A Lover's Lament(16)

Now what? My fingers twirl the pen as I contemplate what to write.

Fuck you! I laugh out loud when I scribble the words on the paper. Then I quickly scratch them out, because as much as I’d like to write that, I’m not that big of a bitch.

My phone buzzes on the end table next to me. Looking down, I see Wyatt’s name pop up on the screen. I tip my head back and groan. Something has shifted between us over the past several months, and if I’m being completely honest with myself, I’ve felt different about Wyatt for quite some time. As to what exactly has changed, I’m not so sure, but things are different … I’m different.

Before the accident, I seriously thought that it was all in my head. I figured I had just gotten too comfortable in our relationship and it was a phase that I would have to work through. After the accident, I began to realize that the love I feel for him is no different than the love I feel for my mom and Bailey. Now the love I felt for Devin ...

Whoa! Where the hell did that come from? Hell no, Katie, I tell myself. Not. Going. There.

My phone continues to buzz so I push the green button to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hey. Did you make dinner tonight? I just got off work and can head over.” His voice sounds hopeful, and something about that just pisses me off. Hell no, I didn’t make him dinner. I didn’t even make myself dinner.

“No,” I snap, dropping my head into my hand. It’s been a long-ass day and I’m beyond exhausted, but I don’t need to take it out on Wyatt. “I’ve been busy all day, and I just got done at my appointment with Dr. Perry and now I’m—” I quickly cut myself off. Do I really want to tell Wyatt about the letter I’m going to write? He and Devin were never really on friendly terms, and I’m sure it would only create more waves in our already churning ocean of problems.

“Now you’re what?”

“I—uh … now I’m getting ready to make dinner. So if you want, you can give me about an hour and then head over. Is that okay?” Son of a bitch. I don’t want him to come over tonight. I don’t want anyone to come over tonight. I want to write this stupid-ass letter and then go to bed, dinner be damned.

“Are you okay, babe?” I can hear the concern in his voice and it annoys the hell out of me. I don’t say anything though, because I know Wyatt and he won’t pursue it. Hell, maybe it’s not even concern in his voice, maybe it’s agitation. Wyatt doesn’t understand what I’m going through and he’s done a good job at pushing everything under the rug. As much as I’m annoyed at everyone’s obsessive worrying, his lack of concern has put a huge strain on our already strained relationship.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. See you in an hour.”

“If you’re sure.” And that’s his go-to … if you’re sure. He never pushes for more; he’s just always happy to take the easy way out. Typical man. “See you soon,” he says.

I hang up the phone without saying goodbye. Pushing all thoughts of Wyatt out of my head, I turn to the notepad in my lap and stare at it … and then stare at it some more. I tap the pen several times against my mouth. I have absolutely no idea how to even start.

Do I tell him how I feel? Do I speak my mind, and if I do, will it offend him? Do I really care if I offend him? Nope, can’t say that I do. He left me, remember? Plus, it’s not like we’ll ever be friends again, especially after the way we he tucked tail and ran. It’s likely that he won’t even respond.

I situate the pen on the top line of the paper and decide to go for broke. I mean, seriously, what do I have to lose?

Not a damn thing.





“Warrior” – Evans Blue

THE MORNINGS HERE ARE WHEN I’m most at ease. The sun scrapes the horizon, teasing the leaves of palm trees with flickers of life. The air is at first cool and light before making way for the broil of midday, and I do my best to enjoy every bit of it. I find that the eastern boundary of our small compound, which is no larger than an elementary school campus, is the best place for catching the sharp, early morning rays. I patiently wait here for them to breach the massive walls, our only defense against a harsh reality on the other side.

I slept like shit last night thinking of Jax—or Sergeant David Jackson, as the etched stone now reads.

My thoughts have strayed as of late, reaching deep, dark places they’re not meant to go. To him … to our first deployment in Afghanistan, which was cake compared to this.

Jax was like a big brother to me there, taking me under his wing. We grew close fighting an enemy that came with tenacity. But at least we knew who we were fighting because they’d bring the fight to our f*cking doorstep. It wasn’t like this bullshit here, bombs buried around every turn.

I vividly remember watching the planes barrel into the Twin Towers. It stuck with me, and serving my country was always something I thought about. So after years of dicking around and a failed attempt at community college, I joined the Army pissing vinegar and ready for a fight.

The notification that I’d be shipping right out to meet an infantry unit in mid-deployment was of no concern to me, and Afghanistan was exactly what I’d hoped it would be. We spent many a long night after a mission was complete talking under the bright desert stars, keeping each other’s hopes up with stories of college, girls and beer. Discussions so vivid, you could almost taste the hops.