by Hart, Lane
“You have to be? Why is that? You don’t think she’ll wait around for you?”
“Oh I know she would wait. That’s the problem. I don’t want her to wait around,” I explain.
“So you didn’t ask her to wait?” he questions before taking a sip from his coffee mug, one that has #1 DAD written on it.
“Of course not. I’m not that big of a dick.”
“So then what was the whole point of spending weeks with her at some shitty camp where you can’t have a phone?”
“I wanted to make amends, to leave without her hating me. Although, I think she may hate me again now for springing this on her. She cried the whole way home after I told her…”
“Well, no shit! How did you think she would react?”
“I didn’t think she would tell me she loved me or that I was breaking her heart.”
“She said that?” he asks, brows lifted in surprise.
“Yeah. Crazy, right?”
“What’s crazy is that you’re just gonna up and leave her after dropping that bomb.”
“What else could I have done? I have to leave,” I tell him. “And it really sucks, because she’s got this art thing tomorrow afternoon at Madison. I’m already missing shit and I haven’t left yet!”
“Why can’t you go tomorrow?”
“Because I have to report,” I remind him.
“At a certain time? Don’t you think they could give you a break since you’re giving them four years of your life?”
“I mean, I doubt it, but I guess I could ask.”
“You should ask. And then you should pull your head out of your ass and figure out how to make things right with her before you go. Otherwise, I think you’ll always regret it.”
“I can’t be that selfish.”
“Sure you can,” he says. “And it’s not selfish if she feels the same way about you.”
* * *
Later that night, as I laid awake on Blake’s couch, I replayed our conversation and then all the ones with Hannah over the last few weeks. And no matter how much I hate it, there’s one thing that stands out perfectly clear.
I’m not ready to give her up either.
Hannah’s the only person who has ever loved me unconditionally. No matter how big of a jackass I’ve been, she’s never hated me, or given up on me. I may still be young, but I’m old enough to know that kind of loyalty is rare and shouldn’t be taken for granted. Only an idiot would throw something so amazing away twice…
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hannah
“Congratulations, honey. We’re so proud of you,” my mom says as her and my dad give me a hug before the unveiling at the art museum.
“It’s just one painting,” I remind them, unable to find more than a crumb of happiness today after Royal blew up everything yesterday. And a bad choice of words, because now I can’t help but worry about bombs and Royal colliding if he’s shipped out to a war zone…
“Yes, but your painting was chosen out of thousands of other students,” my dad points out when he puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “And that is something you should be proud of too. This is exciting! Your work will be hanging up for everyone to see.”
“Ugh, that’s what I’m worried about,” I mutter. “What if everyone else thinks it sucks?”
“I’ve seen it, and I know it doesn’t suck,” Mom assures me.
“You’re not exactly an informed art critic,” I point out.
“What’s with the Debbie Downer routine?” she asks. “You usually come back from camp more upbeat than this. Is everything okay?”
No, nothing is okay, and it may never be okay again.
“I’m fine. Just nervous,” I assure her. And great, now I’m lying to my parents. But it’s not like I can tell them about how I stupidly fell for the same boy who has broken my heart more times than I can count, only to be devastated once again.
Thankfully, Maddie chooses the perfect time to appear as a distraction before I burst into tears.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here!” I say as I hurry over and throw my arms around her neck.
“I wouldn’t miss it!” she says. “Aric would’ve come too, but he had to stay home with Mandy and Matt.”
“No, that’s fine. It’s just nice to see a friendly face other than my parents. You’ll tell me the truth, right, if it sucks?”
“It’s not going to suck,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “But I promise to be honest, okay?”
“Thanks.”
“So? Is there anything else you want to talk about? Like maybe camp? I thought you would call or come over yesterday to fill me in on all the details with Royal.”
“Ah, not right now and maybe not ever,” I say, blinking away tears. “It’s a long story I can’t go into, but I’ll just say that we’re done and over.”
“Yeah? That really sucks. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. Please change the subject before I have a breakdown and the Madison art professors all think I’m nuts,” I whisper since they’re all here for the unveiling.
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Jill Walters, the head of the art department, says, which means it’s showtime. My stomach is in knots as she gives a brief introduction about the scholarship contest.
And then, it’s time for the big reveal.
“Without further ado, I present to you, Enraged, a painting by incoming freshman and our Betsy Bruce scholarship award recipient, Miss Hannah Morgan.”
The white sheet is pulled from the canvas mounted on the wall, revealing the eyes of the boy who broke my heart for the final time. I thought he had hurt me the worst when he was angry, but it turns out it hurt even more when I thought he loved me.
“Wow,” Maddie whispers. “Is that…that’s…”
“Royal, yes,” I answer, having to look away from the wall.
“It’s…”
“It’s what? Tell me the truth,” I say as she keeps staring at the painting.
“Beautiful,” Maddie says. “But angry. His eyes, they make you feel small, you know? Not because they’re so large, but because they’re so…intense. He may have caused you a lot of pain, but you still love him, don’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s a pretty good way to describe how I felt when I painted it,” I reply, even though I may not have been fully aware of the emotions myself at the time, right after homecoming.
“Holy shit!” someone with a masculine voice exclaims from across the room. At first, I think it must be someone who hates the painting, because even though the voice is familiar, it can’t be Royal. He said he was leaving… “That’s me,” the same voice says, causing me to finally try and seek him out in the small crowd of mostly Madison staff and my extended family.
And there he is, looking at the painting I did of his eyes with his jaw gaping.
“What the heck is he doing here?” I ask aloud in shock.
“Why wouldn’t he come?” Maddie asks.
“Because he was supposed to report for duty.”
“Huh?”
Before I can explain everything to her, Royal finally glances away from the wall and searches the crowd for me. When our eyes meet, a sob escapes my lips because he looks so confused and sad. And I can’t do this! I can’t say goodbye again. It’s too hard!
“What are you doing here?” I ask as he comes closer.
“I wasn’t sure,” Royal tells me when he’s standing in front of me. “I didn’t know what I was going to say before I got here, and…that’s me. You painted me?”
“Yeah, I did. The night you came over, right after the homecoming dance.”
“Oh. Well, it’s incredible. And I’m not just saying that because it’s you and it’s me,” he rambles. “What I mean is, I finally get it. I wasn’t sure how to say goodbye to you even though I thought about it for weeks. Now I do.”
“You said goodbye yesterday,” I remind him.
“Not the way I should have. I told you good
luck at Madison, and I meant that; but I should’ve also said…marry me.”
My heart is racing so fast and so loud that I couldn’t hear the last part he said clearly. “What was that?” I ask him.
“Marry me. Now. Today,” Royal replies. “You said you loved me, and I’m convinced you must if you didn’t give up on me despite everything that happened the last two years...”
I wait for him to say, “Just kidding!” or “Gotcha,” but he doesn’t say anything else. He just looks at me with those intense, whiskey-colored eyes, as if waiting for me to give him an answer, but he didn’t ask a question. Did he? I think it was more of a statement. A crazy statement, but still a statement about marriage.
“Th-that’s crazy, Royal!” I tell him with a puff of laughter. “You said so yourself yesterday, remember?”
“Why is it so crazy?” he asks. Stepping closer, he wraps his arms around my waist, and I melt into his familiar scent and body as he speaks next to my ear so that no one else can hear his words. “You wanted your husband to be your first, right? Marry me, and then I won’t have to ever worry about you regretting being with me years ago instead of waiting.”
“That’s not a good reason to get married!” I exclaim. “And, besides…” I try to figure out a besides but all I come up with is, “Aren’t you supposed to be at Fort Bragg?”
“Marry me before I leave, not just because I was your first, but because I’m in love with you and have been for so long. When I’m gone, I don’t want to have to think about who is taking my place because anyone you meet is better than me. I don’t want to lose my mind wondering who will be the first man to see you each day or who will kiss you goodnight. I want that to be me someday. Only me.”
“You do?” I ask him, my eyes tearing up with an overload of emotions.
“Yeah. I do,” he replies with a smile. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll never come back and you’ll never have to actually live with my crazy ass…”
I slap my palm over his mouth. “Don’t say that! I don’t want to even think about you getting hurt or worse...”
Pulling my hand away, Royal says, “Then we won’t think about that or anything bad. Is it insane to do this, to get married now, today? Hell yes. But I know I’ll always regret it if I didn’t ask you, because you’re one of the few good things I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Okay,” I blurt out.
“Okay what?” he asks.
“Yes, I’ll…I’ll marry you!” I barely finish saying the words when Royal pulls my face to his and kisses me like the world is ending and that we’re not standing in an art gallery with a room full of people looking at us like we’re nuts.
When we finally separate, only out of the necessity for air, I tell him, “On…one…condition, though,” between gasping breaths.
“What’s that?” he asks, his lips still stretched in the biggest, stupidest grin of my life.
Fisting two hands of his t-shirt in my hands, I say, “You have to promise me you’ll come back.”
“Baby, I love you. You make me feel like I’m ten feet tall and bulletproof,” he replies. “I’ll come back to you. Nothing and no one can fucking stop me.”
And maybe I’m crazy, but I believe every word out of his amazing mouth.
Epilogue
Hannah Morgan Fitzpatrick
Four years later…
“Today we’re going to do something fun and a little different,” I tell my freshman art class at Mercy. With my husband stationed overseas, I had a lot of free time on my hands and needed to keep myself busy instead of worrying about him between our too infrequent phone calls. So, I took college courses during the summer session and was able to graduate a semester early with my degree in art education. Still, this is my first year teaching; but after two months, I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. The freshman are definitely my favorite year because they’re still sweet and terrified unlike the seniors, who think they’re untouchable gods.
“You may have noticed that the entire room is draped in cloth because things are about to get messy!” I warn them. “Everyone will need to grab some coveralls and put them on over your clothes along with a pair of shoe covers and some goggles. Shower caps are also available but not required. Do I have any volunteers to help me hand out the buckets?”
“Buckets of what?” someone asks.
“You’ll see,” I say with a grin as a few hands shoot up to help while the kids hobble around, getting dressed in their protective wear. I give them time to get ready before choosing two students. “How about Dora and Kyle since you both got dressed so quickly. Make sure everyone gets a bucket of balloons. Don’t touch them until I say so!”
The three of us go around the room until each student has a bucket full of special water balloons.
“Now, here’s what we’re going to do. Each of you should have a canvas set up on your easel. You’re going to take a few steps back, pick a water balloon and then throw it as hard as you can at the canvas to see what color it is. Only throw the balloons at your canvas, not at your classmates or you’ll be spending a month in detention scrubbing toilets!”
“Ew, yuck,” they all say at the gross deterrent meant to keep all hell from breaking loose. I don’t think the Mercy administration would ever allow their rich, uppity students to clean bathrooms, but that doesn’t mean I can’t threaten them with the chore.
“Once you’re all covered up, you can go ahead and get started,” I say, picking up a balloon from my bucket and throwing it at the canvas where it erupts with a big blue splatter.
It takes several minutes for everyone to get started, but once they throw the first balloon, it’s off to the races as they start hurling more faster, harder.
“Art doesn’t always have to be about making something perfect and beautiful. It should be fun and make you feel good or you’re not doing it right. And who doesn’t need a little stress relief once in a while?” I ask as I throw a few more balloons that burst with so much force my coveralls quickly become rainbow colored.
Where is Royal today? Is he okay? Why haven’t I heard from him in over a week? If I never go home, then I don’t have to worry about soldiers showing up on the doorstep of my loft, holding an American flag and offering me their condolences.
Being with someone who is serving in the military is so much more difficult than I expected. It’s not even the loneliness of missing him that’s the worst. It’s the constant worrying, the fear that each time I see him or talk to him could be the last.
If all goes well, he’ll be finishing his four years in a few months, but so far, he hasn’t received an actual date. He can’t come home soon enough for me.
I throw balloons like darts until I’m sad to see my bucket is empty. With a deep breath, I wipe my hands on the front of my coveralls and then start walking around the room to see how everyone else is doing.
“This is so much fun, Mrs. Fitzpatrick!” Nicholas tells me.
“Thanks. I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I tell him. “Your parents are going to love your piece.”
“When can we take our canvas home with us?” Devon asks, a student who reminded me a lot of Royal the first few days when he refused to participate in any activity. I spent some time talking to him instead of forcing him to draw the subject of the day to see what he wanted to work on. Turns out he wasn’t opposed to art, he just doesn’t like animals and wanted to draw buildings.
“They should dry over the weekend and be ready to go home with you on Monday,” I tell him. “And yours is turning out great, Devon.”
“I think I’m going to hang it up in my room,” he says, firing away fast balls at the canvas.
“You definitely should!” I agree.
“I’m finished,” Carmen tells me when I make it to her easel. “This morning I was in a shitty mood…I mean crappy mood. But throwing things made me feel better.”
“That’s great,” I tell her. “Our emotions combined with art can help us turn something sad or
crappy into something beautiful.”
“Mrs. Fitzpatrick?” Kyle says.
“Yes?” I ask as I head over to his easel.
Leaning toward me, he whispers, “Who’s the G.I. Joe guy watching us from the doorway?”
“What?” I ask when I glance over my shoulder.
All the air in my lungs whooshes out in a gasp when I see the man in a camo uniform. No, not just any man, but Royal.
“Hey, baby,” he says with a grin as he removes his cap, revealing his closely shaved head.
“Oh my god!” I exclaim.
For an instant, my knees feel weak before I break into a sprint, throwing myself at him so hard I’m surprised he keeps us upright. My strong, sexy husband easily catches me though, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me tight while my legs wrap around his waist.
“You’re here?” I say because I can’t believe it. I haven’t seen him in almost a year when he had two weeks of leave that we spent tangled up in sheets, barely eating or getting out of bed unless it was absolutely necessary.
“I’m here,” he says with a kiss on my cheek. “I saved up my leave so I could surprise you.”
“You’re really here and in one piece.” I grab his face, crushing our lips together and then run my palms down his shoulders and his chest.
Royal pulls away with a laugh; and when my lips land on his neck, he says, “I’m happy to see you too, but we have an audience.”
“Oh. Right!” I mutter with a wince when I remember my class. I have no doubt they’re all staring at us, so I reluctantly slide down Royal’s hard body. “Oh no! I got paint on your uniform!” I exclaim when I notice the colorful blotches.
“It’s okay, baby,” Royal says as he glances down at the marks. “I’m hoping this is the last time I ever have to wear it.”
“Seriously?” I ask with a hopeful smile. “You’re done? You’re home for good?”
“I’m home,” he agrees. “And I heard from Maddie and Aric that you have an art exhibit opening tonight. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
