Текст книги "A Lover's Lament "

Автор книги: K. L. Grayson

Соавторы: B. T. Urruela
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“Fight Song” – Rachel Platten

“SO, YOU GIRLS GOT ANY big plans this weekend?”

“Nope.” Shoving the last of the leftovers in the refrigerator, I shut the door and then pause. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had actual plans aside from hanging out with Wyatt. “When do I ever have plans?” Pulling out a chair at the table, I plop down and take a drink of my water.

Maggie turns her inquisitive gaze to Bailey, who is currently shoveling a bite of brownie into her mouth. Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, she looks at us sheepishly. “No plans,” she mumbles.

Swallowing her bite, her gaze locks on mine. She looks a little nervous, almost hesitant, and I offer her a small smile, my eyes as open and inviting as I can get them. Because I’m truly glad she accepted my invitation to come here tonight. Her eyes flash with an unknown emotion and a tentative smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Bailey had been avoiding me, and rightfully so, and I ended up having to play hardball to get her to sit down and talk to me. I knew I had been wrong so I wasn’t above a little bit of groveling, even though the thought of apologizing nearly killed me. It’s difficult to swallow your own pride, but I knew it had to be done. So I showed up at Mom’s early one morning, like most other mornings, only this time I had already taken care of the horses and I was waiting inside when Bailey crawled out of bed.

Her steps had faltered when she walked into the kitchen to find me sitting at the table with Mama, eating a bowl of cereal. I could see it in her eyes, the urge to flee, and I knew that it was now or never, so I did the only thing I could think of doing. Flinging myself from the chair, I rushed to my sister, wrapped her in my arms and apologized for being such a bitch. But more than that, I begged her to forgive me and promised that I was going to make things right. I knew that we weren’t going to just snap back into place, and I knew I was going to have to work at earning her trust and friendship back, but it was a start. We talked for two hours that morning before I finally had to leave for work, but by the time I left, I really think she had a better understanding of what I had been going through after Dad died—and vice versa.

“You know what you guys need?” My mouth waters when Maggie snaps off a bite of her licorice, my eyes following the delicious red rope as she waves it in the air.

“A piece of that,” I answer, trying to snatch the yummy goodness from her hand. Bailey laughs heartily and Maggie bats me away playfully before pulling an extra piece out of the bag and handing it to me.

“You’re an addict.”

“I am.” I nod in agreement then bite off a chunk of my cherry-flavored kryptonite.

“You girls need a night out on the town.”

Bailey and I both answer at the same time, only her answer is an enthusiastic “Yes!” and mine is a very firm “No!” They both turn to look at me.

“Why not? It would be fun.” Bailey nods in agreement to what Maggie says, but I just shake my head.

“I’ve been so tired lately, I can barely make it through work these days.” The evil twins give me a pointed look. “I know, I know. I’ve already started cutting back my hours. No more extra shifts.”

“I’m glad,” Bailey says softly. “You really had me worried there for a while.”

“I told you I’ve been working on things and I meant it.” She watches me inquisitively and then nods before popping another bite of brownie in her mouth. It was much easier convincing Mom that I was trying to turn things around than Bailey, and I make a mental note to try and do a few extra things to strengthen her belief in me.

“So—” My phone vibrates, skidding across the table, and Maggie stops talking, picks it up and flips it open.

“Hey!” Reaching across the table, I yank it from her hand. The sight of his name on my screen causes me to clench my teeth in frustration, and I let out a loud huff as I type out a quick response.

“Who is it?” Bailey asks, looking at me curiously. When I lock eyes with Maggie, I know instantly that she saw who it was from.

“Wyatt.” Flipping my phone shut, I toss it on the table and bite off another chunk of my licorice.

“How is Wyatt?” Bailey asks. Oh shit. She doesn’t know that we broke up. I give Maggie a ‘help me here’ look and she widens her eyes in a ‘what do you want me to do’ look. Bailey’s gaze slowly travels between the two of us. “I’m missing something here. What am I missing?”

I already know that this won’t go over well. Bailey has always been a big fan of Wyatt. “We, uh …”

“They broke up.”

“What?” Bailey gasps at Maggie’s declaration. “What do you mean you broke up?” she asks, her head whipping in my direction. “What happened? He left you, didn’t he?” Shaking her head in disbelief, Bailey pushes away from the table.

“She left him,” Maggie states nonchalantly, shrugging when I glare at her.

“You broke up with him? Why on earth would you do that? You guys have been together forever.”

“I don’t love him.” It really is that simple.

“You—you don’t love him?” Bailey’s head rears back as though I just slapped her. “How can you not love him? You don’t just fall out of love with someone, Katie.”

“Okaaaay,” Maggie drawls. “I think it’s time for me to go.” Excusing herself from the table, she shrugs on her coat, grabs her purse and then bends down, whispering a quick ‘good luck’ in my ear before walking out. All the while, Bailey continues to stare at me in shock.

“What do you want me to say? I’ve felt this way for a while, and I refuse to apologize for doing what I need to do to be happy.”

“But I thought you were working on things. How is this working on things?” Disappointment flashes across Bailey’s face. “I can’t believe this.”

“You don’t have to believe it.” As much as I want Bailey’s support on this, I know I’m not going to get it. She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest, and frustration bubbles up inside of me. “It doesn’t concern you, Bailey. You don’t have to understand it; you don’t even have to like it.”

My skin prickles with annoyance as Bailey leaves her spot at the table and follows Maggie’s lead of shrugging on her coat and grabbing her purse. I’m not going to beg her to stay. As much as I don’t want her to leave right now, and as much as I do want to fix things between us, I refuse to let her opinion on this matter sway me at all. I know I did the right thing. “Bailey—”

With a heavy sigh, she twists around to look at me. “I don’t understand this, Katie. I don’t understand you. Wyatt is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve this.”

“He is a good man, but I did what’s best for me, Bay. That’s what I need you to understand.”

“Whatever.”

Her dismissal pisses me off, and I shove up from the chair and follow her toward the door. She reaches for the handle, and in a last ditch effort to keep her from leaving, I grab her arm. “Quit being so stubborn and let’s talk about this.”

“Pot meet kettle,” she mumbles before opening up the door, slipping through it and shutting it softly behind her. I walk numbly to the couch, dropping down with a big sigh then burying my face in my hands. What the fuck just happened?

The loud buzz of my phone vibrating from the other room grabs my attention, so I walk in and pick it up to find yet another text from Wyatt. It took about a week after our breakup before his texts came rolling in. It started with ‘I’m sorry for the way I acted’ and slowly progressed to ‘Please don’t do this, we can make this work’ and ‘I love you so much.’ Despite my numerous replies that nothing has changed and I still feel the same way, he just won’t give up.

Forgoing a reply—because it wouldn’t do any good—I decide to call it a night. I make quick work of getting ready for bed while this evening’s events play out in my head. Crawling into bed, I grab my laptop off the nightstand and power it up, deciding to quickly check my email before catching up on some much needed sleep.

I recline against my pillows, watching as my Dell slowly brings itself to life. Opening up the browser, I log into my email. The hourglass flips over and back several times on the blank screen, and I stretch my arms over my head with a big yawn. When my email finally loads, my entire body goes still—except for my heart … I’m pretty sure it’s trying to launch itself out of my chest.

A grin plays at my mouth, and I lean forward to make sure my tired eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. I’m staring at an email from Devin. Oh my God, I’m staring at an email from Devin! Excitement bubbles up inside of me, and I wipe my sweaty palms on my comforter before taking a deep breath and opening the message.

To: Katie Devora

From: Sergeant Devin U. Clay

Subject: Thank God for email

Katie,

I am so happy that I can email you now. It makes things much easier knowing I don’t have to wait three weeks for a response. So, thank you for that! I spent the better part of a twelve-hour mission today reading your letter and deciding how to respond. I’m still not sure the best way to start, so I’m going to go with my heart.

It kills me—fucking kills me—to know that I hurt you the way I did. But I want you to know something … I want your forgiveness. I need it, Katie, and I’ll work my ass off for it. And you will forgive me. It might take time and a whole lot of groveling on my part, but it will happen. One of these days when the time is right, when I think that you’re ready—when we’re ready—I’ll share with you all of the reasons behind me leaving. But now is not the time. For now, I simply want to prove to you that you can trust me, that I’m here for you, and that I’ll never hurt you like that again.

Thank you for putting your anger away and responding, especially in your time of grief. You won’t ever fully understand what that means to me. God, Katie, I can’t stop thinking about you, your dad, your whole damn family. I hate that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most, because you know I would’ve been there in a heartbeat. But I’m here for you now. I’m sure you’ve already gone through several different stages and emotions, but I want you to know you can come to me.

Speaking of emotions, I truly believe that the feelings you’re having in reaction to your father’s death are normal. All the amazing times Jax and I had together: going through Basic, graduating together, making Sergeant, drunken nights in small German towns … they aren’t what I see when I close my eyes. I only see him lying there in my arms completely lifeless, eyes closed, body limp. I think some of it has to do with not getting to say goodbye, and a lot of it has to do with wishing it was us who died and not them. I’d give anything to switch places with Jax, as I’m sure you would with your father. They call it “survivor’s guilt,” and they say it’s a bitch to get over.

Of course, that’s assuming it’s something you can actually “get over.” I don’t see it ever going away. I’m devastated that I lost him, but truthfully, I still feel him around me all the time. I think he’s watching over me, or maybe I’m just fooling myself.

You asked me how I do it … the answer is easy. I don’t. I see him when I close my eyes. He’s in my dreams, my nightmares … he’s always there. I can’t help but think that maybe we just need time, you and me. Maybe, in time, our memories won’t haunt us quite as badly. Maybe, in time, we’ll be able to process it easier. Or maybe that’s just hopeful wishing.

You are right, though (I bet you enjoy hearing that, don’t you?). I can’t let this stop me from doing my job—from getting these men home safe. It’s a burden I accepted when taking on this rank, and it’s one I take very seriously. But being in this position means much of what I feel must be restrained. I can’t let them know I’m hurting and that I’m weak. Sometimes the pressure of it all feels like it’s going to suffocate me. And other times, I feel like I’m right where I belong.

I love these guys, and the bonds I’ve formed with them are like nothing I’ve ever felt. You know I was kind of a loner growing up. I had a few friends here and there, but I didn’t really feel like I could relate to any of them. And then to come over here, to fight and bleed next to these guys, to do something so much bigger than us … it means everything. No matter how this place changes me down the road, I will always be grateful for these friendships. These men are my brothers.

It means even more when you’re seeing a real difference. When you know in your heart that you’re doing something good, something that changes the life of another human being for the better. That’s how it was in Afghanistan, but here … not so much.

Like today, for example. Something happened during a mission—something that’s left my head spinning. I don’t even know how to make sense of it all. The absolute disregard for life by these animals perplexes me. To kill a child, to steal her from her parents without regard is something I will never understand. They call us murderers. They call for our heads even, and yet they kill each other with reckless abandon. I like to think I joined the Army and deployed to this hellhole to do some sort of good—to make a difference in the world—but it doesn’t feel like we’re making much headway.

I don’t mean to pummel you with the depressing details of this place, because I know you’re dealing with your own grief. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to about it all, especially someone who’s not over here questioning the same things I am.

Trust me, I won’t be complaining in a few months when my ass is boarding a plane back to the States, I can promise you that! I miss beer so damn much—oh, and pizza … can’t forget the pizza. Is that little pizza joint still in town, the one we used to eat at every Friday night after football games? God, I miss that place. I remember when Mom worked there for a couple of months and she would bring home leftover pizza from their buffet—okay, seriously, I can’t talk about food or it’ll drive me insane.

Anyway, speaking of my mother … unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you look at it—she’s out of the picture. We spent the better part of my first two years in the Army faking the funk. I’d fly to Pennsylvania for a week or two of leave and stay at her house. She’d make dinner and play “mom.” Then she’d try to convince me she was sober, and she did look a little better, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I caught her a few times doing a line or key bump. In the weeks I spent with her, I’d meet twenty different versions of Josephine, each more psychotic than the last. She’d be nice only when she needed something from me—usually money—and I just grew tired of it.

For a year or so, I felt this built-up resentment in the pit of my stomach and it was dragging me down. Ugh, you can’t judge me for this next part, okay? I spent about two hours one random night writing out how I felt … all of it. I mean, this thing ended up being like five pages long. I spent thirty minutes on the phone telling her what I’d written, pretty much chewing her ass out. She got pissed off and turned it around on me, blaming me for my dad leaving because she said he never wanted kids in the first place. We argued off and on, and then her last words to me were, “So what? It’s in the past.” I said ‘fuck you,’ hung up the phone and never called again. It’s been three years now since we last spoke, and I can’t say that I’ve missed her.

As crazy as I’m sure all that sounds, I felt better after I did it, like a weight had been lifted. I wasn’t burdened anymore, because I’d laid it all out on the table and washed my hands clean of it. This is actually my first time thinking about her in a while, so thanks for that (and yes, I’m being a smartass).

I did have a great two years with my grandma though. I worked odd jobs and took some classes at a community college nearby. With what free time I had, I read her books. Her favorite author was Nicholas Sparks. We’d often get to that dreaded last page of the book, and as the final words poured from my lips, she’d flip those eyes open wide, let out a long, satisfied sigh, and then start in on a story about grandpa and her falling in love. She said they fell in love with each other over and over and over again. She missed him terribly in the years she spent without him, and it seemed the closer she got to the end, the more excited she was to see him again. It may sound dumb, but it was just a really beautiful thing to be a part of.

Sorry, I think I may be the one babbling today. And enough about me anyway. Tell me about you. It’s been a decade, so what have I missed? What does Miss (or Mrs?) Katie Devora do? You know I’m a soldier out here playing in the world’s largest sandbox. What are you doing with your life? Can I take three guesses? Teacher, nurse, or social worker. I know how big that heart of yours is, and you always said that you wanted to do something to help others.

Well, it’s been a really long day and my eyeballs hate me right now so I’m going to hop off of here. But I want you to know that it’s been nice to talk to someone, particularly you. I’m glad we have a faster means of communication, because I don’t want to wait weeks in between hearing from you again—not after the last decade we’ve spent apart.

PS. How is your mom and Bailey?

Sincerely,

Devin

My body is a jumbled mix of emotions as I lean back against my headboard and take in everything he wrote. My heart aches for Devin and what he’s witnessed and endured both at war and at home. I don’t know how he does it, how he copes from day to day, but I could tell by his mad rush of words that he needed to get what happened today—or maybe it was yesterday—off his chest. He also mentioned that it was nice to have someone to talk to, and my stomach flutters at the thought that I’m that person. A sense of peace, belonging and friendship washes over me, and I squeeze my eyes shut because the feeling is so familiar that it physically hurts.

And for the first time, it hits me—I miss him. I miss our friendship, the connection that we shared. I miss being able to talk to him without being judged, and I miss the way he used to support me without swaying any of my thoughts or actions.

I miss Devin.

Somewhere in the back of my head, there’s a tiny vision of me crying in the middle of his driveway after I found out that he’d left, but I push it away and focus on his words.

How in the world can his words affect me this way? It took about a year after he left to face the facts that he wasn’t coming back, and another year to convince myself that whatever feelings he had for me weren’t real. About a year after that, I finally realized that I’d never be the same. So for him to be able to easily infiltrate my life this way after a decade of nothing … well, it’s scary really. Because if he hurt me once, he could do it again.

That thought alone makes my stomach churn, but I take a deep, cleansing breath, pushing past the nausea. Because right now I want nothing more than to take all of this for what it is and go with it. I don’t want to live in fear. What I want is to move forward.

Just as I’m about to reply to his email, my phone vibrates again.

Wyatt: Please call me

“Come on, Wy,” I mumble, to no one but myself. “Please don’t do this.” I sit for several minutes, trying to decide what to do, and when I blow out a breath and look to the side, my eye catches on a picture wedged into the side of my mirror. My first thought is how in the hell is that picture still up there? Then, as my eyes linger on the photo of Wyatt and me, arm in arm, the day after we got engaged, I instantly think of Devin.

Why did he ask if I was a Miss or Mrs.? Is he curious because he thinks that this … whatever this is … is more than what it is? Or maybe he realizes he made a colossal fucking mistake and wants me back. If that’s the case, then no way, mister. You snooze, you lose, and Lord knows I’m not going down that path again. Right? Right! But what if …

Maybe he’s engaged. Or, worse yet, married. Holy shit, what if he has a family?

My chest tightens at the thought of building an emotional connection with him if he belongs to someone else, and for a split second I hesitate to respond. Emphasis on split second, which is over when I hit ‘reply,’ all thoughts of Wyatt completely gone.

To: Sergeant Devin U. Clay

From: Katie Devora

Subject: Are you married?

Devin,

I hope I’m not coming off too forward, but I feel like we moved past that a while ago … say, in the first grade ;). So, here goes nothing. Are you married? You don’t have a girlfriend, wife or family at home, do you? I’m going to be blatantly honest, and if I’m way off the mark, then, well … we’ll just pretend I never wrote this email.

Your words have struck a chord with me. They hit me where it hurts, in the best way, and maybe it’s just nostalgia, but I feel a connection when I read your letters/emails. But I’m not going to lie, the thought of restarting our friendship—which I assume that’s what this is since we both continue to reply to each other—with someone that is already emotionally invested in another person doesn’t sit well with me. And considering our past, it wouldn’t be fair to your wife or girlfriend either.

But it’s not just that, even though that’s huge. Whatever this is, it scares the shit out of me. Not just because of the way things ended between us, but because you have the power to hurt me. And frankly, I won’t survive being hurt again.

My fingers tap nervously against the keys, my teeth chewing at my bottom lip as I reread what I wrote. Shit. I sound like an idiot. Who the hell writes that to someone they barely know anymore? It’s none of my business if he’s in a relationship. Right? And should I tell him about Wyatt? Does he have a right to know about that, even though it’s over?

Damn it! Twisting a chunk of hair around my finger, I twirl it several times, deciding whether or not this connection we’re building is worth it. Only when I start to get an actual headache does it hit me that I don’t have a choice in the matter. The connection has already been established, whether I like it or not.

So screw it … it’s not like I have much more to lose.

Alrighty, now that I’ve gotten the awkward part out of the way, on to something else. HOLY SHIT. It kills me to know that these are the types of things you’re seeing and dealing with on a day-to-day basis over there, and my heart aches for the innocent children that seem to be getting caught in the crossfire. I know you probably feel helpless in those situations, and I’m not going to pretend I know anything about it, but I’m sure you’re doing everything you can. You have to remember you’re only one person in an army of soldiers fighting against evil. There are going to be days when you conquer and others when you capitulate. But don’t lose sight of why you chose to do this. I have no doubt that you will make an impact, big or small, and people’s lives will be better for it.

I want you to know how proud I am that you took this path in life. You always were so incredibly strong, so I shouldn’t be surprised that you decided to go off to war and fight for our country. Thank you for that, by the way.

And don’t ever feel like you’re pummeling me with too much. Do you remember all the shit I hit you with in that first letter? And let’s not forget all the stories I made you listen to growing up. Plus, I enjoy hearing about your life in the military, and we all need a place to vent. I’m glad that I can be that outlet for you. So as much as I appreciate the offer that I can come to you—and I do believe you when you say that—I want you to know that I’m here for you as well.

Okay, now that the mushy stuff is out of the way, let me answer your question. I’m a nurse. I work at a local hospital, alongside my best friend, Maggie. We both work in labor and delivery, which I love. It’s so exciting to watch new life being brought into this world. These little, innocent people are so perfect, and seeing them open their eyes for the first time and take their first tiny breath warms my heart. And trust me, my heart needs all the warming it can get these days.

I realize now that I’ve been working too much though, using it as an escape. I’ve been picking up as many shifts as the hospital will allow in an attempt to ignore the pain. And it helped—it really did—but I was hiding behind it. I was working myself into exhaustion, so that at the end of the day I couldn’t do much more than pass out.

I’ve also been taking care of the horses. You remember Mac, right? Well, I still have him! Mom wants to get rid of the horses because she says they’re too expensive and too much work, but for me, they’re a way to keep my dad’s memory alive and I’m not ready to let go of them yet.

But one of these days, I’ll get there. After my last letter to you, I vowed to try and do better. I think you’ll be proud to know that I haven’t been picking up as many shifts, and I hired a young high school boy to help out on the farm. I’ve definitely got more time on my hands, but I guess that isn’t always a bad thing. I think the fact that I can get through most days—emphasis on most—without spending every second stewing over the accident is a move in the right direction … don’t you?

I’ve already started making amends with my mom and sister, who are doing great, by the way, thank you for asking. Mom was much, much more forgiving than Bailey, but you remember how stubborn she can be. I know it’ll take time with her though. Some of the things I said to her and the way I acted are inexcusable, but I’m confident that she’ll forgive me in time …

And, who knows, maybe in time you’ll be able to patch things up with Josephine. I hate hearing how things went down between the two of you, although I can’t say that I’m surprised—not after the way she started acting after your dad left. But it isn’t your fault, so don’t think that. She is the mother; she should have handled things differently, both when you were growing up and as an adult. I don’t blame you for not staying in contact with her. No child should have to work that hard to have a relationship with their parent. But I digress—this is Josephine we’re talking about. I’d like to think that it will only make you stronger when the day arrives that you become a father. (Don’t freak out by that prospect LOL)

Okay, enough with all the heavy stuff … tell me something about you that I don’t already know, something that’s happened in your life since we’ve been apart.

I’ll talk to you soon … EMAIL IS GREAT!!

Sincerely,

Katie

With a smile on my face, I hit send, then shut my computer down, place it on my nightstand and curl into bed. My eyes drift closed as my mind pulls forward visions of Devin as a young man. Just before I doze off, I start to wonder what he looks like as an adult. Are his green eyes as piercing as they once were? Does the dimple in his left cheek still stand out every time he smiles?

If I saw him now, would my body have the same reaction to him that it once did?