Reclaim

by Martinez, Aly

  “Do not ask her that. She’ll have us toting it all over the house,” Ramsey grunted, supporting the back end of the biggest Christmas tree I had ever seen.

  Nora and Thea had tagged it with a sold ticket earlier in the day while volunteering at the tree sale to benefit the ever-growing bag lunch program. It was a good-looking tree, but they had failed to mention its enormity when they’d sent Ramsey and me in a damn sedan to go pick it up. Joe had come to our rescue with his buddy’s truck then promptly disappeared when it had come time to load it up.

  “In the living room,” Nora replied. “Wait. Unless you think it would look better at the top of the stairs so you can see it from the window?”

  “See?” Ramsey hissed and then called back to his sister. “Living room it is!”

  I was all about filling the house with happiness and joy every chance I got, but a fourteen-foot Christmas tree that was almost as wide as it was tall was seriously pushing the limits.

  After Nora and I had bought the creek, we’d gotten to work on the home renovations immediately. This had led to us finding termites in almost every wall, a crack in the foundation, and electrical work that was held together by tape and a prayer.

  We had a long talk one night while going over the estimates to make the necessary repairs, including a frank discussion about our finances. Nora was planning to teach after we moved to New York, but finding a job straightaway was going to be difficult. I made good money, so we would have been fine without her income, but not if we were paying on two homes, one of which we wanted to completely overhaul. In true Nora fashion, she hugged me tight and told me the creek house could wait until we had time to save up for it. All she needed was me.

  I understood exactly what she was saying because all I needed was her. Yes, we could have waited and made improvements little by little on a house that would work and be fine for us. But fine was not what I wanted for Nora Stewart ever again.

  I wanted her to smile every morning when she woke up.

  I wanted her to feel safe and proud each time she walked in the door.

  I wanted her to have something that was even half as beautiful as she would always be to me.

  So I presented her with a proposal. No, not that kind of proposal—yet. But rather, what better way to get back at my dad than to live happily ever after? I had my inheritance tucked in a bank account out of my sight, doing nothing productive other than reminding me of how worthless he’d made me feel growing up. I saved it for things I knew he’d hate but things that meant a lot to me. And trust me—nothing would have pissed him off more than to see me tearing down a house in order to build a new one when I was already going to be upside down on the land, all so I could live in sin with a woman—a Stewart woman at that.

  It would have been wasteful, stupid, and flat-out disrespectful to the Lord.

  And. I. Was. Stoked.

  Nora shrugged and told me to follow my heart.

  I bulldozed the house by the end of the week. It took six months to build our new four-bedroom, three-bath two-story, complete with wraparound porches on both levels and our very own hot tub out back. But when it was done, the awe on Nora’s face as she walked through the door for the first time made it the best money I’d ever spent.

  “Whoa,” Thea breathed as Ramsey and I made it to the living room. “Is that thing going to fit in here?”

  “It better,” I replied. “Otherwise, we’re laying it on its side and having a Christmas log this year.”

  “It’ll fit. I measured,” Nora said, walking into the room, her hair a mess, flour covering her black-and-pink apron.

  I cocked an eyebrow at her. “What happened to you? Did you lose another fight with the new mixer?”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha,” she deadpanned. “And also yes. I knew I should have brought mine down with us. Next year, remind me.”

  “Right. I’ll add it to next year’s mental packing list right now.” I smiled.

  She stuck her tongue out at me. “Just put the tree in the corner, smartass.”

  Nora and I still lived in New York most of the year. Much to my surprise, she loved the big-city life. Well, strike that—she loved visiting the city. We lived in a sleepy suburb of New Jersey where she taught at an elementary school not far from our house. I might have been biased, but I’d always thought the kids who ended up in Miss Stewart’s—eventually Mrs. Cole’s—class won the lottery of sorts.

  Nora and I had taken our time building our relationship—a lot of time. As much as I would love to say it was all hearts and flowers, that would be a lie. Like most things in life, we were a constant work in progress—changing and evolving faster than the seasons. But through it all, we held on to each other, leaned on each other, and loved each other without condition or restraint.

  Around the five-year mark, time sped up for us. People had been asking us for years when we were going to settle down and get married. We always laughed because we were as settled as two people could get. It was just without a ring on her finger, which somehow made it less permanent. We didn’t need a ring or a piece of paper though. Nora and I were happy.

  Until Thea had a baby.

  Joseph James Stewart changed our lives all over again.

  With Ramsey and Thea living in Washington State, we didn’t get to see them as often as any of us would have liked, but for Joseph’s first Thanksgiving, the whole Stewart/Hull/Cole family flew out.

  Watching Nora’s blinding smile as she smothered that baby in kisses breathed an urgency into my veins that was somehow as primal as it was romantic.

  We’d talked about kids. We both wanted them. It just never seemed like the right time.

  But hadn’t I been the one to once tell her that time was wasting?

  We were lying in bed later that night when she announced, “I want a baby.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I breathed, slapping a hand over my heart. “I’ve been sitting here for the last three hours trying to figure out how to ask you for a baby when I haven’t even proposed yet.”

  She laughed. “You don’t have to propose. I locked you down years ago.”

  Rolling onto my side, I brushed the hair off her face and asked, “Okay, but what if I want to get married? And not just because I want babies, but also because I want a baby and have loved you my entire life and, while our love has never been anything other than forever, maybe it’s time we let the world in on that?”

  She leaned in and brushed her nose with mine, murmuring, “Then let’s get married.”

  It wasn’t exactly a proposal, but it was us.

  We went ring shopping as soon as we got home, where she picked out a modest diamond that made me roll my eyes. It was safe to say it was not the rock I slid onto her finger when I got down on one knee later that night after a candlelit dinner that, while cliché, also made her cry, so I took it as a win.

  We might have dated for five years, but Nora and I went from zero to sixty in a matter of weeks after that. Not even a month later, we surprised the whole family with a beach wedding in Jamaica. It was something fun and different for us, even if Thea was pissed we hadn’t let her plan the trip. It also served as something Nora would later call a babymoon because Owen Ramsey Cole was born nine months later.

  That little boy immediately became our entire world. As I’d expected, Nora was an incredible mom, and to hear her tell it, I was doing a damn good job breaking the mold from my childhood too.

  Ramsey and I gently set the giant Christmas tree down, the tree stand making it even taller, but with mere inches to spare, it cleared the ceiling. Collectively, we all blew out a sigh of relief.

  “All right.” I clapped. “Ladies, let the decorating begin. Ramsey and I will be—”

  “Oh, no you don’t. We have lights to hang and popcorn to thread. Boys!” she called. “Time to decorate!”

  A stampede of kids came barreling from the playroom. Ramsey and Thea had welcomed Andrew a few months before Owen was born, so along with Joseph, those three were lik
e a pack of wolves destroying everything in their path.

  Owen slammed on the brakes the minute he saw me, skidding across the wood floor on socked feet. “Daddy!” he yelled as though I’d just come back from war and not a twenty-minute trip to pick up the tree. He was a daddy’s boy.

  And yeah, I fucking loved it.

  It was scary how much he looked like me. His hair was darker, but the blue eyes were mine—something that thrilled his mother.

  My mother, on the other hand, had never come around to the idea of me being with Nora. We hadn’t spoken in years, but after Owen was born, I’d thought she’d at least want to know she had a grandson. She hung up on me. And to be honest, it was startling how much I did not give one flying fuck.

  I loved my life.

  I loved my wife.

  I loved my kid.

  As far as I was concerned, I had it all.

  If she didn’t want to factor into that happiness, it was for the best she stayed gone.

  Besides, Owen had some pretty great grandparents on Nora’s side.

  “Ho! Ho! Ho!” Joe said as he came through the front door, a massive stack of presents cradled in his arms.

  “Papa!” all the kids yelled, racing toward him.

  Misty was right behind him, unfortunately holding a Crockpot. “Hot plate coming through.”

  Being the gentleman I was—and also needing to steel my stomach for whatever was inside—I walked over and took it from her hands.

  “Oh, wow. Pot roast,” I announced.

  She patted me on the chest. “I know the girls are cooking tonight, but I couldn’t resist making your favorite. I threw in a few extra artichoke hearts, so there should be plenty for you to have leftovers.”

  “Mmmm,” I hummed, internally gagging. Yes, she put artichokes in her pot roast. Sadly, that was not the worst part. “You are too good to me. I’ll just put this in the kitchen.”

  Nora followed behind me, giggling with every step.

  Setting the pot on the counter, I glanced around the corner to be sure Misty was out of earshot. Then I turned on my evil wife. “You told her it was my favorite, didn’t you?”

  “Uh, technically, it was Thea.” She bit her bottom lip. “But I didn’t correct her.”

  Grabbing her hand, I gave her a tug, pulling her against me. “If you weren’t carrying my daughter, I’d—”

  “Shhhh!” She slapped a hand over my mouth. “We aren’t telling them until after dinner.”

  I tilted my head, freeing my mouth. “You mean if I make it through dinner.”

  “Does it help if I tell you I made banana pudding for dessert?”

  “Maybe.” I leaned over and caught her mouth in a kiss. “Or maybe you can make it up to me later tonight down by the creek.”

  “Awesome. So I can catch pneumonia?”

  I scoffed. “You’re not going to catch pneumonia. We’ve never caught anything down by that creek.”

  She peered up at me, her golden-brown eyes sparkling with more love than I ever knew possible, and smirked. “I caught you, didn’t I?”

  The End

  Preview of Release

  Twelve years, eight months, three weeks, four days, twelve hours, and thirty-seven minutes.

  That was how long it had been since my heart took a single beat without a searing pain piercing through my chest.

  That was how long it had been since my future exploded, leaving me on my knees, lost in the wreckage.

  That was how long he’d been gone.

  I lifted my gaze from my watch as Nora’s car slowed to a stop at the guard station. The corrections officer took our driver’s licenses, and Nora prattled off all the usual answers about why we were there. It was the same old song and dance. One I knew well after…

  Twelve years, eight months, three weeks, four days, twelve hours, and thirty-eight minutes.

  He pressed a button to lift the metal arm and we drove around the corner to the second guard station. That was where my familiarity of the process ended.

  I’d never been allowed through the second gate, despite the fact that I’d spent two hours every other week sitting in my car in the parking lot. This time was different though. Nora wasn’t there for a visit. And I wasn’t there to warm the chill in my veins knowing he was somewhere nearby.

  “Breathe,” Nora ordered after the guard had instructed her to follow the road around to the side of the building.

  I couldn’t breathe though. I could barely keep my heart beating. Vital functions were no longer involuntary but rather an arduous task that made every inhale feel like I was pushing a boulder up a mountain.

  He was in there. My Ramsey, the boy who had branded my soul in ways time could never heal.

  Tears flooded my vision as I imagined the seventeen-year-old with chocolate-brown eyes and shaggy hair. Ramsey didn’t look like that anymore though. He was almost thirty now, but I still dreamed of him as the tall, lanky boy who had once held me in his arms and loved me with his entire being.

  For us, love was the original four-letter word.

  I was in fifth grade the first time we heard, “Ramsey and Thea sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” We were told first comes love, then marriage, then a baby in a baby carriage. No one mentioned that love would also be the most devastating emotion we would ever experience.

  As I got older, I heard people preach that love is patient and love is kind. And I could have jumped on that train if the Bible verse didn’t also contain the biggest lie of all: Love never fails.

  For Ramsey, it did.

  Love failed him.

  I failed him.

  The entire fucking world failed him.

  Love was a curse. Make no mistake about it.

  But Ramsey was my curse. And there was nothing that could change that. Not even twelve years, eight months, three weeks, four days, twelve hours, and forty, no…forty-one minutes.

  Since the judge had banged his gavel, I’d been counting down every excruciating minute leading up to that very moment. Now that it had finally arrived, I was utterly terrified. The what-ifs of our reunion ricocheted in my head like a symphony of nightmares I couldn’t escape.

  I had faith though. What Ramsey and I shared was not a light switch that could be turned on or off at will. Our bond was sewn into the very fabric of our lives. Without Ramsey Stewart, there was no Thea Hull. That wasn’t because of some twisted codependent obsession.

  I didn’t need him in order to breathe.

  I didn’t need him in order to smile.

  I didn’t need him in order to be happy.

  But under those parameters, I didn’t exactly need my left arm, either.

  I wanted him beside me every morning as the first ray of the sun warmed my skin.

  I wanted his contagious laugh echoing in my car as we drove out to the hayfield—sometimes to make out, sometimes to sit in unbelievably comfortable silence together.

  I wanted to travel the world with him before settling down to have a family the way we had always planned.

  Bits and pieces of Ramsey were intertwined in everything I’d ever wanted in life. He was my family. My best friend. The yin to my yang. The heart to my beat. But in the years since he’d been locked away, everything had been on hold. I’d grown up. Gone to college. Started my own business. But nothing was ever the same without having him there to experience it with me.

  That wasn’t the way it was supposed to have happened.

  We were supposed to get out of Clovert, travel the world hand in hand.

  Instead, we’d been forced to wait twelve years, eight months, three weeks, four days, twelve hours, and forty-two minutes to start our lives together.

  My stomach rolled and my hands shook with a unique mixture of grief, guilt, and pure exhilaration. Over the years, I’d labeled it as the Ramsey Stewart trifecta. For too long, it had devoured me each time someone mentioned his name. And for a small town in Georgia with nothing better to do, people loved to mention his name.

 
They’d heard what had happened. They talked. They judged. They made up lies.

  But I knew the truth because I knew Ramsey better than anyone else.

  Nora and I lived a quiet life together. We’d bought a house about half an hour away from our old neighborhood. She was a proud first grade teacher, and I’d opened a successful internet travel agency in the small space next door to my father’s barbershop. We were two independent women, neither of whom needed a roommate. But since the day we’d lost half of our hearts, Nora Stewart had never left my side.

  I pretended it was because she’d lost her big brother and needed someone to lean on, but I knew she was there to take care of me. I told her almost every day that she didn’t have to. She ignored me. Just like her brother would have.

  A puzzle of tan buildings surrounded by chain link fences and barbwire came into view as we made our way up the hill.

  He was in there.

  Oh, God, he was in there.

  “Thea, stop. You’re making me nervous here,” Nora said, pulling into a parking spot in the virtually empty lot.

  “I can’t stop. He’s coming home.”

  “I know,” she whispered, shooting me a smile that looked so much like his that it caused a sharp pain in my chest. “It’s almost over.”

  It wasn’t though. He was being released three years and some change early and would have to spend the next thirty-six months strictly adhering to the conditions of his parole.

  But he’d be free.

  And he could come home.

  And he could be mine again. Twelve years, eight months, three weeks, four days, twelve hours, and forty-three minutes, and he could finally be mine again.

  “What time is it?” I asked Nora, physically unable to drag my eyes off the chain link gates.

  “Twelve thirty.”

  God, how was I ever going to get through another thirty minutes of torture? I was exhausted and my entire body ached, but I was so damn close to pressing play on my life again. After pulling the visor down, I busied my trembling hands by smoothing my long, brown hair. I’d done the best I could with concealer to hide the bags under my pale-green eyes. It was a lost cause. Sleep had been a fruitless effort in the weeks since I’d found out he was coming home.