“He doesn’t know,” I say with a sigh, closing my eyes and waiting for her to flip on me. “Before you yell at me, it’s not my fault. I didn’t tell you this because I figured you would try to talk me into seeing other people, but I’m not able to write to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“His mission is classified, so I have no way of writing back to him. He can write to me, but only in spurts—and there will often be big sections blacked out, like his words are censored or something. Sometimes, I’ll get two or three letters at a time, and then a month or two will go by without a word.” I take a deep breath and peer over at her. Though only a year younger than me, she has always been wise for her age—sometimes more sensible than I’ve ever been.
“First of all, I would never suggest you see other people just because of a little communication block. Second, I can’t believe he doesn’t know.” Her voice is almost a whisper on the last few words. “You’re going to have a baby when he returns. How fucking cool is that?” And there’s the overly enthusiastic Holly I know so well.
“A nearly four-month-old baby, Hol. It’s a little much for me to wrap my head around.” With one hand held protectively over my belly, I use my other hand to wipe the sweat from my brow.
“God, he’s going to be so shocked. I feel bad for the dude.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I say with a chuckle. My belly bounces as I laugh, which causes both Holly and I to burst in a fit of giggles.
Placing her hand on my bump, she asks, “Is he moving?” I don’t have to answer her as the little baby boy inside me kicks. Moving her hand, she follows the direction of the thumps to the opposite side of my body. “There he is. Have you thought of a name yet?”
I nod and a huge grin forms across my face. “Maximus Liberato Becker.”
*****
Placing the photo into the scrapbook I created, I scribble the words: Tummy time is fun—one month old. A long sigh weighs heavily on me as I flip through the pages and look at all the things Max has missed over the past month.
Due to finances and not being able to work the stables over the past two months, I’ve had to move in with my mother. Even though it’s been a relief to have her help, I feel somewhat like a sponge—a drifter—never really having a true home to speak of. The feeling of loneliness is constant, only replaced by worry as time goes on without him.
Three letters arrived from him today—Valentine’s Day. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. Not only is our son one-month old today, but I get to read letters from my love on a day solely dedicated to the heart and soul.
Setting the scrapbook on the nightstand next to the baby’s bassinet, I dig the letters out of my back pocket and begin to organize them into my special box. Even though I had already read them as soon as the mailman dropped them off, there is one particular letter I’m just dying to read again more slowly, so I can pay attention to the words he is attempting to express.
Just remembering the desperation in his tone has my tears welling up again.
With the dim lamp as my only light source so as not to wake the baby, I squint and re-read his messy scrawl.
For Liberty,
The days seem to be growing longer without you by my side. I can’t tell you how nervous it makes me to write these letters and never hear anything in return. I know that is not your fault, but it still puts a twist of pain in my gut at the possibility you will no longer be there when I get back. I can’t have that happen to us. I wish there was some way I could be certain you will still be my Libby.
Promise me... promise you will still be there for me. I don’t want to come home and find my world turned completely upside down. I want to make you happy, build a life with you, and grow old by your side. Please promise you’ll be patient and wait for me to return to you.
The baby’s stirring has me pausing midway through the letter. With a quick check, I notice he is fine. While the tone of Max’s letter is desperate and heart wrenching, it makes me happy knowing he wants to, as he says, build a life with me. I only hope this means learning about his son won’t be too much of a kink in his plans.
Taking a deep breath, I continue to read...
How am I supposed to express the deep love I have for you and not come off sounding cheesy? It’s impossible. With your amazingly good looks and your almost infinite ability to tolerate my boyish behavior, you are the catch of all catches for me—my match. Your smile and laugh are infectious, and I’d give anything to hold you in my arms at this very moment. Hell, I’m even smiling right now just thinking about your lips curling up in that cute little grin of yours.
I’ve soaked too many sheets of papers with my tears. I know that probably makes me sound like a complete pussy, but I can’t help it. Life out here can become bleak at times—all my buddies suffering with physical ailments or aching hearts tugs at my soul. My sorrow soaking my face, my hands, my shirt... it’s all a man can do sometimes in a battle of love and war.
I consider these letters to you a work of my heart—a vow to you that I will someday return and only dream that you will be there to welcome me with open arms. What I’ve learned throughout all this mess is I’m not the only one with fear of the unknown. So many soldiers are just like me... struggling to make it through each traitorous day. It’s almost as if there are a thousand voices behind these letters. Thousands upon thousands struggle each day to keep their love for one another intact. Sometimes, they just don’t know how to express it.
So, without sounding like too much of a sap, I consider these letters to be the voice of every soldier who has ever not known what to say, and also for every loved one who thought they were alone in this battle. I can only hope you’re on the other end, reading the words that are pouring from my soul, and waiting with baited breath for my return.
My dearest Liberty, please wait for me.
With love,
Max
Tears are now pouring from my eye sockets like a busted dam. I clutch the letter to me, desperate for him to subconsciously feel how strong my love for him is.
With the waterworks still flowing, I collapse onto my pillow and let sleep take me away.
Chapter Four
Maximus
I’ve made the decision. It’s final. It’s going to happen. I’m counting down the days—twenty-four to be exact. I know she’s expecting me to come back sometime in May, so when I arrive at the end of April, she should be more than surprised. I just hope she’s been waiting for me.
The decision is easy to make... so natural. It’ll be like taking an effortless breath. As soon as I get home, I plan to pop the question. I may have just enough time to get a ring before I see her, although I’m not certain I’ll be patient enough for such a task. I’ll make it work though, because every girl as amazing as Liberty deserves an amazing proposal.
I have no doubt in my mind that I want to spend the rest of my life with her.
“Whatcha thinkin’ so hard about, Beck?” Kenz asks as he walks by and swats me on the back of the head.
Rubbing the spot where his hand made contact, I glare at my friend. “Like I’d tell you anyway.”
“Of course you will. You aren’t one for keeping secrets, remember? You gossip like a teenage girl.” Even though his comment is infuriating, it doesn’t mean it’s not a little true. Kenz and I don’t have very many secrets from each other. As battle buddies, we spend nearly twenty-four hours a day together. Hell, I can’t even take a piss without the man covering my six.
“I was just thinking about how I plan to propose to Libby when I return in less than a month.” I chance a peek at my friend to gauge his reaction. He seems confused at first before a look of sorrow crosses his genuinely kind eyes.
“Man, are you sure about that? Not to be a buzzkill or anything, but wouldn’t it totally suck to have a ring in hand and find out she’s boinking the neighbor boy who hasn’t been gone for a year?” Holding his hands out in a defensive position, he tries to explain hims
elf. “I just think it would be much easier on your ego if you make sure she’s still riding the Beck train before you go out and finance a rock the size of Texas.”
I can’t help but bark out a laugh at his poor attempt to save my heart from breaking in two. “You’re such an eloquent piece of shit, you know that, Kenz? But, I want to be prepared. If she is still there and waiting for me—and Christ, I hope she is—then I want to be ready to show her how...”
My voice trails off, worried I’ll become too emotional at the thought of her not being there to accept my hand. Clearing my throat, I continue. “I just want to surprise her, is all.”
“Yeah,” Kenz says with a sigh, shaking his head in defeat. “Yeah, I get that. Just be careful. I don’t want to have to scrape your ass off the concrete if things don’t turn out the way you expect.”
“Thanks, man.”
*****
Several months pass, and the day I was supposed to return home came and went. Due to several new developments in our mission, as well as a major setback I never wish to think or speak of again, our time in this godforsaken country has been extended.
I just received word earlier today that I’m being granted my leave and my homecoming date is set for the first of July. With so little planning and no way to really communicate with Libby, I plan to take a stab in the dark and just show up on her doorstep. It isn’t really a plan, but more of a desperate attempt to put the past fourteen months behind me.
If she is no longer waiting for me, I don’t know what I will do... how I will cope. It’s one thing to be rejected by the love of your life, but to do it without your best friend there to support you is beyond my scope of imagination. Just the thought of losing both Kenz and Libby puts a hole in my heart—a hole that will never heal. I only hope it will someday mend, and I know for a fact the only way it can is with her love.
Tilting my head back, I look up at the night sky and try desperately to think of her as a star. Even though I can’t see her in all her glory, it doesn’t mean she isn’t there shining down on me. Before I left, she told me she would always be there for me.
I plan to hold her to that promise.
Chapter Five
Liberty
A cry... no... a wail... wakes me from a deep sleep and has my heart pounding before my mind can catch up.
One day, many years from now, I will begin stealing this child’s weekend sleep-ins. He will protest, and I will tell him payback is a dish best served at seven fucking thirty in the morning.
The Saturday morning glare of the harsh June sun seems to be pelting me with its heat as I force myself to wake up and go check on Max. In my haste to make it to the crib in record time, I trip over something big, warm, and furry.
“Ugh, Henry!” A whimper follows my scowl, and I realize it isn’t the dog’s fault the baby is crying. “I’m sorry, bud,” I coo, while bending over to pet behind his ear.
The wailing coming from the child’s wooden-bar confinement grows louder. Taking a deep breath, I begin to calm my erratic heartbeat, knowing full well children can sense fear and anxiety, just like dogs.
As soon as his eyes land on me, he stops his sobbing and juts that cute, pouty little lip out, almost as if he knows he has to keep his game face on so as to convince me of his need to be held. A lone crocodile tear falls from his eye and trails down his chubby cheek.
“There’s no way all that noise could come from one little man,” I say in a singsong voice as I reach down and gather him in my arms. “Oh my, you’re a soggy bottom boy.” His diaper has to weigh at least ten pounds with all that liquid. I just hope none comes squirting at me like a fire hose while I’m changing him again.
Boys are dangerous... plain and simple.
As I’m changing the little monster, he smiles up at me and I’m immediately reminded of his father. Little Max is five months old today. I can’t help the sorrow that creeps into my veins with the fact that Maximus hasn’t returned as promised. I haven’t received a single letter since my Valentine’s Day surprise, and all attempts to contact his family members have failed.
Did he change his mind? Did he decide he didn’t want to come back to this small, Podunk town in the middle of nowheresville? On the one hand, I can’t blame him, on the other, I can’t help but freak out at the thought he might’ve been injured, or worse...
A squeal brings me out of my miserable thoughts. Little Max is attempting to eat his entire wrist, drool going all over the place and staining his new little onesie.
“You hungry, little guy?” I ask as I pick him up and begin to carry him to the rocking chair. As if he needs to answer me, he begins to tug on my shirt.
As I nurse my son, I begin to think that continuing to hope for his return isn’t healthy for me. I can’t keep planning my life around a man I haven’t seen in over a year and haven’t heard from in damn near four months.
I’m thankful I’ve been able to afford my own place again. Living with my parents wasn’t all that bad, but the pressure was a bit too much to bear. My mom has been trying to convince me that I need to move on with my life—make decisions for my son and myself instead of waiting around for a man who now seems to be nothing more than a figment of my imagination. Yet that flicker of hope still pokes at the back of my mind that he will come for me someday soon. I can only dream he will accept little Max with an open heart.
*****
Independence Day—a day I usually dread because of my distaste toward being in the spotlight. My mother’s silly sense of humor at naming me Liberty because I was born on the nation’s birthday never ceases to amaze me. Yet now my trepidation is increasingly opaque because it is also the two-year anniversary of the day I fell in love with Maximus.
My Maximus.
My missing-in-action Maximus.
Putting on a brave face, I strap little Max to my front, using one of those comfy baby carriers. Whoever invented these contraptions deserves a metal. Little Max just loves being able to greet everyone head on, while I waddle around town with him in tow.
In order to save my back, I schedule myself to assist with the animal shelter’s information booth—sitting in a chair, passing out flyers, and answering any questions a passerby may have while they check out the downtown festivities.
The fake smile I have plastered on my face is obvious to those close to me, yet they choose to keep their distance. I internally thank them for not poking the bear. I’m not sure my emotions can handle the mention of Max. Hell, even the thought of him causes a lump to form in my throat, my breathing hitching at the reality that he isn’t here with me.
Believe it or not, time seems to fly, and I find myself searching for my family along the sidewalks of Main Street as other townsfolk celebrate while waiting for the parade to start.
My stomach coils into a fit of nerves as I see a group of soldiers mingling down at the far end of the street, obviously getting ready to march in formation for the parade.
Kissing the top of little Max’s head, I whisper, “See those men? Your daddy is a strong man, just like them.”
My mom’s voice hollering my name has me swiping the tears from my eyes and composing myself before she has a chance to see my sorrow.
Chapter Six
Maximus
I can’t contain my nervous excitement as the fire engine I’m riding on slowly crawls down the street. The hot, unforgiving sun is beating down on my thick uniform, causing beads of sweat to cover my brow, and making it very evident we’re smack in the middle of summer. Regardless of the heat, I just can’t wait to see her. People line the sidewalks, hollering and waving their American flags as we pass by them in slow motion, yet their shouts and cheers mean nothing to me while I frantically search for her.
Hanging on with one arm, I wave back, making it seem like I’m part of this celebration somehow. So far, no one has recognized me, and for that, I’m thankful. The last thing I want is to be distracted when I finally see her.
Just the thought of being in
her presence again has my stomach all tied in knots. I’ve never been so nervous before in my life. I just hope she’s here. She has to be here. Her family always watches the parade. It’s tradition. And I am banking my future on the hope they still hold their annual tradition on the south side of the street like they did the year I fell in love with her.
My body seems to know where she is before my eyes can catch up. Tingles of excitement thrum through my body, pulsing through my veins with the rapid beat of my heart. She does this to me.
Suddenly, my eyes land on a beautiful sea of red hair blowing in the breeze and I know, without a doubt, it’s her.
My Liberty.
Perched on the side of the fire engine, I wait until she turns around. I want to see her. I want to know she will still accept me before I take the final few steps into her life.
As she slowly turns in my direction, I catch sight of something completely unexpected. A little, redheaded baby attached to her chest catches me off guard, and I freeze.
A baby?
My head can’t seem to process dates and do the math quickly enough before her eyes finally lock with mine. Nervous about this new little development, I make a last-minute decision and slip the ring into my side pocket.
As I hop down from the truck while it’s still in motion, Libby’s hands cover her mouth and an obvious sob leaves her throat. I can see her tremble with each step I take toward her. The sight of her eyes tearing up causes my emotions to immediately play tug-of-war with my heart.
While taking the final few steps to close the distance between us, Holly reaches in and takes the child from Libby’s chest.
Maybe it’s her sister’s baby?
I don’t have time to process my thoughts before Libby launches herself into my arms. Her sobs seem to be louder than the raucous activities around us and suddenly, with her here in my arms, everyone else seems to fade away. No one exists except this beautiful, fragile woman I’m holding tight to my chest. My sudden worry she wouldn’t want me anymore leaves my mind as we hold onto each other for dear life.
Red Hot and BOOM! A Sizzling Hot Collection of Stories from the Red Hot Authors Page 10