If I Could Do It Again

by Ashley Stoyanoff

  I’d feel like an asshole. Even so …

  “How could you ask me to do that?”

  “What do you want me to say?” he asks, the hard edge in his voice turning sharp. “That I thought you were down for me? That I fucking believed you when you said you’d do anything. Is that what you’re looking for? You fucking knew who I was when you sent me that letter. You knew the kind of life I lived. And you fucking knew I’ve got no intention of leaving the club. I don’t understand why you’re making such a big thing out of this.”

  I look at him.

  Really look at him.

  And what I see there makes my entire body shake. The man I know is gone, replaced by the man who was able to pull the trigger.

  “Who are you?” I whisper. I try to pull my hands away, but he holds on tight, his fingers wrapping around my wrist, keeping me still.

  “Baby,” he says. A quick flash of pain passes across his eyes, but it’s gone in a blink, the anger burning bright once more. “This is my life. Always has been, and always fucking will.”

  But this isn’t my life! I want to scream it at him and I want him to let go of my hands.

  No. Scratch that. I need him to let go.

  “Let go,” I whisper. “I need to leave.”

  “You’re not leaving,” he says, his voice gritty with emotion. “You moved here for me. You’ve got my property tattoo on your ass. You’re here to stay. You’re not going anywhere. You belong to me.”

  “Let me go,” I say again, this time a bit louder. “I’m serious, Joshua. Let me go or I swear I’ll call one of the COs over here.”

  That grabs his attention. Slowly, he pulls his hands away, his hold on me loosening until it’s gone altogether. I don’t move. I can’t. For a second I can’t even breathe, too terrified of the man sitting before me, before I’m finally able to make my wobbly legs work, standing up.

  “Baby,” he says. He looks as though he’s about to get to his feet, but he doesn’t, his eyes darting over to the CO’s desk, then back to me. “Don’t do this, baby.”

  “I … I … I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Please send someone to pick up your stuff.”

  And then, before I can change my mind, I turn and walk out the door. I make it to my car before the tears begin to streak down my face.

  26

  I Can’t Quit You, Baby

  Joshua hasn’t called.

  It’s been nine days since I walked out on him and my phone hasn’t rung once.

  I don’t know what to do about it.

  I don’t know if I want anything to be done about it.

  My knight in shining armor turned out to be everything Richard told me he was: a criminal, a killer, a goddamn biker.

  True, I knew all of that. Joshua never hid who he was from me, never really sugarcoated it, but as illogical as it is, I never thought I’d see it. Never thought my sheltered existence would cross paths with the darker side of his life.

  I guess Richard was right on something else, too. I am naïve.

  I spend the days alternating between hiding in my room and wandering around my new apartment, randomly unpacking a box here and there as I slip back into my normal routine of working too much.

  I write.

  I mope.

  I call my parents and pretend everything’s okay.

  I stress.

  And I judge.

  It’s the judgment that’s killing me the most, I think. I don’t like what it’s doing to me. Don’t like the way it’s twisting me up and crushing my soul.

  I don’t want to be a cynical person.

  But as it turns out, I am and I can’t stop it.

  I think about him constantly. I wonder how he’s doing or how he’s feeling. I can’t get his voice out of my head. Can’t get my body to stop craving his touch.

  It’s so goddamn lonely without him it makes my chest ache.

  I wonder if he’s thinking about me, too.

  Obviously not.

  Chow stopped by to pick up Joshua’s stuff on day two, and I tried, oh God, did I try to find out how he was doing, if he was okay. I got nothing. I asked at least a million questions and every single one was met with stony silence.

  He gave me absolutely nothing.

  Not even a hint if Joshua was okay.

  It was … frustrating. Heartbreaking.

  Joshua came into my life when I needed him the most and he saved me. Saved me from myself. Saved me from the pain and the heartache I lived with daily.

  He saved me from my life.

  For the first time in years, I was happy and now … it’s gone.

  He’s gone.

  I glance at my phone at least a hundred times a day, hoping that the thing will ring. But it doesn’t. I wish I could call him, wish he had a goddamn phone, but he doesn’t. So I just keep waiting for him to call me.

  The sun rose hours ago, but the apartment is quiet. Becca’s probably still sleeping, though I haven’t ventured out of my room yet today to check. I should be sleeping, too. Inspiration hit the moment I got into bed last night, and I’ve been writing ever since.

  I’m exhausted.

  Glancing at my phone one last time, I save my work, and then close my laptop, setting it on the nightstand right beside my phone. I make sure the ringer is on, adjust and fluff my pillows, and then I lay back in bed, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping that maybe sleep will ease the ache in my chest. No sooner do I close my eyes and there’s a knocking on my door. I glare at it, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Come in.”

  Becca opens the door and walks in, her eyes fixed on the small box in her hands. “This just came for you. I think it’s from—” She stalls, frowning as she glances up at me, her eyes widening when they land on me. “Jesus, Vickie, have you been up all night again?”

  “Yup,” I say, eyeing the box. “Who’s it from?”

  “Joshua’s family, I think,” she says, dropping down on the bed beside me. “The name on the return address just says Larson.”

  I sit up straight, blinking at her. My stomach flip-flops and I move to grab the box from her, but hesitate. “What is it?”

  She rolls her eyes, laughing at me as she tosses it over, the box landing on my lap. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

  I stare at it.

  The box is light and fairly small. It’s the length of a letter-size envelope and maybe three inches in height. I read the return address, see the Larson name there, but I don’t touch it.

  I can’t.

  I’m too terrified of what the box might hold.

  “Well,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  I swallow thickly, shaking my head. “I can’t,” I whisper. “I just … can’t. What if it’s …” I swallow again. “I don’t want a goodbye.”

  And I really, truly don’t. I know I’m the one that walked out, but …

  Becca laughs at me, rolling her eyes again. “Pretty sure goodbyes don’t come by couriers.”

  Plucking the package off my lap, she grasps the easy-open strip and tears into it. Peeling the flaps back, she pulls out an envelope, glancing at it. “It says, ‘Read me first.’” And then, without looking up at me, she opens it.

  I’m instantly grateful for my best friend.

  Becca doesn’t look at the letter. She simply unfolds it, handing it over to me. And then, she waits.

  May 21, 2016

  Victoria,

  I haven’t heard from you for a week now and I must say it feels like a part of my heart is missing. I keep thinking that any day now you’re going to show up at the prison, but you don’t, and I’m starting to think that you never will.

  I know that the conversation the last time we spoke shocked you or maybe showed you that I have a darker side to my life. I know you realized that I’m far from perfect, but it’s our imperfections that make us who we are.

  I need you to know that I’m sorry, beautiful. I thought trying to shelter you from my world was a mistak
e. Actually, I was scared you’d resent me for it, but I now realize trying to involve you was the mistake.

  I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but all of those mistakes lead me to you. Because of you, I’ve become a better man. You’ve showed me unconditional love and I’m afraid that my mistakes have ruined a lifetime of pure happiness we could have together.

  Through your letters and kind words, I fell in love with you. The moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were the woman for me and when our lips touched, my heart melted.

  From that moment on, I knew I wanted to marry you. You truly are perfect in my eyes, the woman of my dreams.

  Please don’t give up because you’re scared of the unknown. All you need to know is that I’ll love you until the day I die. I’ll cherish every moment we share together. I’ll forever hold you in my heart, a place only you can touch.

  Victoria, I can’t quit you, baby, so I hope you will give us a chance. Please, my beautiful angel, marry me.

  All of my love now and forever,

  Joshua

  My hands are shaking.

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t think.

  “Vickie,” Becca shouts, snapping her fingers in my face. “Vickie, are you listening to me?”

  “No.” My voice is a hoarse whisper and my eyes are burning. I lift a hand, scrubbing at them. It’s then that I realize tears are streaking down my face. I blink up at Becca. “What did you say?”

  “He sent you a ring,” she screeches, shoving a small velvet box in my face. “Joshua sent you a ring.”

  I stare at the ring, taking the box from her and biting my bottom lip as I say, “He wants to marry me.”

  Becca pulls the note from my hand and I let it go without a fight, all my attention on the simple princess-cut diamond.

  He wants to marry me.

  Oh my God, he really wants to marry me.

  As crazy as it is, I feel a bit better, because Joshua is still thinking about me.

  He’s not saying goodbye.

  27

  I’ve Been Waiting for You

  When there’s an impossible choice to make, when you must choose a path, how can you be sure you’re making a choice that you won’t regret?

  Personally, I don’t think you can be sure.

  The only thing I know for certain: I love Joshua. I love him despite his flaws. When I strip everything away, all the judgment, all the fear and uncertainty, and I just look at him, at the man behind it all, I know I love him.

  I stare down at the diamond sitting on my trembling finger. I’ve already gotten our drinks, and as always, his Swedish Fish are sitting on the table, waiting for him. I don’t know what’s going to happen, what he’s going to think. I probably should have waited until he got here before getting the snacks, but the wait is taking too long and I needed to keep busy.

  I glance at the clock again. It’s been twenty-two minutes now.

  Twenty-two minutes of sitting in this uncomfortable chair.

  Twenty-two minutes of stressing and fidgeting.

  I wonder if I should go ask about him. Maybe he’s not even here. Maybe he’s gotten into trouble and he’s been put in segregation. Maybe he’s …

  The door opens, and I swing my head that way, my breath catching, then gushing out of me when I realize it’s not him.

  Another inmate walks in.

  Another loved one stands up.

  Another five minutes pass by.

  I look to the CO’s desk again. Five more minutes. I’ll give it five more minutes and then …

  The CO looks up then, glancing my way. He frowns at me, picking up the phone. I watch him for a moment, my brow furrowing as he hangs it up and walks over to me.

  “I’m not sure what happened, ma’am,” he says apologetically. “We called for him, but he didn’t get the message.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say, an equal mix of relief and nerves making my voice squeak. “Is he coming now?”

  He nods, smiling warmly at me. “He should be here any minute.”

  “Thank you,” I say, and he turns and strides away.

  And then I wait.

  And I watch.

  And after a moment, the door opens, and Joshua steps through.

  He doesn’t look around, doesn’t search me out like he always does. He steps up to the CO’s desk, checking in, and it feels like a whole year passes before he finally looks my way.

  He starts walking toward me then, and the look on his face has me sitting up straighter. It’s a confusing look, one I’ve never seen before. It’s relief. It’s anger. It’s fear. It’s … everything. A whole mish-mash of emotions wrapped all up into one beautifully terrifying look.

  He stops beside me and I know he’s waiting for me to get to my feet, but I don’t stand up. I don’t think my legs will hold me even if I try. They’re wobbly and shaky, the damn things jiggle even when I’m sitting.

  “Baby, why are you sitting down?” His voice is gruff, emotion making it thicker than normal.

  “I don’t know,” I say, my voice sounding tiny and quiet in my ears. “I just …”

  Joshua grabs my hand before I can finish my sentence, yanking me up and pulling me to him, his arms wrapping around my body, his lips hitting mine before I can catch my breath. His fingers press into my flesh at the small of my back, pulling me tight against him. Then his tongue pries my lips open, darting into my mouth. His hand glides up my back, and he pulls my hair nice and hard.

  I moan.

  I can’t help it.

  I’ve missed his touch so much that the sound just pours out of me.

  I completely forget where we are.

  I try to get closer, need to get closer.

  My body takes over, my fingernails digging into his neck, my crotch pressing against his thigh.

  And then, he pulls away, murmuring against my lips, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  He lets me go then, taking a seat at the table, and I can feel the heat rushing to my face as I glance around, spotting a few pairs of eyes looking our way.

  It flusters me.

  I scramble back to my chair and Joshua slouches back in his seat, watching me with a contented grin as I drop down—ungracefully. I have a million questions for him, a billion things I want to tell him, but all that comes out is, “I didn’t know if I was ever going to come here again.”

  “I’m so glad you did, baby,” he says. He scans me then, his eyes making a slow trail over my body, before settling on my hand. A slow grin splits his face. “You’re wearing the ring I got you.”

  My eyes dart down to my hands, folded in my lap. I want to say something. I want to tell him I love it, that it’s beautiful, but my voice betrays me when I try to speak. My lips part, but the only thing that comes out is a gust of breath.

  Joshua’s grin turns into a wide smile and he holds out his hand to me. “Give me your hand, beautiful. Let me see it.”

  I do as he asks, silently extending my hand across the table, my fingers, my whole damn arm trembling. He takes it, his thumb rubbing up my ring finger, stalling when it brushes against the stone.

  Silence falls.

  He stares at the ring.

  My stomach knots and my legs start to jump.

  When he finally looks back up at me, there’s a question in his eyes. “So I take it this means you’re going to be my beautiful little wife?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. I don’t mean to whisper it, but it seems as though my voice doesn’t know that. I clear my throat, trying again. “Yes, I’ll be your wife, um, if you still want me to be.”

  My response makes him laugh. “Baby girl, of course I still want you. I’m going to want you for the rest of my life.”

  “You didn’t call,” I point out. “You should have called.”

  “You left me,” he says quietly, squeezing my hand within his. “I thought I lost you.”

  “I thought I lost you, too.”

  “Please don’t ever scare me again like this,”
he says, his tone verging on pleading. “Don’t care how mad you are or how scared you are, you still show up. You come to me. You talk to me. We deal with it together. You hear me?”

  I nod. “I hear you.”

  He stares at me, searching my face as though he’s trying to decide if he can trust me or not. I see it in his eyes the moment he realizes that I’m not going anywhere.

  “I never stopped missing you,” I tell him. “Never stopped thinking about you.”

  He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze dropping to the ring for a moment, before he brings my hand to his lips, closing his eyes as he kisses the top. When his eyes open again, I see a softness there that I’ve never seen before. “You’re mine forever.”

  “I’m yours,” I whisper.

  “Never forget it,” he says. “Forever.”

  I nod, my eyes blurry with tears. “Forever.”

  Epilogue

  Three years, two months, and ten days later.

  Stepping through the gate, Joshua looks out across the parking lot toward me. The lot is packed today, and I’m stuck at the back.

  I don’t think he sees me.

  I start toward him, lifting my hands over my head, waving to him. I know it the moment he spots me. His eyes zero in on me and a huge smile lights up his face, brighter than I’ve ever seen before.

  It’s beautiful.

  It’s freedom.

  My heart stops, then races, and my legs just stop working. I want to run to him but the damn things won’t move.

  “Victoria Larson!” he calls out. “Get that sexy ass over here.”

  I laugh—hard—and shout back, “Who’s Victoria Larson?”

  He smirks and swaggers toward me, catching me by the back of my neck, pulling me into his body. “You,” he says, and winks. “If you play your cards right.”

  I twine my arms around his neck. “Is that so?”

  Lowering his head, pausing mere inches from my lips, he says, “Yeah, baby.”