The walk to my bedroom feels like a mile with my heart racing, heat rising through every inch of my body. Journey isn’t the typical woman. She doesn’t like the common acts of love. She’s unique and sees life through a different lens than most. I had to think this through for so many different reasons, but mostly because I fear her fear. I grab the book from my nightstand and hand it to her. “I bookmarked the page,” I say.
Journey takes the book and spins around so her back is facing me. She does this a lot when she wants to take things in privately. Maybe she’s worried about what she might read. It’s hard to read her.
When she opens to the page, her gaze is hopefully drawn to the fluorescent orange highlighted area I made in the center of the right page.
“Life Hack: Protecting a fragile heart - Tip:143: If you love her and you know she feels the same about you, don’t be an idiot. Don’t let her get away. Make a promise to love her forever so you never have to know what a broken heart feels like.” I read the tip out loud to her, hoping she’s reading the words at the same time.
With her hand placed in the middle of the page, she slowly turns back around to face me. “I thought I had a broken heart once or twice throughout my life, but I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out how I would recover if you ever went away. I wouldn’t. I need you because I love you. You’re the best part of who I am and the person I’ve needed most of my life but didn’t always have. Now that I have you, I can’t fathom being without you, Journey.” Despite the desire to get down on one knee, my knees are about to give out on their own if I don't do it right this very second. I had the ring in the nightstand next to the book, waiting for the moment I knew for sure she was ready. I’ve been here waiting, testing my patience, eager for the rest of what life has in store for us, but we’ve always focused on taking our time, and I wanted to respect that.
I close my eyes and pull in a short breath—it’s the most air I can get in the moment. “I’m scared you might say no. I’m scared I love you more than you love me. I’m scared you don’t need a best friend the way I need you, but I’m surer than scared that I’m wrong about all of those fears. In my heart, I know we’re supposed to be here together, and—”
Journey cups her hands over her mouth as I pull out the ring box. Her eyes fill with tears, and her arms begin to shake. “Brody,” she whispers.
“I need to marry you. I need to spend the rest of my life with you. I need to be with my best friend every single day. I need you, and I hope you need me to. So, will you promise never to leave? Will you marry me?”
Journey doesn’t cry. She’s a stone wall when it comes to emotions. I know they are there, bottled up inside, but it takes so much to break through her outer layers. She nods her eyes as a tear falls from her eye. “Yes,” she mumbles through her hands. I notice my hand is shaking uncontrollably as I pull the ring from the squad cushion. I can hardly slip it onto her finger with my nerves causing tremors throughout my body, but it fits perfectly. Journey takes a step toward me, and I stand up to take her into my arms.
“I didn’t know if it was something you wanted to do again, so I didn’t bring it up. We both have so much baggage from the past and I—I don’t know what’s normal anymore, but I hate normal. I just know that you get me, tolerate me, push me to smile, push me to laugh, push me through the dark, and I’ve felt a different form of happiness, one that I’ve never felt before, and every second I have spent e planning for Melody, I couldn’t help but imagine us doing the same. I never thought I'd want this, Brody. Honest. But now, I can’t understand why,t because it’s all I want.”
I pull her hands away from her face and cup my palms around her cheeks, leaning down slowly, taking my time to remember the moment of my life falling into place after so many ups and downs. She smiles just before I kiss her, and the smile—it’s just for me. “I love you,” I whisper into her mouth before touching my lips to hers.
As if our love story is scripted into a romantic comedy, it doesn’t come as a surprise when the smoke alarm blares from the kitchen, interrupting our special moment, adding the unique humor to everything we do together. “I thought you turned the oven off?” I ask with a chuckle.
“I did!” She runs to the kitchen, grabbing the dishrag from beneath the wooden spoon, and pulls the smoking pan out. I lean over her and turn the stove dial from broil to off like she intended to do ten minutes ago.
“I think we might need to order out tonight,” she says, holding her hand over her face.
“Journey, sweetie, we have to order out every other time you make dinner. In fact, I considered placing the order for pizza when I pulled into the driveway because we’ve already had two unburned meals in a row this week.”
“You want a wife who can’t cook?” she asks.
“I suppose that’s a good point,” I say with a sigh. “What can we do about this?” She knows I’m joking, says the smirk pinned onto her cheek. “I wasn’t looking for a chef, a maid, a nanny, or the world's cheeriest person. I was looking for —someone real, and you aren’t afraid to be that person.”
“But you love food,” she says.
“I love you more.”
Journey freezes as if remembering something important, breaking up the mush-fest we don’t typically take part in. “Did you talk to Hannah about this first?”
I toss my head back and laugh, sounding a bit crazy with the way my cackle comes out. “I don’t think you’d believe me when I say she helped me pick out the ring.”
“Wait,” Journey says, placing the palm of her hand on the side of her cheek. “She told me she needed to measure a piece of string using my finger for a science project a couple of months ago. I couldn’t figure out what kind of science project she had, but I forgot to ask more questions.”
“She did that without talking to me first. She brought me this piece of string, her fingers still pinched in the correct spots, told me to measure—for science reasons—then said: ‘There. Now, you have the size of Journey’s ring finger. Don’t mess this up.”
More tears fill Journey’s eyes. “Hannah likes me that much? It’s hard to assume anything with her because she’s a bit moody … most of the time, but really?”
“She loves you, Journey. She told me she knew you were the one because you are literally the only person in the universe who understands her. She might be a little selfishly biased, but I don’t disagree with her.”
“I love her too. I see a lot of me in her soul, and I feel the connection we have.”
“You’ve respected her boundaries, and it’s been a huge thing for us. Everything just works,” I say. “Except you’re cooking, though. That doesn’t work.”
“Yeah, but everything else—”
“Is perfect,” I tell her.
18
“Babe, shouldn’t you be getting ready or something? I mean … like, we’re getting married in a few hours,” I call out to Journey. She’s been oddly quiet at the kitchen table for the last hour or so. I’m sure she’s feeling last-minute jitters and internalizing them like she does so often, but today of all days, her nerves are my nerves. I’ve already showered and shaved per the request of my bride-to-be, and I’m not the one who takes a long time in the bathroom. “I hope I didn’t just shave for nothing.” It’s a joke. I shave when the beard gets out of control. We’ve compromised on a slightly longer stubble look versus clean as a baby’s butt—as she prefers, or preferred—to thick strands that sometimes contained remnants of a previously eaten meal. My body, my choice—I firmly stand by this, but the irritation on her face from the abrasiveness of my whiskers is real and we’ve managed to find a happy medium. Marriage is about compromise, and if my beard is the worst of it, I will be a happy man.
“Yeah, I should be,” Journey mutters.
I step out of the bathroom with my towel wrapped around my waist, wondering what reason lies behind her unusual tone. Her back is faced toward the hall so she doesn’t see me observing her at the kitchen table—a
n elbow pressed against the wood as her hand holds up her chin. On the other hand, she’s holding a note. “Whatcha’ reading?”
“This note. I found it taped to the front door this morning when I went out to grab my shoes from the Jeep.”
Who the hell leaves notes on doors these days? Why do I have a pit in my stomach, wondering who wrote the note? “Who is it from?” I ask. I sound wary, afraid, nervous, looking for a reason I can’t come up with.
“Well,” Journey says with a long sigh. “You can come see for yourself.”
I don’t like the way she said the words that just came out of her mouth. This is bad, and on our wedding day of all days—just why?
As I reach Journey, searching her face for more clues while taking the note from her hand, concern fills my chest when I see how pale her complexion is, and forlorn her eyes appear. “Is this going to ruin our day?” I ask. Not that it matters because it looks like it already ruined hers, and today is about us, not just one of us.
“You tell me, I guess,” she says, sounding aggravated. My mind spins with questions about who this could be from or what it’s about. I hardly talk to anyone these days with how busy I am at work and taking care of Hannah, while also trying to be a good (almost) husband to Journey. I’m coming up short with ideas of who would purposely try and ruin today—
Yeah, it just hit me. Who would deliberately try and ruin today? Unbelievable. She isn’t going to stop until she draws blood from my goddamn heart.
I shake out the note, finding it typed out—not surprised.
* * *
Brody,
I know the timing is incredibly wrong, and I should have said something months ago, but I couldn’t find the words. I couldn’t figure out how to make you pause long enough to hear me out after everything we’ve been through.
Do you remember how you used to talk to me about the meaning of fate? You would tell me we’re all meant to be at the right place at the right time to handle the particular challenges and rewards we face in our lives. I don’t know why it took me so long to understand why you used to say those words to me, but it’s suddenly clear now more than ever. Brody, I don’t think we’re supposed to be apart. I made a mistake. I took a step in the wrong direction and got lost along the way. You said that could happen—people can become lost, and it can take years to find their way home. I remember you saying those exact words to me after I hurt you. I’m glad you were right. I am.
I know you’re getting married today, and Hannah is gaining a new stepmom, but I feel the need to let you know how I feel so you can make your decision today based on truth—the truth that I never stopped loving you, and I will always love you. We have a daughter together, and there isn't a love that can be much stronger than the one that brings a child into the world, turning two people into a family.
I would never want to do anything to hurt Journey, but we all have selfish times in our lives, and this is mine.
I want you back. I want you to choose me. Let’s go back to the old days when we would laugh and have fun over a stupid television show or when we both sat on the ground, bribing Hannah to take her first steps with a cookie, like you would do with a new puppy. We had no clue what we were doing then, and I had no clue what I was doing when I left you for someone else. It was stupid. It was wrong. It was the biggest mistake of my life, Brody. Please, give me another chance.
If you want the same thing that I do, call me as soon as you can so we can talk.
Love Always,
Kristy
* * *
I pull the note away and squint my eyes at the name and some of the words, feeling nothing but a boatload of confusion. “Why?—the woman hates me.”
“Obviously that’s not true,” Journey says. “I know she hurt you, but she’s trying to do the right thing. I don’t want to stand in your way of putting your family back together.”
I’m staring at Journey with disbelief and a bit of anger because I don’t know why she would think I’d even consider getting back together with Kristy. Her name burns my tongue, just thinking about it.
Journey is staring down at the wooden floor between us, her fingers clasped together and her hair drapes to the sides of her face. I glance at the letter again, re-reading the part about laughing at television shows together.
“You know, maybe I’ll just give her a quick call to see why she’s having this semi-mid-life crisis, I guess. I can’t avoid her, right?” I ask.
Journey’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing in on mine. “Right,” she says, her voice hoarse.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my contacts. “I’m seriously in shock. I didn’t think she’d ever come knocking on my door again,” I say.
The four legs of the wooden chair scrape tersely against the floor as Journey pushes out from the table. “What the hell, Brody?” she yells, throwing her hands up in the air.
I fold my hands in front of my waist and stare down at Journey’s bare feet for a moment, noticing the light pink polish I would never expect to see on her toenails. “So, did I ever tell you that Kristy was convinced she was allergic to television? Something about the LED lights causing migraines, which must be an allergy of sorts—I don’t know, but throughout the years we were together, we actually didn’t own a TV, believe it or not. We had books and board games—that was our source of limited laughter. It’s odd she would mention laughing at TV shows, isn’t it?”
Journey’s brows furrow, and she crosses her arms over her chest defensively. “What are you saying?” she asks.
“I’m going to go call her to find out what shows we were laughing at together. She must have a memory of something I can’t recall, and I definitely want to know more about it.” Journey swallows the lump in her throat, and it’s so loud, I can hear it two feet away. I let out a small laugh. “You know what else is funny? Hannah took her first steps at ten months while Kristy was away on a business trip. She was nearly running across the house by the time she got home a week later. We had no idea she’d go from cruising along the couch to jogging at such a young age, but kids take you by surprise, you know?”
Journey glances over at Hannah, who is resting peacefully on the couch with a Seventeen magazine. There is no eye contact made because Hannah is smart enough not to get involved in a private conversation between Journey and me.
I take a few steps away from Journey, walking toward the computer desk in the family room. “What are you doing?” Journey says, following me.
“Nothing. I’m just going to write a quick note back so I can tell Kristy what I think about her lies and fake promises.”
“Brody,” Journey says, trying to stop me by just calling my name. I reach the desk, shake the mouse around, and open an internet browser. “Brody, wait, before you do that—”
I ignore my wife-to-be on our wedding day and continue clicking around like she probably thinks I’m not skilled enough to do. I open her writing program and click on recent files, finding a no-name document sitting right on top. As I click the file, Journey jumps on my back. “Stop it!” she shouts.
The letter populates on the screen. “Just as I suspected. Kristy was in this damn house last night too, wasn’t she? She is really all in on this decision, isn’t she?”
Journey releases her grip from around my shoulders, sliding back down to the ground. “Must be,” she says.
I turn around and cock my head to the side. “Why?” I ask.
“Why what?”
“Why did you do this?” I continue.
Journey spins around and walks to our bedroom. I play the game and follow her, watching as she takes a book from my nightstand.
Planning a Wedding: His Way
“Page one-hundred-fifty. How to start your wedding day off on the right foot: pull a practical joke on your fiancée so she has something to laugh about when she feels nervous later in the day.”
“Yeah, and? I obviously skipped that tip—or so you think.”
“Well,
” she says with a shrug. “I didn’t skip the tip.” A grin stretches across her cheeks. “Brody, sweetheart, love of my life, before I marry you today, could you make me one tiny little promise?”
“I’m giving you my life. What else do you want from me?” I ask, wrapping my arms around my devilish wife-to-be.
“Let’s figure life out without tips from a book, okay? The engagement book had great tidbits, but this little gem—forget everything you read in this book, okay?”
“You tricked me,” I told her.
“You tricked me back,” she says.
“Neither of us fell for the trick, Journey.”
“Neither of us is questioning our future together,” she says.
I love her so much it hurts the inside of my chest, and the pain travels down my legs and to my toes. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else, ever again. I weave my fingers through the back of her hair and kiss her gently, releasing a soft moan against her lips. “I love that we don’t live by anyone else’s rules, and I love that you aren’t afraid to pull a prank on me the morning of our wedding day, but the next time you’re going to pull a prank like that, get your facts straight and don’t get the information from Hannah.”
Journey exhales, and I pull her into my chest, holding her tightly like I always do. “You’re nuts, and I love you for it.”
“I suppose I should start getting ready, huh?”
“For the rest of our lives?”
“I’m ready for that—I’ve been ready for that,” she says.
“Journey, Melody is calling your phone for the four millionth time in twenty minutes. Do you want me to click ‘end call’ again?”
“What? You’ve been clicking ‘end call’? Why do you even have my phone?” Journey calls out to the living room.
“You gave it to me when you said, “Here, watch this, an hour before you thought Dad was actually getting into the shower.”
“You should go call your sister before the matron-of-honor has a heart attack. That would not get the day off to a good start.”
The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set: Bourbon Love Notes, Bourbon on the Rocks, Bourbon Nights, Bourbon Fireball Page 81
