The Lucky One

Part 7

Previously:

James hyperventilated a moment, rubbing a jittery hand over his face as he turned away.

"I'll ask you one last time, where did you get my grandfather's photograph?" you said, seething.

He whirled toward you quickly, startling you as he blurted out his response.

"Because he gave it to me!"

____________

Stumbling backwards in shock, James' words struck you like a punch to the gut.

"Wh—what did you just say?" you whispered, so sure you were hearing things.

He hung his head, refusing to meet your eye. "Your grandfather. He gave me that photograph."

Blinking as if to process the absurd words he spoke, you glance down at the photo, now faded with age. Your grandmother's inscription on the back had faded as well, but her penmanship was unmistakable. She had written you letters all through middle school and high school after she moved to an assisted living home several hours away. She passed just after Caleb was born leaving behind an ache that never fully healed.

Tears threatened, but instead of letting the sadness take over, you felt anger over the man's words, obviously a mockery of your grandparents' memories. Your rage simmered inside you until it boiled over.

"Is this a joke to you?" you snarled accusingly, taking a step forward. "How could you lie about something like that? Are you so cold-hearted that you would make light of my grandfather's death? You can't possibly be older than 30, how could he have given you this back in 1944? You're sick and...and..."

"Y/N, please, just let me explain..." he attempted to speak, his hands raised in surrender.

You scoffed. "Explain? What, and let you spin more of your lies? Who are you, really? Is James even your real name? Have you been lying about being in the military and your injury? Ugh, I feel so stupid, how do these awful men find me? And why do I always let them into my life?" you muttered on, mostly now speaking to yourself. Your hand flew to your head, tugging at your roots as if to ground yourself, making you wince. You felt like you were going insane.

"Stop! Don't hurt yourself, please, Y/N!" James pleaded with you as he rushed forward, stopping short of touching you only because you recoiled away from him. He backed away slowly, but still tried to reason with you. "Five minutes. Please. Give me five minutes and after that, you never have to see me again."

Lowering your hands, you sidestepped away from him and put the length of the couch between you. You took a few deep breaths and reluctantly gave a curt nod. "Five minutes," you agreed.

He exhaled, taking a seat in the arm chair while you slowly lowered onto the far end of the couch. You didn't want this crazy person near you, but it's possible he wouldn't leave unless he gave you a chance to "explain".

James ran a hand through his hair, gathering his senses before speaking.

"Have you ever been to the Smithsonian Museum in D.C.?" he asked, throwing you completely off guard.

"Um....no, I haven't. We...we wanted to go, but travel is expensive and the horses..." you responded in a monotone voice you hardly recognized.

He just nodded then. "Okay. You've heard of Captain America? He has an exhibit there."

You furrowed your brow, even more confused. "Yes, I've heard of him. My...my grandfather was rescued along with his battalion by Captain America. Plus he's saved the world a few times more recently," you said flippantly. "What does that have to do with the photograph? Or you?" you demanded, fingering the photo still in your hand.