Finding Mikayla

by Samantha Christy

  Mitch pulls away and my body protests. “Shit!” he says, releasing my grip on him as he walks around to the other side of the latrines. “Shit, shit, shit!” he exclaims again, punching the latrine like he did John’s face. “I can’t do this to him.”

  “To him?” I cry. “What about to me, Mitch. What do you think you do to me when you pull away like this—when you deprive me of you?”

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” he says as he walks into the darkness. “I just can’t do this, Kay.”

  Tears streak down my face and my body slumps to the ground like a rag doll. He’s never called me Kay before. That’s it then. He’s made his decision.

  My life without him flashes before my eyes.

  No! I run after him, refusing to let him decide this for us.

  I catch up to him outside the door to our apartments and pull him inside mine. “You have to talk to me. You can’t just decide this for us. I’m in this, too,” I say.

  “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m backing off. We all need some time to figure things out. It’s the right thing to do, Mikayla,” he says.

  Well, at least he’s using my rightful name again.

  “Are you walking away?” I ask “Don’t you remember our date? That night was perfect. It was one of the best nights of my life. You said to me that night that there wasn’t anything in the world that would keep you from wanting to be with me.”

  “No. I said there wasn’t anything I could think of,” he corrects me. “I sure as hell didn’t think of this.” He shakes his head. He paces around again like he did by the latrines. Then he runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you. It’s that I can’t be with you, Mikayla. Those are two different things.”

  “That’s bullshit, Mitch,” I cry to him. “You can be with me. I’m right here!” I point at myself like he can’t see me. “I’m standing in front of you and I love you.” I put my hand over his heart. “You. I love you,” I say, trying to get through to him. “I love you more than him, can’t you understand that?”

  “But you loved him so much longer. That counts for something, too,” he argues.

  “Why are you coming up with reasons not to be with me?” I ask. “Don’t you love me anymore?”

  “Of course I love you!” he shouts, running his frustrated hands through his hair once again. “I told you I would never stop. I promised you. But I promised him first. I promised him I would take care of you if anything happened to him.” He closes his eyes. “That promise didn’t include screwing you.”

  I wince at his choice of words. “Mitch, it’s my life. I get to choose who I want to live it with.”

  “No. It’s not just your life. It’s his, too,” he says, blowing out a long breath. “It’s Gina all over again. She chose him and he allowed it. It nearly killed me. I won’t do that to Jeff. I’m not going to be like Dale.”

  My God, what do I have to do to get through to him?

  “But, Jeff has accepted that I love you, Mitch.”

  His eyes snap up to mine and I think I see a trace of hope, like maybe I’m chipping away at his protective armor. He asks, “Has he, Mikayla? Have you told him in no uncertain terms that you love me more than you love him?”

  I think back on all the conversations I’ve had with Jeff this week. I’ve told him numerous times that Mitch and I are together. I’ve told him to stop flirting with me, to stop trying to be around me all the time, to stop addressing me with his endearments. But, did I come right out and say I was in love with Mitch? I honestly can’t remember. Full of guilt, my gaze shifts to the ground.

  “I thought so,” he says, his voice so defeated it sounds like it comes from a small child, not my big Neanderthal of a man.

  “I’ll tell him,” I say. “I’ll go tell him right now.” I reach for the door.

  “No.” He pulls me back. “Let me talk to him,” he says. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow man to man. I’ve been avoiding him, but now I realize we need to have this conversation. Will you give me time to do that please?”

  What can I say? Of course he needs to talk to Jeff. I’ve been pushing them to get together all week. I smile because he has just given me a sliver of optimism. Once they talk, Mitch will realize it’s okay for us to be together. “Yes, I would like that,” I say. “You two have been acting like jackasses not trying to reclaim your friendship. I think you two talking is just what we all need to get past this.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” he says. He turns to leave, grabbing the door handle but then he hesitates, shaking his head slightly. Suddenly, he pivots back to me and plants a kiss on my forehead. “See you later, Mikayla.”

  I touch the place on my head where his lips met my skin, as if doing so will somehow keep him closer to me.

  I get ready for bed, confident that this will be my last night spent without lying in Mitch’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Jeff is not scheduled to work today and Mitch is off farming with Craig. I float happily through my day knowing all will be well again with the world once Mitch and Jeff finally clear the air.

  “I’ll say it again, Kay,” Holly says, emerging from the back room, “how is it fair in any universe that you have those two hot, dreamy men after you and I’ve been celibate for almost a month?”

  I laugh at her. “Trouble in paradise?” I ask.

  “Hmmpf,” she snorts. “Tom and I haven’t been in paradise since he slept with that skank over in the kitchen.”

  “Since when have you been picky about who he sleeps with? Haven’t you two always had some sort of an arrangement?”

  “I suppose.” She frowns. “But after seeing you with Mitch . . . well, I just . . . I want that.”

  “Did you have that with Carter?” I ask.

  “Nah, not really. He was great and we were happy and all. But it wasn’t that all-encompassing, fairy-tale love that you seem to have with Mitch.” Then a smile creeps up her face. “But the sex was freaking incredible.” I giggle with her. “You’re lucky, Kay. You got it all in one delicious package.”

  “Holly Becker, you are one of the most wonderful and caring people I’ve ever met. If Karma is paying attention, you will get your prince one day, too.”

  “Can I just order one up from your leftovers and call it even?” she asks, laughing. Then she proceeds to spend the rest of the day telling me exactly what her fairy-tale life will look like. Ad nauseum. I’m so ready to go when my shift is over.

  ~ ~ ~

  After dinner, I run into Austin as he’s leaving his apartment for work. He silently laughs when he sees me, like he is enjoying a private joke. He raises a finger to his lips, mouthing, “Shhh.”

  He pulls me off to the side of his front door that sits ajar and he whispers, “You have impeccable timing, Kay. At this very minute, there are two men in this apartment that both care about you more than you’ll ever know. If I didn’t have to be at work, I’d stick around and eavesdrop for you, but I can’t. So, I’m just going to leave the door the way it is and walk away. What you choose to do with this information is up to you. No judgment here.”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Bye, Kay,” he whispers before he kisses my cheek and quietly walks away.

  I’m terrified. I literally have no idea what to do. I’ve been through medical school. I’m trained to deal with all kinds of stressful situations in a calm and cool manner. I’m also the kind of person who always does the right thing. As in, I once found a hundred-dollar bill at a soccer game when I was fifteen and I walked around the soccer field until I identified the rightful owner.

  Eavesdropping is wrong. On so many levels. They are having a private conversation. They are entitled to believe they can talk openly and honestly without the topic of said conversation listening in.

  I’m going to close the door. Of course I’m going to close the door. I take two steps toward it and slowly reach my hand out to grab the handle.

  “
. . . is an incredible woman,” I hear Mitch say.

  I stand here. Paralyzed and unable to move.

  I’m going to hell.

  “She is. Can you believe that she’s the one who facilitated this little pow-wow?” Jeff says. “She’s been bugging me all week to talk to you. She said you told her everything about our ordeal in Afghanistan and that she wants us to be friends despite the . . . uh, predicament we’re in.”

  “I know. She cornered me last night and said something about reclaiming our friendship.” I can practically hear his eyes roll up into his head when he says that. “She said we were jackasses if we didn’t try to bury the hatchet.”

  I smile out here in the hallway. They are doing it. They’re communicating. And they aren’t using their fists. If I didn’t know any better, it almost sounds like they are getting along.

  I should leave.

  “I know you’ve heard it all before, but I need you to hear it again,” Mitch says. “I came here to fulfill my promise to you. I couldn’t help it that I fell in love with her. You have to know I wouldn’t have if I’d known who she was. But, even so, I just can’t turn my feelings off. I still love her, Jeff.”

  “Well, she is pretty amazing,” Jeff says. “I mean, come on, what’s not to love? But, shit, man . . . we have ourselves quite a situation. We both love the same woman.”

  Oh, my God. Did he actually say that? I inch a little closer to the crack in the door and try to hear what is happening, but all I hear is silence.

  Someone say something!

  “You’re still in love with her?” Mitch asks, incredulously. I can hear his long, drawn-out sigh from outside the door.

  “Of course I am,” Jeff says. “Why do you think I came back here?”

  “For your family? Because you lived here?”

  “Well, yes, that’s true. But I came for her. I spent every damn day of the last year trying to get back here to her. She’s all I’ve thought about,” Jeff says. Then there’s more silence. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Not really,” Mitch responds. “I guess I thought you were kind of getting over her. I knew there were feelings there, but . . .” I can hear something that sounds like his head hitting the wall behind the couch and I can picture him staring up at the ceiling in despair.

  “Have you met Mikayla Parker?” Jeff asks. “She’s not exactly the kind of woman you just ‘get over.’ I guess I was trying to back off a little; give you guys some time to get used to me being around. But, let’s be clear, I’m every bit as much in love with her as I was the day I left for my tour.” I hear the distinct sound of a beer can opening and then Jeff says, “So—may the best man win?”

  I hear another sigh. Then more silence. And then maybe the sound of someone chugging down a beer.

  “That’s not how I do things, Jeff,” Mitch says. “I made a promise to you. I found her. She’s safe. You’re back now. And you just told me you never stopped loving her. So I’m going to walk away.”

  “Walk away? Seriously?” Jeff asks in disbelief. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” Mitch says. “I know you’ve heard the story of Gina and Dale. That’s not me, man. I refuse to do that to a friend. To a brother. So, yes. I’m walking away. I’ve been thinking about leaving anyway, to go get a piece of land and start my own farm. I guess I’ll just go sooner rather than later.”

  I can no longer hear them speaking through the pounding in my ears. I slide down the wall the same way the tears slide down my cheeks. My breath has left my body and I can’t seem to get it back.

  He’s leaving?

  No. He can’t leave. This was not supposed to be how this went. They were supposed to make up and shake hands and drink warm, disgusting beer while remembering why they love each other like brothers. Then Jeff was supposed to bow out. Not Mitch. Not the man I love.

  No, this is not happening. I won’t let him leave. I get up quietly and go to my apartment to settle myself down. I have to figure out a way to get him to stay. He promised me. He promised me he would love me forever.

  I try to keep myself busy and let them finish talking across the hall. I seek out anything I can clean. But it’s a futile effort trying to find anything messy in here now that Rachel’s toys aren’t strewn about everywhere.

  So I read. I have a new book that I’ve not read before and I try my best to occupy myself with it even though I have to read the first page four times before I actually absorb it.

  The next thing I know, I’m waking up on the couch and it’s clearly late—or early, depending on how you look at it. I don’t care if it’s three o’clock in the morning; I’m going over to talk some sense into him.

  I don’t even need my flashlight. I’ve made this walk in the pitch black so many times that I know exactly how many steps it is from my front door to his . . . from his front door through his living room . . . from his bedroom doorway to his bed. When I get to the edge of his bed, I hear him moan out my name, but it’s not in delight, it’s in desperation, and it becomes clear to me that he’s dreaming.

  I decide that maybe talking is not the tack I should take right now. I strip down, taking off every stitch of clothing before I crawl into bed next to him. I cuddle into him and his arms instinctively wrap around my body like it’s already become a comfortable habit.

  I know the second he wakes. His breath hitches. He stiffens up. He draws in all the air he can take into his lungs only to blow it out in a long, agonizing sigh that flows across my hair.

  The tension rolling off him is palpable.

  “I love you, Mitch,” I say in barely more than a whisper.

  “I love you, too, Mikayla.”

  “Don’t leave me,” I say.

  Another long sigh. “I have to. He loves you. He had you first. It’s the right thing to do.”

  Here he is letting me go, yet he’s never held me tighter against his body.

  “I’ll beg you if I have to,” I say. “I’ll hold onto your leg like a pouting child. I’m not above it. We’re meant to be—remember?”

  “I’ve made up my mind,” he says.

  “And I’m here to change it for you.” I turn around and face him. I can barely make out his face in the relative darkness. I trail my fingers around his strong jaw and feel his scratchy stubble.

  We stare at each other in the soft light of the full moon. I can see the struggle going on in his eyes. I don’t dare look away—he needs to hear my silent pleas. Finally, he lifts a hand and traces my lips with his thumb. “You are so beautiful, Mikayla,” he says, and I melt under his now smoldering gaze.

  He brings a hand up to push some errant hairs behind my ear right before he presses his lips to mine. He kisses me like he can’t get enough. Like if he pulls away, he won’t be able to breathe because I’m his air. He kisses me like a man who has made a decision.

  I revel in the delight that it wasn’t so hard to change his mind after all.

  His hands roam my naked body, grabbing, tugging, and caressing every inch of it, sending pleasurable shocks to the center of my being. I moan into his mouth, prompting his even more demanding grasps of my flesh due to his growing carnal needs.

  “I want you so much, sweetheart,” he says.

  A tear slips from my eye at hearing the endearment I’ve not heard in almost a week. “Yes . . . please,” I beg, tugging down his boxer briefs and exposing his throbbing erection.

  When I clasp my hand around him, he gasps. When he reaches between my legs, I whimper. We discover each other as if we haven’t already done so dozens of times before.

  “You are so ready for me,” he breathes into my hair. “But, I need to taste you first.”

  Blushing in the darkness, I arch my back and respond, “Yessss . . .” as he rubs tiny circles on the place that will detonate me. He kisses his way down my body and feasts on me as my fingers weave through and tug on his glorious head of hair. When I get close, my arms stretch out and claw at the sheet beneath me while his tongue brings me to an
orgasm so powerful, I swear I can see constellations behind my eyelids.

  He crawls up my body—my body that is still having aftershocks, and he holds my stare, looking directly into my soul as he enters me. I let out a cry of pleasure at the thirst-quenching feeling of having him back where he belongs.

  “God, Mikayla . . . you feel so good,” he moans into me. My caveman does not make an appearance tonight. Mitch is going slow, savoring every thrust as we continue to stare into each other. We move unhurriedly in a sensual dance of pleasure until our bodies demand we give into the lascivious need to push each other over the edge.

  “I need you to let go with me, baby,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

  His words are all I need to send my body tumbling into sweet oblivion as I quiver and buck beneath him while shouting exaltations into the dark night. “Oh God . . . Mitch . . . yes!” I hear myself cry.

  His body joins mine with spasms of his own as he recites declarations of love and promises in my ear.

  I trace the scars on his back, that are now slick with perspiration, while we recover from our blissful climaxes.

  When he rolls off me and I cuddle into his arms, I say, “See, all proof that you can’t go anywhere. We are perfect together.” I crane my neck up so I can see him. “Plus, we kind of already built our kids from scratch the other day.”

  “Perfect . . . yes, you are,” I think he whispers.

  “You said you’d love me forever, Mitch.”

  “Yes.” He kisses the top of my head.

  “You promised me,” I remind him.

  “Yes.” He nods his head and puts my hand over his heart. “I will love you forever, Mikayla,” he whispers. Then we fall asleep—two pieces of a puzzle molded together.

  ~ ~ ~

  I wake a few hours later, smiling and feeling wonderfully content. I sneak out of his bed and head over to shower and eat before I go to the clinic. I’m so happy I feel like my body is defying gravity and I’m hovering a few inches off the ground. I know I must have a ridiculous grin on my face. A few patients even comment on it. I’m not about to reveal to them, however, that I’ve just had amazing sex with the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.