One Year Home

by Marie Force

  I feel my face flush with embarrassment. “I’ll see you then.”

  After he leaves, I debate whether I should stay or go. I want to be sure John is okay in the shower, but I don’t want to invade his privacy.

  To hell with it, I decide, opening the bedroom door and walking over to the closed bathroom door. I don’t hear the shower running yet, so I knock. “You need anything before I leave?”

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

  I want him to need me. I want him to invite me in and ask me to shower with him. I don’t want to leave him, especially knowing he has to be upset about what happened. But I refuse to force myself on him. “Okay, I’ll be back with coffee before it’s time to go.”

  He doesn’t reply.

  I force myself to retreat, to grab my shoes and purse and go back to my own room, even when everything in me wants to stay with him.

  * * *

  JOHN

  So fucking stupid. That’s what I am. I had no business jogging on the treadmill, but my night with Jules had me feeling powerful and strong again, which I now know was an illusion. I’m not strong. I’m weak and addled, and the body I’d built into a finely honed machine continues to let me down.

  My head is killing me, and I’m dizzy from the blood loss. Not a good state of being for an amputee adjusting to a prosthetic and already dealing with balance issues.

  Because I absolutely cannot fall again, I hold on to the rail in the shower while washing up and shaving with one hand. Somehow I manage not to slice my face open, which is small comfort. I’ve lost enough blood for one day. The water in the basin is tinged with red, and I wince when the shower hits the wounded spot. Thank God it’s on the back of my head so I don’t have to go on TV with bandages on my face.

  I stand under the hot water for a long time, letting it soothe the aches and pains from the night of pleasure and the fall that brought me, literally, back to earth, reminding me I’m still a long way from fine.

  I hate the way Jules looked at me with compassion and sympathy. I don’t want those things from her or anyone. I’m sick of people’s compassion. I just want to go back to normal, whatever that is these days.

  Hearing there’re people camped outside my hotel, hoping for the chance to see me, sort of freaks me out. Losing my anonymity on top of everything else is yet another thing I have to adjust to in this new life.

  My thoughts wander to last night, the best night I’ve had in years. Jules… Poppy, she’s amazing, and thinking about her has me hard and aching for more of her. I feel a little stab of guilt about what we did last night. Regardless of everything that’s happened, I still feel loyal to Ava, and sleeping with someone else was a big deal for me.

  Not that I regret it, because I don’t. How could I when Jules is so great? I care about her. I honestly do. Is it the same thing I felt for Ava? No, it’s not, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be at some point. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself where she’s concerned. This situation is far more complicated for her than it will ever be for me. I half expect her to balk in the bright light of day when she’s stone-cold sober and realizes how big of a step we took last night.

  I get out of the shower and lean against the vanity as I towel off, alarmed by how weak I feel. Ugh, this is the last freaking thing I needed right now. It’s the last thing any of us needed with a tight schedule packed full of obligations. I had a concussion once in high school when I was playing football and collided head on with a defender. This doesn’t feel quite as bad as that did, which is a relief.

  I go into the bedroom, gather my uniform pants off the floor where they landed last night, and get a clean shirt out of the closet. I need to ask Muncie if we can send yesterday’s out to be cleaned. He’ll know how to make that happen. I bend to pick up the shirt off the floor, and the room tilts like a carnival ride. Stumbling, I land on the bed, where I take a few minutes to breathe through the dizziness.

  Fuck!

  I’m so pissed with myself. This is a self-inflicted setback, and it’s going to complicate an already complicated day.

  I struggle my way into clothes, lying back on the bed to zip my pants and fasten my belt. I’m sweating and nauseated by the time I get socks and shoes on. Maybe this does feel as bad as the concussion I had in high school.

  The main door to the suite opens and then clicks closed. Either Muncie or Jules has returned.

  A soft knock sounds on the bedroom door. “John?”

  Jules. “Come in.”

  She opens the door and gives me a quick visual inspection that I instantly resent.

  “I’m fine. No need to worry.”

  She walks over to hand me a coffee.

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you pissed with me?”

  I immediately feel like shit for giving her reason to ask that. “I’m pissed with myself.”

  She sits next to me on the bed. “How come?”

  “I shouldn’t have attempted jogging. Clearly, I’m not ready for it.”

  “Why did you? Attempt it, that is?”

  “I want to be strong again. Like I used to be. I want you to see me that way, not like this.”

  “John.” She puts her hand on my face and gives a gentle tug, asking me to look at her.

  “What?”

  “You want to know what I see when I look at you?”

  “Not really.” When pushed into a corner, I revert to being the bitchy asshole I was when she first met me. Having her around has softened my rough edges, but that’s left me defenseless where she’s concerned.

  “I’m going to tell you anyway.” With her hand flat against my cheek, she caresses my face with the subtle stroke of her thumb. “I see the strongest person I’ve ever met. I see a man who gave up everything in service to his country. I see a man who helped to get justice for thousands of people and everyone who loved them. When I look at you, I see a fierce warrior, a strong, sexy hero. And that is all I see.”

  I’m overwhelmed by her kind words. “I like how I look to you.”

  “I like how you look to me, too,” she says with a suggestive brow waggle that makes me smile.

  I lean my forehead against hers, wallowing in the support she offers so willingly.

  “This is just a setback. I’m sure there’ll be others, but you’ll get back to where you were in time. I know you will. Please don’t accelerate anything on my account. If you thought for one second that last night was anything less than perfect for me, you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

  I curl my hand around her wrist. “It was perfect for me, too.”

  “I wish we didn’t have anywhere to be.”

  “You have no idea how much I wish that.”

  “I think I have a small idea.” She offers a reassuring smile. “The sooner we get through it, the sooner we can come back here and relax. I’d love to take a soak in that magnificent tub of yours.”

  “My tub is your tub.”

  “Could I ask one thing of you?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “If you need anything today, even if you need someone to lean on when you don't feel strong enough on your own, lean on me. I’m right here for whatever you need whenever you need it.”

  “Yeah.” My voice is gruff as my emotions hover painfully close to the surface. At some point in recent days, she’s become my touchstone and my rock. There’s no one else I’d rather lean on than her. “I can do that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  AVA

  I wake up feeling hungover, even though I haven’t had alcohol in days. The events of yesterday flood my mind, reminding me that Eric is gone, perhaps for good, and I’m alone. Again.

  Well, not entirely alone. My sister is asleep next to me, in the spot where my husband should be. She bombed her way into my space last night, refusing to take no for an answer when she insisted on staying with me.

  Rob, who came with her, apologized for her pushiness.

  “It’s fine,” I told him, because
what else could I say? I wanted to ask him how Eric is, but I already know he’s as shitty as I am.

  So here we are, day two after Armageddon, camped out with our siblings who’re married to each other. What was once such a fun coincidence now feels like another thing that needs to be mourned in the aftermath of disaster.

  I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with myself today. There’s nothing scheduled because I’m supposed to be on my honeymoon for the next two weeks. I could let Miles and my immediate supervisor, Trevor, know I’m back early and up for working if they need me. But if I tell them that, they’ll want to know why we came home early, and I’m not at all prepared to answer those questions.

  So I don’t reach out.

  There’s only one person I want, and he doesn’t want me. Not anymore. His refusal to see me last night shocked me, although it probably shouldn’t have. He’s been steadfast in his love for me, even on the emotional roller coaster I’ve had us on since we met. He’s never once wavered. Realizing that he’d hit his limit was like being slapped in the face by reality. How much nonsense can any guy tolerate from the woman he loves before he says enough?

  Apparently, sexy dreams about my ex were Eric’s limit, which is hardly fair in light of the fact I can’t exactly control what I dream about. But stacked on top of everything else I’ve subjected him to where John is concerned, it’s no wonder he’s had it with me and my never-ending drama.

  Hell, I’ve had it with me and my never-ending drama. I’m sick to death of it all. I’m sick to death of John and the nightmare of his deployment. So I can hardly blame Eric for feeling the way he does.

  “Oh, you’re awake.”

  I glance at my sister. “Yep.”

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Never better.”

  “Ava.”

  “What do you want me to say? I feel like shit. I’m supposed to be on my honeymoon, and I’m in bed with my sister. Not how I expected this day to go.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Arrange a lobotomy for me?”

  “Other than that.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I’m sorry you’re going through this.”

  “So am I.” I glance at her. “Thank you for coming over last night, but I’m sure you and Rob had plans today. You don’t need to babysit me. I’ll be okay.”

  “I’m sure whatever plans Rob had for today are canceled, since his brother needs him.”

  “He can’t cancel plans during a campaign for Congress.”

  “He’d do it for Eric. You know how tight the four of them are. Amy and Jules are back in town, too. They’ll probably come over.”

  “Don’t you have to work today?”

  “I called out sick.”

  “You don’t need to do that, Camille. Seriously. It’s not necessary.”

  “I want to help you guys, and so does Rob.”

  “There’s nothing you or anyone can do. Eric won’t even talk to me.”

  “That was last night. I’m sure he’s changed his mind by now.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  She twists her mouth the way she does when she’s thinking about whether or not she should say something.

  “Whatever it is, just say it.”

  “It’s big,” she says softly.

  “Bigger than my new husband leaving me?”

  “Yeah.” She bites her lip and looks up at the ceiling while I try not to scream at her to just fucking say it. “Eric thinks you married him only because of what Brittany did to him.”

  I hear what she says, and it registers, but the notion is so shocking, so incendiary, that I can’t fully process it. “How do you know that?” I somehow manage to ask her in a voice that’s barely a whisper.

  “I heard him say it to Rob last night. Rob tried to tell him that was ridiculous, but Eric is convinced if he hadn’t had that happen to him before he met you that you would’ve called off the wedding after you saw John in San Diego.”

  I have no idea what to do with this information. How can he possibly think that? I never, for one second, considered calling off our wedding.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything. I don’t want to make it worse.”

  “How can it get any worse? He left me, won’t talk to me and thinks I married him only because I felt I had no choice.” Where do we even go from here? I have no idea, and I need professional assistance. I can’t unravel this mess on my own. I reach for my phone and text Jessica.

  I need you. Badly.

  She writes back a minute later. What time works for you?

  ASAP.

  Come at noon. I’ll be there.

  It’s ten now. Two hours. I can handle two hours. See you then.

  “I’m seeing Jessica at noon,” I tell Camille.

  “Oh, good. That’s really good.”

  I’m not sure even the formidable force of nature known as Jessica can help me fix this situation that feels so broken.

  I get up to shower, and when I emerge from my bedroom, Camille has made coffee and breakfast. I hope the eggs she used are still good. I can’t recall when I bought them.

  The coffee burns my tongue and throat. I barely feel it. I hate this. I hate being back in the place I fought so hard to get free of when I left San Diego to start a whole new life in New York. I hate feeling the same way I did when I learned John was alive but hurt and then heard nothing from him for weeks. I hate feeling the way I did after I saw him for the first time in nearly six years and had to tell him we were through, that I had someone else and was going to marry him. I hate feeling the way I did when he cried and begged me not to go.

  I hate that after all the work I put into my relationship with Eric and the plans we made for our future, I’m once again standing in the ashes and wondering how I got here. With zero interest in food, I push the eggs around on my plate and manage to eat a half piece of toast smothered in grape jelly.

  I appreciate that Camille remembers I loved toast with jelly when we were kids and slathered the jelly on the toast for me, hoping I’d eat something.

  “I know you’re upset and worried, but you don’t need to be.”

  “Can’t help it. Rob and I care about you guys. It hurts us to see you hurting.”

  At some point, my annoyingly perfect little sister grew into a woman I’m proud to call a friend. “It means a lot to me that you came last night and that you stayed. But I have to figure this out on my own.”

  “I get it.” She sips from her coffee mug. “I just hope you know you can talk to me about it. I’d never repeat anything you say about Eric to Rob. I promise. If you need me, I’m here.”

  “I’ll let you know, okay?”

  She nods. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll worry.”

  “I’ll check in later.”

  Before she leaves, she does the dishes and wipes down the kitchen. Then she comes over to hug me. “Hang in there.”

  “Trying.”

  When she leaves, the sound of the door closing echoes through the vast space. I loved this place the first time I ever saw it, with its high ceilings and industrial touches. Now it feels like somewhere I shouldn’t be. This is his place, not mine, and he shouldn’t have had to leave it. Later, when I check in with Camille, I’ll ask her to tell him he can come back. I’ll get a hotel or an Airbnb apartment or something to hold me over until I figure out what’s next.

  I haven’t even finished unpacking the boxes from moving in, and I’m already thinking about moving out. Didn’t see that coming.

  I’m half out of my mind by the time an Uber delivers me to Jessica’s office on Third Avenue. Usually, the smells coming from the street-level deli make my mouth water. Today, they only add to the nausea.

  Once upon a time, Jessica Trudeau put me back together. I’m hoping she can work her magic once again. She buzzes me in, and I take the stairs to the third floor, where she’s waiting for me. Her curly blonde hair is up in a clip, but her trademark animal
-print cat-eye glasses bring me immediate comfort.

  I break down at the sight of her.

  She hugs me for a long time while I cry it out.

  “Sorry,” I mutter many minutes later.

  She hands me the tissues she always has at the ready. “No need to apologize. That’s what I’m here for.” After sitting in the chair across from me, she leans in, puts her hand on top of mine. “What’s going on?”

  “Eric left me.”

  Her mouth falls open in shock that she does nothing to hide.

  Normally, I love that she keeps it real. Today, her reaction only ratchets up my anxiety. If she’s shocked, this must be really bad.

  “What?”

  “As soon as we got back from the trip, he packed a bag and went to Rob and Camille’s. When I went over there last night, hoping to talk to him, he wouldn’t see me.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Eric I know.”

  “I guess I finally pushed him too far.”

  “By having dreams you have no control over?”

  I shrug, feeling helpless and defeated. “Camille told me she overheard him telling Rob that the only reason I married him is because of what his ex, Brittany, did to him.”

  Jessica shakes her head as if she doesn’t understand. “How so?”

  “Well, you remember how she left him in the worst possible way, right? Apparently, he thinks that because he went through that before he met me, I never would’ve ended it with him even if that’s what I wanted. But that isn’t what I want.” I start to cry again. “I want him. I married him.”

  Jessica sits back in her chair, clearly trying to process this. I know how she feels. It’s a lot for me, and it’s my life we’re talking about. For a long time, she says nothing, which isn’t like her. I’m about to ask what she’s thinking when she leans forward.

  “Is it possible?”

  “Is what possible?”

  “That you went through with the wedding because you couldn’t bear to hurt Eric the way Brittany did?”

  “No, it’s not possible! I never once thought of calling off the wedding.”