“Do you want me to ask Kemper if he’s seen him?” Like it would be so easy.
“No. They’re in different units.” She stands up and walks into the kitchen, snatching her coffee mug off the counter. “So you talked to Kemper?”
I want to smile for me, but not now, not while I’m looking at someone who is feeling as much pain as I was just hours earlier. “Only for a minute. I don’t know much. Just that his shoulder is injured.”
“I’m glad he’s okay,” she says, looking into her mug.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything more I can do for you?”
“Actually, I just want to be alone right now.” I knew that was coming.
“If you need anything, just bang on the wall.” I grab my phone off the table and drop it into my pocket, giving her another minute to see if she changes her mind, but she turns to the fridge, avoiding me entirely. I don’t know what else to do. I feel useless.
I walk out her door, closing it quietly behind me, and as I turn toward my door, I find Trent sitting on my front step. Why? “Dammit, Trent, don’t you know how to leave someone the hell alone? Did I not make things clear earlier?”
“Why won’t you just talk to me?” he asks, standing up and brushing the dirt off his backside.
“I did—through my damn door. Now leave…and forget my address, the one I know I didn’t give you.”
“Just take a walk with me, Daph.” He reaches his hand out for mine and I step away, moving further away from my door than I want to.
“What? No. Leave before I call the MP.”
He places his hands up in defense. “Whoa. I’m not trying to cause any trouble.”
The calmness of his voice invigorates me to shove the heel of my palm into his chest. “Get the fuck away from me. Being with you—knowing you—was the biggest mistake I ever made. You are poison. You are dirt. You are nothing more than a coward with an anger problem. Leave me the hell alone!” I scream. “Never, and I mean never, come near me again, or so help me God, Trent, I will make sure you pay for everything you ever did to me.”
“Guess you’re still a bitch. Maybe you’re right about people not changing,” he says, turning to leave.
“If I’m such a bitch, why do you keep coming after me?” I shout after him, knowing I should have just shut my mouth and closed myself into the house. This, of course, gets Jennifer’s attention, and she opens her door, bearing witness to this awesome scene.
“What are you doing here, Private?” She shouts after him. “Get your fat ass back to your barracks.” Holy. Shit. I wonder if the look on his face after being called a fat ass is the same look I had on my face when he called me one. I told Jennifer everything about him—everything from start to finish. Which is why I was taken aback earlier when she thought there was a different reason for Trent being outside my door. Now I know it’s because she’s not thinking clearly.
Trent leaves without another word and I can only hope he doesn’t have the balls to come back. “Thank you,” I tell her.
She doesn’t say anything as she closes herself back up into her house. What kind of world did I throw myself into? I thought everything would be better here. Safer.
***
It’s the middle of the night and with my phone beneath my pillow, I’m startled awake as it rings loudly in my ear. I feel drugged and out of it as I struggle to connect the call. “Hello?” I rasp.
“Daph.” It’s Kemper. This pulls me out of my haze and up against the headboard. Why is he calling me in the middle of the night? I try to calm myself, knowing if he’s calling me at all, he’s still alive.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m having surgery in a couple of hours—“ he trails off. “They said I might—“ He’s breathing heavily into the phone. I’ve never heard him this unsure or unsettled, even when I spoke to him earlier. “I might lose my arm.”
A million thoughts soar through my mind. Thoughts I can’t settle on. “But you might not,” I tell him. I have to stay positive for him. This is something Jennifer has instilled in me. Always stay positive for the one who needs you the most. Although the thought of someone telling me I might wake up without one of my limbs is something I can’t comprehend.
“Daph?” He exhales loudly into the phone. “Will you still love me if I don’t have my right arm?” His voice breaks apart and he’s crying. Don’t cry, Kemper. Please. Hearing him like this has me completely choked up. “I’m so scared right now. I need you.”
The fact that he even considered for one second that I wouldn’t love him if he were not in one piece tears me apart. “I will love you in any way I can have you. I don’t care what that means. Do you understand?”
He sniffles into the phone before exhaling loud enough for me to hear. “They’re transporting me home after the surgery. So long as there aren’t any complications, I should be back in five to seven days.”
He’s coming home. What complications? I shouldn’t ask. I don’t want to know. My eyes fill with tears from a combination of fear and hope. “I will be waiting for you. Will you call me after the surgery?” Please be able to call me.
“If I can figure out how to call you with one hand,” he laughs through a nervous cry. “I will call you. Just—“
“What is it?”
“I’m not the praying type, but…please pray for me. Pray that something doesn’t go wrong and I don’t lose more than just my arm. I need to see you again. I need to keep my promise to you.”
“I pray every day, Kemper…every second, of every minute, of every day that you’ve been gone. I’m not the praying type either, but the man in the moon, he’s kept me going, and you don’t need to worry. You’re going to see me.”
“I love you, darlin’. Always. Goodbye now.”
“Don’t say goodbye to me, Kemper. I love you, and I’ll say those words to your face real soon. You hear me?”
“I’ll see you soon,” he says unsurely.
The walls have never seemed so dark before tonight. Lying here alone in this big empty bed, thinking the worst, but hoping for the best, knowing whatever life brings me, I won’t know how to handle it. Even if Kemper keeps his arm, I saw how he was after his last deployment. Will it be worse this time? Am I strong enough to help him through it?
I try to close my eyes, but the thoughts won’t stop. My mind is racing. It’s like a movie reel made up of the worst possible outcomes. I don’t know how I managed not drifting off for more than thirty seconds, but I realize it is, in fact, possible to sleep with my eyes open.
When the sun’s hazy rays spill over the windowsill, I drag myself out of bed. I grab the keys and my bag and head out the door to do something I haven’t been tempted to do once since Kemper left. I climb onto his bike. He taught me how to ride before he left and he told me if there was an emergency or my Jeep broke, I could use it. My jeep is fine, but I need to feel the soothing vibrations. Considering current circumstances, I’d say this constitutes an emergency.
I slip the helmet on and slide down over the seat, wishing more than anything I was wrapping my arms around Kemper and smelling the fabric softener on the back of his shirt. I take off, wanting to close my eyes as the wind swallows me whole. I should ride this more often; it’s way better than the Jeep and the noise drowns out my thoughts.
As I pull into the rink lot, I realize it’s about ten minutes before Jesse usually opens the place up, which means I need to occupy my mind until then.
I don’t know what time it is in Germany. I wonder if the surgery is over. Would someone call me if there were complications? How long will it take him to wake up from the anesthesia? I take the helmet off and clip it to the back of the bike just as Jesse peels into the lot. He pulls up beside me with a raised brow. “What the heck?” He laughs. “This is early even for you…and you’re on his bike. I’m impressed, but worried. Did you finally hear from him?”
“He’s in surgery. He might lose his arm. I need this.” He may never be able to ride this
bike again.
Jesse doesn’t say another word as he slips out of his car and wraps his arm around me, guiding me into the rink. “How bad is the injury?” he finally asks.
I try to keep my composure when I look Jesse in the eyes and say, “Pretty bad.”
Jesse places a hand on my shoulder and leans down to look me in the eyes. “He’s going to be okay. Positive thoughts, grasshopper.”
I needed that.
I follow Jesse into the building and through the glass doors out onto the wide-open rink. I don’t know what I’d do without this place. I drop my backpack off of my shoulders and pull out my skates, seeing and feeling the tremble within my hands. I hope the ice can heal me today.
It takes me less than five minutes to lace my skates and dig my blades into the ice. I race around the rink a dozen times, hoping the wind will keep the thoughts from my mind as the bike did, but they’re slow moving today. I see the lights flicker on in the office, and Ravel’s music immediately plays through the speakers. If there’s anything in this world that can numb my mind, it’s this music.
My muscles relax, my lungs clear and the thoughts mute. I close my eyes and let my blades take me away. The ups and downs of the chords blend with my memories of sharing this music with Kemper and the way his lips accentuated each dip and groove of the bass and the way the crescendo enhanced all sensations within me. This piece now connects me to him, no matter where he is or how he is. It’s a solid link, and maybe it’s silly, childish, and fairy-tale-esque, but I believe in it. I have to believe everything is going to be okay. I push forward, letting the music take me under its wings where I can hide and feel sheltered from the outside world.
I stop quick and hard when I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. It’s him. I can feel it. My hand shakes as I unzip my pocket and pull my phone out. I swallow hard before pressing, “Accept.” Trying my hardest to catch my breath, I say, “Hello.”
“Hey,” he says, his voice totally ripped apart and scratchy.
“Hi,” I manage to get out. “How did it go?” Do you still have your arm? Are you going to make it? Are you coming home? I need to know everything. Tell me. Please.
“Well, there were some complications, I guess.” This doesn’t sound good. This sounds like he’s about to tell me they had to remove his arm and his life is going to drastically change. He groans into the phone and the sound kills me.
“Kemper?”
“Sorry, I’m in a lot of pain, more than I’ve ever been in. It hurts to breathe.” It hurts me to breathe too, but for different reasons. “But you know what’ll help me? Your memories from your notebook. I have the envelope right here next to me and I’ve read all one-hundred and eighty-three of them about five times over the past six months.”
“Really?” I whimper into the phone, squeezing a handful of new ones I’ve written in the past six months—ones I will burn the second I see him again. As if the timing couldn’t have been planned more perfectly, the chords of Daphnis and Chloe are all climbing and I can feel the beats in my chest, causing stress. Why won’t he just say it? “Did you—“ I just need to say it. I need the music to slow down so my heartbeat will slow too. “Your arm. Did they have to—“
“Daphne, can you hear me?”
“Kemper?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CURRENT DAY
KEMPER
THIS HAS BEEN A LONG fucking flight, but at least they let me sit in a seat this time, rather than strapping me down to a gurney. I keep trying not to look over at the damage, but the other part of me thinks if I keep looking, I’ll come to terms with the long road I have ahead of me.
“We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes,” someone calls over the speaker. I look around the aircraft, noting I’m lucky compared to the other guys on board. There are two flag covered coffins on the opposite side. Jeffries is in one of them. I guess he was still alive when Doc sent him over to Germany, but then he died en route from what I heard.
I throw my head back, feeling the plane descend. The wheels groan as they drop from the undercarriage and my heart, or maybe my chest, begins to ache. What if she isn’t there? What if this is all too much for her?
The side door unlatches and unfolds into a ramp. I can only see so far, but I don’t see much right now. It’s hard to swallow the lump in my throat as I take slow steps down the ramp, looking from side to side. Did I miss her? I look again, watching as the crowd parts and moves toward us.
There she is. There’s my girl.
She’s wearing a flowery yellow dress with her hands clutched over her heart and tears in her eyes. I hope the bruises on my face and the line of stitches running from my ear to my lip don’t scare her too much. At least she can’t really see the damage left behind on my shoulder. God, I’ve never been one to feel self-conscious, but right now I feel like everyone is staring at me. Everyone except her. She’s running toward me as fast as her legs can carry her.
I reach my left arm out for her and loop it around her waist as soon as she’s close enough. I lift her up, ignoring the splitting pain in my shoulder as her lips find mine. I’m not about to let a second slip by without feeling the warmth I’ve longed for over the past six months. She smells like mint and soap and flowers and everything I’ve dreamed about. I want to inhale every inch of her.
She’s crying so hard and it makes me feel like I might lose it too. When we run out of breath, her hands cup around my cheeks and she drops herself down to look at me—examine me. Her dimples cave in and more tears bubble from her glossy blue eyes. She hasn’t said a word, but I know exactly what she’s thinking. I look horrifying.
She traces her thumb around the stitches, the gentleness of her touch sending chills up my spine. “This could have been so much worse,” she says, looking down at my right arm. “You still have your arm, Kemp.”
I can’t argue with that. I do still have my arm and I’m only left with scars, nerve, and muscular damage. The damage might be bad enough to keep me from ever deploying again, but after this tour, I might be okay with that.
Daphne slips under my left arm and places her arm around my back. “Let’s get you home.” She’s focused on making our way through the crowd, and I’m focused on the profile of her face.
“I missed you more than—“ She glances over to me, showing me a certain sadness floating within her eyes. “There’s nothing I can compare it to.”
She nuzzles her head into my arm and continues leading us toward the Jeep. She takes my pack from my shoulders and tries to lift it into the trunk, but she can’t move it from the ground. “Gosh, what is in here?” she says through a struggling voice.
“The life I’ve carried around on my back for the past six months.” I take it from her and toss it into the trunk. “I won’t be able to drive for a while.” I’m guessing she already assumed this, but minute-by-minute, I’m starting to feel like a goddamn loser.
She opens the passenger side door and waves me in. “I think we’ll manage.”
The drive back to the house is quiet, but I can feel the questions simmering up inside her. She’s one to think long and hard before saying anything, and I’m guessing she has a lot to say, considering we’ve spoken for no more than two minutes over the past month.
Once we’re in the house, I carefully lower myself onto the sofa. It’s not because of the pain, but because I want to relish every second of feeling a soft surface encase my ass. I slept on the ground for most of the last six months, and the hospital bed was made up of sheet-covered coils, but this, this is nice.
I lift my feet and drop them onto the table, noticing the keys to my bike sitting on one side. “No shit,” I say, laughing a bit. “You drove the bike, didn’t you?”
A slight smile touches her lips. “Maybe a couple of times over the last few days. I needed it—“
“The engine soothes your worries away, right?” That’s why I bought the bike in the first place. After my first deployment, I was having nightmares, panic attacks, a
nd flashbacks at the most inopportune times. I needed something to take my mind off of life, and that bike was the perfect distraction.
“Yeah, it took the edge off,” she says, sitting down gently beside me. “Kemp?”
There it is—whatever it is that has been stirring in her mind. I look over at her and take her hand in mine. “What’s the matter, darlin’?”
“What happened?”
I don’t want to tell her what happened. I don’t even want to remember what happened. I know I’m looking through her as I conjure up a non-asshole like response. “We were ambushed.”
“I saw it on TV,” she says. Now that makes me sick to my stomach. I volunteered to see, live, and never forget that shit, but she didn’t ask to have her innocence stolen from her.
“What did you see?”
“A vehicle. A truck or whatever it was. It was hit with a grenade. I saw people running out of it. I think—“
“You think what?”
“Jennifer and I thought we might have seen you, but it was hard to tell since you were covered in black dirt.”
I nod, not agreeing or disagreeing with her. How the fuck did the press get that whole thing on film? “I take it you heard about Travis,” I ask her.
She nods, looking down at her fidgeting hands. “Jennifer told me last week. Do you know anything?”
“He was the reason we were on that mission. We were trying to find him.” Her eyes go wide, and she stands up like she’s about to go run and tell Jennifer something. “Whoa, whoa. Sit down, Daph.” I tug at her wrist, pulling her back to the sofa. “You can’t go telling her this. It’s confidential.”
“But, she thinks there’s a chance he might have just run away. I can’t let her think that,” she says, anger lilting in her voice.
“He didn’t,” I tell her.
“She deserves to know, Kemper.” Not that I don’t agree with her, but it isn’t my place to give her that news.
“I could get in trouble for telling her this, Daph. She’ll be notified soon, I promise, but you know what? Maybe letting her think he ran away is easier for her to swallow than finding out he’s a prisoner somewhere.”
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