Irreparable (Wounded Souls)

ISBN- 978-1499313239

ISBN- 1499313233

Irreparable Copyright © 2014 Amanda D. Lanclos

Published by Amanda D. Lanclos

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Published: Amanda D. Lanclos, May 1, 2014:

Editing: Angela Pratt at Lily Rose Editing

Cover Design: Becky McGraw

Formatting by: Brenda Wright

This book is intended for a mature audience of eighteen and older.

To my mother, Lisa DeDeaux. The woman who believed in me, even when I didn’t always believe in myself. I know you are not here to physically read this, but I honor you with it. Also, to every man and woman who has fought for my freedom in some form of the Military.

First off, I have to say thank you to my amazing husband.  He has supported me and went to bed alone more than a few times while I stayed up and wrote this story.  He sacrificed our time together to help me achieve my dream. 

Secondly, I have to say thank you to MJ Nightingale for helping me lay this out. I never thought I could write a book and one of my fellow authors helped me see that I indeed could. Thank you for helping me outline and map out the inspiration for Jameson.

Thirdly, Jennifer Watkins, you are my support.  You have been with me from word number one.  Thank you for believing in this story before I even believed. 

Also, my lovely editor Angela Pratt. Thank you for being my friend, and not wanting to kill me with my first book. I adore you and I love you for putting up with my crap.

My amazing formatter Brenda Wright! You rock and I appreciate you helping me!

Becky McGraw – Thank you for my amazing cover, which I know I bugged you about for a week to get right! I adore it and I adore you! Thank you for helping this small town girl achieve her dreams!

To my friend Julie Mishler, who is the one who wrote the poem that brings my characters back to each other! Please don’t stop writing! You are amazing! 

Also, thank you for buying this book!  You are helping me prove to myself that I may be good at something I never thought possible!

Walking down the road in my APC with my M16 in my hand and my 9mm pistol in the holster on my belt, I keep my eyes open looking for any threat. My brothers are behind me and for the life of me I cannot shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen. Johnson looks over and I hear in my earpiece “Carter! D
own the road.” 

Looking up at Johnson, I see those blue eyes that are always so alert and I see where he is looking. Down the road sits a group of Taliban men, waiting to hear the word and unleash their vengeance on the American Marines making their way to them. On days like today, I look at my brothers and think about why the hell we do this to ourselves.
  I think of my girl at home and know that she is the reason behind it, because these bastards killed her mother and sister. They were in that plane that crashed into the field in Pennsylvania on September eleventh.  Leila was sitting next to the man that called his wife and decided to take down the plane that day.  Mrs. Helen was sitting
in the next row and she was trying to use the phone to call Mr. Joseph but could never reach him.

Everything goes quiet as I watch my comrades walking to the crowd of men trying to
break into our makeshift base.  We have a couple of tents set up a few miles out of the camp in
Afghanistan
. 
It’s hot and humid, which makes wearing this gear even more miserable, but it’s something you grow accustomed
to.  That’s when I see it
; the men keep looking back and forth between us and a spot we are walking towards. Not many people know that this is a sign that there’s a bomb, and I wouldn’t either if I hadn’t seen this happen before.
  They are just waiting for us to set it off.  Jackson is the leader in the mission, and I get nervous.

I step up and run towards him;
he’s the first in the group and he’s a good thirty feet from me, followed closely by Andrews, Black, and Miller.  I scream and grab Johnson pulling him behind me as I try to get Jackson to move away.
“LANDMINE JACKSON! MOVE YOUR ASS!” But it comes out of my mouth too late. I see it happening before he steps on it and I am losing four of my closest friends and confidantes in a matter of seconds. Mary-Beth flashes through my mind as I see the mine detonate.

Jerking out of the bed I gasp, my body drenched in sweat, it’s something that I’ve become accustomed to.  Four months I’ve been in this hospital reliving the pain of that night, and I still relive it every day I wake up and look down at my lower half. 

Today is the day I get to leave this hell hole I have been placed into by the VA.  I look around the room at all the high tech equipment they have all around me.  There is a heart monitor and it is beeping like crazy as my eyes land on Mary-Beth sleeping peacefully on the pull out couch.  It took two months to get me back to the States after the bombing; I had to have extensive therapy for the burns I sustained. Luckily for me I didn’t have any scarring, but my legs couldn’t be saved. 

I can smell the hospital smell, you know what I mean? The clean smell, the smell of alcohol wipes, and the smell of iodine as it goes on to clean your skin. That is a smell I don’t believe I will ever be able to forget. It is etched into my brain forever.