As You Are

by Claire Cain

  We chatted a while longer, and when I hung up, I was so happy and light, I felt the tears slide from my eyes and sat and smiled while I watched Pretty Woman. Nothing says joy like a controlling business man buying a prostitute out of her sad circumstances, right?

  (Problematic themes of Pretty Woman aside, no one will ever convince me that the moment Roberts says, “Big mistake. Huge,” isn’t one of the all-time triumphs. Oh snap!)

  I heard from Jake at two in the morning. He’d arrived safely. He messaged again after he’d been with his grandma that morning, and the news was good. The doctors thought they’d only need to keep her one more night. That meant he’d be home by the weekend.

  I was trying desperately not to allow myself to calculate the hours until the weekend. But I couldn’t stop myself.

  I couldn’t. If he got home Friday evening, it was approximately seventy-seven hours until I’d see him again. If he came home Saturday afternoon? It’d be more like ninety-five. I’d be working another twenty-eight hours this week. That meant I had a lot of spare time to deal with. Sleep would consume a good chunk. But still.

  All I could think about was Jake. And as much as this should have annoyed me, I only felt elated. I felt like I was basking in the glow of newfound love.

  The fact that I had no idea whether he loved me back was a little scary, but I trusted that could come. He seemed to want it as much as I finally recognized I did, and so… it could happen.

  The week, as though to punish me for experiencing the agony of love, dragged on. It moved at what could only be described as a begrudging pace. I managed to find pockets of focus in which I wrapped up the finishing touches on my TESS project. It was a bittersweet moment to save the final draft, knowing that next week it would need one last read through and then I’d submit it and officially be done with my work there.

  By Friday afternoon, I was a sweating, nervous mess. I was anxious to see Jake, and so ready, and he was supposed to be getting in his car any minute. I wanted to see a text saying he was on his way. I wanted that so much, I might scream.

  But no such text came until hours later when he messaged to say he was still in Florida. Henry had asked him—begged him, he said—to stay one more day so they could spend a little time together outside of the hospital and at his grandmother’s, and since he didn’t have plans to see Henry again for a while, he’d agreed. While I groaned outwardly and was glad I was home and not still in the office, I understood. This was one of the reasons I was in love with Jake Harrison, and there was no denying it.

  By Saturday at noon, I was pacing my apartment. I’d survived the night with a steady stream of romantic comedies, a fair amount of pacing, and a call to Alex, which was rushed since she ducked out of an event to take a ten-minute break to answer, but it was better than nothing.

  Jake had texted early that morning to say he was getting on the road, and I began calculating minutes, not hours. This, I knew, was an unhealthy habit, but there was no avoiding that my mind was riveted on the time, unwilling to part with its concentration on the subject for any reason.

  I went for a run. I showered. I went to the grocery store. I cleaned my apartment. I tried to write, but I couldn’t focus. I thought about how nice it would be to be one of those women who cooked or baked or did something creative with her nervous energy, and then I paced around some more and considered calling my parents but decided I’d be irritated with them for simply existing and not being able to deliver Jake to my door on demand.

  So, I was pacing.

  When the tap on my sliding door came, I jumped to it and flung it open, and there he was. He pulled me in and surrounded me in a hug, lifting me up and walking backward into the room. I buried my face in his chest and listened as his deep voice rumbled through his body and filled mine up.

  “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too,” I said and pulled back so I could see him. It was an almost identical scene to the last time we’d met before he’d had to leave on Monday, but I had changed. I knew my own secret—I’d finally told myself the truth.

  He was looking at me hungrily, and I knew my eyes were reflecting the same desire. I glanced down at his lips and felt a pang of need fill me, like my body was compelled to connect itself to him in every way now my heart had stitched itself to his.

  But he pulled back before I could do anything about that raging impulse. What might have given me a moment of panic before made sense to me now.

  Since I’d decided I wanted to be with Jake days ago—since I’d finally reconciled my desire for him and his apparent desire to be with me and the fact that all of this was perfectly acceptable if I wanted it to be, something had shifted in me. Add to that my epiphany that I was not just interested, but sold out to him—entirely owned, if I wanted to be honest with myself (and darn it, wasn’t it high time?), and I knew he needed to understand.

  Thus far I’d been closed off. I’d been cagey and unwilling, and yet obviously not entirely unwilling. Then I was distracted, and upset, and dealing with a real pile of junk I couldn’t stop thinking about, even if I wanted to swim around in the cozy, terrifying feeling of friendship (and now, I recognized, love) with him.

  He understood that, somehow. He knew I had to work through one thing at a time. So there was no chance he would be the one to bring up the status of our relationship, or what he wanted, and what I now knew I also wanted. He would wait for me as he said he would. He wasn’t going to kiss me for fear it would confuse me and not be welcomed. It was hard to imagine he couldn’t tell I wanted him now, but he was steady and firm in his desire not to rush me.

  This meant it was time for action.

  “I do want you to be my boyfriend,” I blurted as I followed him to the couch. I spoke to his back, but he turned quickly, his face lit by an amused grin. I felt my pulse increase even more than it had when we’d been hugging, just about to kiss.

  “Ok. Time to talk about that, then.” He seemed so calm. How could he be so calm? My insides were in knots despite the fact his feelings for me appeared to be unchanged.

  Were they?

  Oh please God, don’t let him change his mind!

  “I freaked out last week with Henry calling you that, and then with you saying you… you…”

  “That I want you,” he supplied, and his voice was, how could I say it? Like melted chocolate. Like every decadent thing on one plate.

  He sat there on my couch, all of his energy focused on me.

  I swallowed down the thrill of excitement that voice, that look, those words gave me. “Yes. Well, you said you want to be with me…”

  “Well I do, that. I want you in every possible way, Ellie.” His eyes were a bow, and his arrow had stuck its target, no doubt. I was pinned in place by those words, the heat and intensity behind them, swirling in his irises like cream poured into coffee.

  I cleared my voice, licked my lips, and straightened my spine. “Yes. And I got overwhelmed. I’d spent a lot of time thinking about you as unavailable—”

  “You spent a lot of time thinking about me?” He grinned like the Cheshire Cat and I rolled my eyes.

  “Of course I did! We started spending a fair amount of time together, and you’re not an unattractive man…” I trailed off and bit my lip to hide my grin.

  “Not unattractive. Oh good. That’s high praise.” He folded his hands in his lap and leaned back like he was nonchalant, but I could see his chest was rising and falling more visibly than normal.

  “Anyway. You are this very decisive, determined, special person, and you seemed so sure about me. And maybe I read that wrong, but I—”

  “You didn’t.” His eyes were smoldering—straight up smoldering at me.

  “Stop interrupting.” I gave him a look, and he grabbed the hand nearest him and weaved our fingers together. He brought the back of my hand to his lips and then nodded for me to continue. If he kept talking and saying things like that, I’d never get to the point. I’d just become wax and melt in the f
ace of his flaming heat.

  Someone save me because this man is hot.

  Hot, hot, hot.

  “I’ve never been in a relationship I was invested in. I’ve only had two boyfriends before, and it has been years since them, and they were both ultimately the result of convenience first and then complacency. I’ve never felt…” I took a deep, steadying breath and continued. “Well, this sounds like a line, but I’ve never f-felt for someone what I do for you.” My voice shook at the end of my admission, and he squeezed my hand with his. I’d stuttered on “felt” because I’d almost said loved but I wasn’t ready to say that yet. Not yet.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing either. I haven’t had a girlfriend since high school, and I was a terrible boyfriend then. I was completely selfish—and it’s not that I’m not selfish now, because I know I am. I have a lot to learn—but I know I’ve learned a thing or two about myself, and other people, since then.” He let go of my hand and reached up to smooth a stray piece of hair back over my shoulder. “Do you remember when I said, ‘I’m not an idiot’ on our date a few weeks ago? And you gave me a look like you had no idea what I meant but didn’t ask me?”

  I nodded. It had struck me as strange.

  “What I meant was once I met you, I couldn’t ignore you. Obviously physically, you had my attention from the second you assaulted my hand on the plane.” He laughed as I crossed my arms in an exaggerated gesture. “But after doing the study and then the night after Smith… you were so compassionate, and strong, and lovely…” His voice softened, well really, his whole body seemed to soften and sway toward me. He grabbed me and kissed me quickly, like he couldn’t wait another second, and then continued. “After that I knew all my rules were worthless. Waiting another second was ridiculous when you were standing right there in front of me.”

  I’m pretty sure my eyes were sparkling the way they did in cheesy romance movies—the only way to sparkle, really. My smile was wide across my face. “So even though I may very well ruin everything between us with my ineptitude at relationships, you still want to date me?” Did I feel a little silly about continuing to question him? Maybe. But I was relishing his willingness to tell me what I very much wanted to hear because I knew it was true.

  His face turned serious, and for a second I thought I was about to face a huge upset. But then he said, “I’ll want more than dating. You should know that, Ellie.” It sounded like a warning, and yet I didn’t feel scared or even worried. Not even a little bit. I felt hopeful, and eager, and happier than I’d felt in a long time.

  It wasn’t just the prospect of having Jake in my life indefinitely. It was the whole situation. Alex’s words about my next steps not necessarily meaning I was locked into them—into teaching a bit, or working some other job, or whatever the case may be, had been swimming around in my unconscious and taking root.

  I’d spent so much of my life looking forward—to high school, then college, then my master’s program, then getting a PhD. The looking ahead suited me in many ways, but I wondered if that wasn’t part of what burned me out on academia. I saw the prospect of clawing my way to tenure as just another thing to always be anticipating. I wanted to feel breathless and restless and ecstatic over something of my own making, not whether or not the dossier I’d spent hundreds of hours compiling would meet the tenure board’s approval.

  The thought of Jake with me, and me working toward a time when I could write all the time… it was the dream. It was the absolute dream I’d never dared to verbalize.

  “I’m glad. Because I’m going to want more than dating too,” I finally said.

  He had my face cradled in his hands in an instant, his palms warm on my cheeks, and his mouth was on mine, kissing me slowly, carefully. His tongue met mine, and I made a sound, something primal and ecstatic, but I didn’t care. I ran my hands into his hair and over his rough cheeks. He’d been away only a few days but already had the makings of a seriously attractive beard.

  He pulled me close, and closer, and I was crushed to him, and him to me, each of us reveling in the other, and my insides were mush. Just utter goo. Gelatinous nothingness, except a beating heart and swirling nerve endings.

  “I have to—” he pulled back a bit and looked at me with more intensity than I’d ever seen, and for this man, that was saying something. “I love you Ellie. I love you.” He was breathless and he looked raw, his hair crazy where my fingers had been, and his eyes were wondrous as he looked at me.

  “I love you too. It’s crazy, but I do,” I said, equally breathless and amazed. He pulled me in and kissed me again. “We do everything from the middle first. We’ve barely dated, but we’re in love. This is so stupid,” I said between kisses, shaking my head.

  “It’s not stupid. I think it fits.” He gave me a reproving smile.

  “I can see that. We can’t stand the small talk, and we’re both restless in our own way. It makes sense we jumped to the middle.”

  “I blame your fear of flying.”

  Epilogue

  We sat at the table on Henry’s balcony outside his apartment in the Floridian late summer evening. I’d met Grandma Harrison earlier that afternoon and she was truly lovely. I’d loved her before I ever met her because I knew what she’d done for Jake and Henry. I saw her give Jake a knowing smile and a wink, and I felt a small quake in my body at the thought that she’d given her approval of me. While I knew it was unlikely to be a difficult task, I didn’t realize how much that meant to me until I saw it happen, and how important that sign-off was.

  Jake was inside getting us waters while we sat and enjoyed the short burst of afternoon rain.

  Henry looked at me with that familiar gleam in his eye. I braced myself.

  “So, you’re going to join the royal family, huh? Become Princess Elizabeth?”

  My eyes widened and my heart rate skyrocketed before I saw the delight that gave him and I calmed myself. “You’re such a tease. One of these days he is going to ask me, and then you’re going to feel like a jerk.”

  “Why would I feel like a jerk? I’ve always wanted a sister,” he said, raising his eyebrows for emphasis.

  “What’s this now? You want a sister?” Jake asked as he stepped out to join us with three waters in hand.

  I took a moment to admire him as I so often did when I had a moment to. He was hard muscles, long arms and legs, serious face. But I knew the Jake behind the mask, behind the hard-ass sergeant. I knew about his love for his family, his incredibly tender heart, and his deeply nerd-level love of Tolkien. I knew how he could love, and I was fiercely proud to be his and have him as mine.

  “I was telling Ellie you’re going to propose to her soon, and then she’ll be joining our little royal family. She’s even got an appropriately royal name, although in this scenario, it’s like you’re marrying your grandmother.” Henry’s broad smile was brash and showed how pleased with himself he was. I expected Jake to fumble around or try to excuse him, but I should have known better.

  “The grandmother part is weird, true. But we’ll ignore that. He’s right.” His eyes were smiling but the rest of him was serious.

  “He’s right that I have an appropriately royal name?” I asked.

  “Well, that. But he’s right about the other thing too.”

  “The other thing?” I swallowed a giggle, the giddiness surprising me.

  “The joining the royal family thing.”

  A Note from the Author

  Veteran suicide is an issue we can’t ignore. According to the most recent report from the US Department of Veteran’s Affairs, Veteran suicide accounts for 14% of suicides in the United States each year. The rate for Veterans ages 18-34 is increasing, not decreasing, though it seems there may be a slight downward trend overall.

  * * *

  We can hope these numbers improve, but we can also get to work.

  * * *

  First, if you are a Veteran in crisis, or you’re concerned about one, there is free, confidential support i
s available 24/7. Call the Veterans Crisis Line at 1-800-273-8255 and Press 1, send a text message to 838255

  * * *

  If you’re not a Veteran but need help, call the National Suicide Prevention line at 1-800-273-8255.

  * * *

  If you’d like to support some organizations doing amazing work with Veteran suicide prevention specifically, here are just a few doing good work:

  Vets 4 Warriors: www.vets4warriors.com

  Cohen Veterans Network: www.cohenveteransnetwork.org

  Stop Soldier Suicide: www.stopsoldiersuicide.org

  Mission 22: www.mission22.com

  Advocacy through AFSP: www.afsp.org

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to the Author of love and life—thank you for loving me relentlessly.

  * * *

  Thank you to my husband, whose advice and support are invaluable. I am so glad to be yours.

  * * *

  Special thanks to my parents, who are like Ellie’s parents in only the best ways. You’ve always pushed me to do my best, and then been unnecessarily amazed when I do. I’m sorry to tell you that any drive, humor, or success I have are all your fault.

  * * *

  To my beta readers Christy and Meagan, thank you for your honesty and time. I really can’t write these books in a vacuum and your feedback is so helpful! Thank you.

  * * *

  My love and gratitude for Julie, Melissa, Karen, Monica, Denise, and so many others who’ve cheered me on is endless. I simply wouldn’t keep writing without you in my corner, and I wish everyone could know the beauty of friendships like ours.

  * * *