by Claire Cain
“You don’t get to decide for me, Luke. You decide for you, and I decide for me. And I’ve decided. It’s terrifying and honestly I have no idea what it means, but I want you. I already knew that, but when I screwed everything up last week, I got the message, loud and clear. I should have put you first, and if I’d tried, I could have, from the beginning. I wouldn’t have had to flake on my job, and I wouldn’t have had to do it last minute. It’s been messy with all kinds of black and white and gray in my mind, but I’m figuring out that’s ok.” I ran a hand over my mouth and then looked at him. He was standing there, frozen in place by my rant. Time to go for it.
“You’re what I want. I love you and I’m in love with you, and I want you to have a claim on me because I want a claim on you. I don’t want a life where I have a great job but you’re not in it.” Before I could even take a full breath after my tirade, he pulled me into his arms and crushed me against him, his mouth covering mine in a possessive, passionate kiss. Then he set me back away from him.
“That was—You were… I don’t know what to say.” He ran a hand through his hair again, and a smile grew on his face as his chest rose and fell.
“I think you’ve had me on some kind of weird pedestal. I don’t want to be there. I want you to talk to me and not assume you know what I want, or what’s best for me. I get to have a say in that. And we’re not Louis and Jen. They had a baby just out of high school and that changed all the dreams they had growing up. We’ve both gotten our degrees, laid down the foundation of our careers. It’s different. And yes, I’m going to have to compromise and change some things to have a life with you, and that’s a huge unknown, but I trust that we can figure it out… together.” I crossed my arms and glared at him, wanting to make sure he understood the problem with him deciding everything on my behalf without talking to me.
“I don’t think you want me. I mean, it’s easy now, while I’m here. But let’s say we stay together, and we get married. You have to come with me. I’m not going to be one of those soldiers whose wife lives in a different place. I’d want you with me wherever I go.”
“Good. I’d want to be there with you. I’d go where you go.”
“It could be anywhere. It could be Korea. Or Alaska. Or backwoods Louisiana.” He was all worked up, his hair sticking up, no longer styled, and it made him look frantic. His face was flushed and he was practically a blur as he paced a small line around the kitchen island.
“I love Korean barbeque. I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights. And you know I love Cajun food.” I stepped where he had stopped his pacing, suppressing a maniacal giggle I felt rising in my throat. He was trying to scare me away.
“Or Germany or Italy,” he said, like that would scare me away.
“Schnitzel. And duh,” I said, taking another step.
“It could be years and years stationed at different posts in Texas. Texas, Al,” he said, his eyes wide.
“Austin is a gastronomic hub. Mexican food is one of my favorites, as you well know. And if you’re there, then… I’m there. Capisci?”
“What about when I go TDY or I deploy? What about when I’m gone for a year at a time, and we can barely communicate, and you hate where you’re living, or you can’t find a job and you’re miserable?” He ran his hands through his hair again, and then stopped with his hands on his hips.
“The job thing is a real issue. That does scare me, in some ways. But I also never would have imagined that I’d be so comfortable here in Nashville so quickly when I was starting my job in New York, you know? I never would have imagined voluntarily making that move. What’s the difference if the Army tells me where to go? I know it won’t be the way I planned, but honestly, I’m not convinced I should be in charge anymore. I’ve had tunnel vision, and I’ve missed out on having a full life.” I held out my hands as a kind of sign of surrender.
“You’re a good planner. You don’t want to give up planning. The Army will take that away from you—you can’t plan anything.” He was shaking his head, his gorgeous face twisted with worry and determination.
“You’re worth it to me,” I said in a quiet voice I hoped would convey my faith in him, in the possibility of us.
“But what about when I’m gone? That’s a very real and inevitable aspect of being with me. Other men with normal jobs—that’s not something you deal with if you’re with a lawyer or a banker or a high school science teacher.” His face had softened, but I could see the muscles in his shoulders bunching up, betraying his concern.
“I admit I don’t want to think about what it’ll be like when you have to be gone. I feel like we’ve spent way too much time apart already. But I believe we can get through that together. And the women I met at the ball were all amazing. I admire them, and I can see why people talk about how unique the military culture and bond is. I see that they have it, that they support each other, and I believe I could easily fold into that. I feel like they were ready to fold me in already because they know you and care about what you care about. And… I want it for myself.”
“You do?” He sounded amazed, one hand gripping the back of his neck again.
“I do. I obviously don’t know much about what your life is like, or what it’s like to be an Army girlfriend, let alone an Army wife, but I think if I was your wife, and better yet, if you were my husband, I could do just about anything. I’m already so proud of you… so proud to know you and be your friend.” I moved to him then, and I could see his shoulders relaxing a little, and a small smile start at one corner of his mouth.
But I had to ask one question that had been on my mind since we’d started this conversation. “But do you? Do you think I could do it? Because like you said, I don’t know what it’s like, and you do, and if you don’t think I—”
He cut me off with a kiss. He held me with one hand at my back, one hand behind my head. He pressed his lips to mine, pulled back, and kissed me again. They were strong, reassuring, loving kisses.
“I have absolutely no doubt you can do anything you want—anything you decide to do. I have always known that and never wanted to be the one to hold you back.” His eyes bore into me, reassuring me, and I felt my heart expand as I looked back at him. “I have wanted you all my life. I knew, even in ninth grade, that I couldn’t be close to you without wanting all of you. After Louis and Jen, I knew I couldn’t be your best friend and not push you for more. So I removed myself because watching my brother and his dreams implode in front of me scared me. I was scared for myself, and I was scared of you ever looking at me like Jen looked at him.”
I lay my head on his chest and hugged him, then tipped my head back again to look at his face. “I always wondered if it was something with them. You disappeared so soon after, I knew it was, even though I wished you would have just talked to me.”
His hand squeezed my shoulders for emphasis. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t talk to you without admitting how much I loved you, and the prospect of that was terrifying. As time went on, it felt like I’d made the right choice—you were happy and then you went off to New York like you’d always dreamed. It was confirmation that staying away was right.” He dipped his head.
“I missed you every day. I thought about you every day,” I said, feeling the familiar pang of longing I’d felt so often over the years, and so acutely those first few years after he distanced himself.
“I’m not sure I was wrong. I wish we could have been close, or that I could have explained what I was thinking, but now we’ve both had time.” His eyes searched mine again, and I breathed in his explanation, letting it settle in my mind.
“That’s true. We’ve had plenty of time,” I admitted with a small smile. I watched as his eyes darkened and searched my face as he pulled me closer.
“If you want me, I’m yours. Always have been.” His voice was low and smooth and quiet and hearing those words coming from his mouth in combination with his voice turned me into a puddle of elation and desire.
“Sold.”
After that, we talked. Ok, we kissed for like, a while, all right? And things may have escalated, but we managed to calm down and keep talking. We had ground to cover. We decided we’d keep dating, but instead of feeling some kind of inevitable end date lingering out in the wings, we’d stay hopeful, we’d act like we were going to stay together and build a future together. I had a few moments where I felt the sheer madness of making plans to essentially marry and have babies with my childhood friend all while we’d only dated for a few weeks, and yet it didn’t feel unnatural. As we spoke, so much of it came with a tunneling inevitability that I laughed.
I laughed out of relief, and out of joy, and because there were moments when he looked at me and I finally recognized what it was I saw in his eyes—desire, love, devotion, hope. It was addicting, and thrilling, and still scary. I’d never felt this way and never been with someone who did either. I didn’t know what life would look like, or how I would carry on with my old routine much longer when I knew so clearly what I wanted—I wanted Luke. I wanted a life together with him. We just hadn’t had time to develop the details of a future yet. We did need time. It felt like all we’d had was time, and yet, we did need time. We’d take it together.
Epilogue
“Al, I have a question for you,” Luke said from my computer screen. We were Facetiming yet again. It’d been another six weeks since our big confession, and we’d managed to see each other at least once a week since then. We talked every night and texted through the day, and I had to use every ounce of my professionalism and adulthood to not just sit around and think about him and how adorable he was.
“What’s your question?”
“How’d you like to go on a little trip with me after Christmas?” he asked from his couch. I could tell he was lying sideways, his head propped on his hand, and the phone must have been balanced on his coffee table.
“Sure. We’re flying to Utah together, right? I literally just made my plane reservation because you gave me your flight information.”
“Yes, yes, still doing that.” His smile was blinding, and I had a flashback to Luke at eighteen. Good grief, this man had always been painfully handsome.
“Where would we go?” I wondered what he had up his sleeve and tried to suppress any little runaway trains that might spring to life in my very active imagination.
“I was thinking we’d fly to Italy and you could show me around,” he said with a growing smile.
“Wait, really?” I sat up straighter and I must have pushed at the limits of Lemon’s tolerance for human movement because he jumped down and shot me a condescending look before he sauntered off with his tail twitching.
“Yes. I think it’ll be a good start to the next year of our lives. New Year’s in Rome?”
Something about the way he said it—the next year of our lives—had my heart pounding. I hoped it would be the first of many to come.
“Certo, Amore.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the writer of the best love story of all time—the One who shows us real sacrifice and loves us before we ever know what hit us.
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Thank you to my husband, whose encouragement and cheerleading have been at the root of my writing, and whose love has inspired me to write. Matthew, our love story will always be my favorite.
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Thanks to my family, who’ve been supportive, even if they have no idea what I mean when I say I’m writing a romance. It’s ok guys—you don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.
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To my Beta readers Melissa, Meagan, Stephanie, Whitney, and Staci—thank you for your diligence, your insight, your honesty, and your time.
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Thank you to Julie, whose friendship and love are fuel on so many levels. Thank you to Monica, Denise, and Karen for being my own personal cheering squad—for laughing, crying, praying, cheering for me, and being sweet enough to be impressed that I ever even started.
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To Jamie, who kept me going and commiserated in so many ways along the line I can’t even fully describe it—thank you for your incredible mind, your amazing patience, and your genuine excitement. I cannot freaking WAIT to get YOUR book in my hands.
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To the Writerly Writers Write group, thank you for being persistent in our swaps, despite long distances, disparate time zones, and a whole lotta life in our faces. I’m honored to read your work regularly.
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Huge thanks to Judy Roth for working with me, turning drafts around at lightning speed, and being so thorough and thoughtful. Thanks to Jeff Senter at Indie Formatting for formatting the book. Unending thanks to Rainbeau Decker for patience, creativity, and beautiful work with the cover—I’m so thrilled to be partnering with you!
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To the readers who’ve made it this far, thanks for reading. If you have time, please leave a review. Now, back to work!
About the Author
Claire Cain lives to eat and drink her way around the globe with her traveling soldier and two kids, but is perhaps even happier hunkered down at home in a pair of sweatpants and slippers using any free moment she has to read and cook. Or talk—she really likes to talk. She has become an expert at packing too many dishes in too few cabinets and making houses into homes from Utah to Germany and many places in between. She’s a proud Army wife and is frankly just really happy to be here.
CONNECT WITH CLAIRE:
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Want more?
Here’s a teaser for the Rambler Battalion Series,
book 2 starring Alex’s best friend Ellie,
due out Winter 2019!
Sneak Peak
As You Are
“Ladies and Gentleman, please remain calm. As you can tell, we’re experiencing some turbulence.”
The speakers crackled like something out of a 1980s disaster film and I made a point of staring straight ahead at the tray table latch, pushing a breath slowly out my nose. The plane rumbled and rattled around me and I willed myself to calm down.
I’d been on the flight for an hour now. I left DC after my first harrowing flight from Philadelphia, but it was a quick hop, more up and down than anything. That sounds easy, except that the upping and downing is a prime feature of my overall dread of flying. And now here I was, halfway through what was quickly turning out to be the worst flight of my life. The plane took a huge dip, so much so that my body strained against the seatbelt as gravity forced what was up to go down and just about everyone in the plane let out gasps and a few shrieks. Perfect. I was going to die at the ripe age of 27 having done almost nothing but read and write papers and have two crappy boyfriends.
The plane shuddered and bumped along, and I pulled on my seatbelt one more time like it could have loosened in the thirty seconds since I’d last done it. I tried to return to my book. I gripped the small brick of bound pages and tried to turn my attention to the green cover and the soldier piled high with the weights of the world and his vocation. I read the title: Grunt: The Curious Science of Humans at War by Mary Roach. This woman. What a brain. So far I was approximately twenty-eight pages in. I’d purchased about twenty books on a variety of military-themed subject matter to get started on my research and also so I didn’t look like a total idiot when I started my new job. And now I was unable to even crack the book back to the page I’d dog-eared during boarding (some would say blasphemy, but I say, what else is the point of a paperback book? Should I baby and preserve it, or should I devour it? I say the latter.).
I smoothed my hand over the cover and then gripped the book, wishing the familiarity of a book in hand, a daily ritual, an elemental thing, would sooth me. No dice. The plane dipped again and my body pressed back against the seat as I shu
t my eyes against the horrible gush of terror that swam in my belly. I breathed in through my nose and kept my eyes closed, repeating to myself what I was doing, and why I was on this plane.
I’m moving to a new job that matters. I’m moving so I can have time to write. I’m moving so I can help people. I’m more than halfway through this flight. I’m more likely to die in a car crash on the way to my new apartment than on this plane. Air travel is perfectly safe. Turbulence is perfectly norm—
The plane dipped. No, it didn’t dip, it flat out dropped, and my belly, that one swimming with terror? It dropped too, like we were on a roller coaster on the biggest thriller dip, except we weren’t on a track. We were thousands and thousands of feet in the air surrounded by some sham of a metal like aluminum and all that kept us there was, I suspected, the sheer will of God and the pilots, who were probably drunk or busy sexting their girlfriends.
