I wish Ginger and her husband the best. One of my close friends who’s stationed out here with me is going through infertility issues with his wife. They’ve tried a lot of different treatments, some ridiculously expensive, but nothing has helped. I know his career doesn’t improve their odds. He said the times he’s home never seem to line up with her cycle. I don’t know too much about it, but I listen to him.
Not sure when you’ll get this letter. Seems to take about 7-10 days from what I’ve seen, so Haylee’s graduation may have passed already. Tell her congratulations for me. I don’t know her, but I know her mom is proud of her. I don’t know her, but I know you raised her right, and I’m certain she’ll continue to make you proud, because you’re both just that amazing.
I’m still waiting for the inspiration to strike me, but I promise you’ll get a poem from me one day. For now, I’m about to head down to the rec center to play a single game. That’s about all we can handle with the extreme heat lately. Few places have air conditioning around here, so it can be brutal.
Hope to hear from you soon.
Love,
Brad
Chapter Nine
Jane
May 25th, 2014
You really know how to flatter a woman. You’ll make someone special very happy one day. When you find her, never stop telling her how much you love and appreciate her. We know, but constant reinforcement keeps the insecurities at bay, and keeps you in a permanent hero status. Going beyond that, every time you say it, you remind yourself of why you married her, of one of the many reasons why you’re with her. So many relationships could probably be saved by that one simple act.
Mine, unfortunately, wasn’t one of them. While I can be cordial with Haylee’s dad, my ex-husband, the memory will always be there; seven years later, I still can’t forget it.
I decided to surprise him with lunch one day. Turns out, I would be the one surprised. I walked in on him and his secretary. His face was buried in her crotch to the point where he didn’t even see me. About the only comforting part was that she was only five years younger than me and a size or two smaller than me. Not wanting to cause a scene, I left quietly, and went home to immediately pack a bag for Haylee. When she returned from school, my mom picked her up and then I sat and waited for Jeff. He strode in the door just past six o’clock, and he was the one surprised then.
I walked away with the house and twenty-percent of our money, and he walked straight into the waiting arms of his secretary. They’ve been married about four years now and have a son together. I don’t wish him ill will, but an apology would go a long way.
Haylee is smart; she figured out what happened rather quickly, despite me doing my best to conceal it. I never wanted her to get caught up in the middle of it. That was when I learned that you can’t control anyone but yourself. Jeff did a lot of things that I didn’t agree with when it came to our daughter, but we’ve all survived.
Still, at times, I can’t help but feel like he got the better deal. There was never a period of loneliness for him, never an uneasy transition period. The only thing he lost was the house, but he regained his portion and then some in the money he took with him. Seeing him yesterday at Haylee’s graduation was difficult. It brought everything back up in the worst way. It’s not that I want him back, because I don’t. It’s that I want what he has. My petulance had me wanting to stamp my foot and exclaim, “Why does the cheater always win?”
I didn’t, though. Eventually, I was able to rein myself in and just enjoy Haylee’s big day. I even endured a dinner with them afterwards. To be fair, his wife, Ava, is really rather nice. She’s apologized on several occasions for how things happened, which was considerate of her. I’m able to see her appeal, but that doesn’t change anything.
I’ve had to accept the fact that I will probably never receive an apology from Jeff. Maybe he’ll develop remorse on his deathbed, but I doubt anytime sooner. It’s awful to not gain the closure you want, but that is life. You don’t always get what you want, or what you deserve.
One of the largest challenges you face as a parent is protecting your child while still allowing them to experience the world. With Haylee, if she asked me a question, I never lied. I was always up front and honest with her. It wasn’t my job to keep her away from the negative world; it was my job to keep the negative in the world away from her. But you can only protect them for so long, and sheltering them too much before you send them off can do more harm than good.
Obviously, I’m still nervous about Haylee leaving, but I’ve recently found solace in knowing that I’ve prepared her the best I could. It’s her turn to take what I’ve taught her and apply it out there. She’s still a bit rebellious and doesn’t believe mom knows best, but experience will teach her.
I’m guessing experience has taught you as well. You seem to have a much better grasp on life, on what you want, than most twenty-eight year olds I’ve come across. I’m not discriminating, but men especially, seem to mature at a much slower rate than women. You defy my statistics, in a positive way.
The heat has been brutal here as well. Living in the South, we have the heat plus humidity. Most days, I feel like I live in a sauna, minus the steam. Waterproof mascara is required because the second I step outside, I’m instantly drenched in a layer of sweat and want to rush back inside for another shower. Fall is my favorite season. By mid-October, the humidity dissipates enough to make most days somewhat enjoyable. And, by Christmas, there is a nice chill in the air, a crispness that invigorates me. The scent of evergreen trees adds a nice fragrance throughout the city. I absolutely adore the holiday season simply for the weather. I can’t wait.
Hang in there, sweetie. Before you know it, it’ll be December, and, hopefully, you’ll be back home with your dad and brother.
Take care.
Jane
Chapter Ten
Brad
June 2nd, 2014
Jeff is a fool, an ignorant asshole actually. I’ve never understood cheating. If you want to be with someone else, leave, break up, get a divorce, whatever, and go be with the other person. It’s selfishness that has them asking for a slice of cake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. If things don’t work out with the other person, they still want their partner as a back up, despite not giving two shits about them. Because, let’s be real, if you can cheat, you don’t respect the other person or your relationship anymore.
That’s a hot button for me. Before he died, my best friend’s wife of less than a year cheated on him during our second tour. She knew what she was signing up for and how they’d be tested during extended leave. Hell, he could have cheated on her if he wanted. There are a lot of women who will throw themselves at a uniform.
But he didn’t take the bait. He loved Becca. He was serious when he made that commitment to her and she turned around and shit on it. When he asked her why, she said, “I didn’t plan on it. We were just hanging out and, well, one thing led to another.”
One thing always leads to another. It’s why guys shouldn’t have female friends and vice versa. The truth is, a man and a woman can never be friends without at least one of them wanting more. The only exception is if one or both of them are gay. Since I’m a don’t ask, don’t tell kind of guy, I just steer clear of all women I’m not looking to date. It may seem callous, but it’s what works for me. The only exceptions are my buddy’s wives, but I don’t talk to them about shit. The only basis we have for a friendship is the exchange of greetings and random small talk.
Nate, my best friend, deserved better, and you, Jane, definitely deserve better. Any man would be lucky to have you on his arm and in his bed every night. I would give my left nut for a chance like that.
Keep doing you, babe, and keep your head up, because, in my book, you’re in slot number one, and your ex is in hell. You’re a catch, babe. Never forget that.
Love,
Brad
P.S. My dad sent the pic. It’s enclosed.
Chapter
Eleven
Jane
December 6th, 2014
Every other week, I received a letter from Brad, and every other week, I sent one in return. The time between each correspondence seemed to drag by, and yet, it didn’t. I grew to savor each word he wrote, each word I read from him.
And therein laid the problem.
He was twenty-eight, well, twenty-nine now, and I was forty-two. He was fit and I was fat. He’d never been married, yet I was divorced. He’d never had a child, but I had one.
He was twenty-nine and I was forty-two.
What were the chances that we would ever work long term with an age gap like that?
The fact that I was even thinking of him like that was wrong on so many levels. I knew it. He was young still. He had his whole life ahead of him, whereas I’d already blown through half of mine.
Yet, with each letter, he made his desire for me known. Every time he called me ‘babe,’ I felt like one. I felt young, giddy and beautiful. He made me feel adored, and like I was worthy of that adoration. He made me feel so much in his letters, even when I tried to turn off my emotions.
I never encouraged him. I actually discouraged him each time he blew a compliment my way, not because I wasn’t appreciative, but because I knew he deserved more than I could give him.
Despite being twenty-nine, Brad was, hands down, the best guy I’d ever had the pleasure of getting to know. He was passionate, decisive and head strong, but in a complimentary way. There was no changing his mind, which was infuriating on most men, but oh-so-sexy on him.
If only he was ten years older.
Glancing across the living room, I looked at his photo on the mantel. I kept several family photos there, a few of Lexi, some of my mom and my dad, and also the lone picture I had of Brad. He was the epitome of what I imagined a guy from California to look like.
His fit physique was clad in beige cargo shorts and a thin white tee that alluded to the muscles beneath it. He had stylish blonde hair in the photo; apparently he’d grown it out while on leave, but it was regularly shaved now. He had a nice tan; nothing too dark, but enough to look sun kissed. His eyes were brown with flecks of hazel in them; he said they changed randomly between the two hues. His features were hard, yet soft; they were sharp with a feathered edge, a tribute to his youthfulness. His lips weren’t too large, yet weren’t too small. Jeff’s top lip often disappeared when his lips were pressed together, but Brad’s were lustrous, pouty and looked more than kissable.
Stop! Sweet cherry pie, I needed to stop this.
My gaze dropped to my extra plump curves. I’d always been more than a little curvy, but by thirty-five my body had found a range it liked. I rarely veered from that set point…until I hit forty. Suddenly, despite no changes in my diet or lifestyle, my weight increased five pounds beyond that range. Everything on me could be summarized in one word: large.
Sadly, a large wasn’t my shirt size, but I’d made peace with it. I was really okay with the extra poundage. I’d accepted that this was who I was and there was no getting around it.
What I couldn’t get over was the fact that, despite there being plenty of men who preferred curvy women, none of them seemed to prefer me. I wasn’t being picky either. So long as their beer belly wasn’t hanging out of their shirt, and it looked like they had showered, combed their hair and brushed their teeth in the last twenty-four hours, I was open to talking to them.
I didn’t need a man with money; I had my own. I didn’t need a man who was physically perfect; I wasn’t. I didn’t need a man who was a classic Hollywood romantic; in truth, I didn’t need a man period. I wanted one. I wanted one that I could eventually love, and one that could eventually love me, as I was.
Thus far, I had zero hits, partly because online dating scared me too much to give it a go. That made me dependent on an old-fashioned approach, and from what Ginger said, for every one man that would approach me in person, I would have over a thousand pick ups online. A popular online dating site was where Ginger found her husband, but it wasn’t where I wanted to find my next one.
Looking back up at Brad’s photo, I got lost in him again. I couldn’t keep my mind from going there, not when I read his letters, not when I knew the man behind them.
With a sigh, I went back to hanging the last of the ornaments on the Christmas tree. I really didn’t need one, as Haylee had already announced that she wouldn’t be coming home this year, but it was a tradition. A Christmas tree added a welcomed, warm glow to my cold and empty house. It warmed my cold, lonely soul.
Chapter Twelve
Brad
December 7th, 2014
“Wilcox. Debriefing. One hour. Be there.” Major Hardass was a walking steroid injection; coincidentally, he looked like he was on steroids too. He was an intense muscle head; he never laughed, he never smiled, and he never talked at a normal volume. Everything was a headache-inducing shout.
“Sir, yes, sir.” I suppressed my derision with practiced perfection. No one liked the Major, but he’d earned his stripes, and therefore had earned the respect he commanded.
I made a beeline for my bunk. My muscles ached all over. We’d walked a good ten miles today around the city, delivering meals, tending to the cuts and scrapes on a few of the barefoot children, and talking to the locals, finding out if they’d heard or seen anything suspicious lately. Some locals welcomed us with open arms, but others didn’t. It was only because we donated so much to the community that they tolerated us.
It was what it was, though. We weren’t there to make friends; we were there to do a job.
Strolling inside, bypassing a few of the guys with a slight nod, I began peeling off my heavy equipment, layer by layer, and putting it in its rightful place. Major Hardass did random inspections and expected things to be neat and in order. He wasn’t “running a slop house.”
Glancing at the clock, I noted the time. You didn’t want to be the last one to a meeting. Fifteen minutes before fifteen minutes was the rule of thumb.
Plopping down on my bed, I grabbed the tin box I kept my personal items in. Opening it, I dug through the stack of letters to the bottom and pulled out her photo. I closed the bin and set it aside. Lying back, I stuffed one arm behind my head and held tight to her picture with the other.
She was gorgeous. Fuck. She seriously didn’t get how pretty she was. She probably inadvertently scared all of the guys away; she was damn near curvy perfection, which was intimidating to most men. Not every man could handle curves like hers. Hell, even I was a little intimidated.
What gave me balls of brass was knowing the woman behind the glamour. She was sweet as could be and the farthest thing from pretentious. She was a woman I could get serious with, if only she would allow it.
She’d let me in, but kept me at arm’s length. I tried to flirt with her in our letters, but she never reciprocated. She became shy, modest; she’d deflect and then move on to a new subject.
I studied her, taking in her every rounded curve. Long dark brown hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders, framing her face. Despite being forty-two, she didn’t show many signs. There were a few tiny lines branching out from the outer corner of her eyes and I imagined a few laugh lines that weren’t noticeable because she was smiling in the photo. Her cheeks were plump and curved down to a soft jawline. Her lips were full, with a sharp edge clearly defining them. Her eyes were where she captivated me, though. Her big browns were warm, engaging yet nonjudgmental. She had this little glow about her. She embodied what every mother ought to be: loving.
With her curves, sweet Jesus, she looked like a woman who could love well and take love well. She had an overblown hourglass figure with plenty of extra minutes in the middle, but a still well defined shape, and the dress she wore played up every asset.
The little black number was figure hugging, in the best way. It fell to just above her knees, giving me a peek at her extra thick thighs. The collar was a long oval, baring the upper swell of her cleavage, conce
aled only a bit by the black blazer she wore atop the dress. She wore black heels that gave me a peek at her perfect red pedicure that matched the thin red belt circling her waist over the jacket. There was nothing matronly about her style. I could picture a twenty-something corporate employee wearing the same outfit, but certainly not as well as Jane did.
Looking at her photo, she exuded confidence. I suppose part of it was from her job. Being in a position of power, she had to prove all day long that she knew what she was doing, that she didn’t just look the part, but actually deserved to remain with that title. She worked damn hard. Every time she mentioned the long hours she worked, I wanted to whisk her off somewhere and help her forget it all. Fuck if I wouldn’t try to help her forget every night in bed too.
Haylee was a smaller version of her mom. They shared the same dark features. Haylee wasn’t petite in size, but she wasn’t overtly overweight either. She had some healthy baby fat left on her. Seeing Jane, though, I knew Haylee had nothing to worry about. She would grow into it the way Jane did, and, regardless of her size, she would carry it well.
I knew I was sunk when I developed an interest in how Haylee was doing, simply because she was a part of Jane. I cared about her well being, despite having never spoken to her in any capacity. I relished the updates Jane gave about Haylee’s college experience nearly as much as I enjoyed hearing about Jane’s life. And I knew, without a second thought, that if either of them ever needed anything, I’d do everything in my power to give it to them.
Shit. I’d even gone as far as thinking about how the holidays would go every year. I never put an age limit on love, but I sure as hell didn’t expect to fall for someone with a daughter only ten years younger than me.
I didn’t care, though. I knew what I wanted, and I wanted Jane.
One Christmas: (BBW Military Romance) (One Soldier Series Book 3) Page 2