Vivian's List (Vol. 1)

by Lovell, Haleigh

  “I loved your mom, Liam,” he said at last. Even as he said this, his voice held not a hint of emotion or caring. “I loved her the only way I knew how.”

  I remained stone-faced. “Don’t try and blame this on your past. That is a fuckin’ cop out. I had you as a father, and guess what? I still know how to love. And I have never abused a woman the way you abused Mom.”

  “I never abused her!” His face was now a brittle mask. “Your mom was fine!”

  I drew in a clipped breath. “She was a walking dead person.”

  He raised one sardonic brow at me. “I never laid a finger on her, and you know it.”

  I flinched. “Mom never had a black eye or a broken bone, but you broke her heart. And you broke her spirit time and time again.”

  “Your mom was weak!” he said scornfully

  “No!” I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ground together. When I spoke again, I tried to put as much scorn into my voice as he did. “You’re weak. And don’t you dare try and wipe out, negate and invalidate what Mom went through. You may have fooled your own mother, your brothers, and your sisters, but I see you for what you are. A self-absorbed coward.”

  He straightened his shoulders, but he no longer towered over me. “In case you’ve forgotten, Liam, she was the one who left me.”

  My jaw tensed with the effort of self-restraint. I knew he was trying to get another reaction out of me so he could play the pitiful victim.

  But I refused to give him the satisfaction.

  Drawing a shutter over my emotions, I turned to leave before he could say any more.

  As far as I was concerned, he was dead to me.

  The cool night air did little to soothe my fury. I walked in silence for several blocks. I didn’t have a destination; I simply moved.

  All I knew was that I had to get as far away from him as possible. That whole encounter back there, it was like probing a gaping wound.

  “Liam.” I heard footsteps approaching. “Wait!”

  Turning, I saw Vivian hurrying toward me. Grudgingly, I slowed to a halt.

  When at last she reached me, she wheezed, trying to catch her breath. “Why’d you leave?”

  My lips twisted in bitter amusement. “My dad showed up.” I paused. “Five years, Viv. For five years, I had freed myself from any contact with him, and I fully intended to keep it that way,” I said with more anger than I’d intended to reveal. “He has no guilt. No remorse whatsoever. And he’s still trying to blame it on my mom.”

  “I’m sorry.” She looked toward the ground, apology and regret etching her features. When she spoke again, her words came out in a whisper. “I shouldn’t have interfered.”

  “Yeah,” I snapped. “You shouldn’t have.” Heat blazed across my face and I had to look away.

  There was a long, heavy moment of silence during which I felt Viv’s heavy gaze upon me. “Do you hate me?” Her voice sounded small and lost.

  “No.” I dragged a hand down my face. “I don’t hate you. The problem is I fuckin’ love you.”

  No sooner had the words left my mouth did I realize it was true.

  And I was stunned by my own admission.

  Standing there under the flickering streetlight, I realized I’d always loved Viv.

  I had always been half in love with the Vivian from my childhood and I was fully, and completely in love with the Vivian who was standing right in front of me.

  Those emotions were out there now for me to recognize, to acknowledge, to feel.

  And by the way she reached out and smoothed the razor-stubbles on my skin, the way she eased my muscles until I relaxed under her touch, the way she kissed me tenderly, and the way she hugged me afterward, trembling in my arms as she buried her tear-stained face in my shoulder, I already knew … I knew exactly how she felt about me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Liam

  We were lying in bed, and something was wrong.

  I felt it. And I was almost certain Vivian felt it, too.

  I rolled over and slumped onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.

  We had made love, but it was filled with desperation … desperation in our touches, desperation in our kisses, desperation when our bodies joined in a primal, visceral union.

  And whatever tension it released, it did not ease the tension I felt coiled within me.

  We had only one day left together, and I wanted more.

  I wanted her every day, and realized every day was not enough.

  Clarity seemed to descend upon me, and I knew that together we could create something long and lasting.

  Now I was confronted with the unsettling reality that I might not make it back to her in one piece.

  I was under no illusion that I was ever really safe in Iraq.

  In order to function, though, I guess I’d always moved about in a kind of false sense of security … an imagined sense of security if you will.

  It wasn’t real, but it’s what I’d held on to since I was fighting a war that blurred the typical lines between safe and unsafe areas.

  The protocol itself was in constant flux because there was no real frontline.

  My enemies didn’t wear uniforms; they were combatants who were using whatever means they could to inflict maximum damage, and they were continually devising new means of hitting us.

  Men died in battle and men died away from battle.

  Six men from my platoon had been killed when they were simply sitting and waiting in their Humvees.

  I exhaled forcefully. God had a very cruel sense of humor.

  It gave me pause. Going back to Iraq was a dance with death.

  And I couldn’t help but ponder … even if I did make it back in one piece, I feared the war would somehow change me.

  And I wondered if Vivian would still recognize me.

  Guilt began to creep over me, slow and seeping, and I was grateful for the darkness of the room.

  Staring off into space, into nothing, I couldn’t help but wonder if the war had already ripped away who I was.

  Dread beat in my chest. Did Vivian even recognize me now?

  Noting my silence, Viv turned to face me in the dark. “What’s wrong?”

  A heartbeat passed, then another. “Do you think I’ve changed?”

  “No,” she said softly. “Why do you ask?”

  Shifting my weight, I turned on my side so we came face to face.

  The window was open and as a playful breeze teased her silky hair, I started to speak.

  I told her things I’d long kept buried inside me, dredging up the words from some great hollow pit inside myself.

  I told her about the Iraqi insurgent I’d killed who was in the middle of setting up a roadside bomb along one of our routes. Though I’d peppered him with bullets, he somehow managed to survive. As he lay in a pool of his own blood, I’d heard his uneven breathing.

  My men had taken one look, then turned their backs on him and walked away.

  Paralyzed, I had stood rooted to the spot, watching his chest rise and fall as he gasped for breath.

  He was young, a child really, no more than fifteen, likely lured in by al-Qaida with the promise of work and pay.

  Perhaps he was a true believer in the cause, or perhaps he wasn’t.

  I didn’t know, and I would likely never know.

  But I did know that many of the Iraqis were desperately poor.

  “Did you walk away?” Vivian asked, lacing her fingers through mine. Was it my imagination or did she look like she already knew the answer.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. “I couldn’t leave him. I wanted to get him out of there, get him some help, but I knew I was asking my men a lot. I was asking that we save an Iraqi insurgent, who, only moments ago, had been trying to blow us up with an IED.”

  When I opened my eyes, Vivian was watching me closely. “But they helped you, didn’t they?”

  I nodded. “Since I was the ranking officer on the ground, my orders had to be followed.”r />
  “See …” She squeezed my hand, then brought it up to her lips and kissed the back of it. “I knew it. You’re still the same Liam that I know … you didn’t walk away.”

  “I didn’t,” I admitted. “But sometimes I fear that I’m turning into that person who would walk away from a dying man.” A sort of anxious energy vibrated in the air. “Would you,” I hesitated. “Would you still love that man?”

  She pressed a soft kiss to my lips and when she spoke, tenderness welled up in her voice like teardrops. “I love the man you are now, the man you were before and the man you’ll become. No matter how much the war changes you, my feelings for you … they’ll never change.”

  I didn’t know if Vivian had meant every word she said. But at that moment, it was exactly what I needed to hear from her. And I had no words that would let her know how much this meant to me.

  As a rosy-fingered dawn touched the sky, I woke Vivian with a long and lingering kiss before setting the bamboo tray on her lap.

  “Mmm,” she murmured, taking in the spread. “Scrambled eggs, coffee and toast—the breakfast of champions.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, easing down next to her on the bed.

  She smiled her delight. “I always thought that if I ever wanted breakfast in bed, I’d have to sleep in the kitchen.”

  A laugh caught in my throat. “With me—never.”

  She stretched languorously, gloriously naked under the sheets, and I felt her knee lightly brushing against my thigh. “You’re spoiling me.”

  “Not nearly enough,” I said, watching her as she sat up and slowly sipped on her black coffee.

  Sleep still clung to her eyes, and her thick blond hair tumbled over her shoulders, framing her lush breasts.

  She looked mussed, sexed up, and impossibly tantalizing.

  Unable to resist, I leaned over the tray of food and took her nipple in my mouth, gently sipping the tender bud between my lips until it hardened in my mouth.

  Then I pulled away, slowly, even though I was reluctant to do so. “You should eat,” I said, smiling at her.

  She tilted her head to one side. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Only for you.” It was the truth. She was all I had an appetite for and that appetite seemed to be insatiable.

  Her cheeks flamed red and something fluttered happily in my chest. Pleasure perhaps, for I could still make her blush.

  “I already ate,” I lied. “Me and my boy Atticus, we went for an early run and then I had a manly breakfast.”

  “Oh, yeah?” A corner of her mouth lifted in amusement. “And what exactly is a manly breakfast?”

  “A steak and egg burrito.” I said it like it was a given.

  In truth, after my long run with Atticus I’d cooked up a storm. But I could barely bring myself to touch the food. There was just too much gnawing at my mind.

  Leaving for Iraq … that I could handle.

  But leaving Vivian was almost unthinkable.

  This past week with Vivian had been some of the happiest days of my life.

  She loved so fully that it was impossible not to want that love for myself.

  She allowed me to forget about the war. She made me laugh again. She made me feel again.

  Pulling myself from my thoughts, I watched Vivian as she nibbled on her toast.

  “Are you sure you aren’t hungry?” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and I found the sight profoundly arousing.

  Almost too arousing.

  I needed to get out of this bed before I pinned Viv on her back and had my breakfast in bed.

  “Nope,” I lied again and turned away so she would not see the naked longing in my eyes.

  It took all my willpower, but I managed to force myself from the bed. “Take your time eating. I’m gonna hop in the shower and then we’re going out.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She eyed me curiously. “Where are we going?”

  As I headed to the bathroom, I smiled at her over my shoulder. “Your favorite place. Ocean Beach.”

  The second I pushed open the front door, Atticus bounded out ahead of us, overjoyed at the prospect of an early morning car ride. Atticus enjoyed his leisurely afternoon walks and his morning runs, but in the car, he was downright psychedelic.

  For him it wasn’t just a car ride, it was a joy ride.

  For Vivian and me, it was anything but. Silence stretched out between us as I kept my eyes on the road. When I flicked my gaze sideways, she was staring rigidly ahead, a deep and stony sadness in her eyes.

  I didn’t ask her what was the matter because I already knew.

  My imminent good-bye had already cast a shadow over our day.

  At the beach, Vivian’s mood seemed to lift a little.

  The breathing of the sea was remote and gentle. We walked near the water’s edge, holding hands, our bare feet sinking into the cool, wet sand.

  Above us, the sky arched a perfect cornflower blue, a perfect backdrop for the squabbling seagulls.

  Ahead of us, Atticus was barking at the waves as he tried so desperately to catch them.

  By my side, Vivian was still quiet, seemingly lost in thought.

  As I felt the sand shift underneath my toes, I searched for the right words to comfort her, but I couldn’t seem to find them.

  When we’d reached the end of the beach, we sat down facing the ocean.

  The footprints that we had left behind us were being erased by the gentle waves washing up against the shore.

  I cast my gaze out to sea, and in the great distance I caught sight of two bottle-nose dolphins leaping from the waves and into the open ocean.

  “Viv.” I bumped my shoulder against hers, nudging her in their direction.

  “I know.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and let out a dreamy sigh. “I see them.”

  It was an amazing privilege, watching the dolphins springing over the powerful walls of water.

  And they were putting on quite a show for us, leaping over the cobalt waves in such a seemingly choreographed fashion.

  “Dolphins.” Vivian stared ahead, watching their joyful frolic. “Dad once told me they’re a symbol of harmony, freedom, communication and trust.” After a slight pause, she spoke again, more to herself than me. “I think that’s what we have.”

  “I think so, too.” I slid an arm around her waist and drew her to me tightly.

  As she leaned on my shoulder, watching the playful dolphins surf the waves, her features relaxed into something like peacefulness.

  A short while later, she shifted in the sand, reaching into the small pocket of her denim shorts.

  “I’d like you to have this,” she said, producing a silver medallion on a chain.

  As she laced the chain through her fingers, the medallion twirled between us, flashing in the sunlight for a brief moment before she dropped it into my open hand.

  Carefully, I turned it around in my palm, the silver cold against my skin.

  On the front side of the medallion, the Virgin Mary stood on a globe with her arms outstretched, crushing a serpent beneath her feet.

  A Latin inscription was etched on the back of the medallion.

  Narrowing my eyes, I read it aloud, “O Maria sine labe concepta, ora pro nobis, qui confugimus ad te.”

  Vivian closed my hand over the medallion and I noticed her fingers were cold despite the warmth of the day. “It means: Oh Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to you. It’s called the miraculous medal. Wear it,” she said, her voice catching slightly, as if she was about to cry. “To keep you safe. Mom gave it to me when I was baptized. She told me it was blessed by the Pope.”

  To keep me safe.

  We stared at each other as her words hung thick in the air between us.

  Unspoken things moved in her eyes, and my heart lodged itself in my throat.

  “Don’t worry, Viv. Nothing bad is gonna to happen to me in Iraq,” I said, as much to convince myself as her.

  To ease her concer
ns, I slipped the chain over my neck, then heard the metal clink against my other chain—my dog tag.

  After a frozen moment, I lifted my dog tag up and over my neck, then pressed it into Vivian’s palm. “Hold on to this for me.”

  The army had encompassed so much of my life that in a way, I was also giving her a part of myself.

  It wasn’t a letterman’s jacket, it wasn’t a class ring, or even an engagement ring, but it was promise that no matter what, I would come back to her.

  That I wanted to come back to her.

  “Won’t you be needing this?” Her hair danced in the breeze as she dangled the silver tag from her fingers.

  I found myself staring at the tag as it reflected in the golden sunlight. “Don’t worry about it,” I assured her. “I’ll get another one reissued.”

  When I’d first joined the army, I was issued two dog tags.

  One—the tag I had given Viv—I wore around my neck on a chain, and the other I attached (via a small chain) to one of my boots so that in the event my body ever came apart during conflict, I could still be identified.

  Rather gruesome but a reality that I wasn’t compelled to share with Viv.

  So I always wore my dog tags, and giving Vivian one of my tags was like giving her a piece of jewelry that was broken in two. She had one piece, and I the other, and I liked to think it would connect the two of us.

  Vivian slipped the chain over her neck. “I won’t take it off. I promise.”

  “This way …” I cradled her face in my hands and kissed the summer freckles on her face. “I’ll still be with you even when I’m gone.”

  There was so much more I wanted to say to Viv, but I couldn’t seem to find the words. In a way I hoped my dog tag spoke to her louder than my words ever could.

  That night when we kissed, we kissed deeper, and we kissed endlessly. And when we made love, we could not get close enough to each other. It was almost as if we wanted to crawl inside each other’s skin and stay there forever.

  We made love until we physically ached. Vivian cried afterward, shivers racking her entire body. I kissed her hair, her shoulders, her face and her salty tears.