Never a Hero Read Online Free PDF Page A

eating and I was starting my third beer that Nick leaned forward on the table, bringing himself closer to me.
    “So tell me, Owen. Why do you live like a hermit?”
    I’d just taken a drink and I paused, surprised by the question, my mouth full and my beer bottle frozen halfway between my lips and the table. I felt vulnerable. I swallowed hard and put the bottle carefully on the table. I found myself holding my left arm close to my body, hugging myself with my right arm in an attempt to hide my stump. It was an old habit. It was something my mother had hated. “I thought you were going to wait until I was ready to talk about it.”
    “I think you are ready. I think that’s why you brought it up in the first place.” When I looked up at him, I found him slightly amused, but there was no mockery in his eyes. “I’ve been there, you know. I’ve shut myself in.” It was hard to believe. He seemed so well adjusted. So normal , if there was any such thing. But there was no denying the quiet compassion I felt from him. “What is it? Social anxiety disorder?”
    It seemed he wasn’t about to let me off the hook a second time, so I answered. “Not really. At least, I don’t think so.”
    “So, you’ve never been diagnosed?”
    “No. It’s not really that acute. It’s not like I panic or anything. It’s just something I’d rather not do. It makes me uncomfortable.”
    “Okay. But why ?”
    “It makes me self-conscious.”
    “About what?”
    “My arm. And my stutter.”
    His eyebrows went up. “You don’t stutter.”
    “Not often. Not anymore. But when I get nervous, it starts to manifest.”
    “I see.” He leaned back in his seat again, indicating the interrogation was already over and we were returning to less embarrassing topics. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
    My heart skipped a beat. “Nothing. Why?”
    “There’s a new Greek restaurant in town. I hear you get to break plates. Will you come with me?”
    “Why?”
    “Why do they break plates? I don’t know. It’s a Greek thing.”
    “No, I mean, why are you inviting me?”
    He shrugged. “Why not? I get tired of cooking. And I get sick of sitting at home alone. I’m guessing you do too.”
    That was true, but I was still hesitant. As much as I liked being with him, the idea of going out in public made me nervous. “I don’t know.”
    He shifted in his seat, not meeting my eyes, suddenly looking uncomfortable and embarrassed. “I don’t mean a date or anything.”
    Was that why he thought I was balking?
    I didn’t know how to reassure him that whether or not it was a date really wasn’t the issue. Instead, I took a deep breath and asked, “What time?”

The first thing Nick did when I opened my front door the next evening was point at my left arm.
    “You actually use your prosthetic? My sister always hated hers, although she’s talking now about having a mountain bike outfitted for her.”
    He’d asked a question, but he didn’t seem to expect an answer. He was already leading me out the door to his SUV. Still, he’d made me conscious of my prosthetic. My mother had bought it for me when I left for college. I’d wanted something more like a basic hook, but my mother had always cared far more about appearance than about my comfort. The fake hand hanging below my cuff looked almost real, but to my mother’s dismay, I’d never learned to use it well. Some newer replacement limbs could do amazing things, but mine tended to hang forgotten at my side. Under my long-sleeved shirt, leather straps around my shoulders helped to hold it in place. They were also designed to assist in movement, but it was a skill that required practice. Mostly, I’d worn it so as not to have an empty sleeve or an unsightly stump for my date with Nick.
    Even if it wasn’t a date.
    I was uncomfortable in the car. The straps around my shoulders felt too tight. It had been so long since I’d worn it, I’d undoubtedly gained weight and hadn’t