Текст книги "A Lover's Lament "
Автор книги: K. L. Grayson
Соавторы: B. T. Urruela
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
More than that, right now, I just want to hear from you. If I can’t feel you, I want to hear your voice.
Love,
Katie
“Fighting My Way Back” – After Midnight Project
FIVE FUCKING DAYS I’VE BEEN stuck inside this building with the entire company up my fucking ass. We stand all day, one beside the other, in the hallways, one hundred soldiers deep, with nothing to do but let our thoughts run wild and nothing more than what we were able to carry in both arms.
A lucky enemy mortar round hit our ammunition point, which led to secondary explosions best saved for the Fourth of July—and for way fucking further away than two hundred feet. Our own artillery shells and tracer rounds burst under the heat of the flames, arching aimlessly in a blaze across the sky.
Disregarding our own safety, we watched the show outside for a little while as the shells erupted into beautiful reds, oranges, and yellows. Eventually, we were called inside by leadership, who, by the way, have been staying in their own buildings and in their own rooms. So while we’re left here like homeless under an overpass, the pricks have been sleeping comfortably in their cots.
Not that there’s been much sleep to be had. From behind these walls, it’s sounded like the entire compound was in the middle of Armageddon. Two days ago the explosions stopped, and since then, explosive ordnance disposal teams from the Green Zone have picked through spent rounds, carefully loading those that failed to detonate onto trucks to be taken to the middle of nowhere and manually blown up. God knows what shape the compound is in right now.
As for headquarters, there wasn’t any significant damage and no one was injured, thankfully. Some asshole in 3rd Platoon claimed he was hit with shrapnel, but it ended up only being some shards of glass from a broken window. What he really meant to say was that he’s being a bitch and wants to go home.
Our radio communications are still up, but that’s been our only connection to the outside world. Which means …
No phone.
No Internet.
No Katie.
I’m lying beside Navas in the middle of the hallway with the rest of the platoon sprawled out around us, and it feels like these walls are beginning to close in around me. I haven’t really spoken to anyone in a while. I’m sick of talking and sick of pretending we aren’t stuck inside this hellhole.
A blanket is tucked under each armpit and my head sits snugly against a pillow as I stare at the same Sports Illustrated I’ve read a thousand times before. All I can think about is Katie and what’s running through her mind during all of this. I know she heard that last explosion, because I could hear her talking right before it hit. Her last words float around my head … Devin, I’m scared.
No one has cared about me—not since her—and I’ve never had anyone anxiously waiting for my return. But she does, and hopefully she is. In the meantime, it breaks my fucking heart that she might think I’m dead, just another person to leave her behind.
God, if I could only call—if I could just hear her voice—everything would be okay. The magazine falls from my hands. My temples throb with each flicker of the fluorescent light, and I pin my eyes on the communications center just a few steps away. Knowing I can’t get in there annoys the hell out of me.
Elkins chuckling strikes my ears like nails against a chalkboard, and I want to fucking scream. I want to grab the nearest officer and shake the living shit out of him. Let me fucking out of here! Fix the fucking phone!
The screeching sound of the main door opening makes me pop straight up and draws most of the eyes in the building. Captain Hendricks enters the main hallway and stops, scanning us as we all keep our eyes locked on him. We wait anxiously for him to speak, but he scurries quickly past us and into the operations center, joining the other officers. I drop back down and shut my eyes, but just as my lids are about to meet, I hear footsteps exiting the operations center. I look up to see Lieutenant Dixon making his way toward the front door, but he stops just before he gets there.
“Alright, we just got word from EOD that nearly all the ordnances are cleaned up and taken care of. We will still have engineers and communications teams here for the next few days to get everything back in working order, but you’ll be able to go back to your tents tonight at 2100 hours.” He finishes and turns to exit, and I quickly rise to my feet.
“Sir?” He stops in his tracks and turns to me. “What about the Comm Center? When will it be back up?”
“Did you not hear me, Sergeant Clay?” he snarls. “Communications teams will be getting everything back to working order in the next few days. You think you’re the only one that wants to use the phone?” I envision myself strangling him, my thick hands squeezing his neck as he flails helplessly.
“Well, I didn’t know if maybe they gave you a time frame … Sir.”
“Should be up tomorrow,” he mumbles before strapping his helmet on and exiting the building.
“Motherfucker,” I hiss under my breath, dropping back to the ground.
I listen as the last truck rumbles out of the front gate and down the road. My cot feels like a California king and our tent like a suite at the Ritz right about now. I’m curled up in the dark, using my flashlight to light my way out of this place. I scan every line of every letter Katie has written me as I listen to the faint sounds of men working outside the tent, the very men I’m relying so desperately on to bring me closer to her—communication-wise at least. I pray they get the lines up before we set out on our mission tomorrow. I’m looking at three hours of sleep at the rate I’m going, but I don’t care. I can’t sleep because my mind is just too frantic, and I know it won’t calm down until I talk to Katie. All I want to do is let her know that I’m okay … that I’m still here and I’m not going anywhere.
The alarm on my watch blasts for what has to be five minutes before I realize it’s not a dream. Navas and a few of the others are half awake and grumbling for me to shut it the fuck off, and I finally shake the sleep away enough to mute the annoying sound.
0500.
The glaring numbers burn holes through my pupils. I glance over to my left and see the pile of letters beside me. It immediately reminds me what I’m doing up so early and kicks me into gear. I’ll check every hour if I have to, but I will reach her before mission.
I labor out of bed and throw on my gear before making my way to the entrance of the tent. Peeking out, I see that the crews have finished working for the night. Equipment and maintenance vehicles are still scattered around the base, but there’s not a noise to be heard or movement to be seen. I step out of the tent and walk toward headquarters, all the while counting the charred remnants where each mortar exploded. The walls of the Hesco barriers are painted black with soot and dotted with fresh holes, and a guard tower is still mid-repair. Two small buildings used for storage are now in shambles, but the rest of the base seems to be intact. A quick chill shoots down my spine as I realize just how lucky we were.
We could’ve been killed. I could’ve been killed.
Just before entering headquarters, I look up to the sky and imagine God looking down at me. I mouth a ‘thank you’ to Him, and in my head I say a short prayer: Please let it be fixed, Lord. Please.
Stepping inside, I first look through the open operations center door. For a second, I think I should just ask the radio operator if communications are back up, but I can’t. If he tells me no, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Instead, I enter the communications center, take a seat and power up the computer, crossing my fingers tightly as I do so. The little bar dances back and forth across the computer screen, over and over and over again. My stomach tightens and my foot bobs at a pace any crack addict would appreciate. The seconds feel like hours as the word ‘loading’ works its way under my skin.
And then it happens … the chime … the system booting up. It’s fixed! Every tense muscle in my body relaxes. I settle into the seat and let out a long sigh of relief. Then, without hesitation, I quickly pull up my email.
There are four messages from Katie, and I read each of them—more than once. With each one, my heart both breaks and then mends, and when my mind finally puts together the messages she left me in the form of subject lines, my heart expands to epic proportions.
She wants me.
She wants us.
I say, hell yes.
Tears blur my eyes, but I blink them away. I have to let her know that I’m okay. I check my watch.
0600.
Struggling to do the math in my head, I finally realize that it’s only ten where she’s at, so I rip the phone from the cradle, dialing her number as fast as my fingers will move.
“We Can Try”—Between The Trees
DIPPING MY HANDS INTO THE hot, soapy water, I reach for a glass and then perform the same monotonous routine that I’ve been performing on this load of dishes for the past twenty minutes.
Scrub. Rinse. Repeat.
My eyes have been locked on a little girl playing in her yard across the street, but my mind isn’t processing what my hands are doing or what my eyes are seeing. I’ve had a one-track mind for the past several days, and it’s been on Devin.
I’ve carried my phone around in my hand like it’s attached to my body, and every time it rings, my heart stutters to a stop. But it’s never him, and with each day that’s passed, what little hope I had left has slowly started to fade.
A soft knock sounds at the door, but instead of moving to answer it, I just yell at whoever is there to come in. Probably not the smartest idea, but right now I don’t really care. My mind drifts back to thoughts of Devin when I hear the front door open and then shut, followed by the soft shuffle of someone walking toward me. Hopefully it’s not a serial killer. I take that back—
“Hey, Kit Kat.” At the gentle sound of Bailey’s voice, I close my eyes, take a deep breath and pray to whoever is willing to listen that she takes pity on me, because I’m not up for much of a fight right now.
Pulling my hands from the sink, I dry them off with a towel and then turn around and prop myself up against the counter. Bailey is standing in the doorway, her shoulders hunched forward, her hands wringing together. I can’t help but wonder what in the hell she’s so nervous about.
My silence must be unnerving because she takes a step forward and says, “Thank you for taking care of me the other night.”
Scrunching my nose, I think back to what she’s talking about, and then I remember her drunken evening. “You were gone when I got up.”
“Yeah”—she clears her throat—“sorry about that. I should’ve waited for you to get up, but I was embarrassed and still a little frustrated with you … well, more with myself … anyway, I just needed to get out.”
“How did you get home? You didn’t have your car.”
“My car was only a mile down the road at the bar, so I just walked.” Bailey’s eyes dart to the kitchen table and then back to me. “Mind if I sit?”
“Oh, um, no … go ahead, sit.” I stay standing. Right here, I feel absolutely nothing, but if I move … well, if I move, that might change. And I really don’t want that to change.
Bailey pulls out a chair, sits down and props her elbows up on the table. The room is eerily quiet, and judging by the way she’s shifting in her seat, it’s making her uncomfortable.
“Mama told me about Devin,” she blurts. I can’t say that I’m surprised.
“What do you want me to say, Bailey?”
“Nothing.” Her eyes soften and she shakes her head. “I just … I wanted you to know that I’m here for you if you need me. I know things have been a little rough between us, but you’re still my sister, and I want you to know that if you need a shoulder to cry on, or someone to sit down and eat a pint of cookie dough ice cream with, I’m your girl.”
Her words wrap themselves around my heart, and suddenly, the urge to close myself off isn’t as strong. But I don’t give in because giving in means feeling, and right now I’m specifically trying not to feel.
“Thank you, Bailey.”
She huffs and cocks her head to the side. Those three little words must not have been what she was expecting. “I’m sorry, Katie. There, I said it. I’m sorry for pushing you and for getting mad about the whole Wyatt thing. You were right, it wasn’t my business. I just—”
My phone rings, cutting her off, and both of our eyes dart to the tiny silver contraption as it jumps across the table with each vibration. My heart stutters to a complete stop, and much like every other time my phone rings, adrenaline pumps through my veins. Closing my eyes, I attempt to calm myself down, but it doesn’t work. It never fucking works.
“Here.” My eyes pop open in time to see Bailey reach for my cell. She looks at the screen and then up at me. “Unknown number. Want me to hit ‘ignore’?”
“NO!” Lunging forward, I snatch the phone from her hand, flip it open and push it against my ear. “Hello?”
“Katie.” His voice cracks through the line; it’s the sweetest fucking sound I’ve ever heard. Tears spring to my eyes and my trembling hand flies to my mouth. All of the tension instantly drains from my body as I slump against the cabinets and slide to the floor in a blubbering mess.
Bailey pushes from the table, runs across the room and drops to her knees beside me, enveloping me in her arms. The faint sound of Devin’s voice filters through the phone, but I can’t hear him over the cries coming from my mouth.
“Devin,” I gasp in between sobs. “Oh, God. I didn’t ...” A strangled moan rips through my lungs, my body rocking forward as my mind finally allows me to believe that this is real.
He’s alive.
“Please don’t cry, Katie. I’m okay.” Devin’s voice is soft and gentle, and I can tell by the hitch in his voice that he’s feeling just as emotional as I am. My lungs fight to suck in air, and when I’m finally able to catch my breath, my eyes look heavenward and I mouth a silent ‘thank you’ to whomever has been listening to my prayers. Looking down, I find Bailey watching me questioningly, and I give her a tremulous smile and nod. She slowly releases her hold and kisses me on the cheek before walking out of the room, presumably to give me privacy.
“I can’t help it.” I hiccup as I fight past the burning in my chest to just speak. “The explosion … and then the line went dead … you never called or emailed, and I had no way to get ahold of you, and …” With each word, the tears are returning at full force, emotion clogging my throat. “I thought you were gone. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again, and—”
“And now you’re hearing from me,” he breathes. “Because I’m okay. Shit, Katie, I can’t stand to hear you cry.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” My voice is thick—strangled. “You have no idea what went through my head, Devin. I just got you back, and then the thought of losing you, it …” The words fell from my mouth before I even had a chance to process what I was saying, but now that they’re out there, I don’t regret saying them. Because it’s true. He’s back in my heart—hell, he never fucking left.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I whisper, batting away my tears. Devin’s breathing sounds labored and heavy as though the weight of the world was just lifted from his shoulders.
“You’re not going to lose me, Katie,” he vows. “Getting ahold of you, getting back to you, it’s all I thought about. You were all I thought about.” We both go quiet but the faint sounds of sniffling and heavy breathing still pass through the line. I’m not sure who’s doing what, but I honestly don’t care.
“I got your emails.”
I suck in a breath and hold it. Did he put together my hidden message?
“Did you mean it?” For the first time since reconnecting with Devin, he sounds unsure, and I hate that sound in his voice. It’s something I don’t ever want to hear again, not when it comes to us.
“Yes.” I nod, even though no one is around to see it.
“I need to hear you say it, Katie.”
“I want us.” I infuse as much conviction as I can into those three little words, and Devin must catch on to it, because a huge sigh filters through the phone. “I want you,” I continue, needing him to know how much this means to me—how much he means to me. “I’ve never stopped wanting you, Dev.”
“God, Katie”—a string of incoherent words fall from his mouth before he clears his throat—“I can’t tell you how bad I’ve wanted to hear you say that. And I feel the same way. You own my fucking heart, Katie. You always have and that’s never going to change.”
Tears are dripping down my face, but I’m unable to keep myself from chuckling. Not because what he said is funny but out of pure happiness. This euphoria is something I haven’t felt in a long-ass time, and it’s leaving me with a feeling of giddiness. “Now what?”
“Now we wait until I get to come home. It's gonna be the longest few months of my entire fucking life," he says with a laugh.
“And then what?” I ask, needing to hear him say what my heart desperately wants to hear. “When you go on leave, then what?”
“Then I’m coming home … to you. And we’re going to make up for every fucking second of the last ten years.”
I nod, brushing at the never-ending stream of tears. Best thing I’ve heard in … ten years. I’m aware that when he goes on leave it doesn’t mean that his tour is over, but one step at a time. We’ll deal with that later.
Taking a deep breath, I hold it in and then blow it out slowly. This is really happening. “I like the sound of that. A lot.”
“Katie?”
“Hmmm?”
“I don’t have a lot of time to talk because we’re getting ready to leave on mission, but I want you to know that if I could’ve called after the explosion, I would have. You know that, right?”
Shit. There for a second, I completely forgot about the explosion. “I don’t even know what happened that day. Why didn’t you call? Why couldn’t you at least email me to let me know that you were okay?”
Devin groans, and I picture him dropping his head back and running a hand through his hair like he did when we were kids. “Trust me, I would have, but those damn mortar rounds took out our communications center and it took days to get it up and running again.”
I didn’t even think of that. “That’s not at all what was running through my head,” I say, a shiver racing down my spine.
“I don’t want to know what was running through your head.”
“Hell no, you don’t.” My head falls back against the cabinet as relief sinks in, seeping its way through my body.
“I’m sorry, Katie.”
I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for, but the way his words come out makes it sound like everything. “You’re forgiven.” A smile spreads across my face because, in my heart, I know that he really is forgiven … for everything. Before, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to forgive Devin for the way he walked away from me, but that seems so insignificant right now compared to everything else that has happened. “No more apologies, okay? From now on, you and me, we keep moving forward.”
“I like the sound of that,” he says with a hint of playfulness in his voice. Heat radiates through my chest, and I reach for the spot that’s been aching the past several days, only to find it gone.
The phone line gets scratchy and I hear several other voices before Devin speaks again. “Katie, I hate to do this, but I’ve gotta go. We’re getting ready to leave, but I promise that I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
“You promise? No matter what time, you promise you’ll call?”
“I promise,” he says, laughing.
“Good. Because if I don’t hear from you soon, you’re in serious trouble.”
“I find that incredibly intriguing, Miss Devora. What would be my form of punishment?” he says suggestively.
“Hah!” I bark out, a huge grin splitting my face. “Of course you would turn that into something dirty.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What’s my form of—?”
“Goodbye, Devin.” I sigh, feeling like the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders.
“Bye, Katie.”
“If It Means a Lot to You”—A Day To Remember
I’M SHEDDING MY EQUIPMENT BESIDE my cot, just after mission, when Tavares bursts through the entrance of our tent, his frantic movements catching our attention. His eyes lock on mine and when I see the look of pity on his face, my blood runs cold. I know he’s here for me… but why?
In three long strides, he’s standing before me. His mouth opens and closes several times as though he has something to say, but he just doesn’t know how to get it out.
“What’s up, man?” I ask, dropping my body armor to the ground and unbuttoning my uniform top.
He remains silent and looks over to Navas, who is holding a Hot Rod magazine but has his eyes locked on Tavares, waiting for him to speak as well.
“Dude, Tavares, what the fuck is up?”
“We need you over at HQ …” His eyes flit around my face and his voice trails off. I can tell he wants to say more, but can’t.
Now I’m annoyed.
“Who is we, Tavares?” I ask, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible.
“Captain Kendricks,” he says before turning on his heel.
“No,” I snap. He looks over his shoulder, and the determination must be written all over my face because he spins around to face me. “Tell me what’s up.”
“I’m not really sure. Kendricks didn’t mention anything.” I don’t believe him, but I won’t try and press him for more. I’ve known Tavares long enough to understand he says what he wants to and nothing more. If there is one thing in this life I’ve mastered, it’s the ability to read people.
I follow Tavares to headquarters and the short walk is awkwardly quiet. He leads me inside to Captain Kendricks’s small office. Tapping on the door, he’s met with a deep grunt from the other side. Then he opens the door, motions for me step into the office and closes the door behind me. I take a seat, having absolutely no idea what’s going on, but my mind runs through a hundred different scenarios. Not one of them is good.
Kendricks continues to shuffle through papers without acknowledging my presence. He finds what he’s looking for and finally looks up. He has the same look of pity Tavares had, only his seemed forced, most likely out of habit. His conversations with the men below him are business, and only business.
“Well, Clay, I have some bad news.” He pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. I’m immediately grateful that he tells it like it is; I respect a man that can do that. “We got a Red Cross message tonight, and … well”—he clears his throat but keeps his eyes on mine—“your mother died two days ago.” He stops, presumably to let me process what he’s just said. My mind is numb as I fight to comprehend his words. “There’s not a lot of information there,” he says, handing me a stack of papers, “but there’s a number to call, and of course, we will have to get you on a plane out of here as soon as possible.” I grab the paper from his hand and notice that mine is trembling. My hand never fucking trembles.
My mother is … dead. Gone. A rush of breath pushes through my lips and I close my eyes, only instead of thinking of Josephine, my thoughts travel to Katie.
Will I get to see her? Will she come to Pennsylvania to see me?
I should feel bad that this is where my thoughts are going, but I don’t. Not after the hell my mother put me through.
“A plane, Sir?” I know what he’s saying, but in this moment, my mind isn’t here.
“Yes, we gotta get you out for the funeral. It says in the message—I mean, you can read it yourself—but the funeral is in three days. We will have to get you on a chopper and to the Green Zone in the morning, and our operations men have set up a flight for you out of the country tomorrow evening. You’ll be home by Friday,” he says, handing me another piece of paper. I glance at it and see my itinerary. He stops for a moment, and for the first time during this meeting, he has a genuine look of pity on his face. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sergeant Clay.”
“Thank you, Sir,” I mumble, my eyes drifting to his marble-topped desk as I mentally make plans to call Katie. I have to call her. I have to see her.
“Clay?” Captain Kendricks’s deep voice catches my attention, and I look up. He wants to say something else but stops himself and simply nods.
“Do you know when the chopper will be here, Sir?” I ask to fill the awkward silence that’s taken up the room.
“0600 the bird will be here, so get your stuff together tonight and be prepared at 0530.”
Nodding, I stand, the Red Cross message clenched in my hand. Without a word, I walk to the door before realizing how rude I must’ve come off. I spin back around.
“Sorry, Sir. I’ll be at the helipad at 0530.”
He nods, accepting my explanation. “I’m sorry again, Sergeant Clay.”
The walk back to the tent is almost like a dream. My senses have dulled and my mind struggles to understand. I wait for the urge to cry or feel an overwhelming sense of loss, but it never comes. I’m only numb.
The line rings several times and I wonder what they’re going to tell me, if anything. My desire to call Katie is growing by the second, but I have to find out what happened to my mom first. As foul as that woman could be, she was still my mother, and I hope at the very least she died peacefully, though at her age I know that’s impossible.
The line clicks and a woman’s voice comes through.
“Red Cross Emergency Communications Services. This is Sharon. How can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am, my name is Sergeant Devin Clay. I’m a U.S. Army soldier deployed to Iraq, and I just received a Red Cross message about my mother’s death.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Sergeant Clay, and I must say, thank you so much for the sacrifices you and your family are making.” Her words are saccharine sweet, but I have a feeling she does these sorts of calls entirely too often and her words are merely a script that runs through her head. I hear her typing away on the keyboard.
“Thank you very much, ma’am. Do you have any information for me?” I ask as she continues to type.
“Just … one … second … yep, here we go. Josephine Clay, myocardial infarction, died April 18, 2006. The funeral is on April 23rd.” She types again before continuing, “Now, Sergeant Clay, did your Command give you all of the funeral and travel information?”
“Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else I should know?”
“That should be it. Please give us a call if you have any problems with your travel arrangements. We are here to serve you, and again, if you don’t have any further questions, thank you so much for what you’re doing over there.” Her words barely register because my mind is on one thing and one thing only.
It’s been ten long years, and I’m ready to get my girl.
“No, I think I’m okay. Thank you, ma’am.” I quickly hang up the phone and snatch it back up again, dialing Katie’s number as fast as I can. With each ring, my heart pulses rapidly through my veins, a warm buzz sitting just under my skin. The excitement over seeing her is almost too much to comprehend, the thought of my mother no longer being on this earth, at least for the moment, being pushed beneath the surface.
“Devin?” Katie’s voice crackles over the line and I can’t help but smile. And then, without warning, an image of my mother and father holding each of my hands and swinging me in the air flashes in my head, bringing reality crashing down on me. Katie says my name again, but before I can answer, another memory comes barreling in. This time we’re walking through Cedar Point, looking for rides suitable for an eight-year-old. I’ve got a snowcone in one hand and a stuffed bear in the other.
My legs go weak and I yank out a chair before dropping onto it.
“Devin? Are you there?”
My chest tightens and nose burns, and when I open my mouth to talk, my voice is choked with tears. “Katie.”
