Heartbreak Warfare

by Heather M. Orgeron

  “It’s okay, Katy,” I assure her as I pull out the chair across from her and sit. “But I’m not gonna go easy on ya.”

  “Pshh.” She waves me off then wraps her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head like she means business. “Prepare to have your ass handed to you, Captain.”

  I’ve missed this playful side to her. Still, even with all the progress she’s made, it only comes in waves. She has her highs and lows, but the lows aren’t quite as devastating and the highs more frequent. “I’d prefer to have your ass handed to me,” I tease.

  Her cheeks get rosy, and I take it as a good sign. A few months ago, she’d have lost it over my insinuating anything sexual between us, but not anymore. I’m hoping it’s something she looks forward to as well, and that one day it’s going to happen. It’s been two weeks since the night she let it all go, and instead of retreating in a corner to sulk, I stepped up while trying to swallow the whole of all she told me. Blame is a fucking exceptional tool. The ultimate excuse, but when it comes down to it, I find myself hard-pressed to toss it around so freely, especially after knowing the full story. Just hearing the details were enough to change me from the inside out. It was the bleakness in her eyes as she recalled what she endured. The torture in her voice when she explained the events that unfolded. Those were the hardest things to take.

  And she wasn’t alone. A man who had no fucking right to love her, did, and eased her time in purgatory while stealing her heart away from me.

  I’d judged him fairly, and a part of me has to recognize the fact that I misjudged him as well. But the lines are still clearly drawn. He’s my worst fucking enemy when it comes to fighting for my family. I won’t fault him for falling in love with her; I can’t—I was just as helpless. Her confession helped me to reclaim my patience, and more so a level of forgiveness I can work with.

  None of this has been easy on any of us, but my wife is a survivor. Regardless of how little or how much of her I got back, it’s worth it—she’s worth it—and it took hearing her story to put that into perspective. I’ve regained her trust and her friendship, and she’s steadily working to gain mine.

  She clears her throat, looking up at me beneath her long lashes. “Deuces Wild.”

  Katy deals and I’m up first. I toss a card down and add the two of clubs she deals me to my hand, right alongside the two of spades and hearts.

  Her eyes narrow, assessing me as she fans her own cards and tosses a chip in to up the ante.

  I match her, and she calls me.

  “Damn! That’s a good hand,” she exclaims with mock shock before a devilish smile appears and she smacks her cards down.

  “Ohh, Captain, did that hurt?” She groans as she clutches her chest.

  “No, but it’s going to hurt you if you moan like that again.”

  She bites her lip and smiles. She likes my flirting, and my whole body draws tight at the idea that this, us, could lead to more.

  Can I forgive her?

  Scanning her features, I drink her in—my beautiful wife, the woman who asked me a question when we met, and I answered with my future, laying it at her feet.

  I will forgive her, and I’ll keep the rest of my promises—our vows and anything else she needs. Emotions running, she deals, and we go a few more rounds.

  “Boom!” she yells, pulling the chips in as she gives me a wry smile.

  “Shit,” I grumble, pretending to care. But I’d let her win every round to see her so confident and cocky.

  Dear Lord, she’s sexy, with her little blonde ringlets escaping the nest of curls on top of her head, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

  “Let’s see ’em.” She taps the table before sitting back in her seat and crossing her arms on her chest, waiting for me to lay them out.

  With a groan, I show my hand.

  Katy’s eyes go wide across from me, her face paling as I follow her line of sight to the TV.

  “Gavin,” she whispers as her eyes fill. As if in a trance, she rises from her seat, moving to the living room.

  “…former prisoner of war Christopher Briggs is in critical condition after being shot down during an explosion in a Baghdad market.”

  “No,” Katy gasps, grappling for the back of the couch to keep herself from collapsing to the floor. “No. No, Briggs. No Briggs!”

  Something happens to me in this moment while watching my wife fall to pieces over the man I’ve spent damn near a year despising. Every ounce of anger I still harbored over their affair just evaporates as I’m engulfed with the sounds of her raw, guttural cries. Witnessing her heartbreak—the sheer devastation—it shreds me.

  “Katy,” I whisper into her ear as my arms wrap around her chest, holding her close. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” I kiss the side of her face. “Shhh. We don’t know anything yet.”

  She begins thrashing in my arms, screaming like she’s just lost the love of her life.

  I’m no longer the love of her life.

  “Breathe, Katy. Just breathe.”

  Her chest heaves, her nails biting into my forearms, which are crossed on her chest. “I—I. Oh, God, Gavin.” She tries to move away, the guilt she feels for loving this man written so clearly on her face.

  “Shhh. Don’t. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. Just let me be here for you.”

  My wife turns in my arms, her hands fisting the front of my shirt, inconsolable.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whimpers, barely able to catch breaths between sobs. “Will you call Roger?”

  “He’s not reachable,” I say honestly.

  “Please, Gavin, I just want to know if he’s okay. Please.”

  “I’ll try, Katy. I swear to you.”

  Another sob bursts from her chest as I carry my wife over to the couch. For the first time since returning home from war, she allows me to cradle her into my arms. I hold her while she cries for him, her pain echoing my own. And once again, we’re both lost.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Katy

  The sound of my phone buzzing on the coffee table rouses me from a restless slumber.

  I’m in that place between sleep and awake, where I know there’s got to be a significant reason I’m waking up on the sofa, fully clothed—why my eyes are sticking together with dried tears—but I’m not yet cognizant enough to remember what that reason is.

  “Hello.”

  “Katy.” The alarm in my sister’s voice has me bolting upright. It all comes back like a ton of bricks crashing down on my heart. Immobilizing me. Suffocating me.

  “Sammy, I can’t talk. I can’t talk, okay?”

  “I’m on my way,” she says, just as I end the call.

  I reach for the remote on the coffee table, turning the television on and flipping through all major networks. When there’s no immediate news on Briggs, I move to my laptop left open on the kitchen table, muting the classic country still wafting from the speakers from my date with Gavin last night.

  Sergeant Briggs…shot in the chest…critically wounded…touch and go.

  My eyes scan dozens of articles, all reporting the same thing. Nothing more recent than the initial reports, when all I need to know is how he is right now.

  After searching only a few minutes, I discover the name of his grandmother, Susan Briggs. Those damn Wikipedia articles on Chris and me finally coming in handy for something. Thanking God for modern technology and the fact that his Gran has been slow with the times and still has a landline, I manage to find her number in a matter of minutes.

  Hello, you’ve reached Susie. I’m unavailable at the moment, but please leave your name and number, and I’ll call you back. God bless.

  “Hi, Susan. This is Kathryn Scott. I’m the woman who—” would walk through fire to get any word from your grandson. “The woman who was captured with your grandson in Baghdad, and I was really hoping to talk to you. To—to check on Br—Chris. Please, if you get the chance, could you give me a call back?” I rattle off my number and end the ca
ll with, “Thank you so much.”

  Goddamn it, Briggs, why? Why’d you have to play with fire?

  His voice rolls over me like a shock wave.

  He gets you, and I get war.

  In this moment, I feel toxic.

  Racing to the half bath downstairs, I purge myself of the guilt, retching out the fear before washing my face in the sink. In a matter of minutes my son will be up, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, he’ll see what I can’t possibly hide.

  I’m not your soldier.

  Let me go.

  “Never,” I reply, as my heart begins to thrum with the love I’ve been keeping at bay. It’s rushed back full force—the gravity of it threatening to knock me down as I scramble to keep myself upright.

  Moving toward the kitchen, I hear a tapping at the back door.

  “Gavin,” I croak when I unlock it, finding him standing on the porch. The defeat in his posture brings it all back. My reaction last night to the news about Chris, and the way he held me, crying over the man who came between us. Guilt consumes me once again. I’m begging my heart to stop. But I can’t. I can no longer deny a damn thing I’m feeling because my heart refuses to be stifled.

  “Can I come in?” His eyes are rimmed in red like he hasn’t slept in days. He lifts his right hand to cup my face, his thumb tenderly brushing away my tears.

  “It’s your house,” I reply, letting the guilt run down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. Jesus, you must hate me so much,” I say, wiping at my nose. It’s the resignation on his face that scares me the most as I take a step back and he slips past me with gentle words. “I’m not here to guilt you. That’s not why I’m here, Katy.”

  Nodding, I move to sit on the couch, knowing he’ll follow. The couch dips with his weight as I stare at the pattern on the throw pillow in my lap, worrying the fringe between my fingertips. Anything to avoid facing the pain I know I’m inflicting upon him.

  We sit in an endless silence before I manage to lift my eyes to his.

  “I love you.”

  “I know,” he replies quickly. “And I know how much.”

  “I don’t know what to say; I’m mortified with what I’ve done to you.”

  “I got to hold my wife in my arms for the first time in eight months, Katy. I needed that more than you.”

  “Not the way it happened.”

  “Maybe not,” he agrees, “but I’ll stay selfish about it and take it for myself.”

  “Can you ever forgive me?” I ask, knowing the task is impossible.

  “I already have. I think I forgave you the minute you let me back in.”

  “Gavin, I—”

  The sound of his throat clearing forces my eyes to his. “I did something.” He pulls an envelope from his slacks and puts it in my hand. “This is for you.”

  Inside is a plane ticket. A ticket to Zweibrucken, Germany. I’m overwhelmed at the implication of what it means before he puts a voice to it.

  “I’m letting you go.” A lone tear drips down his right cheek. “Go to him, Katy.”

  “I don’t understand.” But I think that I do. I just don’t know why he’d do this, or what it means for us.

  “When I left here this morning, I took Noah to the neighbor’s house and got on the phone. Made a few calls. You’re cleared to visit. Your flight leaves tonight.”

  “Gavin, I can’t j-just g-go to Germany—” I’m hysterical because my heart is grateful and every part of me wants to be on that plane, but I also know I can’t keep straddling this place between worlds, between lives.

  “Katy,” he says, cupping my face and stroking my tears away, only speaking once they’ve quelled. “I want a divorce.”

  “I won’t go.”

  “But you want to. I think we both know you made your decision before you got home; you just didn’t want to live with it.” He pulls his ring from his hand as I let him see me break for him, for the pain of losing him. “It’s time to live with it. And if I’m honest, I’ve known this was coming since I saw the two of you together in New York. I just hoped that what we had would overpower it somehow, and now I know that what we have is lost. My Katy is never coming back.”

  “I’m still me.” I squeeze his hand as fresh tears line my cheeks. These tears are for him and for my marriage. For the family I’ve tried so hard to salvage.

  “This,” he says, placing a hand over my heart, “this no longer belongs to me, and I don’t want to share my wife with another man. I deserve more than this. I want more than this.”

  I can’t argue, because I realize then my heart tipped over long ago, and every word he’s saying is truth—I’ve known it— but living it is far harder to deal with.

  “This feels like death,” I sob as he places the ring in my palm and closes my hand over it.

  “On our wedding day, we promised to give each other the life we deserved.” His thumb whispers over my knuckles gently. “I’m giving you the life you deserve, Katy. Take it.”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Katy

  “Baby, breathe,” Sammy says as the rain pounds down on the hood of her sedan. “They won’t let you on a plane like this.”

  She grips my hand over the console, and I clutch onto it with both of mine. Shuddering breaths escape through my sobs as I try to put words to the agony I’m feeling.

  “I c-can’t b-believe—G-Gavin.” My body jerks at the memory of him walking out the door for the last time.

  “He loves you, Katy. He’ll be okay. This is too much,” she whispers before she starts to cry with me. My strength, my support, crumbles behind the wheel. “Shit,” she sighs out. “Come on, babe. I have to drive, or I’m going to hurt us both.” She gently pulls her hand away as I curl up in the seat next to her, studying her profile. Tears streak her cheeks as passing headlights brighten her beautiful features.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not accepting it.” She shakes her head as tears fall from her chin. “This right here, what you’re facing, it was inevitable. You were always going to have to let one of them go, you just refused to.”

  “I know.”

  “Almost there, Sis,” she assures me. “Sure you don’t want me to fly with you?”

  “No, I think I’ve disrupted the lives of others long enough.”

  “This isn’t the same,” she says, with clear worry in her features. “We don’t know if—”

  “I’ll be okay.” I can’t even allow my mind to go there. “I need to do this on my own.”

  She slowly nods. “I’ll be here waiting, either way. No matter what happens.”

  “God,” I choke out, “I…just, I just think of how he must be feeling.”

  “Gavin?”

  “Yes,” I say with a strangled cry.

  “He made the decision. He knew you loved him too much to walk away. Damn,” she says, as more tears line her cheeks, “I’m at a loss, Katy. He’ll hurt, but I think the last few months…being absent was his way of trying to accept it.”

  “He said I’d already made the decision before I got home, that I just didn’t want to live with it.”

  “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  She glances at me briefly, and I bite my lips and nod. “I love him, Sammy, so much. God, what if I can’t get to him in time?”

  My sister has never been one to bullshit or coddle. Instead of feeding me some line about how he’s going to be fine, her features flash with grim determination. “Let’s just get you there first, okay? One bridge at a time.”

  I swallow down the fear that’s filling my throat and nod.

  “Two minutes,” she says softly, glancing at the GPS. “Letting you go is Gavin’s last gift to you. You take it, and you find your happiness, Katy. If it’s with Chris, then it’s with Chris. Because it’s what you want, and whether you believe it or not, you deserve it. You’ve been living for everyone else long enough, tiptoeing around their hearts and breaking them anyway.”

  “Okay…okay,” I say, wanting to believe her.
I still can’t see past the pain I’ve caused. Wiping at my face, I pull down the visor, in an attempt to get myself together.

  “No one who’s been through the shit you have deserves anything less than complete fucking happiness. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” I assure her, blowing air up toward my eyes to dry my tears.

  “Good,” Sammy says, pulling up to departures. “Soon enough, this’ll all be a distant memory, and you’ll start believing it.” She reaches over, squeezing my hand before getting out and handing me the bag she packed. “No matter what happens,” she promises as she gives me a hug that lasts long enough to soak us both, “I’ll be here.”

  “I love you,” I say, hugging her tighter. “You’re my rock, Sammy.”

  “I know,” she sighs, “but I knew you were in love with him from the letters you wrote. I should have been a tougher rock.”

  Pulling away, I shake my head. “No thanks,” I say, and we share an exhausted smile. She’s been with me all day—to break my fall, pick me up, and is now standing in the pouring rain making sure I find my footing enough to face my fate.

  “Get back to me, no matter how many pieces you’re in. Promise me.” I see the fear in her eyes. “’Cause I’ll be the fucking glue, too. I can’t lose you again, Katy.”

  “I promise.” And it’s one I know I’ll keep, no matter how painful.

  Sitting in the terminal, I search through my racing thoughts and check my phone for any word from Chris’s Gran and find nothing, not even a missed call. I wonder if she’s back in Louisiana, gambling.

  What if she doesn’t even know?

  I’ll make it a point to call her as soon as I get a clear update on his condition.

  FOX broadcasts above me in the terminal as I search for any news of his condition and get nothing. A happy couple sits a few seats away from me, talking quietly about their plans as soon as they land, probably for their honeymoon. Ache drives in deep as I note the way he looks at her. Forty-eight minutes to boarding, and then a connection before a nine-hour flight. Every minute counts, and they’re stacked against me.

  “I knew you were in love with him from the letters you wrote.”