Media Secret: Hidden Johansson

A Step Outside

The light streaming through the window hit me square in the face, a gentle reminder that morning had arrived whether I was ready for it or not. Groaning, I turned over in bed, hoping to catch a few more minutes of sleep. But the persistent buzzing of my phone on the nightstand had other plans. With a sigh, I reached for it, fully expecting another automated notification or spam message.

Instead, I saw a name that I hadn't thought about in a long time: Sam.

Lieutenant Colonel Samantha "Sam" Reeves had been a constant presence in my life during my years in the service. We met during my first deployment and quickly became close, bonding over a shared love of sports and adrenaline and our late-night talks when sleep was elusive. We had done multipul tours together, and there wasn't much we hadn't been through side by side. She was tough as nails, with a sharp wit that could slice through the tension in even the most dire situations. But she also had a warmth to her, a deep empathy that she rarely showed openly but was always there when you needed it.

Sam had been in that last base in Syria with me, the one that went south in ways I still didn't like to think about. Staying back at base as the officer who oversaw the whole camp. Different units, supplies, medical, communications. The BOSS. She made it out alive, but at a steep cost: she lost her leg in the blast that ended her military career. I hadn't seen her since I got out, though I heard she was adapting to her new life with the same tenacity she brought to everything else.

Her message was short and straightforward: she was back in town for the holidays and wanted to catch up, suggesting we meet at an art gallery downtown. It was a place she used to frequent, a small gallery that showcased local artists and photographers.

I stared at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the screen. Part of me wanted to ignore it, to retreat further into the safe, predictable cocoon I'd woven for myself over the past year. But another part of me—a part I hadn't felt in a while—stirred at the thought of seeing her again.

Maybe it was the need for connection, or maybe it was the pull of the past, of who I used to be before everything went to hell. Whatever it was, I found myself replying before I could talk myself out of it.

"Sure. Noon works. See you there."

I set the phone down and took a deep breath. This was going to be... different.

———

I arrived at the gallery a few minutes early, the city already buzzing with activity. It was one of those crisp winter days in Los Angeles where the sky was a brilliant blue, and the air had a sharpness to it that was rare for this time of year. I parked my car along the familiar street, the gallery's unassuming entrance just a short walk away.

As I approached the door, I spotted her immediately. Sam was leaning against the wall near the entrance, her dirty blond hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. She was dressed casually, in a dark green military-style jacket over a black turtleneck, with jeans that ended just above the sleek, modern prosthetic that replaced her left leg. The prosthetic was matte black, understated but clearly designed for someone who wasn't interested in hiding it. It was a testament to Sam's unyielding nature—functional, strong, and unapologetically present.

Her face lit up when she saw me, her blue eyes—always striking, always sharp—locking onto mine. The years had added a few lines to her face, a bit more gray to her hair, but she was still the same Sam I remembered. Tall, athletic, with a presence that commanded respect and attention, even in a crowd.

"Tom!" she called out, pushing off the wall and walking toward me with a slight limp, her movements fluid and confident despite the cane she used for balance. Her smile was wide, genuine, the kind that could disarm you if you weren't expecting it.