The Flawed Heart Series

by Wade, Ellie

  Our life has love, beauty, and purpose. I can’t think of anything better.

  “We’re free next weekend, right?” I ask London.

  “Yeah, we are.”

  “Oh, good. I thought we were. Sarah wants to visit.”

  “Oh, great!” London exclaims. “I miss Evan.”

  “Me, too.” I grin, thinking about my adorable two-year-old nephew.

  She takes a sip of coffee. “Is Dixon coming, too?”

  “Yep, Dick can make it,” I answer with a chuckle.

  “Awesome. So, they’re still doing well?”

  “Yeah, Sarah says they’re doing awesome.”

  Sarah and Dixon hooked up after our wedding this past spring and have been dating since. I’m so happy for both of them. Dixon is a great man, and he loves Sarah and Evan.

  “Oh, look.” London points toward the large oak tree behind our porch. “Poppy and Pooh are getting so big.”

  I look over to see our resident raccoon family climbing up the tree. London named the mama Priscilla, and her babies were named Poppy and Pooh. The babies have more than doubled in size since we first saw them when we moved in a couple of months ago.

  “Yeah, they’re not really babies anymore, are they?”

  “I wonder how long they’ll stay with Priscilla before they venture out on their own,” London says.

  “I’m not sure. Hopefully through the winter.” I shrug.

  “I need to place more food out to make sure they get really fat before hibernation. Raccoons hibernate, right?”

  I smile wide, squeezing her hand in mine. “I think so. Don’t worry; they’re doing just fine. They’re already pretty plump.”

  “I know, but more food won’t hurt them.”

  We watch the mama and her babies until they disappear up the tree.

  London lets go of my hand and turns on her side to face me. “So, what do you want to do today?”

  “You,” I respond simply.

  London laughs and then flashes me an easy smile that makes my heart stutter. “Is that so?”

  “It’s definitely so.”

  “Well, I might be able to make that happen,” she says with an alluring voice and burning eyes. She stands, leaving her chair, and straddles me in mine.

  The casual morning atmosphere has disappeared, leaving us in a fog of lust.

  I feel her warm breath on my skin as her soft lips kiss up my neck until they reach my mouth. Kneading her back with my hands, I hold her close as my mouth ravishes hers.

  Our lips collide. Our tongues clash. Shared moans resonate.

  I love this woman more every day, and just when I think I couldn’t possibly love her more, the sun rises, bringing a new day, and my heart is full of even more adoration for my wife.

  London rips her mouth from mine and makes quick work of removing our clothes, leaving us bare and ready. Reaching my hands out in front of me, I smooth my palms across her skin, branding her with my touch. Every inch of her body is so soft and insanely sexy. She drives me crazy every second of every day with how beautiful she is.

  Biting her bottom lip, her eyes heavy, her hair tousled and sexy, she wastes no time. She firmly grabs me, placing me at her entrance, and slides down onto my shaft with an intoxicating groan of pleasure. My fingers squeeze her ass as she starts to move atop me.

  The sounds of nature have faded away, giving voice to our panting, jagged and raw breaths, the slapping of our bodies coming together, and finally, to our moans of pleasure.

  London collapses on top of me, her face against my chest. “Your heartbeat’s so strong,” she sighs against my skin.

  “Because it’s beating for you,” I answer with the truth.

  In this ever-moving sea of life, I’m an imperfect vessel, unable to predict what the next wave will bring. There’s only one thing I’m certain of. Regardless of where this life might take me, every wild beat of my flawed heart will be for London.

  So long ago, as a scared little boy, I would wish to go to London where I could be happy. What I didn’t realize then that I do now is that a place doesn’t have the power to heal, but people do.

  Salvation isn’t found in geography but in love.

  I was right to pray for London because it turns out that I needed her all along. I had to experience the overwhelming force of loving someone as much as I do her. It’s that fierce love that enabled me to save myself.

  Loving London is what makes me who I am. She’s the only one who’s ever penetrated deep into my heart.

  Loving London saved me. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing her how very grateful I am.

  These are some organizations dedicated to helping veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan with PTSD and depression.

  The Headstrong Project

  The Wounded Warrior Project

  Freedom Alliance

  Healing Warrior Hearts

  National Coalition for Homeless Veterans

  Mission 22

  Stop Soldier Suicide

  National Center for PTSD

  Copyright © 2017 by Ellie Wade

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.elliewade.com

  Cover Designer: Regina Wamba, Mae-I-Design

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-944495-05-3

  Loïc

  “I like to think that I’m strong—maybe I am—but even the mightiest of men need a reason to fight, and London is mine.”

  —Loïc Berkeley

  My chest expands as I inhale, fighting to pull in the air I desperately need. My head aches from lack of oxygen, yet none comes. Only dread. Fear.

  I’m consumed, drowning in panic, enveloped in pain.

  Taking in his face causes more agony because I know what’s about to happen. I’m going to lose him and possibly myself. This is it. The next second is going to alter the course of my life forever.

  It’s over, and all I can do is scream…

  “Loïc.”

  I vaguely register my name as a soft, sweet voice resonates deep within my mind.

  “Loïc, you’re okay. Wake up. It’s just a dream. You’re okay,” she repeats.

  I recognize the voice.

  My London.

  “Loïc,” she says again as her hand glides across my chest, slick with sweat.

  “Hey,” I respond weakly, letting her know I’m okay.

  “You had a nightmare,” she says into the dark space.

  I let out a long breath. “Yeah.”

  “You haven’t had one in so long. Was it bad?” she asks, concerned.

  “It was about Cooper again.” I swallow hard, my throat dry.

  My mind is almost always crammed with thoughts of my best friend, my brother. I can’t shake his memory or that final look on his face before the grenade exploded. Part of me thinks that little asshole is doing it on purpose. It’d be so like Cooper to haunt me for all eternity. He was always a little intrusive, constantly in my business.

  My lips slightly tilt up, and warmth invades my chest, calming my racing heart, as I imagine Cooper with a huge smile on his face, somewhere out there—wherever we go when we leave our lives here. I can see him, happy and laughing, proud of his ability to still insert himself into my life.

  London wraps her arm around my middle. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I kiss the top of her head.

  “I wonder what
triggered it.”

  “It’s Tommy.”

  Tommy is a kid, just turned nineteen. He recently joined my PTSD group at the VA. He’s freshly back from deployment with two fewer legs than he left with. His body was ripped apart by an IED.

  “The new guy you were telling me about?” she asks.

  “Yeah. He just brings me back, you know?”

  Yesterday, Tommy showed up to my group with that vacant look in his eyes. I’ve seen that look before. Hell, I had it. I know the hopelessness, the all-consuming desperation, that surrounds Tommy. I hope he has enough inner strength left to fight. The hollow expression he carries is haunting, and it takes me back to a very dark part of my life. I just pray I reach him in time.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” London entwines her bare legs with mine, pulling us closer. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine. Let’s just go back to sleep.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” I nod.

  “Okay.” London places a soft kiss against my chest. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I mindlessly trace circles against her smooth skin as her breathing slows. A silky lock of her hair falls onto her cheek, and I gently swipe it back. I take in her peaceful face, just visible from the faint early morning light. I envy the serenity that surrounds her.

  I’m happier than I’ve ever been. This life that London and I have built is nothing short of a gift. I’m blessed to wake up to this woman every day. It’s a privilege to be on the receiving end of her endless love. It’s a life, until recently, I never knew was possible, and I’ll never take it for granted. Not a minute of it.

  Yet the truth of it is that the nights are still hard. When darkness covers the earth and my head hits the pillow, I lose all pretense of control. My mind is an unguarded vault, a tomb filled with horrors that too often escape and terrorize my nights.

  It’s a reality I’ve learned to live with. Nightmares don’t come every evening. They vary in severity, some easier to swallow than others. I manage…pretty well, I’d say. I’m luckier than most.

  I hate that I woke London tonight. I try not to burden her with my dark thoughts. Not that she would mind. Honestly, I’m sure she’d rather know, so she could help me. She’d do anything for me. But it’s not a weight she needs to carry because the fact is, there’s nothing she can do about it. It just is what it is. My life will always contain flashbacks, regrets, and pain. One can’t see the things I have and just forget. But I try to make each day count, to give back, to help.

  As I lie here, holding London in my arms, I listen to her shallow breaths. I press my face into her hair, smelling the scent of her new shampoo. In the silence of dawn, I hear the deep sound of the repetitive drum of her heart—a heart that beats for me.

  She is the light amid so much darkness. My sanctuary isn’t a place; it’s a person. London will forever be my safe haven. She has no idea, but she continues to save me each and every day. I like to think that I’m strong—maybe I am—but even the mightiest of men need a reason to fight, and London is mine.

  When I walk into the house, I hear the keys on the computer clicking away as London talks to someone on speakerphone, and I immediately recognize the voice as her friend Kate, who lives in California.

  “Oh my gosh! I know, right?” London says in a valley girl voice.

  London sees me and tells Kate that they’ll chat later.

  “Hey, babe. How was work?” she asks cheerfully.

  “Great. How was your day?”

  “Awesome. I’m almost done with this article, and I got a job in Savannah in two weeks. Do you think you’ll be able to get some time off and come with me?”

  “I think that can be arranged.” I plop down on the couch beside her, kicking my feet up onto the coffee table. “It still amazes me how you can type one thought while talking on the phone about something else. I can’t do that.”

  “I’m gifted. What can I say?” She shrugs before closing her laptop and setting it down beside her.

  She throws one of her legs over my lap to straddle me. “Your fatigues are a major turn-on,” she tells me, pulling on the collar of my uniform.

  I smile. “I know. You tell me daily.” I wrap my hands around her waist.

  “That’s because, every day, I’m reminded of how hot my husband is.”

  London bends forward, bringing her lips to mine. Her mouth lightly touches me, and my heart skips a beat before it begins to accelerate.

  This inherent connection I have with London has always been present. Even at the very beginning when it was unwelcome, it existed. She’s mine, and I’m hers. There’s not a doubt in my mind that we’ll always be together.

  Our lips move together, slow, purposeful, void of any urgent desperation. After almost a year of marriage, her kisses still light a bright fire within me, rendering me incapable of thinking about anything other than her.

  Even without her kisses, she’s perpetually on my mind. I carry her with me wherever I go and in whatever I do. She’s my constant, my life.

  She pulls away, and a soft groan escapes us both.

  “There’s nothing more I’d like to do than take these hot-ass fatigues off you and show you just how much they turn me on, but…”

  “But?” I quirk up a brow.

  “I’m starving,” she states simply. “Like, my-stomach-is-about-to-eat-my-other-organs starving.”

  “What’d you eat today?”

  “Coffee and gummy bears.” She shrugs.

  “Babe, one cannot exist on coffee and sugar alone.” I shake my head, my lips turning up in a grin.

  “I bet they can.”

  “What happened to going grocery shopping today?”

  “I couldn’t. I tried, but I couldn’t.” She sighs.

  “You did not try.” I laugh.

  “Yes, I did.” Her gorgeous brown eyes widen. “I looked at my shoes and everything. I just couldn’t will myself to put them on. Grocery shopping sucks. You know it does.”

  “It does.” I nod. “What do you feel like?”

  She presses her lips together in a line, thinking. “Thai or Mexican…or both! Yes, let’s do both!”

  “We’re not going to two restaurants. Pick one.”

  “I can’t. I’m too weak.” In dramatic fashion, she places her forearm against her head. “You pick.”

  “Okay, we’ll go to that Thai place downtown.”

  London grabs my shoulders. “No, pizza. Let’s do pizza. Moretti’s has the best ranch. Let’s go there. I need a meal with ranch.”

  “That works.” I lift London off my lap. “Let me go get changed really quick.” I lean in and give her a small kiss on the lips. “And you’re the only person I know who bases their meal on the condiment.” I chuckle.

  London follows me into the bedroom. “That can’t be true. Everyone craves food based on the condiment. You feel like honey mustard, so you get chicken strips. You feel like ranch, you get pizza. You feel like salsa, Mexican. You feel like spicy mustard and sweet and sour sauce, Chinese. Ketchup, something with a side of fries. Mayonnaise, a burger. I could go on and on. Food is only as good as the condiment that accompanies it.”

  “So you’ve told me—many times.” I throw on a T-shirt. “That’s what I’m saying. No one takes their love of condiments as far as you do.”

  “If they don’t, they should. It only makes the meal.”

  “You should write a book about it.” I wave my hand out in front of me as I say, “The World of Food According to London.”

  “Yes!” She stands in front of the mirror and applies lip color. “You know it’d be a best seller.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt. If anyone can fill a three-hundred-page novel with condiment etiquette, it’s you.”

  She fans her mouth with her hand in what I can only assume is an effort to dry her newly bright red lips.

  “Why are you putting on lipstick? We’re going to go eat greasy pizza.”

>   She rubs her lips together before making a kissy face at the mirror. Turning, she grabs my hand. “It won’t come off. It’s LipSense.”

  We head out of the room.

  “Oh, is that the magic lip stuff Paige got you hooked on?”

  “Yes, it is, and I’m obsessed. I shall never leave the house without it. This is a new color—Fly Girl. I just got it today. What do you think?”

  “I think you look gorgeous—as always.” I squeeze her hand. “You don’t need magic lips to be beautiful though.”

  “Aw, thanks, babe.” She lifts up onto her tiptoes and kisses me. Then, she drags her finger across my lips before showing it to me. “See? Nothing there. It’s magic.”

  I chuckle and kiss her again. “Let’s go eat.”

  In the truck, London’s attention is back on condiments as she cheerfully talks about ketchup brands and the merits of each one as we drive toward the restaurant.

  My chest fills with gratitude for her, for everything that led me to her, for this life. She’s the wish I never knew to ask for. Life with London is a gift.

  I know London’s the one I’m supposed to be with because everything we do, no matter how mundane it seems, is accompanied by a joy so great that it still leaves me speechless.

  London

  “In all the fairy tales, there’s the happily ever after—the pivotal moment that every little girl dreams of reaching. Yet it’s this, right here—the life after the happily ever after—that’s the true gift.”

  —London Berkeley

  A cloud of steam rushes out before me as soon as I open the bathroom door. The cool air of the hotel room feels incredible against my heated skin, now a light pink from the hot shower.

  My eyes are immediately drawn to Loïc sitting up against the headboard of the large king-size bed in nothing but his fitted boxers. I stop in my tracks, pulling in a deep breath, as I take in the handsome man who is my husband. We’ve been married for just over a year now, and he continues to steal my breath simply by existing.