A Lover's Lament(105)

“Sounds like you’ve got a full evening.”

“Okay,” I snap, cringing when my voice comes out harsher than I’d intended. “Enough. Tell me what’s going on, and don’t say ‘nothing’ because I’m not stupid, Dev. You’re distant and distracted, and I hate hearing you like this. Let me help you, babe.”

“You can’t help,” he growls, then quickly apologizes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you, but you can’t help. No one can help. It’s just … this shit, all of it. I’m done, Katie.”

Dropping my head back against my pillows, I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “I know.” I sigh. “I can’t imagine what it’s like for you, but I need you to stay strong and focused”—I lay a hand on my belly, because right now those words are more true than ever—“and I need you to come home. You’re almost there.”

“I love you. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do, but I love you more.”

“Never,” he says, his voice infused with so much conviction that it causes my body to shiver. “How—” Devin’s words cut off and I hear muffled voices, but I can’t understand what they’re saying. When he returns, his words are rushed and I’m left with yet another thing to worry about. “Hey baby, I hate to cut this short, but I gotta run.”

“No worries. Will you call me later if you get a chance?”

“Absolutely.”

“’Bye, Dev.”

“”Bye, Kit-Ka—”

The line goes dead before he finishes saying goodbye. I snap my phone shut and drop it to the bed. Well, that f*cking sucked. My mind races, going over our entire conversation again to make sure I didn’t miss anything, and when I come up empty, I do the only thing I can do. Like a robot, I get dressed and go about my day, knowing full well that Devin will consume every thought until I get to talk to him again.

Soon, I remind myself, and then I’ll get to tell him about the baby—about the life growing inside of me … about the life we created.

Our relationship may have had a rough go in the beginning, but the beginning doesn’t really matter, and truly, neither does the ending. It’s all of the substance in between that makes for a great love story—for a great relationship—and if I have any say in it, our love story is going to be epic.

I walk toward the mirror and slowly lift my shirt. “Hey there,” I say, rubbing a hand over my stomach. “Are you ready to meet your daddy?” I ask, not caring for one second that I probably look silly talking to my belly. “It won’t be long now and he’ll be home safe and sound with us … right where he’s meant to be.”





“Set Fire to the Third Bar”—Snow Patrol

THE NOON SUN SITS HEAVY over this desperate Baghdad landscape. Its rays penetrate the sixty pounds of body armor I’m wearing and sear the flesh beneath. July was bad—August is worse. The M4 rifle in my hands and twelve loaded magazines strapped to my chest aren’t make things any easier, but as the team leader of these four *s, I continue forward and keep my bitching to myself.

We were searching for our fellow soldier and we were supposed to push forward until we found him, but now we’ve received word that we have to meet back up with the rest of our platoon and head back to base. The fear of Sergeant Adams having been found dead overtakes me. We’ve raided hundreds of houses with no sign of him and not a damn person is talking.

Elkins and Thomas are griping behind me, but until I feel the need, I’ll keep my mouth shut. My team is staggered, our backs against a long stone wall, rifles pointed in every direction around us. Navas takes up the rear. His eyes are scrunched tightly watching our six o’clock, grenade launcher set and ready to fire.

The bickering continues, pissing me off, and I step in. “Elkins. Thomas. What are y’all bitchin’ about now?” I don’t look back but proceed along the wall, tracing its exterior to where the rest of our platoon’s vehicles are located, a half-kilometer from where we are now.

“Nothing, Sergeant,” Elkins answers, his voice ripe with resentment.

“Elkins, you know if you’re bitchin’ loud enough for me to hear, then it’s not just nothing. Spit it out, kid.” I scan the row of homes that runs parallel to us on the other side of a small, muddied stream. The only sounds coming from that direction—or any direction, really—are some emaciated dogs rummaging through scraps.

“It’s too quiet, Sarge,” Navas hollers, his voice gravelly and weathered. “These f*ckin’ towel heads are planning something. I can feel it.”

A wave of uncertainty washes over me, unease settling deep in my gut. “It’s August and hot as balls. They’re probably just keeping cool inside.” My words are hesitant, as if not wanting to escape my mouth at all, and I wonder briefly if my men pick up on it. Stay calm, Clay. I scan the rooftops intently, looking for any sort of movement or anything suspicious.

“Why are they calling us back, Sarge? Why wouldn’t they just tell us if they found him or not? This is some f*cking bullshit!” Elkins blurts out. I glance back in time to see Thomas smack Elkins in the arm. I shake my head and move forward, but Elkins can’t seem to shut the f*ck up. “I mean, how hard is it to tell us what the f*ck is going on?”