What if this is goodbye?
Alex,
The doctors say I’m healing nicely. The physical therapists are impressed with my progress, and feel my transition to civilian life is going smoothly.
What a crock of shit.
Here’s the truth. I’m killing it in physical therapy because I focus on the physical in an effort to drown out the shit storm that runs on repeat in my fucking head.
I have very few memories of my asshole of a father, but one in particular keeps running through my mind. Anytime I hurt myself as a kid, some version of this conversation would take place.
“Dad, I fell off my bike and scraped my elbow. It really hurts.”
“How about I kick you in the knee? I’ll bet you’ll forget all about that elbow.”
I always knew he was an idiot, because no matter how hard I push my body, no matter how loud my muscles scream for mercy, none of it can shut down my thoughts. I can bench press 250 pounds with no problem, but take me by surprise and slam a door, and I’m paralyzed with fear. Literally, fucking paralyzed.
As far as therapy goes, I’m going through the motions. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what I’m supposed to say, so I’m more than happy to oblige. She nods her head, so pleased with how well adjusted I am. If she only knew…
She tells me to focus on the positive. When I toss back the covers in the morning, I no longer feel nauseous at the sight of my leg, or the lack thereof. How’s that for positive?
I think I just need to get out of this place. It’s a constant reminder of what I’ve lost when I need to be focused on where I go from here. Maybe the nightmares will lessen once I leave here. Maybe the things I’ve seen will stop playing in my head like an outtake reel if I could find some sense of normalcy in my life. Maybe I can push through this ever-present resentment and anger to find some semblance of myself; the West you knew from all those years ago.
Maybe.
The bitch of it is there are no guarantees. This may be my new normal, and while I’m doing my best to come to terms with that fact, I can’t see you right now. There’s no way I’ll survive the pity in your eyes. I left you when I was a messed up kid, and now I’ve returned a truly fucked up man. I refuse to be a burden to you.
Until I can beat back the dreams, panic attacks, and ever present anger, I have to keep my distance. As always, I’m sorry for breaking my promise to come back to you. It kills me, because all I do is apologize these days. I’m forever letting you down.
And you deserve so much more than apologies.
Always,
West
Why does he get to decide for me over and over again? It’s obvious he needs me, but he continues to deny us both, all for stubborn pride.
I grip the letter in my hand, resisting the urge to rip it to pieces. I’ve spent our entire relationship with my hands tied behind my back, and I don’t think I can take it anymore. Wanting to touch him, while he pushes me aside. Pleading to help him, while he turns away. Screaming for him to see me, to know I’m strong enough for the both of us, while he plugs his ears.
Emotionally exhausted, I shove the letters aside, draw my legs into my chest, and let much needed sleep overtake me.
“So what does it all mean, Celia?” I ask, nipping at her heels. She turns to answer me, and we collide, heads knocking and arms flailing.
I’ve been following Celia around New Horizons for half an hour now, briefing her on West’s data dump of letters and their abrupt ending. No phone call. No visit. No explanation. What the hell?
Celia erupts into laughter and grabs my shoulders to steady me. “Alex, calm down, girl. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to assault me.”
I let out a deep sigh and lower my head. “I’m sorry, I just need some of your expert therapist insight. Why would he send me those letters?”
“I hate to break it to you, but being a therapist doesn’t give me an all-access pass into West’s head. I’m not sure what’s motivating him. What do you think?”
I shake my head furiously and cross my arms. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not turning this around on me. I’m asking the questions.”
“But I don’t have the answers.” Celia shrugs. “I’m sorry, girl. How did the last letter leave things? Maybe that can tell you something.”
I think back to the last letter, the despair bleeding from the words he wrote. “He sounded so … lost. He said he’d stay away from me until things were better for him. Truthfully, it didn’t sound very promising. That’s what I mean, Celia. What’s the point of it all? He can’t see me? Fine! I’ve come to terms with that—I mean, it’s a work in progress, but I’m trying to get there. Why open old wounds, just to leave things so unfinished?”
Celia stops walking and faces me, sympathy in her eyes. “Maybe he needs you to know where he’s been, so you can appreciate the struggle ahead of him. Recovery, whatever the cause, is a struggle. It’s an uphill climb, filled with pitfalls and setbacks.”
“But what does that mean for the future? Honestly, I don’t know if I can forgive him. And frankly, I don’t know that he’s capable of a relationship with anyone.”
It stings to say those words out loud, but it’s the only truth he’s shown me. Can the man who has shut me down time and again open his heart and let me in? I have my doubts.
“What does it mean? That’s the million-dollar question. What do I see?” Celia asks with a raise of her eyebrows and a hopeful glint in her eyes. “Possibility. Can he open up to you? I don’t know. Can you forgive him? I’m not sure. But I’ll tell you one thing, Alex: I can’t wait to find out.”
“Coming!” I yell down the hallway as I throw on a sweatshirt and yoga pants. I’d just hopped out of the shower when I heard the knock on my front door. Most people come to the back door where the driveway leads them, so I wonder who it could be.
I draw back the shade and tense when I see Mr. Burt standing on my porch with a smile. Lately, his deliveries throw my emotions into a tailspin, so I’m a bit apprehensive.
I open the door and give him a cautious smile. “Hey Mr. Burt. How’s your afternoon going?”
“I can’t complain, and it wouldn’t do any good if I did anyway. I’m just taking it as it comes.” Mr. Burt gives me a friendly smile and holds up a substantial pile of mail. “With all the magazines, and then this here package, I couldn’t fit everything into your mailbox. You earned yourself a personal visit, my girl.”
I smile back and lay my hand on my chest. “Well, I’m very honored.”
He bows dramatically, placing one hand behind his back while the other reaches out to hand me the mail. I collect it from him and curtsy. “Thank you, kind sir.”
Always bustling about, Mr. Burt wastes no time saluting me and bounding down the sidewalk, mailbag slung over his shoulder. “Until we meet again, m’lady.”
“I look forward to it,” I call out as I flip through the envelopes. Bill. Bill. Bill. Junk mail. Magazines.
Package. Wrapped in brown packing paper. His handwriting.
Here we go again.
I carry everything inside and take a seat at the kitchen table, the box sitting directly in front of me. I eye it suspiciously, biting my nails, my nerves getting the best of me. After many moments pass, I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants and straighten my back, preparing myself for whatever will greet me inside that package.
I carefully peel off the tape, refusing to give into the urge tear the paper. As I peel away the wrapping, a Nike shoebox is uncovered. I remove the lid and peer inside, trying my best to keep my nerves in check. I reach inside and find an envelope with my name scrolled across the front and a small white box underneath it.
I slide one finger through the sealed envelope, and pull out the contents. There’s only one sheet of paper this time—no large stack of explanations. Whatever words he’s penned on this one page could determine the future of us, or if there even is an us. I blow out a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever is to co
me.
Dear Alex,
I read every single one of those letters before sending them to you. I needed to go back in time and relive some of those moments to share some things with you today.
I’m going to tell you what you don’t know, Alex.
I still feel your touch and hear the soft sound of your laughter, even after all these years. There was a time in Iraq when I lost that, and I think I resented you for it, feeling as if you’d left me. Your presence has always been like a balm to my soul, and when it was gone, it served as a reminder of how far I’d fallen into the darkness. Because make no mistake, Alex, you are my light.
Watching you walk out on me was devastating. I pushed you to it every day, but watching you give up eviscerated me. It was the punch to the gut I needed to truly start tackling my demons. I’ve been meeting with Caroline every day, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I see improvement. I feel hopeful.
Am I cured? Fuck no. Not even close, but I can see a future where I’m not ruled by my PTSD, and that’s a great start.
I had to read through every one of those letters I wrote to you so I could try and understand. I had to figure out how I could justify staying away from you all these years. After sifting through it all, I’ve come to a conclusion. I’m through listening to twisted logic.
I’m going to fight for you, Poppy.
Please know that I’m on my way back to you, running as fast as I can.
I hope you’re still there…
I love you,
West
I drop the single page in my lap, and sit stock still for I don’t know how long. My mind is reeling, and I struggle to push through. The new knowledge of West’s life and the last few years of my own are running parallel in my mind. It’s everything I always needed to hear sitting right in front of me on one sheet of paper.
He’s going to fight for me.
I peer into the package and reach for the small white box with trembling hands. The top easily slides off, revealing a vintage, rose gold locket pillowed on a square bed of cotton. It is encrusted with seed pearls and engraved with filigree. I remove it from the box and place it in my palm, the heavy chain swinging below. I unclasp the locket and slowly open the hinges. I gasp as my eyes fall upon the painting carefully placed inside.
As I take in those thick lashes, those dark brown irises flecked black, I feel liberated. As I appreciate the penetrating gaze of the most beautiful eye I’ve ever known, I come to a conclusion of my own.
I leap up from the chair and grab my keys and purse. I’m out the door and in my car within seconds. After reading his last letter, after seeing the lover’s eye locket, there’s no other choice to be made.
I’m going to fight for him, too
“Smash Into You” by Beyonce
I FLING OPEN the door to my car, after breaking more traffic laws than I can count to get here. I race up his front steps, only noticing I forgot my shoes when a rock pierces the bottom of my foot. Even the piercing pain can’t stop me from my mission.
I take a deep breath in, shake the nerves from my fingers, and knock three times as the tears sting my eyes. I wait, rather impatiently, for him to answer the door, but I don’t hear any movement from inside. I know I saw his truck in the garage when I drove up, but I peek around the corner and check again. His truck is there, and I don’t hear the clanging of barbells coming from the garage.
So I knock again. And wait.
Where could he be? I grab the knob and turn slowly, realizing it’s unlocked. After thinking it over for a moment, I figure what the hell? I push the door open and step inside.
“West?” I walk through the small foyer and into the living room. The room is dark, but I see light filtering from the hallway and keep walking toward it. I hear movement, and I push on the slightly cracked door.
And there he is. My West.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, freshly showered and partially dressed. He’s pulling a T-shirt over his head when I enter so he doesn’t see me right away. He runs his hands through his damp and disheveled hair, then his dark eyes reach mine and he freezes. His eyes dart to the side and he reaches for a blanket at the end of the bed.
I follow his eye movements and realize he’s looking at his prosthetic leg, which is leaning next to the bench on the side of the bed. When my eyes return to him, he’s covered his lap with the blanket.
I rush toward him and fall to my knees between his legs. “No.” I pull the blanket away from him and toss it behind me. “Please don’t hide from me.”
West closes his eyes and nods his head as I lift up on my knees and grab behind his neck. The air around us thickens with regret and words left unsaid for entirely too long. He grips my waist and pulls me closer, his forehead falling into mine. “I’m sorry, Alex. I’m so fucking sorry.” His words come out on a breath, and I feel the release behind them. “I know it’s just words, but in time, I’ll show you how much I regret hurting you the way I have. Please tell me I’m not too late.”
“When it comes to us? You and me? I don’t know if it would ever be too late. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
“I still have a lot of issues to work through, but I’m trying like hell. Please be patient with me, Poppy.” He squeezes my waist firmly and keeps his eyes closed.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. His eyes fly open and meet mine. Hurt and confusion swirl in those dark orbs. “No more being patient, and no more Poppy.”
“What?” He pushes away to study me more closely.
“I bite my fingernails. Yes, I bite my always-paint-encrusted fingernails. I’m going to get lead poisoning one day. And I can’t get up before nine AM. It’s physically impossible. I leave mugs with dried tea leaves all over the house. It’s disgusting really. Oh, and I love watching reruns of The Andy Griffith Show. It never gets old.” I stop only when West covers my mouth with his hand and smirks at me.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“The point is I’m not perfect.” I hold up my hand to stop him from talking and pull him close to me again. “Did you know that red poppies are symbols of remembrance for fallen soldiers?”
“Yes, I know that,” West says softly as his gaze washes lovingly over my face. Our breath intermingles. Our lashes touch fleetingly as I blink back tears. Our chests heave together as I tug at the hair at the back of his neck.
“It’s just you and me, West. There are no poppies anymore.” I lightly brush my lips over his, savoring the taste of him. “I’m not perfect … and you’re not a fallen soldier. You’re very much alive.”
He closes his eyes tightly, his grip on me becoming almost painful, but I relish in it. He takes in a staggering breath and slowly shakes his head.
“Did you hear me, West?” I push gently, but firmly. “You’re not dead.”
I grasp the sides of his head and place soft kisses to each of his temples. His eyes remain closed as I run the tips of my fingers over his beard, something new and different to love about him. I make my way down to his chest as it twitches beneath my touch, his stomach, and then lower. I study his right leg, seeing the angry scars for the first time. I place my lips on each scar, thick lashes that wrap around the leg.
Then I turn to his left leg, which ends about six inches below his knee. I run my hand over the old incision, and I hear his breath hitch above me. I lower my head and place kisses down the length of the scar. When I finish, I lay my head in his lap, wrap my arms around his waist and close my eyes.
“Whatever issues there are, we’ll work through them together. I’ll never let you push me away again,” I whisper softly as I feel a hot tear hit my cheek, only it isn’t mine.
I look up just as West grips my neck and gently pulls my forehead to his. I look deep into his watery eyes, taking in the intensity swirling behind them. “I’m not going anywhere, Alex. I promise you.”
He curls his fingers into my hair and crashes his lips to mine. His kiss is without pretense, full of
need and longing as his tongue possessively enters my mouth. The sensation of his beard rubbing against my skin sends shockwaves through my body. I sink my teeth into his lower lip, and he growls in response.
West grabs underneath my arms and tosses me effortlessly onto the bed. Before I know it, he’s on top of me, pressing me deep into the mattress with his delicious weight. He places his arms on either side of my head, effectively caging me in. He runs his nose down the side of my cheek, down my neck, and into my hair.
“God, I fucking missed you so much. Everything about you. The taste of you, the smell of you.” He gently bites my earlobe and runs his tongue all the way up before whispering to me. “I’m sorry I’m such a stubborn idiot.”
I slide my hands under his shirt and run my fingers up his back, smiling as I feel the shiver pulse through him. “West?”
“Yeah?” His hooded eyes lift to meet mine.
“Please stop talking and make love to me.” I run my hands down to his ass and push him into me. His work out shorts leave little to the imagination, and I feel his hard cock pulsing against my belly.
There are way too many clothes between us.
West’s expression heats at my statement, but then clouds over. “We’ve got a problem. I don’t have any condoms, Alex. Fuck. I don’t want to disrespect you like that again.”
He flips onto his back and pulls me with him. I lift up on my elbow with a sad pout on my face, and then my eyes brighten. “I forgot.” I jump up and retrieve my purse from the floor. “Marlo always shoves condoms from the clinic into my purse, hoping they’ll fall out at inopportune times and embarrass the shit out of me.”
“I knew I liked that girl.” There’s laughter in his eyes as he sees me pull a string of condoms out of my purse, but they quickly darken. “C’mere.”
I take deliberate, slow steps in his direction, watching his eyes devour my body. I’m wearing an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and yoga pants, but his gaze makes me feel like I’m the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. When I’m within reach, he takes the condoms out of my hand and tosses them on the bed. “Stay right there.”
Wings Over Poppies (Over #2) Page 18