic, I probably would’ve died of embarrassment and stormed off the court. But I’d had enough experience in this particular spotlight, so it didn’t bother me as much anymore.
“Keep going?” she asked, resting her hand on my arm. “Or quit?”
“A marine never quits.”
She smiled again and let her hand fall away from my arm—it felt bare without her touch.
Lauren turned to the crowd and cupped her mouth. “He’s going again!”
I tried again, laughing as the ball clanged against the rim instead of going in. And again. And again. Man, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this much fun.
Two tries later, I landed the stupid dunk.
The crowd applauded, and for a second, it felt like when I was younger, and life was kinder, and all a guy had to do for a little applause was dunk a basketball. After all the hoopla died down, I returned the ball to its rack, wiped the sweat off my brow, and glanced at Lauren.
I noticed the uphill path again that led to the ropes course. The air left my lungs as the guilt barreled in. I’d had a ton of fun. So much that I hadn’t thought about Megs once for the past hour.
I’m so sorry, Megs. I love you so much.
“Hey, Lauren.” The lump in my throat made me pause. “Would you, uh, would you still be willing to go to the
