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When Lila and Charlie excuse themselves to finish dinner, Tucker leads me to the room Charlie pointed out. It’s a rehab weight room filled with shiny new equipment.
“Check this out,” Tucker announces proudly. He starts extolling the virtues and features of each apparatus at length, but my eyes halt on the massive lime green sign that boldly proclaims, “The only limitations you have are the ones you place on yourself.”
Tucker follows my gaze to the motivational print. “Pull up a spot on the weight bench. I’ve got some things to talk to you about.” After I’m seated, Tucker sits on the floor facing me.
“Look, I hate this shit happened to you. You sure as hell don’t deserve it. But you oughtta know up front, you’ll get zero pity from me.”
Hot anger rushes over me. “I don’t want your fucking pity –”
“Do your damn deep breathing and let me finish,” Tucker cuts me off, his gaze steady. His reaction startles me enough for me to get a grip, and I nod. “What that means is that because I’m your trainer and your friend, I’m going to push you hard, because that’s what you need even if it’s not always what you want. There’ll be days where you’re convinced I’m a complete asshole. Tough shit. That’s how this goes. Joey hated me when he first came home because I told him losing the use of his legs didn’t mean a damn thing in the bigger picture,” he says, referring to his younger brother.
His callous words stun me. His youngest brother, Joey, returned from Afghanistan paralyzed from the waist down, and Tucker said losing the use of his legs meant nothing? Where the hell does he get off?
He keeps talking despite my appalled expression. “God, my mom was pissed off about that for weeks. But I pushed him to his limit, and now, instead of moaning about not being able to do something, he figures out how to do pretty much whatever he wants. He’s driving, he’s got his own place, he cooks – not great, but he’s not gonna starve. He’s dating a cute redhead. But when he first came home, he was convinced his life was over, that his injury made him less of a man. Bullshit. Stuff like what he went through, what you’re going through – hardship emphasizes someone’s true strength. Joey’s a stubborn-ass fighter, and so are you. Just know there’s gonna be days you’ll hate me, and that’s good, because later on, you’ll be glad I pushed you.”
“How did Joey learn to cope with his disabilities?”
“We worked on upper body strength and flexibility, and we problem-solved how to navigate his surroundings. Anything he wanted to do, we talked out ways to approach it. We took his strengths and built on them.”
I can’t stop my words from rushing out. “What about the other part? About seeing himself as less of a man?”
Tucker studies me. “I figured you’d have a similar reaction. You two are a lot alike. Physical abilities came easily for you. But being a man isn’t about physical shit, Mark. It’s not how far you can run or how much you can bench press. It’s what’s here.” He thumps his chest. “We’ve both known guys with muscle, but no character, no inner strength. That’s what defines you.”
It’s all I can do not to openly scoff.
Tucker accurately reads my dismissive expression and goes straight for my jugular. “Lila says those bastards bragged about how mutilating Charlie made her less of a woman. So you tell me. Does it make her less of a woman because a bunch of assholes brutalized her?”
My blood freezes, followed by a surge of blistering rage. “Charlie endured hell and fought her way back. Lila too. Those fuckers didn’t lessen who they are. They didn’t have that power.”
“Then why would your battle wounds make you less of a man?” Tucker counters, and I falter, having waltzed right into his trap. “Charlie told us about your mentor – what’s his name?”
“Stubbs,” I answer, reluctantly smiling when I think of his big grin and bigger personality.
“Lost both his legs, right? Built like a Mack truck? Struts around on his prosthetics, ballsy as hell. Is he less of a man because of his injuries?”
I shake my head grudgingly. “He’s one of the toughest guys I’ve ever met,” I admit. “Threatened to kick my ass once, and I’m pretty sure he could do it.”
“So even though Stubbs isn’t less of a man after losing both his legs, you’re writing yourself off because you lost one?”
“It’s more than that, Tuck,” I say slowly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’ve lost my leg. I’ve lost my career. Everything I thought I could do after the military – maybe coaching or something – it was based around me having two legs. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
“You’re a natural leader, Mark, and that has nothing to do with legs. People need someone to guide them. You can be whatever you want to be – motivational speaker, teacher, coach.” He reads my disbelief and points to the wall. “That’s right, a coach. Stop putting limitations on yourself. Figure out what you want. We’ll help you make it happen.”
Warmth floods my chest, and my voice is gruff when I can speak. “Thanks, Tucker.”
He grins. “I’ll remind you of that when I’m pushing your ass till you cry like a little girl.”
“I can still kick your ass, you know.”
Tucker snorts. “In your dreams, Princess.”
I glance around for something to throw at him, but settle for flipping him off instead. He winks and blows me a kiss. “You’re pretty, Chandler, but not that pretty.”
I narrow my eyes. "I told you earlier, weirdo, keep your bristly lips to yourself."
He laughs, about to make another smartass remark, but a knock at the door interrupts Tucker’s obnoxious behavior. “Dinner’s ready,” Lila says, poking her head around the door frame.
"Thank God," I mutter, and Tucker grins.
