She paused, her expression thoughtful as she stared me.
“I’ve never seen Lee like she is with you, but I do know that when she loves, it’s with her whole heart.”
It was fucking uncomfortable having a touchy-feely encounter with the ballbuster. Suddenly she laughed.
“Don’t look so nervous,” she smirked. “I’m done sharing now. Make me a damn coffee and we’ll call it quits.”
She stayed long enough to drink a cup of shitty decaff, pulling a face with every mouthful. I often felt like doing the same.
Eventually, she stood up to leave. “Take it easy, Hunter. Look after our girl, or you know what fate awaits you.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I said, and threw her a quick salute.
I guess she wasn’t so bad after all. For a ball buster.
When she’d gone, I took the guitar out of its case. It was really beautiful, a red cedar Spanish guitar. Expensive, by the look of it. But the case was covered in dust, so I guess Nicole had told the truth about not using it.
I ran a finger over the strings—it was out of tune and I had no idea what to do with it. I fired up my laptop and surfed a few pages on guitar for beginners. I managed to tune the mofo, but getting the fingers on my left hand to go where they were supposed to … yeah, hard work. The doc hadn’t been kidding when he’d said I’d lost fine motor function.
Irritated with myself, I lay the guitar back on the coffee table then heard the door open.
Caro walked into the hallway, her expression wary but defiant. I decided I needed to grovel some.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I said quickly, pulling her in for a hug and kissing her hair. “I know I’m being a dumbass.”
“That’s one of the words I had in mind,” she agreed softly
I smiled. “Yeah, I bet. Hey, I’ve got something to show you.”
I took her hand and tugged her into the living room.
“What’s that?” she asked, looking at the guitar.
“Your friend Nicole dropped by.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, apparently you told her I wanted to learn guitar. She said she didn’t need this, so she’s giving it to me. We talked for quite a long time—seeing as I’d pissed you off and you weren’t here…”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Nicole isn’t quite the ball-breaker you thought she was?”
“I didn’t say that … but she was … okay.”
“Praise indeed.”
“Yeah,” I, with a smile, then paused. “Baby, when did I tell you I wanted to play guitar?”
“Oh,” she said softly. “A long time ago. Ten years.”
I stared down at her, my soul filled with love for this amazing woman. I remembered. I remembered telling her ten years ago that I’d always wanted to learn guitar, but my parents would never let me take lessons. All this time, and she’d remembered.
“You take my breath away, Caro,” I whispered, hugging her tightly.
We stood there for several minutes, not speaking, not needing to speak.
Eventually, she took my hand and led me toward the sofa, but then she noticed the envelope.
“Oh, hey,” I said, recalling Mrs. Levenson’s visit. “You got mail.”
I reached over to pass her the envelope that I’d tossed onto the table.
“On a Sunday?”
“Yeah, it went to Mrs. Levenson’s house by mistake; she just got back from her grandson’s Bar mitzvah today and she brought it over.”
Caro turned the envelope over, looking at the sender’s address.
“It’s from England.”
Then she tore open the thick, parchment-type envelope and read the typewritten letter. She gasped with surprise.
“What is it, baby?”
She slumped against me and handed over the letter without speaking.
“Lawyers?”
I put my good arm around her shoulders and read through the pages.
When I’d finished, I set the letter down and pulled her against my chest.
Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Ashton, the scary British journalist that I’d met in Geneva and again in Kabul had left everything in her Will to Caro. Over $550,000.
“I didn’t know,” Caro whispered, looking upset. “She never said anything. I knew Liz didn’t have any family, but I never thought…”
“It’s a lot of money, baby. What are you going to do with it?”
She shook her head, still trying to process the information. I was pleased for her, but I couldn’t help thinking that any chance of balance in our relationship was totally shot. Caro was beautiful, talented, kind—and now rich, as well. And I was … nothing.
“Why did she leave it to me?” Caro asked, her voice puzzled. “We were friends, but … I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand, Caro? She loved you. Why do you always have a hard time realizing that, baby?”
She shrugged.
“This is good news,” I said encouragingly, stroking her hair.
And I really meant that. Caro deserved to have good things happen to her after everything she’d been through … what I’d put her through.
“Out of all of this shit, it’s something good,” I said quietly.
“I know. It’s just … so unexpected.”
I hesitated before speaking again. “It’ll pay off your mortgage,” I said tentatively. “You wouldn’t have to work overseas … if you didn’t want to…”
I knew I was being selfish, but I didn’t want Caro traveling for her work. I didn’t want her away from me—especially not if it meant going somewhere dangerous. And although neither of us had mentioned kids since we’d been together in Italy, she knew that I wanted them. I hoped she knew.
Shit, that would be a double whammy: I’d be home minding the fucking kids, and she’d be wearing Kevlar and ducking bullets. That shit just didn’t fly with me. I wanted … no … I needed her safe.
Caro didn’t reply to that. But what she did say stunned me.
“Anyway, it’s our money,” she said clearly.
I shook my head angrily.
“I’m not going to take your fucking money, Caro!”
Before my rant could catch fire, she placed her hand over my mouth, cutting me off cold.
“I mean it, Sebastian,” she said firmly. “Either we’re in this together or we’re not. If you won’t accept it, then I won’t accept it. I’ll give it to the Journalism Without Borders charity before I let this money come between us. You said yourself we deserved some good luck.”
I ran my hand through my hair in frustration.
“She didn’t even like me, Caro. There’s no way she’d want me to have anything to do with your inheritance. Hell, as far as she was concerned, I was just fucking you for something to do and…”
“You’re wrong. She knew all about us.”
Not expecting that.
Her comment set me back on my heels.
“She did?”
“Of course. I told her everything—and I told her we were going to get married.”
I leaned back and stared at her. “You told her? Everything?”
“Yes, tesoro.”
I scratched my eyebrow thoughtfully. “What did she say?”
Caro gave me a small smile. “She wanted to know if you were as good in bed as she’d heard.”
What the fuck?
“And what did you say?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
She pursed her lips and tried to look prim. Didn’t work.
“Nothing, of course … although…”
“Although what?”
“I may have winked at her.”
I smirked at her response, but then her expression became serious again.
“Sebastian, if it hadn’t been for me, you would have gone to college, gotten your degree…”
I started to object, but she cut me off again.
“We both know that’s true: well, here we are—I can pay off the mortgage, you c
an use the GI bill, go to college, get your degree, if that’s what you want.”
I shifted uncomfortably, feeling again the inequality of our situations. “It doesn’t feel right, Caro. Let me think about it.”
She looked irritated, but then took a deep breath and shook her head.
“Sebastian,” she said softly, “it’s time you decided what you want to do with your uniforms—and your medals.”
And the hits just keep on coming. I guess she thought that adding one more painful topic into the mix couldn’t make things any worse. But fuck! Why was this so hard to think about?
She was right. I knew she was right, but I felt blindsided by her sudden suggestion. She met my gaze unwaveringly; I could tell she’d been thinking about this for a while.
I licked my lips and fought back the cold feeling that trickled down my spine.
“Okay. Let’s do it,” I said at last.
She nodded and gave me an encouraging smile. Then she took my hand as we walked into the guest room. I leaned against the doorframe, my arms folded tightly while Caro pulled out my sea-bag and backpack from under the bed.
I swallowed several times as she unpacked everything. The Blues and my Service Uniform were creased to hell and looked like shit. There was no sign of my Utility Uniform—they probably had to cut me out of it in the hospital.
It was a total mind-fuck—I couldn’t carry on looking at these reminders of a life that wasn’t mine anymore.
“Get rid of them, Caro. I don’t want to see them again.”
“And the medals?” she asked quietly.
My Service Uniform had the usual ribbons and medals: Afghanistan Campaign Medal, Marine Commendation Medal, Meritorious Service Medal, Navy and Marine Corps Overseas Service Ribbon, National Defense Service Medal, Defense Meritorious Service Medal, and a Navy and Marine Corps Medal. Blah, blah, blah. I hadn’t even looked at the Purple Heart, still in its presentation box. Wounded in action—too fucking right.
I took another deep breath and opened the box, running my fingers over the embossed words, ‘For military merit’.
“Do what you want with them,” I said, snapping the box shut. “I don’t want to see them. Ever.”
Caro’s reply was careful.
“You don’t want to save them to … maybe … show our children … if…”
Did she really just say that? Children?
I looked up, afraid to believe that she’d really said that. “You … you’d try?”
“Yes, Sebastian,” she said, smiling softly. “We will try.”
I let out a shout of pure happiness then scooped her up, twirling her around.
“Let’s start trying right now,” I breathed out against her skin, feeling my dick stiffen immediately.
“I’m still on the pill!” she laughed.
“Doesn’t matter,” I murmured into her neck. “I want to practice.”
She didn’t argue, instead kissing me hard as I walked her backward into our bedroom.
Caro was 40 and maybe kids would happen—maybe they wouldn’t. Well, I’d still have her and that was okay, as well.
We had our whole lives ahead of us.
“Stop fidgeting, bro!” Ches hissed, elbowing me in the ribs. “You look like you’re on crack.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I replied, not really meaning it, but earning a frown of disapproval from Amy. Some things hadn’t changed.
He’d flown into JFK with Amy and their kids two days ago, so we’d had a night on the town. My bachelor party had been pretty tame compared to Ches’s when we were both in our early twenties. I didn’t really drink much anymore, not since the realization that I was in danger of having a drinking problem like my bitch of a mother I thought his father had one too.. Caro had knocked that shit right out of me. I’d stuck to a few beers—enough to make me loose and mellow, but not enough to get me shit-faced. Ches had other ideas, and started slamming shots like he’d invented it. Amy blamed me for his hella hangover the next day. I thought it was damn funny.
He didn’t even remember the strip club we’d gone to. Or he said he didn’t remember. It had been his idea and it had been kinda fun, but none of the women were as hot as my fiancée.
At least he’d had 24 hours to recover before the wedding.
The wedding.
Yep, I was finally getting my girl to walk up the aisle.
Ches nudged me again. “How’s your leg? You didn’t seem to be limping too badly.”
“The only limp thing around here is your dick,” I smirked at him.
“Hey!” he said, sounding stung. “That was a one-time thing.” I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah, well you wait till you’ve got two kids and they’ve kept you awake all night! Fucker,” he muttered.
Ches had told me more than I wanted to know about married life. The gross things that could happen in diapers turned my stomach, but I was a former Marine—I’d deal.
I looked around at the people who were standing with me to see me marry the love of my life: Ches and Amy with their kids; his mom and dad—who were almost like my own parents and helluva lot better ones—flew in from South Carolina. Donna Vorstadt, the wife of my dad’s old CO had come for the ceremony, too. She’d been Caro’s friend when we lived in San Diego. Her husband was too ill to travel. It wasn’t weird though—Donna had always been nice to me, and she was almost like a mom to Caro.
I guess Caro had been as unlucky as me when it came to moms: hers sucked big time and hadn’t been invited.
Nicole, Jenna and Alice were there to support Caro, along with her journalist friend Marc. He turned out to be a pretty good guy. Well, he was on Caro’s side, so that was enough for me.
This was my family—my new family, my real family. It felt good.
I craned my neck when the doors opened again, and Caro walked in carrying a huge bouquet of orange and yellow tulips. She’d left her hair down, which had been my request, and it gleamed in the afternoon sunshine, curling down her back and over her shoulders. She wore a dark orange silky top that made her beautiful olive skin glow. I was so fucking proud of her.
At Shirley’s insistence, I’d dressed up fancier than I’d planned, wearing dark khaki pants, a white button down shirt and a thin black tie.
Amy said that the black tie “wasn’t appropriate”. I’d told her to go screw herself, but I said it really quietly. But then Shirley agreed with her. I nodded and smiled at whatever they said, then ignored them. Only Caro needed to like what I wore, and she already said she’d be happy if I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
When she reached my side, she took a tight hold of my hand. I could see tears in the corners of her eyes, and fuck me if I wasn’t just the same.
We stood in front of the deputy clerk at City Hall and I promised to love her every day for the rest of her life. Then she really was crying, and said she would never again let anything separate us. That was good enough for me. It always had been.
The day was cold, but the sun was shining on our small group, and I couldn’t help feeling blessed.
Despite everything we’d been through, the years apart and the decade of despair, despite my injuries, and the difficulties that were still ahead, I’d never been happier in my whole life. We were beginning again, or, perhaps, adding a new chapter to our story.
THE END
I was born on the 13th which explains a few things. I love the ocean, dogs of all shapes and size, and chocolate.
When I’m not in my writing cave, I can be found at the beach, watching surfers.
Don’t forget to look for bonus chapters on my website
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More about my chosen charities
You might wonder why I’ve chosen Felix Fund and EOD Warrior Foundation to receive the profits from this book. A good friend of mine was an ATO (bomb disposal officer), so these two charities are very close to my heart.
“Felix Fund exists to support any military personnel who have
conducted or assisted with Explosive Ordnance Disposal duties, and their families.
This includes ammunition technical officers, ammunition technicians, ECM operators, drivers, infantry escorts, weapons intelligence specialists, dog handlers, searchers or any other military personnel involved in EOD duties.
Our current focus is funding therapeutic normalisation breaks to help bomb disposal teams readjust to life in the UK after serving in Afghanistan.
We are also raising money for welfare and rehabilitation facilities, and building a hardship fund for all. This fund will of course support the trade’s many injured and bereaved, but also members of the wider ‘bomb disposal family’ who have otherwise fallen on hard times.”
And if you’re wondering why the charity is named ‘Felix’, think about the cartoon character ‘Felix the Cat’, who had nine lives…
www.felixfund.org.uk
I have also written a play about a former soldier’s experiences of PTSD. To find out about Later, After, click here.
“The EOD Warrior Foundation (EODWF) serves the EOD community by providing financial assistance and support to active-duty and veteran wounded, injured or ill EOD warriors, families of our wounded and fallen EOD warriors and by maintaining the EOD Memorial.
The foundation offers four pillars of support and handles each request on a case-by case basis. The immediate and ongoing assistance and resources provided by the foundation to those in the EOD community are intended to provide support above and beyond the budgetary constraints of the Department of Defense (DoD) and Department of Veterans Affairs (VA).
Emergency Financial Relief
Education
Hope and Wellness
EOD Memorial Care
Our support includes financial assistance and additional services such as morale events, peer-to-peer support, educational programs, connections to resources and sustained contact with our EOD warriors and their families.
The foundation believes that the EOD family is for life. Our ongoing mission is to disarm the challenges of the EOD family by providing our support with compassion and caring to every individual we serve.”
Semper Fi Page 38