Page 41

She was worried she was still too drunk to drive, and for once, I wasn’t drunk at all. So, she gave me the directions to her house in a town not far from where we’d grown up.

It was a beautiful, old colonial near a canal.

It had been too small for her and her husband, but not too small for her and her girls, she said, as she gave me the brief tour of the main floor.

A living room with enough space for a couch, a shelf of books, and a TV.

A kitchen with a breakfast nook big enough for a little round table and four chairs.

A dining room that was utilized as a playroom for her kids.

“It used to be my ex’s office,” she explained with a huff, leaning against the doorframe as I peered inside to sweep my gaze over the mess of Barbie dolls and plastic food on the floor. “Not anymore.”

“Why did you split up?” I asked as she turned off the light and led me to the staircase, just off the living room .

She looked for a moment like she didn’t want to reply as she fiddled with her fingers and left her gaze cast downward. But then, finally, she admitted, “There were a lot of reasons, I guess, but I think the biggest one was that I don’t think I ever really loved him.”

I frowned. “Laura, that’s awful.”

She nodded, laying her hand on the wooden banister. “Yes, it is.” She looked over her shoulder at me, raising a single finger. “But let me be clear: I thought I loved him.”

She began to ascend the staircase, each tread creaking with every step she took. I followed, watching her through a haze of awe and confusion and gratitude. So, so much gratitude.

And it was strange, and it was wonderful, and I thought, If I could just stay here, with her, maybe I won’t want to jump off that bridge after all .

“What made you realize you didn’t love him?” I boldly asked as we were nearing the top.

She didn’t say anything right away though. Instead, we both took up residence in the small landing that instantly made me feel like a giant in a dollhouse, especially standing beside her. God, had I always been this much bigger than her? Why hadn’t I remembered that?

Laura gestured toward the door ahead of us, kept slightly ajar.

“That’s the only bathroom in the house. It’s tiny, and I feel like it’s just gonna get tinier as the girls get older.

And right there”—she pointed to the dark room beside her with its door wide open—“is my daughters’ bedroom.

And that”—she spun on her heel in the small landing, pointing to the door beside me—“is my room. ”

It was the only closed-off room, and for that reason, it seemed sacred beside the others. I knew that, logically, if she had brought me up here, the invitation had already been laid on the table, waiting for me to open it. Yet I didn’t move an inch, hoping she’d take me in.

She stepped around me and pressed her back to the door’s raised panels, painted white, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I never felt for him the way he did for me,” she confessed, picking up where we’d left off. “He would go above and beyond for me; he would’ve given me the freakin’ moon if he could. But for me, most days, it felt like a chore just to sleep with him.”

She lifted her gaze to meet mine. “And don’t get me wrong. I’m not talking shit about him. He’s a good man. He’s a good dad. I don’t hate him now, and I never will. But it was just impossible to love him when I had never given myself the time to stop loving someone else.”

My heart, cold and broken for so long, instantly warmed and swelled, like it’d been suddenly beckoned inside after years of living in the cold. “Me?”

Laura rolled her eyes and sniffed a little laugh. “Shut up, Max. You know the answer to that. You’ve always known the answer to that, ever since we were kids , and I’m the idiot who could never turn that off, no matter how hard I tried. No matter how much I knew you’d never—"

“I love you,” I said, taking a step and pressing my body flush to hers. “Jesus, Laura, you have no idea how much I fucking love you. ”

She gasped, her breath stuttering as she stared ahead at my chest, and then her eyes danced over my body until they landed on mine once again. “W-what?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you back then. I-I wanted to. I almost did, but …” I lifted my hand and brushed my knuckles over her cheek. “God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never said it. I’m sorry I ever made you think—"

“Oh fuck, Max, shut up.”

She clasped my cheeks, standing on her toes to thrust her lips upward against mine.

I inhaled sharply through my nose, taking in her scent as my lungs lost their ability to breathe the moment she made impact.

She kissed me furiously, feverishly . All of her pent-up longing and frustration bubbled up to engulf my mouth with passion and need.

It took me half a second to catch up, to realize what was happening, but when I did, I sighed, the relief of coming home settling against my soul.

My fingers tangled in her long, dark hair as I pressed her back to the door, returning the kiss with equal longing, and she fumbled with her hand until she found the doorknob, opening the door and sending us stumbling into the room.

We laughed into each other’s mouth, giddiness and excitement pushing past our lips as we regained our footing, somehow never breaking this never-ending kiss.

Then, in the dark, she took me to her bed.

Not a word was spoken as she took off my shirt, and I took off hers.

The light from the landing shone across the room, illuminating her eyes as they watched me watching her.

As we took each other in. Reacquainting after all this time.

God , it was all happening so fast, every moment of this night leading into the next swiftly, like dominoes falling into place.

Her hands fell to my waist, mine to hers.

We stripped each other from the burden of our clothing, and before long, we were both naked, baring our scars—new and old—to each other for the first time in so long … too long.

Laura pulled me back to lie over her, and I hesitated. My eyes sought hers, silently begging for permission for something we hadn’t shared in what suddenly felt like a lifetime.

“You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want this,” she clarified softly, her hand sliding over the side of my bearded face, down to my neck and shoulder. “I promise you, I do want this.”

“I just want you ,” I whispered before pressing my lips back to hers and pushing forward with my hips.

I fit into her as perfectly as ever, and I reveled in the familiarity of her while being surrounded by the newness of being here in her bed, in her house, a place with no room for childish games and lack of commitment.

We were adults now, and we moved with experience—the things we had learned from each other and from others.

And while another man might’ve found a reason for envy there, I found none because, now, this was mine.

For the first time maybe ever, she was truly, without a doubt, mine, and as we approached a conjoined climax, I was more than ready to scream from the fucking rooftop that I was, body and heart and soul, hers .

God, I marveled in how sober I was, how happy , and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been either of those things, let alone at the same time.

And after we regained control of our lungs, with tangled limbs and settled hearts, we fell into a restful sleep, my first in years and without the assistance of alcohol.

We slept for what felt like months, the kind of sleep where you wondered what day it was the moment you cracked your lids open, and I glanced across the bed to find Laura looking back, the blankets tucked beneath her chin.

“Hi,” she whispered, seeming shy now in the light of day.

I rolled to lie parallel to her. “Hi.”

“Merry Christmas.”

I smiled, reaching out to brush the hair from off her forehead. “Merry Christmas to you.”

Then, as if I’d flipped a switch I wasn’t aware of, she was sad, and she turned her eyes away. My smile vanished, and in its place, a frown appeared.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s the first Christmas morning without my kids since they were born.”

“Oh,” I replied quietly. “How old are they?”

“Three,” she answered, her voice trembling with sadness. “They’re twins.”

It was odd to me for no particular reason that I would have twin sisters and Laura would have twin daughters. It felt like a funny little thing that was probably just a coincidence but still made me smile anyway.

“What are their names?”

“Jane and Elizabeth.”

“Ah, good ol’ Pride and Prejudice ,” I muttered, feigning sarcasm as I rolled my eyes playfully. “Your favorite. ”

She smiled at that, her cheeks tinting red. “You remember that?”

My gaze fell back to hers. “Of course I do.”

Laura scooted closer in the bed to press her bare chest against mine.

She tipped her head up, her lips seeking mine, and I kissed her gently, brushing my mouth against hers and keeping my eyes open just a bit to watch how she sighed and melted into the bed.

She relaxed, surrendering easily to the bonds that tied us together, and for once, so did I.

I wanted her again and again and again, as made evident by the heavy, aching weight between my legs, pressing into her and demanding attention. But that could wait until later. We had time.

Hell, if I had my way, we’d have forever.

“Tell me about Jane and Elizabeth,” I whispered against her lips.

She smiled, then nodded, pulling away to rest her head while keeping her hand on my chest, above my heart.

“Jane is quiet. She loves her books, drawing, crafts. She’s a little daydreamer, always has her head in the clouds,” she said, a look of adoration blanketing her face, and I fell in love with her again, seeing how much she loved her daughters.

“Then Elizabeth is her exact opposite. She’s wild.

She loves to run and go exploring, and if I tell her not to do something, you can bet your ass she’s going to do it.

But it’s not out of defiance. Lizzie just needs to learn from the experience … ”

My mind grew hazy as an ache pierced through my heart at the name. Laura was still talking as a brief moment played in my mind of Lizzie being shot. Lizzie falling to the sandy ground in a heap. Lizzie’s blank, lifeless stare looking out into the cold world that no longer wanted her in it.

I cleared my throat, wishing the image away, but it remained on a loop.

What are her girls doing now? Are they adventurous and brave, like their mother? Do they remember their mother at all?

“Hey.” Laura reached out, laying her hand on my cheek. “Come back to me.”

I blinked and shook my head, forcing my eyes to focus on the woman lying beside me. The woman I had loved and lost so many years ago. The woman I had never stopped wanting.

And there she was.

“Where did you go?”

“Afghanistan,” I admitted easily, and, oh, how good it felt to be honest.

She nodded, her lips forming a sad little frown. “You have PTSD?”

I hesitated before barely nodding and saying nothing else.

Then she asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” I replied, my voice gruff.

“Is this real? You and me?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. God, I would never deny her again.

“Then I am promising you now that I will spend however long we are together fighting that battle with you. You don’t have to disappear.

You can take me with you, if you want to.

I’m not going to push you. I’m not going to …

I don’t know … try to love it out of you,” she said with a small, humorless laugh and a melancholic smile.

“All I’m saying is, you don’t have to fight it alone. Okay? I’m here.”

Sid had said something along those lines years ago, and while I heard the words and believed he meant them, I wasn’t listening.

I didn’t accept them as a truth I wanted to reach out and grasp.

I hadn’t wanted them to save my life because to me, it wasn’t a life worth living.

But now, here, with Laura … I listened. I wanted to.

Because suddenly, there was nothing more I wanted than to live a life with her in it.

I nodded, and then, with a little hesitation, I admitted, “It was her name.”

Laura looked into my eyes, confused. “Whose name?”

Swallowing, I went on, “Lizzie. One of the soldiers … one of mine … her name was Lizzie. She was a mom to two girls, married to a nice guy. She was a good friend. A woman pretending to carry a baby killed her. I could’ve saved her if I had been fast enough, but … I watched her die instead.”

Laura nodded, an expression of sadness and empathy falling upon her face. She didn’t try to tell me it was okay. Didn’t tell me it wasn’t my fault. But she listened and pressed her hand to my cheek and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” I replied just as quietly through a strange blend of sadness and gratitude. “Me too.”