Five Years Gone: A Standalone Contemporary Romance

by Marie Force

When I close my eyes, tears leak from the corners. I’m gutted by the possibility that I could turn on the TV and see him, that it could be as simple as pressing the ON button, that most of the questions that’ve haunted me for years could be answered in a matter of minutes. That possibility has me completely paralyzed with indecision.

  “Tell me what I can do for you,” Eric says after a long silence.

  In a matter of minutes, it becomes clear to me that I won’t have any peace until I look, even as I try to tell myself it can wait until tomorrow. Whatever it is will still be the same tomorrow. That may be true, but much as I might want to avoid this latest development, I can’t. I have to know.

  “Would you mind if I turned on the TV?”

  “Of course not.” He lets me up and wraps a blanket around us both as I reach for the remote.

  My hands are trembling as I turn on the TV and switch the channel to CNN, where huge red letters announce Breaking News.

  After a few minutes of listening to talking heads break it down, the anchor says, “For those who are just joining us, the Al Khad organization has released a security video that shows the commando raid on the compound where the terrorist was holed up with his family and closest associates. We have to warn you that parts of the video are hard to watch and are not suitable for children.”

  The network shows only snippets of the video, which is more aggravating than anything.

  “I found the full video online,” Eric says, turning his laptop toward me.

  I watch the video with dread and anticipation pounding through me. I see men in fatigues with heavy vests over their chests, their faces covered with some sort of paint, weapons leading the way as they enter the building from all sides, a well-coordinated assault that takes the occupants by surprise.

  Gunfire explodes in a fury of fire and sound.

  Women scream and dive on top of their children.

  A woman wielding a knife comes at the commandos and is shot dead.

  More screams, words in a language I don’t recognize, pleas for mercy that are recognizable in any language.

  I reach for Eric’s hand and hold on tight as I watch the raid unfold with a methodical search of every room, more gunfire, shouts in English, more screams… If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was watching an action movie and not a real-life drama. It seems surreal.

  I can’t see the Americans’ faces, only their backs. It’s all happening so fast that I can’t tell much of anything from what I see on the screen.

  A woman shoots one of the US commandos, and she is quickly executed by one of his colleagues.

  “Get him out of here,” someone shouts.

  Another of the commandos turns, and a face I don’t recognize is exposed for all the world to see as he tends to his fallen brother.

  The others continue forward, storming up a flight of stairs and returning gunfire with a barrage of bullets.

  I’m so scared, I can barely breathe. Have I waited all this time to find out what became of John only to watch him be killed? I’m not sure I’d survive that. I want to look anywhere but at the television, but I can’t bring myself to look away.

  “Breathe, Ava,” Eric says, his lips brushing the fevered skin on my face.

  I force air into my lungs as I watch the systematic search of the second floor.

  A shout goes out, more gunfire erupts, another of the commandos is hit, and someone yells, “I’ve got him! In here!”

  For a few seconds, the only thing on the screen is fire and screams and explosions that rock the building and the camera that’s filming the action below it. When the dust settles and the smoke clears, two men emerge from the room where everything happened. They’re dragging a third man, who is Al Khad.

  One of the two men with him is John.

  I let out an anguished cry.

  “Oh my God,” Eric whispers, tightening his grip on me.

  Sobs shake me as I watch him and his colleague wrestle Al Khad through the hallway to the stairs, where more gunfire greets them.

  John goes down, and I scream.

  Eric is there, his arms around me, his words soft and supportive even if they don’t permeate the fog in my brain.

  Did I just watch him get killed? Is he dead and they never released his name? Is John West even his real name? I can’t bear to look anymore. Hysterical and inconsolable, I bury my face in Eric’s chest.

  In the background, I hear the reporters dissecting what we’ve just seen, as if we need their help to understand it. The one thing I want to know is the only thing they can’t tell me.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  AVA

  The next few hours pass in a blur of tears and confusion and panic. I’m an absolute disaster.

  At some point, Eric must’ve called my sister, because she and Rob arrive, even though it’s the middle of the night at that point.

  Camille sits with me while Eric confers with his brother.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asks.

  I shake my head. I wouldn’t know what to ask for. I’m numb and terrified and anguished and afraid that my reaction to this latest news will ruin my relationship with Eric. That last part has me sobbing again. I can’t lose him, too. I just can’t.

  “Ava, honey,” Camille says, sounding desperate. “We don’t know anything yet. He could be fine for all we know.”

  “Eric…”

  “What about him?”

  “This is too much for him. I know it.”

  “No,” she says. “No way. He adores you. He’d walk through fire for you.”

  I’d like to believe that, but a little more than twenty-four hours since I accepted his proposal, I’m crying over my ex-boyfriend. Again. That might be more than any man can handle, even one who adores me.

  He comes over to sit on the coffee table in front of me, his face lined with tension, his eyes red with weariness. “Rob has an idea I want to run by you,” he says.

  “Wh-what idea?” I wipe my face and try not to think about how red and swollen I must be. Did we really make love right here on this sofa only a few short hours ago?

  “Our dad knows the vice president. They’ve campaigned together in the past and have remained in touch. Rob wants to call Dad and ask him to reach out to the VP to see what we can find out for you. But only if that’s what you want us to do.”

  Is that what I want? I don’t know.

  “Ava,” Camille says in the gentle voice she’s used on me since she arrived. “Let Rob make the call. It’ll be better when you know one way or the other.”

  “Will it?” I ask her in a tone she doesn’t deserve. But I can’t help it. “Will it be better if I know?”

  Camille looks to Eric, looking for answers none of us has.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to her. “I don’t mean to be short with you.”

  “You be whatever way you need to be. Don’t worry about me.”

  Someday, many days from now, I’ll have to thank her for her support.

  “What do you want us to do, sweetheart?” Eric asks, holding my hands.

  “I… Call your dad. See what he can find out.”

  He kisses my forehead. “Okay.” Releasing my hands, he gets up to talk to Rob.

  I lean into Camille, wondering how long I’ll have to wait before I know what happened to him.

  Answers are hard to come by when the whole world is closed for the holidays. With my office shutdown for the week, I have nothing to occupy my restless mind as I wait to hear something, anything from the queries Governor Tilden has made on my behalf.

  One thing that hasn’t shutdown for the holidays is social media. Twitter goes wild with speculation about the raid, the men whose faces were made public and the ravenous desire for information that’s so prevalent in the digital age. On the advice of my sister and Eric, I steer clear of all social media.

  While I wait, I’m surrounded by well-meaning family and friends who want to help, but there’s nothing they can do to ease the tension that
makes it impossible for me to eat or sleep or function normally.

  Sky calls Jessica on my behalf, and she takes time away from her family to spend a couple of hours with me, trying to help me through this latest setback. As always, it helps to talk to her, but it doesn’t alleviate the awful stress that’s with me every waking moment. Even when I’m sleeping, I’m haunted by disturbing dreams in which I’m trying and failing to find John in a maze without end.

  I spend an inordinate amount of time envisioning the possible scenarios.

  In the first scenario, John was killed that night in Afghanistan.

  In the second, he survived but was so badly injured, he’s been unable to contact me.

  In the third, he was injured but has recovered in the subsequent months, having chosen not to contact me.

  Oddly enough, it’s the last one that causes me the most consternation. That he could be out there somewhere, back from the five-year deployment, and never bothered to let me know, is somehow worse than the possibility that he might be dead.

  I’m so tired of running the scenarios. I’m sick to death of being obsessed with him. I’m sick of thoughts of him drowning out everything else. I should be planning a wedding and anticipating the future with my wonderful fiancé, and here I am once again mired in the nightmare of the past. I drag myself out of bed and into the shower for the first time in days.

  The hot water relieves the strain and tension that’ve overtaken me. I wash and condition my hair, shave my legs and emerge feeling more like myself than I have since Christmas night.

  Eric and I had plans for this week off together, the “staycation” we called it. We have a list of movies we want to see, restaurants we want to try and wedding plans to begin making. I dry my hair, apply a minimal amount of makeup to be presentable and dress in a sweater and jeans that Eric once told me do wondrous things for my ass.

  I leave the bedroom and find Eric sitting at the bar, his laptop open and a cup of coffee next to him. I can tell I take him by surprise when I wrap my arms around him from behind and kiss his neck.

  “Hey, babe. You smell good.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Losing my shit, hiding out, not showering, sleeping all day… To start with. I’ve ruined our staycation, and that ends right now. Let’s go to the movies.”

  “We don’t have to, Ava. If you don’t feel up to it.”

  “I feel up to it. I want to get out of here and see to the plans we made for this week. Sitting around dwelling isn’t helping anything. Will you please go to the movies with me?”

  He turns to me and caresses my face. “I’d go to the ends of the earth with you.”

  I smile for the first time in days. “And when we get home, I’ll show you how much your love and support has meant to me.”

  His brow lifts. “Show me how, exactly?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  Pleased by his reaction and the return of some semblance of normalcy between us, I saunter away from him, looking back over my shoulder. “The sooner we go to the movies, the sooner we get to come home…”

  He jumps off the stool, which topples over with a huge crash. “Motherfucker,” he mutters while I lose it laughing.

  It feels good to laugh, to joke with him, to be with him. He makes me feel good—all the time. Even in the worst of times.

  “Do me a favor?” I ask after he fixes the stool and joins me to put on his coat in the foyer.

  “Anything.”

  “Leave your phone at home?” I power mine down and put it on the table where we keep our keys.

  “Happy to.” He turns his off, puts it next to mine and follows me out for a few hours away from the stress of waiting.

  Eric lets me pick the movie, and I go for the funniest thing I can find. The humor is sophomoric, but the laughter is therapeutic. We go to dinner afterward, trying out a new Italian place in the neighborhood that we’ve heard great things about. Laughter, food, wine and good company go a long way toward fixing what ails me. Over dinner, we have the first real conversation about our wedding. I’m not surprised that we’re in agreement about wanting a small, intimate affair, perhaps on a beach, by next summer at the latest.

  We return home in good spirits. Wanting to stay in the bubble we’ve been in since we left earlier, we leave our phones on the table and go to bed, both of us eager to reconnect physically as well as emotionally.

  Eric is incredibly tender with me, as if he knows how fragile I still am despite the effort I made today. He worships me with his hands and lips and words that have me clinging to him, my rock in the storm.

  “I promised you a reward, so this hardly seems fair,” I tell him.

  “Making love to you is the only reward I’ll ever need.” He grasps my hips and enters me slowly, his gaze hot with love and affection and desire so intense, it takes my breath away. “I love you so much. More than you can imagine.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He seems relieved to hear that, and it pains me to know that he’s suffered along with me these past days, but in a different way. He’s had reason to question whether I’m still committed to him, to us. I want him to know that I am, that I always will be, that nothing or no one could ever change how I feel about him.

  I give him everything I have. It’s all his. Every part of me is his.

  We come together, gasping and clinging to each other, holding on to the only thing that makes sense to either of us. Afterward, safe in the comfort of Eric’s loving embrace, I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ERIC

  I wake to someone pounding on my door. I was so dead asleep that it takes a second for my body to catch up with my brain. Then I extricate myself from Ava and pull on a pair of sweats before going to see who the hell is banging on my door—and how the hell did they get in without me buzzing them in?

  In the peephole, I see my brother’s surly face and disengage the locks to let him in.

  “What the fuck, Eric?” He storms by me into the loft. “Why are your phones off?”

  I rub my face, still trying to wake up. “We shut them off yesterday. Ava wanted a break from it all.”

  “I’ve been trying to call you since last night.”

  My stomach drops with dread. I want to back up, shove him out the door and reengage all those locks to keep out whatever he’s come here to tell me.

  “Her guy… He’s alive.”

  I want to scream that he’s not her guy. I’m her guy. But I don’t say that. I don’t say anything as I try to process what it means that he’s alive but hasn’t tried to reach her. What will that mean to her? More important, what will it mean for us?

  “What else?”

  “That’s it. That’s all they’d tell us. Dad tried to get more, but the VP said everything about the raid is still classified even though the other side released that video. Apparently, the VP had to make a special plea to the Joint Chiefs to get that much.”

  “So they won’t tell her where he is?”

  Rob shook his head. “No.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “Agreed.”

  I glance at the bedroom, where Ava is sleeping. I dread having to tell her this. It was such a relief to see her somewhat back to normal yesterday. This will set her back—again—and I can’t bear that for her or for me.

  “Are you okay?” Rob asks, looking at me with the kind of awareness that comes from a lifetime spent looking out for each other.

  “I’m… I don’t know what I am. I want to be supportive of her, you know?”

  He nods. “Of course you do.”

  “But I’m so fucking scared that he’s going to come waltzing back into her life and she’ll take off with him, like I never happened.” It’s the first time I’ve given voice to my deepest fear, and I hate how selfish I am to be worried about myself when all my attention should be on her and what she’s dealing with.

&nbs
p; “Eric… My God. That’s not going to happen.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “She loves you. That’s apparent to anyone who knows you guys. She’s crazy about you. She’s not going anywhere.”

  “She was crazy about him, too, once upon a time.”

  “There’s a lot of rough water under the bridge between then and now. She can’t possibly feel the same way she used to.”

  “The guy’s a national hero. How can I compete against that?”

  “You don’t have to compete against him. There’s no contest. He left her. You didn’t. You win.”

  “If only it were that simple. He didn’t leave her because he wanted to. He’s devoted years of his life making this world a safer place for everyone. Hell, I’m half in love with him myself for what he did for all of us.”

  Rob snorts with laughter.

  “Tell me this isn’t going to turn into Brittany two-point-oh,” I say, needing his reassurances.

  “No fucking way. Ava is nothing like that bitch. If the worst thing possible happened, she’d at least have the decency to tell you to your face.”

  His words are like a sharp arrow to my heart, which he immediately realizes.

  “That’s not going to happen, bro.” He says what I need to hear, but I can see that he’s worried, too, and that doesn’t help. Not one bit.

  “Thanks for coming over, and sorry to worry you.”

  “No problem. What happens now?”

  “I’ll tell her what you found out, and we go from there.” I hope I sound strong and confident, because I’m quaking on the inside.

  I can fool a lot of people. Rob isn’t one of them. He places his hands on my shoulders and forces me to look him in the eye. “She loves you. It may get worse before it gets better, but at the end of the day, it’s going to be okay. You got me?”

  I nod because that’s what he needs me to do so he’ll be able to leave me.

  In a very un-Rob-like moment, he hugs me and kisses my cheek. “I’m right here if you need me.”

  “Thank you.” I’m ridiculously moved by his unusual show of affection.