Crash

  Crash

  A Wrecked Novella

  Kelly Fox

  Contents

  Reader Note

  1. Ivan

  2. Benning

  3. Ivan

  4. Benning

  5. Ivan

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Kelly Fox

  F/F Romance as K.C. Littleton

  ❖

  Copyright @ 2020 Kelly Fox

  Cover Design: Canva.com

  Editing: Susie Selva

  Formatting (Vellum): lescourtauthorservices.com

  * * *

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  * * *

  This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

  The Licensed Art material is being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Reader Note

  This is a short story set in the Wrecked universe. Benning and Ivan meet in Surrender, Wrecked Book 2, where the sparks are instant, and the rest of the gang notices how quickly they shack up. This short represents their first twenty-four hours together.

  1

  Ivan

  I had a plan, and it didn’t involve losing my arm in a helicopter accident. Doesn’t matter that ever since I was a kid I’d wanted to fly a helicopter, because you know who doesn’t get to do that? The guy who loses a limb and damn near kills his instructor while crashing one on his first test run.

  In case you were curious.

  My plan certainly didn’t involve going to a civilian gym for combat vets called Wrecked.

  Fuck irony.

  So yeah, to say I’m hesitant about walking out my front door this morning is an understatement. But my best friends since grade school have decided that they aren’t going to let me mope around our house for a second longer.

  The four of us live in what the rest of our friends lovingly call The Commune. It’s a big, ramshackle house that my buddies started renting when they were going to UT. Once they graduated, they were confronted with the reality that Austin is fucking expensive, even for the gainfully employed, and especially for a bunch of new graduates drowning in debt. So they decided to go in and buy the house together, figuring they would sell it when it’s time to move on, and it’s worked out well for them.

  When I lost my arm and had to come back home to Texas, my friends generously offered their spare room to me. My other option was to live with my very traditional Mongolian family in Houston. I love them and the city I was raised in, but…I needed a fresh start.

  It was the right decision, even though my sneaky friends refused to let me pay them, making some noise about the fact that my room is a glorified closet. In reality, it’s a generous space with a separate entry to the back patio. In the early days, when my depression was trying to drown me, I spent many, many hours on that back patio, sitting cross-legged in the hammock, trying to figure my life out.

  I wonder if they understand how many times they’ve saved my life.

  Which I find myself regretting this morning when I’m trying to sleep in and ignore my promise to get out into the world. Pepper is the first one to disturb my delicious slumber.

  “Ivan, baby, if you don’t get up, I’m going to pour this ice water on you.”

  I more or less immediately pop out of bed, only to find that my dear friend is empty-handed. Not a drop of ice water in sight. Asshole.

  Jimmy comes up right behind her, shoving my workout clothes at me. “This’ll go easier if you just cooperate.”

  I sit on my bed, glaring up at the two of them, and I can’t help but notice that Jimmy has snaked his arm around Pepper’s waist.

  “So, you’ve decided to stop sneaking around?” I ask, my voice sounding grumpy even to me.

  Pepper shrugs and Jimmy’s smile takes up half his face. “I finally broke her down.”

  “Even water will erode a rock given enough time,” I grumble.

  Jimmy’s been in love with Pepper since middle school, but her bisexuality only has a small sliver of man-love associated with it. As far as I can tell, Jimmy is only the second guy she’s ever been with. Pepper’s a bit of a wild card, and when Jimmy tugs her in more closely, a softness appears on her face that I’ve never seen in the fifteen years I’ve known her.

  I’m not jealous.

  I want my friends to be happy.

  I just wish I knew how to be happy too.

  Anyway.

  While Jimmy and Pepper canoodle in front of me, Sean walks in and tosses me the keys to his truck. He sends a lingering look to Jimmy and Pepper and I wonder, not for the first time, which one of them he’s in love with. If I had to guess, I’d say both.

  I start undressing, reaching for the clothes that Sean threw at me, and the three of them respond all at once.

  “Dude!”

  “Damn, son. Had no idea that’s what you were packing.”

  “Can I change my choice of roommate to bone?” That was Pepper.

  I glare at my friends, ignoring both their comments and the morning wood they are commenting on. “This is what you get when you wake me up in the morning. Y’all want to be supportive, try to get me out of my shell, try to shove me into the world again, fine. This is what it looks like.”

  Sean closes his eyes, Jimmy covers his eyes but separates his fingers for a look, and Pepper puts her hands on her hips, staring me down openly. “Totally worth it,” she says on a smirk.

  Jimmy playfully smacks her arm. “Hey, no looking at other guys’ junk!”

  ❖

  So, yeah. That’s how I got out of bed this morning, and that’s how I find myself looking up at an enormous mural of the owner of this gym. One side of the mural shows him recovering in a hospital bed, the other half shows him standing on his prosthetic, wearing the hell out of a pair of athletic shorts. I look down at my robo-arm and suddenly don’t feel so bad about it.

  “Good morning. Have you been helped already?”

  I look over and it’s the guy from the mural. He’s Latino, has a stern look on his face, and he’s even hotter than he looks in the mural.

  That I’ve been staring at.

  Little embarrassing, but he seems willing to look past it.

  “Uh, yeah. I have an appointment with one of your trainers.”

  A younger white guy about my age, incredibly good looking with the most gorgeous blue eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, joins us. “I’ve got this one, baby. Thought I’d pair him up with Jean-Pierre.”

  The hot guy from the mural cups the younger man’s face and places a kiss on his forehead, his expression going from stern to soft, and it makes my heart squeeze in my chest. “Sounds good.” Turning to me, he asks, “Have you had a chance to work out with other amputees?”

  I swallow thickly and refocus on the conversation at hand. “I’ve been to physical therapy with other amputees, sure. But working out in a gym? No. I guess I always assumed I’d be the odd man out.”

  Honestly, it’s why I hesitated to come here in the first place.

  The guy taps the middle of his prosthetic and shakes his head. “I’m Nick, by the way, and at this gym you’re pretty much average. This is my boyfriend, Elijah. He’ll show you around.”

  I’m suddenly very grateful for the trio of knuckleheads that got me out of bed and into this gym this morning.

  Elijah tilts his head up at me, smiling. “And what’s your name?”

  “Ivan.”

&n
bsp; “Well Ivan, welcome to Wrecked. I think Jean-Pierre is starting off at the scaffolding wall, so why don’t you follow me, and I’ll introduce you?”

  As we pass the entry area into the main part of the gym, I send up another little prayer of thanks to my trio of friends. They’d seen me spiraling and had taken it upon themselves to research resources for disabled veterans. I’d ignored the links to Wrecked that Pepper had sent me, so the bright open space, the inspirational quotes painted on the walls, the cool way the different areas of the gym are sectioned off, the area in the far corner that holds both a climbing wall and tires and heavy lifting equipment are a surprise.

  As is the level of hotness.

  As we walk in, I immediately see twin brothers with muscles and tattoos for days and long, blonde hair. They appear to be helping an older gentleman, who looks pretty grumpy. I make a note to stay away from the old guy, but wouldn’t mind getting to know the brothers a little better.

  As for the corner with all of the tires, the guy in charge over there is a gorgeous broad, heavily muscled bear of a man, well over six feet tall. He’s helping out an ethereal, lithe man dressed like a stylish Goth yoga instructor.

  Thankfully for me, there are more average-looking people throughout the rest of the gym, and a few of them are missing limbs. Some are working out with specialized prosthetics, and some have hung their prosthetics on a pegboard and are working out without them.

  Best of all? Up until this very moment, everything about losing my arm seemed like a big fucking deal. Looking out over the gym, Nick was right. I feel… average.

  And it’s amazing.

  Fuck, I’m already here, might as well work out.

  2

  Benning

  Today is a good day. I’ve got all of my prosthetics on, and I’m at Wrecked, about to meet with my good buddy John-Pierre Sehene, NBA hero and really sweet guy, at the scaffolding wall.

  I’ve been showing up in my wheelchair for the last two weeks. The regulars here know that means I’ve had a bad go of it, and they all know not to say anything about my mode of getting around unless I initiate the conversation. Honestly, this gym is one of only two places where I feel like I can just be me.

  The other place is the group therapy sessions I host every week. Those can be tough, but it is satisfying to help people work through their combat issues.

  I walk up to Jean-Pierre, who greets me with a hug. “Benning! Nice to see you up and about.”

  “You too, buddy.” I smile up at my seven-foot-tall friend. He’s beautiful, with lustrous, dark skin, gorgeous locs that fall to his shoulders, and an Afro-French accent that you just want to swim in. Yep, this is going to be a very good day.

  We both make our way to the floor and he helps me to put on my stubbies—shorter prostheses with square bases for more stability. While tightening up his side, he says, “Hey man, we’ve got a new guy coming in. He lost his arm six months ago in a helicopter accident, so I’ll be going back and forth between the two of you.”

  I immediately feel for the guy, even before I meet him. I was a paratrooper and lost my limbs on a jump gone wrong. Losing a limb while falling from the sky totally sucks.

  “Why don’t we all just work out together? And besides, if he’s recently lost an arm, maybe I can be helpful,” I say as I pull on the liner, rubber grip, and rigid over piece for my arm’s weight-lifting prosthetic. I lock in the large C-shaped attachment and grin at Jean-Pierre. He knows I’m starting with pullups and I’ve got five dollars that say I can beat him in a contest for most pullups in a minute.

  Before we can get going, we’re interrupted by a shout coming from the Corner of Heavy Things. Jake, the Goth yoga dude Jean-Pierre has been eyeballing for…well, as long as I’ve known the two of them, is working with Thane on the heavy weights. Jean-Pierre looks really concerned for his fella, but I know Thane has him covered. I have to put my arm—the one my buddy Roly calls Vein Porn—around the big guy’s ankle to prevent him from causing a scene.

  “Dude, be cool. If you wanna get the guy, you’re gonna need to stay chill and in control. Especially around that one.”

  Just as I let go of Jean-Pierre’s ankle, I notice Elijah making his way over to us, accompanied by a younger man with a cool advanced arm prosthetic.

  As they get closer, I more or less immediately realize that I’m in a heap of trouble.

  Christ, he’s beautiful.

  And instead of my heart racing or my palms sweating, everything goes quiet. Even the clanking of the weights and whirring of the machines and the rhythmic woosh-woosh-woosh of the runners on the treadmills fade to the background.

  I can only hear his soft footsteps and the nervous clearing of his throat.

  Uh, yeah. Pretty sure Elijah is about to introduce me to my husband.

  I shake my head, clearly in the middle of an aneurysm, and refocus on the…fuck. The beautiful man in front of me.

  He’s taller than me—I mean, he’s taller than I would be with legs—and stocky. Strong, but not perfectly cut, which I actually kind of like.

  He’s got high cheekbones, wide-set eyes, a beautiful button nose, and shapely lips. He’s still got the military hair going, but he’s wearing a loose-fitting linen outfit, like a gi with a mandarin collar.

  “Guys, this is Ivan. He’s a marine, six months out from a helicopter accident, and his limb is fully healed. We chatted when he walked in, and he’s mostly looking for strength training but was happy to realize that he might have some folks to talk to about being an amputee.”

  Me! That’s me. I’m the amputee he can talk to. Hell, I run a group for veterans with PTSD. I can talk all day about amputations.

  I realize after a beat that I’m staring at his lips and should probably pull myself together for the guy I’m definitely going to marry.

  Fuck, I need to stop saying that.

  I extend my hand. “Um, hi, Ivan. My name is Stephen, but most people call me Benning, and you could say I’m an expert at being an amputee, arm or otherwise. Is right your dominant hand?”

  Ivan kneels and shakes my hand without any awkwardness, relief unbunching his shoulders just a hair.

  “Yes, I’m right-handed.”

  I liked the view of him standing, but him kneeling in front of me at eye level is removing my ability to brain at all. Fuck if I even know my own name. This man is beautiful.

  Shit, I may have already said that.

  God, I hope he’s somewhere on the likes-men spectrum. It’d be hella awkward to propose to a straight guy.

  Also? I have literally never considered marriage or kids until this very moment.

  I choke on my own spit. Kids? Have I been body snatched?

  Words, you numbnut. Words would be good right now.

  “Excellent! Let me tell you, changing your dominant hand, especially to the left hand, sucks,” I say, smiling at him, proud of myself for even staying in the conversation at all.

  Ivan picks at the fabric on his thigh. “Yeah, I know. I’m lucky.” Looking at my many prosthetics, he says, “I guess I shouldn’t complain.”

  Just being honest here, there are whole days when I forget that being a triple amputee is a thing. Not the days when I find myself in the chair, mind you, but if it’s a good day…I kind of forget.

  God, I hope my future husband isn’t an asshole about me having fewer limbs than him.

  I shake my head. “Hey now, I’m not a fan of people seeing me and assuming that they don’t get to think life is hard. It’s a terrible thing, losing a limb. If you don’t have to switch dominant hands, then I’m genuinely grateful that’s one shitty piece of recovery you don’t have to go through.”

  Ivan lowers his head and nods, rubbing his prosthetic arm. That’s right, this is all new to him. Six months is still early in the process, so I catch his eye and smile. I think we must be staring at each other because Jean-Pierre shifts his feet, and I remember my manners.

  “Oh, yeah. Ivan, this is Jean-Pierre.”


  Ivan looks up and his eyes damn near pop out of his head. “Wow, you are so tall,” he says, standing to shake his hand.

  While I’m always aware of how tall Jean-Pierre is, that’s just another one of those things I’ve gotten used to. I bet between my one arm and Jean-Pierre’s height, this poor guy doesn’t know which end is up. I’m also guessing he doesn’t know he’s talking to a basketball legend.

  “Yeah, you get used to it after a while,” I say, smiling up at my friend.

  Jake lets out another yell from the other side of the gym and Jean-Pierre about loses his mind. I gently put my heavy hand on his leg. “He’s fine. I promise. Thane is incredibly careful and won’t let somebody do the move until he feels that they can do it safely.”

  Ivan looks between Jean-Pierre and Jake. My friend is not as subtle as he thinks he is.

  After a moment, I realize I’ve been mesmerized, practically staring at Ivan when Jean-Pierre starts grinning at me. Guess we’re both being a little obvious.

  Jean-Pierre tilts his head toward Jake. “Hey, Benning, I’m going to go check on Jake now that he’s done. Maybe I also need to book a little time in the Corner of Heavy Things.”

  And just like that, my good buddy abandons me to the man of my dreams, though my dreams have never been this good.

  And I’m supposed to…I don’t know. Come up with something for this guy to do while I figure out how to work into the conversation that we’re engaged?

  3

  Ivan

  In a gym full of absolutely gorgeous men, Stephen Benning stands out. Everything about him is absolutely chiseled. His jaw, his cheek bones, even his eyebrows look a little chisely. His thick, surfer-blond hair is tied back over itself, almost in a man-bun, but low and loose and sexy.