A Lover's Lament

by K. L. Grayson

  I hate that I survived. I would give anything to trade places with your husband, and I want you to know that I think about him—and about you and your daughters—every second of every day. I’ve prayed for your happiness and for comfort for your girls, and I hope that someday you’re able to find peace despite the disaster that I caused.

  Sincerely,

  Andrew Drexler

  I read the letter three more times before dropping it at my side. My pulse is steady and calm, not rapid and uneven like I anticipated it would be. Tears are running down my face because I believe that Andrew Drexler is truly sorry for destroying our lives. I do think that he would move heaven and earth to trade places with my dad, and that belief releases a rope of tension that I didn’t realize was wrapped around my heart.

  Something inside of me opens up, and as I swipe away the tears running down my face, I notice that I’m smiling. I’m actually smiling. I’m not sure what I was expecting from Andrew Drexler’s letter, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

  But I’ll take it, because Dr. Perry was right. I needed this closure. I needed the opportunity to listen to his apology and make my decision whether or not to accept it. I’m damn glad I read his letter, and now I know why my mom and sister have accepted things so much easier than I have.

  They opened their heart way before I did and they forgave him. They accepted Andrew’s apology for what it was, they grieved the loss of their loved one and did what Daddy would want them to do.

  Suddenly, the need to write Andrew Drexler back slams into me like a freight train, and I jump up, grab my notebook and a pen off my dresser, and drop back down on the bed. Opening up the notebook, I situate it on my knee. I’m ready to give my heart the closure that it needs, and I as I transfer the words from my head to my heart and onto paper, I realize that it wasn’t really closure that I needed, just love. Because the love of my family and my love for my dad ultimately led me to be able to forgive.

  Dear Andrew,

  I forgive you.

  Thank you for serving our country. Thank you for your letter of apology. I hope that you’re able to find the same peace that I have.

  Sincerely,

  Katie Devora

  “Break Your Plans”—The Fray

  “DEVIN?” A DULL BUZZ IS crackling through the line, and that coupled with the noise coming from my living room makes it hard to hear. Pushing up from the couch, I hold my hand over the receiver. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper to the room full of cackling women.

  Mom and Bailey both smile and nod, but leave it to Maggie to open her big ol’ mouth. “Who’s on the phone?” she asks as she refills everyone’s wine glasses.

  “Devin—”

  “Oooh, Devin,” she croons before I even finish. Rolling my eyes, I walk out of the room as she yells, “No phone sex. It’s not polite while you have company over.” I hear my mom and Bailey crack up just as I shut my bedroom door.

  “Devin?” At first I think I lost him—a dropped call or something—but then I swear I hear him breathing through the phone. “Devin? Are you there?”

  “Katie.”

  “Hey! I thought I lost ya.” Yanking the covers back on my bed, I climb in and prop myself up against the headboard.

  “Um …” Devin clears his throat. “My day … it, uhh … shit.”

  His voice is too gentle, his thoughts too scattered, and the hairs on the back of my neck instantly stand up. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are your men okay?” I ask, pushing myself upright as though it’ll help me hear him better. My body tenses as I wait for his answer.

  “No,” he breathes. I hear rustling as though he’s moving around or running a hand over his face. “I mean, yes. I’m okay, and my men are okay.”

  “Oh, good,” I say, feeling my tightly coiled muscles relax.

  “But I do have something to tell you.”

  “Looks like we’ll be on the phone a while then,” I say, settling back against the bed, “because I’ve had one hell of a day, and boy, do I have some stuff to tell you. But you first.”

  “My mom died.” His words come out flat and completely lifeless, and it takes a couple of seconds for my mind to process what he said.

  “What?” I gasp, flinging myself out of bed. “Oh my God, Devin.” Tears spring to my eyes and I shake my head. “I’m so sorry.” My heart aches, not because Josephine is gone—as bitchy as that might sound—but it aches for Devin. She may have been a shitty mother, and I had hopes that Devin would be able to find peace where she is concerned, but she’s still his mom and now that’s no longer an option.

  He doesn’t respond, although I’m not really sure what I expect him to say. I know the numbness that he’s probably feeling right about now. Hell, I’ve been there—and not that long ago. “What can I do? I want to help. Please tell me what I can do.”

  Devin sucks in a breath and I swear I hear him sniff. That sound absolutely breaks my heart. Closing my eyes, an image of a ten-year-old Devin pops into my head. We were sitting by the creek and he was crying because of something his mom said, and I can picture him now, a grown man grieving the loss of the woman who’s caused so much pain in his life. She doesn’t deserve his tears.

  “I’m going home,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I get a four-day leave.”

  He’s coming home? Oh my gosh, he’s coming home! “You’re coming home.” It’s not a question, just something I repeat to convince myself that what I heard is true. Excitement bubbles up inside of me, and despite what he just told me about his mother, I can’t stop the smile from erupting on my face.

  “I’ll be home early Friday.”

  “Okay,” I breathe. My mind instantly starts making a list of what I have to do to be able to go see him.

  I’ll actually get to see him.

  I’ll get to touch him, and hold him, and kiss him.

  I’ll get to tell him—

  “I was hoping you could come … you know, out to Pennsylvania … to see me.” There is insecurity in his words that softens my heart. I obviously haven’t done a good enough job of convincing him that I really do want us, and everything that goes along with that.

  “I’ll be there. I don’t want you to go through that alone.” And he would have to go through it alone. Devin has no one. His father has been absent for longer than I can remember, and he’s an only child.

  “You will?” he asks, his voice full of disbelief. “You’re going to fly out there?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Of course, I’ll have to rearrange a few things. I’m supposed to work on Saturday and Sund—”

  “You don’t have to take off, Katie.”

  “Stop it,” I scoff, walking out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. I pull my work schedule out of the drawer to see who’s off that might want to pick up some extra shifts. “I want to take off; it’s just short notice so I’ll have to find my own coverage.”

  My mind drifts to all the other things I’ll have to do like book a flight and find a hotel—because I don’t want to be presumptuous and assume that Devin wants me to stay the night with him. And honestly, I don’t even know where Devin will be staying.

  “I’m getting a hotel,” he says, catching my attention.

  “Huh?”

  “You said you don’t know where I’ll be staying.” Shit. Saying stuff out loud is becoming a habit for me. “I’ll be staying at a hotel, and if you come, you’ll stay with me.”

  The way he says that, as though I don’t really have a choice, causes my mind to conjure up all of the things I’ll get to do to—I mean with, do with—Devin over the next four days.

  “Okay,” I say, cringing when my words come out way too raspy.

  “Other than take off work, what else do you have to do?” he asks. “You’ve got someone to help with the farm, right?”

  “Yes. I’m not worried about the farm, and other than that, I’ll just have to cancel dinner plans with Wyatt and—”

  “Dinner plans with Wyatt?” he i
nterrupts in a tone I haven’t heard in about a decade.

  Dropping my work schedule on the table, I stand up straight. Did I hear him right? Is he mad? He can’t be mad; I haven’t even had a chance to tell him why I was having dinner with Wyatt.

  “Yessss,” I drawl out. “Wyatt asked me to dinner Friday night, and with everything that’s happened, I felt the least I could do is meet with him.” Plus, it’ll be nice to tell Wyatt about Devin myself before he ends up hearing about it through the grapevine. It sounds asinine, I’m sure, considering that I still haven’t seen Devin. But if he really is coming home on leave in less than two months, and we really do decide to give this a whirl—which we are, otherwise I’m kicking him in the damn balls—then everyone will find out anyway.

  The last thing I want is for Wyatt to think I broke things off with him to be with Devin, because that’s far from the truth. Plus, I was hoping Wyatt would be able to get some closure, once and for all.

  “So you said yes?”

  “Of course I did.” My brows furrow, and I bring my hand to my hip. “He was my best friend for years, Dev. He picked up the pieces that you left behind, and—” Devin sighs and I close my eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad … and I’m sorry, but it’s true. You have to understand that he’s been there for me through everything, and I broke his heart. He needs closure and I owe that to him.”

  “Fine.” My blood runs cold at the sound of Devin’s voice. “I understand. Do whatever you’ve got to do.”

  “Don’t be like that,” I plead. “The dinner means nothing, and I’m going to cancel it, just like I’m going to find a way to get off work. I promise you, I will try my absolute hardest to make sure I’m there with you the entire time you’re home, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  What? That’s it?

  “Devin, I—”

  “Look,” he says curtly, “I’ve gotta go pack. I’ll email you my itinerary. You just let me know if you’re able to rearrange your busy schedule.”

  “Excu—” I pull the phone back and stare at it.

  Did he just hang up on me?

  “Katie?” I look up at the sound of my mom’s soft voice and find her standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”

  “Josephine passed away.”

  “Oh no,” she croons, stepping further into the room. “What happened?”

  “I …” It hits me all at once that I didn’t even bother to ask him how his mom died, and I instantly forget that I’m mad at him. “I don’t know.”

  “How’s Devin holding up?”

  “Not good, from the sounds of it,” I answer, looking down at my phone and then up at her. “He’s shutting down.” I should know. I was the queen of shutting down for several months. “I can hear it in his voice.”

  “Well, then it’s a good thing he has you, isn’t it?” she says, pulling me into her arms. “Because you know a little something about that, and maybe you’ll be able to help when you get to him.”

  “How did you know I was going to him?” I ask, pulling away from her just a fraction.

  “Because you love him.”

  “He’s your lobster,” Maggie sings, sashaying into the room with Bailey following close behind.

  Mom laughs and gives her a sidelong glance. “You and that damn lobster.”

  “Hey,” she says, holding up her hands, “blame Phoebe.” She walks up to the table and grabs my work schedule. “What’s this for?”

  Mom fills her and Bailey in on what little I told her, and then Maggie turns to me. “I’m off those days; I’ll pick them up for you.”

  “Really? Maggie, you just made my freakin’ year.” Stepping out of Mom’s arms, I walk straight over to Maggie and pull her in for a hug.

  “That’s what friends are for. Plus, Sean is out of town, so the extra work will keep me out of trouble.”

  “I love you, Mags. You know that, right?”

  “Of course you do,” she says and laughs, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “What’s not to love? I’m amazing.”

  “And conceited,” Bailey mumbles, earning herself a slap on the arm from Mom.

  “I’ll owe you big time,” I say at the same time Maggie pulls away from me.

  “Nope.” Gripping my shoulders, she spins me around and leads me to my bedroom. “You owe me nothing.” Pulling my suitcase from the closet, she tosses it on the bed and opens it up. “You’re my best friend, Kit Kat, and I want you to be happy. Now get packed and then I’ll help you book a flight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You can thank me when you see the lingerie I’ve got waiting for you at home. I’ll get it for you later, but you’re taking it with you.”

  “First, I’m not taking lingerie with me.” Because how fucking embarrassing would that be if I took lingerie and then we didn’t even … bowchickawowwow. “Second, why in the world do you have lingerie for me? You just found out about this trip.”

  “It was something I picked up for your bachelorette party, but since you went all Runaway Bride on me, I figure I’ll give it to you now.”

  “I didn’t go all Runaway Bride,” I argue, giving her my best pouty face.

  “Semantics.” She waves her hand through the air, and I can’t help but laugh at her crazy ass. “There was going to be a wedding, now there’s not. We don’t really need to hash it out any more, especially since you’ve got more important things to do.”

  Spinning on her heel, Maggie walks out of the room and I’m left staring at my empty suitcase, wondering what in the hell I’m going to pack. My gaze drifts to the picture of Devin and me that’s tucked in the frame of my mirror. I walk over to my dresser, pick up the photo and run my thumb across it.

  “Ten years,” I whisper to myself. Closing my eyes, I send a silent prayer up to the big man … God, or my Dad … right about now, I’ll take either one.

  Please don’t let him break my heart again.

  “I’d Hate To Be You When People Find Out What This Song Is About”—Mayday Parade

  “KATIE? HELLO?”

  All I hear is static before the phone line clicks and switches back to a dial tone. I slam the receiver into its holster and run my hands through my hair, trying my best to calm down. Of all the times for this shit to cut out.

  I take a deep breath in and reach for the phone again before stopping myself. I wonder for a moment if I even want to call her back. I don’t know if I’m pissed, jealous, or maybe both, but right now all I want to do is spend time with my men—who also happen to be my friends. And when I want to escape these thoughts of Katie and my mother, they’re the best antidote available.

  I rise to my feet and head toward the exit, all the while doing my best to pretend she wasn’t planning on seeing Wyatt and fighting to shake thoughts of them together … holding each other, kissing each other, fuck—

  No. Hell no. I’m not fucking going there.

  The chopper came just as expected at 0600. The quick ride to the Green Zone was a blur as the rhythmic whip of the blades forced my tired eyes shut. Navas spent several hours the night before pulling everything out of me, though I fought tooth and nail against it. And as I now sit at the military air terminal waiting on the C-130 to arrive, my eyes burn while scanning the enormous room full of hundreds of other military personnel funneling in and out. I try and catch sight of one I may know, as unlikely as it is, because in this moment of total isolation even in this crowded room, all I want is familiarity.

  What I really want is Katie, but all I can think of right now is that she needs space … that as much as I want to talk to her, as much as I want to see her, she does have unsettled business and I can’t get in the way of that—no matter how much I may need her. She tells me that she’s over Wyatt, that what they had is in the past, but how can it be when it just ended? I want to believe her, but a tiny voice in the back of my head is holding me back, keeping me from believing that I ever had a chance. So I spend
the next thirty minutes running our phone conversation through my head, and when my plane finally arrives, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  The C-130 flight to Germany went by in a flash, and as I shuffle onto my second-to-last flight of the day, a nine-hour trip across the Atlantic, I’m actually grateful for the ridiculously early chopper—and even Navas for his hours of concerned interrogation—because my sleep on the C-130 flight was better than any I’ve gotten in a very long time. I think, more than anything, it’s the knowledge that—at least for now—I’m out of harm’s way.

  In usual cruel fashion, thoughts of my guys come into focus. Seeing the snug, pleather Lufthansa seats in rows before me, I can’t help but feel guilty that I’m not back there with them. If something happens to one of my men while I’m gone, I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do.

  I pour myself into my seat and slip the window shade open.

  Light comes in waves through the little oval window, first blinding me, then exposing the busy airport tarmac and gorgeous city of Frankfurt. I’m taken aback by just how different this place is compared to where I’ve just come from—how oblivious these people are to what others are going through at this very moment.

  I’m startled as an older woman slides in beside me, and I can’t help but stare. She looks like my mother, only with dirty blond hair instead of dark, which stretches the length of her back. And just like Josephine, her skin is weathered and tan. It’s as if my mom is sitting right next to me.

  Since she appears noticeably disturbed by my gawking, I pull my eyes away from her and force them to look out the window. I don’t want to think about my mom, but the woman beside me brings the memories in waves. The worst ones dominate any positive thoughts I could ever have of her. I hate her for the years I lost with her. I hate her for not letting me say goodbye. I hate her for choosing the drugs over me.