A Lover's Lament Read online

  “You’re no fun.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sure that Devin’s friend who saw my lady bits disagrees with that.” Spinning her around, I pull her into a hug, kiss her cheek and then open the door and politely shove her out.

  “Wait!” Maggie’s arm darts out, stopping the door from closing. “What about Wyatt?”

  My brows furrow. “What about Wyatt?”

  “This is huge. You’re pregnant, Katie.”

  “I’m aware,” I say with a smile. “But what does that have to do with Wyatt?”

  Maggie shrugs. “Nothing … but you guys didn’t break up that long ago. And from what you’ve told me, he’s been holding out hope for the two of you getting back together. I’ve never been a fan of his, but I hope you’re planning—”

  “I’ll take care of it,” I say, gently cutting her off. “When I went to Pennsylvania, I called and talked to him, explained where I was going and why. I made it very clear that what we had is over. But you’re right, this will be touchy, and I’ll talk to him about it as soon as I’ve had a chance to tell Dev.”

  “Okay.” She nods, seemingly pleased with my answer before spinning on her heel. “Love you!” she hollers, walking away.

  “Love you!” I yell, shutting the door.

  I walk back to my room, grab my laptop and then settle myself against the bed to wait for Devin’s request. About the time I expect it to come through, my phone rings and I see the number that is now so incredibly familiar.

  “Hey!” I croon, answering the phone. “I thought we were going to chat online?”

  “Hey, baby,” Devin says, his voice low and gravelly. It sounds as though he hasn’t slept a wink since I last talked to him, and I instantly go on high alert. “I couldn’t get the computer, and things have just been so …” He trails off, and I fight the urge to beg him to finish the sentence. Devin tries his best to shield me from a lot of what goes on over there, and as much as I appreciate it, sometimes it makes things worse because my imagination runs wild with its own scenarios.

  “Things ‘have just been so’ what?” I keep my voice soft and soothing, hoping that he’ll open up. But he doesn’t.

  “Shit, Katie.” The sound through the phone gets scratchy and I imagine he’s running a hand over his face, probably completely overwhelmed. “It’s just been a long-ass day, and I’m ready for this shit to be over.”

  “Soon. You’ll be home soon, I promise.” His response is a muffled grunt, so I press on. “Do you want to talk about it … whatever’s going on? Because I’m here, you know, if you need to get some stuff off your chest.”

  “I know,” he breathes, “and I appreciate that. But right now, I just want to forget it for a couple of minutes. Is that okay?” I open my mouth to respond, but he doesn’t give me the chance. “How was your day? Anything new?”

  Shit.

  I want nothing more than to tell him that I’m pregnant, but now just doesn’t seem like the right time. He’s got enough on his mind, enough to worry about, and if I tell him about the baby, it could shift his concentration—and that’s the last thing we need.

  “No,” I lie, cringing because I want so badly to tell him the truth. “Nothing new. I did pick up an extra shift next week for Maggie.”

  “That’s nice, baby.”

  That’s nice? Really, that’s it?

  Normally, I’d get an earful about how I should be cutting back and relaxing, since I practically ran myself into the ground. Of course, that’s been months ago now, but still, he usually has more to say than that’s nice.

  “Yup, I felt like I needed to pay her back for picking up those shifts so I could come see you in Pittsburgh.”

  “She probably appreciates that. What did she need off for?”

  Okay, well at least he’s engaging some. I just hate that he sounds so distracted. “I think Sean’s going to take her out of town. If I had to guess, I bet he’s going to propose.”

  “Awesome,” Devin says, his voice flat. “So, what are you up to the rest of the day?”

  Other than worry about you? “Hmmm … well, I have an appointment with Dr. Perry this evening, so that should be fun,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And then I’m going to have dinner with Mom and Bailey.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a full evening.”

  “Okay,” I snap, cringing when my voice comes out harsher than I’d intended. “Enough. Tell me what’s going on, and don’t say ‘nothing’ because I’m not stupid, Dev. You’re distant and distracted, and I hate hearing you like this. Let me help you, babe.”

  “You can’t help,” he growls, then quickly apologizes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you, but you can’t help. No one can help. It’s just … this shit, all of it. I’m done, Katie.”

  Dropping my head back against my pillows, I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “I know.” I sigh. “I can’t imagine what it’s like for you, but I need you to stay strong and focused”—I lay a hand on my belly, because right now those words are more true than ever—“and I need you to come home. You’re almost there.”

  “I love you. You know that, right?”

  “Of course I do, but I love you more.”

  “Never,” he says, his voice infused with so much conviction that it causes my body to shiver. “How—” Devin’s words cut off and I hear muffled voices, but I can’t understand what they’re saying. When he returns, his words are rushed and I’m left with yet another thing to worry about. “Hey baby, I hate to cut this short, but I gotta run.”

  “No worries. Will you call me later if you get a chance?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “’Bye, Dev.”

  “”Bye, Kit-Ka—”

  The line goes dead before he finishes saying goodbye. I snap my phone shut and drop it to the bed. Well, that fucking sucked. My mind races, going over our entire conversation again to make sure I didn’t miss anything, and when I come up empty, I do the only thing I can do. Like a robot, I get dressed and go about my day, knowing full well that Devin will consume every thought until I get to talk to him again.

  Soon, I remind myself, and then I’ll get to tell him about the baby—about the life growing inside of me … about the life we created.

  Our relationship may have had a rough go in the beginning, but the beginning doesn’t really matter, and truly, neither does the ending. It’s all of the substance in between that makes for a great love story—for a great relationship—and if I have any say in it, our love story is going to be epic.

  I walk toward the mirror and slowly lift my shirt. “Hey there,” I say, rubbing a hand over my stomach. “Are you ready to meet your daddy?” I ask, not caring for one second that I probably look silly talking to my belly. “It won’t be long now and he’ll be home safe and sound with us … right where he’s meant to be.”

  “Set Fire to the Third Bar”—Snow Patrol

  THE NOON SUN SITS HEAVY over this desperate Baghdad landscape. Its rays penetrate the sixty pounds of body armor I’m wearing and sear the flesh beneath. July was bad—August is worse. The M4 rifle in my hands and twelve loaded magazines strapped to my chest aren’t make things any easier, but as the team leader of these four assholes, I continue forward and keep my bitching to myself.

  We were searching for our fellow soldier and we were supposed to push forward until we found him, but now we’ve received word that we have to meet back up with the rest of our platoon and head back to base. The fear of Sergeant Adams having been found dead overtakes me. We’ve raided hundreds of houses with no sign of him and not a damn person is talking.

  Elkins and Thomas are griping behind me, but until I feel the need, I’ll keep my mouth shut. My team is staggered, our backs against a long stone wall, rifles pointed in every direction around us. Navas takes up the rear. His eyes are scrunched tightly watching our six o’clock, grenade launcher set and ready to fire.

  The bickering continues, pissing me off, and I step in. “Elkins. Thomas. What are y’all bi
tchin’ about now?” I don’t look back but proceed along the wall, tracing its exterior to where the rest of our platoon’s vehicles are located, a half-kilometer from where we are now.

  “Nothing, Sergeant,” Elkins answers, his voice ripe with resentment.

  “Elkins, you know if you’re bitchin’ loud enough for me to hear, then it’s not just nothing. Spit it out, kid.” I scan the row of homes that runs parallel to us on the other side of a small, muddied stream. The only sounds coming from that direction—or any direction, really—are some emaciated dogs rummaging through scraps.

  “It’s too quiet, Sarge,” Navas hollers, his voice gravelly and weathered. “These fuckin’ towel heads are planning something. I can feel it.”

  A wave of uncertainty washes over me, unease settling deep in my gut. “It’s August and hot as balls. They’re probably just keeping cool inside.” My words are hesitant, as if not wanting to escape my mouth at all, and I wonder briefly if my men pick up on it. Stay calm, Clay. I scan the rooftops intently, looking for any sort of movement or anything suspicious.

  “Why are they calling us back, Sarge? Why wouldn’t they just tell us if they found him or not? This is some fucking bullshit!” Elkins blurts out. I glance back in time to see Thomas smack Elkins in the arm. I shake my head and move forward, but Elkins can’t seem to shut the fuck up. “I mean, how hard is it to tell us what the fuck is going on?”

  I can’t blame him for his frustration. I want to know why they’re calling the search off too. They tell you what you need to know, and often that’s not very much. I also want to know that they’ve found Adams alive and well, but that’s not how this sort of thing works.

  I look back at them again and see the worry in Thomas’s eyes. He’s not doing well, and I know my words must be gentle.

  “Listen, we do what we are told—always. We don’t question our orders, we execute them. We’ll report back to base and figure out what’s going on soon. I’m sure they found him and just don’t need us looking anymore.”

  With my last word, a head pops up from a rooftop in the distance, and I immediately shift my rifle from ready at the hip to eye level. Elkins notices the same thing I do and whips his muzzle toward the activity with the enthusiasm of a twenty-year-old grunt with too much testosterone and not enough common sense. “Hold it, Elkins. It’s a kid.”

  I pull my weapon back down and tap the top of his muzzle for him to do the same. He lowers it, and then the four of us continue along the wall. As we pass the house, I peer up toward the child—a girl, no more than five years old—who is now standing upright and curiously gawking in our direction.

  So young. She doesn’t have a clue why we are here, or what we are doing. At this point, she doesn’t know the difference between an AK-47 and her blankie, but one day this girl will hate me just as her parents do—and as their parents did before them.

  I shake the thought from my head and nod toward the girl with a smile. She giggles before taking off, her curls bobbing on top of her head.

  “Let’s pick it up, gentlemen, not too much further—” I’m cut off by a round screeching past our position and burrowing into the wall just a few steps ahead of me. Shards burst from the concrete in every direction as the bullet rips through the mortar. I jump back, immediately fighting to collect my thoughts. Another shot whizzes by just over our heads, forcing me to react.

  “Up and over, up and over! Thomas, you lift Elkins. Navas, I got you.” I drop to a knee and interlock my fingers. Navas plunges his foot onto my hands, and with one brisk push, he hurdles atop the wall. Thomas and Elkins follow suit, and then I kneel before Thomas to do the same for him.

  Navas and Elkins stand behind the half wall with rifles, scanning the rooftops, searching for the culprit. Two more rounds come tearing in, hitting the wall just to the side of us. I hoist Thomas to the top so that the others can pull him over. Instead of joining them, Thomas shifts around and reaches an arm down for me. I sling my rifle behind my back and grab hold. His other hand reaches down further and he latches his fingers into my belt loop, giving me a tug. My free hand grips tightly onto the edge of the wall as he works at pulling me up. The sound of another round explodes through the air, and I instinctively duck my head. It tears through the hand I have grasping the wall, and I yank it back with a deep howl. As I do, my weight pulls me back toward the ground and Thomas along with me. He flips backward away from the wall and crumples to the earth like a ragdoll. Navas fires a few shots at no one in particular as I help Thomas to his feet. He’s dazed, but quickly shakes it off. I fight the pain off as best I can, blood pouring from my hand.

  “Come on, Thomas, I need to get you over.” I drop to a knee to assist him, but he shakes me off.

  “No, Sarge, your hand’s fucked. I’ll get you over first,” he says defiantly. I can’t argue because I know he’s right. I stick a boot onto his palms and he heaves me up. I shift my weight around and lock my good hand with Thomas’s just as another gunshot breaks the still air.

  Thomas’s eyes go wide and his hand goes limp in mine. A bullet now sits burrowed inside the wall, having made a pathway through his innards. He falls back, hitting the ground hard, and a pool of blood quickly stretches out around him. Before I can react, Elkins grabs my legs and yanks me down with them on the other side so hard that I fall to the ground. Navas locates the enemy on a rooftop in the distance and sends several of his own shots in that direction. Elkins does the same.

  Adrenaline kicks in, and within seconds, the pain in my hand ceases. I scramble to my feet and use an oil drum to prop myself up onto the wall, my armpits clinging to it for support. I see Thomas reaching his hand up toward us, blood pooling in his mouth as he struggles to breathe. The return fire erupting from Elkins and Navas’s rifles is muted and the wind halts, releasing grains of sand back down to the earth. Time stops. Thomas looks me square in the eye, his face void of color, and although he seems to be slipping away, his eyes are begging me for help. If they could speak, I know just what they’d say—please, don’t let me die.

  Elkins and Navas stop to reload, and three more rounds come through. One rockets past the tops of our heads. The other two rip into Thomas’s dying body, successfully yanking away any remaining life.

  I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t think. I just stare at the new contortion the round has made of his face and I’m numb. Completely numb.

  I don’t hear my team yelling for me to get down. I remain on the wall, my head still exposed to the enemy, when something inside of me snaps. I shoot my attention back to my team—a fierce determination now blazing from my eyes. “We aren’t going to fuckin’ leave him here!”

  “We aren’t saying that, Sarge. We can come back and get him once we have some support!” Elkins hollers, his voice strained and raw. He fires three more shots toward the enemy. “No way we make it out alive going back over there, Sarge. No fucking way!”

  I contemplate this for a moment as more gunfire comes crashing into our position, piercing the wall and throwing bits of rock and shrapnel into my arm and cheek. I don’t feel it, but I rub my face against my arm, clearing the blood from my eyes, and look down at Thomas, then back to Elkins and Navas.

  Before they can convince me otherwise, I pull myself completely up onto the wall as if I were weightless, and I sit on its edge. Navas calls for cover fire. I nod my head toward him, and with that I drop from the wall feet first.

  It all happens so fast that I’m left with absolutely no time to think. A rocket-propelled grenade round heads straight for me, flames streaking behind it, and just as my feet touch the ground, the explosion takes control of my body.

  The first few seconds are what I imagine hell being like. Flames race up either side of me, enveloping me in heat and blinding me of all else. The force tosses me violently into the air, and then I meet the ground so hard that all the air erupts from my lungs. I fight to breathe, struggling to put out the fire that cooks my legs—or what’s left of them. The last thing I see b
efore darkness engulfs me is a charred fusion of flesh, bone and uniform where my legs should be.

  And Katie … I see Katie.

  “Not About Angels” - Birdy

  PLEASE BE OKAY.

  Please be okay.

  Please be okay.

  Those three little words play on repeat in my head as my feet pound against the pavement. My arms pump furiously, propelling me across the parking lot. With each step my panic grows, and my heart is slamming so hard inside my chest, I’m certain it could fly right out. My lungs are burning, begging me to slow down. But I can’t … not until I see him—not until I know that he’s okay.

  Thunder rumbles through the sky followed by a loud crack of lightning, and the clouds open up, bathing me in bone-chilling rain. Pushing a chunk of sopping wet hair from my face, the doors to the hospital come into view. Almost there. Plowing my way through a group of bodies, I sprint into the waiting room. My feet hit the tile floor, sliding out from under me, and I scramble to keep myself upright.

  Everything from this point forward is a complete blur. I’m running on pure adrenaline and fear, and the need to be with Devin is consuming every single part of me. So when the blue dots that I’d been instructed to follow disappear, I look up, catching sight of a small sign hanging on the wall, and I sigh in relief.

  TRAUMA ICU

  PLEASE USE INTERCOM FOR ASSISTANCE

  ICU VISITING HOURS

  M-F 9AM – 5PM

  SAT & SUN 9AM – 7PM

  This is it.

  Devin is in there. Squeezing my eyes shut, I say a silent prayer to whoever is listening. Relief that I’m going to get to see him unfurls in my chest, and for the first time in two days I feel like I can breathe.

  A small black speaker is embedded in the wall next to the door and a tiny button is perched under it. Lifting my hand, my finger hovers above the unassuming button, and with a deep, optimistic breath, I push it. Several excruciating seconds later, a soft voice crackles through the speaker.