“What do you want me to say? I’ve felt this way for a while, and I refuse to apologize for doing what I need to do to be happy.”
“But I thought you were working on things. How is this working on things?” Disappointment flashes across Bailey’s face. “I can’t believe this.”
“You don’t have to believe it.” As much as I want Bailey’s support on this, I know I’m not going to get it. She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest, and frustration bubbles up inside of me. “It doesn’t concern you, Bailey. You don’t have to understand it; you don’t even have to like it.”
My skin prickles with annoyance as Bailey leaves her spot at the table and follows Maggie’s lead of shrugging on her coat and grabbing her purse. I’m not going to beg her to stay. As much as I don’t want her to leave right now, and as much as I do want to fix things between us, I refuse to let her opinion on this matter sway me at all. I know I did the right thing. “Bailey—”
With a heavy sigh, she twists around to look at me. “I don’t understand this, Katie. I don’t understand you. Wyatt is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve this.”
“He is a good man, but I did what’s best for me, Bay. That’s what I need you to understand.”
“Whatever.”
Her dismissal pisses me off, and I shove up from the chair and follow her toward the door. She reaches for the handle, and in a last ditch effort to keep her from leaving, I grab her arm. “Quit being so stubborn and let’s talk about this.”
“Pot meet kettle,” she mumbles before opening up the door, slipping through it and shutting it softly behind her. I walk numbly to the couch, dropping down with a big sigh then burying my face in my hands. What the fuck just happened?
The loud buzz of my phone vibrating from the other room grabs my attention, so I walk in and pick it up to find yet another text from Wyatt. It took about a week after our breakup before his texts came rolling in. It started with ‘I’m sorry for the way I acted’ and slowly progressed to ‘Please don’t do this, we can make this work’ and ‘I love you so much.’ Despite my numerous replies that nothing has changed and I still feel the same way, he just won’t give up.
Forgoing a reply—because it wouldn’t do any good—I decide to call it a night. I make quick work of getting ready for bed while this evening’s events play out in my head. Crawling into bed, I grab my laptop off the nightstand and power it up, deciding to quickly check my email before catching up on some much needed sleep.
I recline against my pillows, watching as my Dell slowly brings itself to life. Opening up the browser, I log into my email. The hourglass flips over and back several times on the blank screen, and I stretch my arms over my head with a big yawn. When my email finally loads, my entire body goes still—except for my heart … I’m pretty sure it’s trying to launch itself out of my chest.
A grin plays at my mouth, and I lean forward to make sure my tired eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. I’m staring at an email from Devin. Oh my God, I’m staring at an email from Devin! Excitement bubbles up inside of me, and I wipe my sweaty palms on my comforter before taking a deep breath and opening the message.
To: Katie Devora
From: Sergeant Devin U. Clay
Subject: Thank God for email
Katie,
I am so happy that I can email you now. It makes things much easier knowing I don’t have to wait three weeks for a response. So, thank you for that! I spent the better part of a twelve-hour mission today reading your letter and deciding how to respond. I’m still not sure the best way to start, so I’m going to go with my heart.
It kills me—fucking kills me—to know that I hurt you the way I did. But I want you to know something … I want your forgiveness. I need it, Katie, and I’ll work my ass off for it. And you will forgive me. It might take time and a whole lot of groveling on my part, but it will happen. One of these days when the time is right, when I think that you’re ready—when we’re ready—I’ll share with you all of the reasons behind me leaving. But now is not the time. For now, I simply want to prove to you that you can trust me, that I’m here for you, and that I’ll never hurt you like that again.
Thank you for putting your anger away and responding, especially in your time of grief. You won’t ever fully understand what that means to me. God, Katie, I can’t stop thinking about you, your dad, your whole damn family. I hate that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most, because you know I would’ve been there in a heartbeat. But I’m here for you now. I’m sure you’ve already gone through several different stages and emotions, but I want you to know you can come to me.
Speaking of emotions, I truly believe that the feelings you’re having in reaction to your father’s death are normal. All the amazing times Jax and I had together: going through Basic, graduating together, making Sergeant, drunken nights in small German towns … they aren’t what I see when I close my eyes. I only see him lying there in my arms completely lifeless, eyes closed, body limp. I think some of it has to do with not getting to say goodbye, and a lot of it has to do with wishing it was us who died and not them. I’d give anything to switch places with Jax, as I’m sure you would with your father. They call it “survivor’s guilt,” and they say it’s a bitch to get over.
Of course, that’s assuming it’s something you can actually “get over.” I don’t see it ever going away. I’m devastated that I lost him, but truthfully, I still feel him around me all the time. I think he’s watching over me, or maybe I’m just fooling myself.
You asked me how I do it … the answer is easy. I don’t. I see him when I close my eyes. He’s in my dreams, my nightmares … he’s always there. I can’t help but think that maybe we just need time, you and me. Maybe, in time, our memories won’t haunt us quite as badly. Maybe, in time, we’ll be able to process it easier. Or maybe that’s just hopeful wishing.
You are right, though (I bet you enjoy hearing that, don’t you?). I can’t let this stop me from doing my job—from getting these men home safe. It’s a burden I accepted when taking on this rank, and it’s one I take very seriously. But being in this position means much of what I feel must be restrained. I can’t let them know I’m hurting and that I’m weak. Sometimes the pressure of it all feels like it’s going to suffocate me. And other times, I feel like I’m right where I belong.
I love these guys, and the bonds I’ve formed with them are like nothing I’ve ever felt. You know I was kind of a loner growing up. I had a few friends here and there, but I didn’t really feel like I could relate to any of them. And then to come over here, to fight and bleed next to these guys, to do something so much bigger than us … it means everything. No matter how this place changes me down the road, I will always be grateful for these friendships. These men are my brothers.
It means even more when you’re seeing a real difference. When you know in your heart that you’re doing something good, something that changes the life of another human being for the better. That’s how it was in Afghanistan, but here … not so much.
Like today, for example. Something happened during a mission—something that’s left my head spinning. I don’t even know how to make sense of it all. The absolute disregard for life by these animals perplexes me. To kill a child, to steal her from her parents without regard is something I will never understand. They call us murderers. They call for our heads even, and yet they kill each other with reckless abandon. I like to think I joined the Army and deployed to this hellhole to do some sort of good—to make a difference in the world—but it doesn’t feel like we’re making much headway.