by K. L Randis
“I needed to know who I was first, it couldn’t be about her when I first came back.”
“And you know who you are now?”
“More than I’d like to some days.”
“What do you know?” I asked.
“That I’d still give you the dogs tags on the finish line of the Boston Marathon,” he said, resting his hand on my knee.
“What are you talking about?”
“The dog tags I gave you, do you still have them?”
“Maybe,” I said, feeling my cheeks abandon the tone I was trying to set in my voice.
“I originally planned to give them to you race day.”
“Who wanted to give them to me?” I demanded, remembering how much time and progress he made at Valor House when we didn’t speak for a few weeks. “The past or current Jackson?”
“Both. Always.”
My mouth hung open, remembering the inscription on the backside of the dog tags he had given me. “Wait, how did you know I was going to ask you that question just now to be able to inscribe dog tags you gave to me weeks ago?”
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “I guess we just think alike. I wanted you to know that I was going to love you regardless of how you did at the Boston Marathon. I loved you before and I would love you after. The inscriptions just have so much more meaning now.”
“What do you mean?”
He took my hands. “I know what it feels like to be trapped inside a body and mind you no longer recognize, when the skin you were born with is not the same as the one you’ve lived in. If anyone is going to understand what it feels like to have your world turned upside down by chaos and crisis it’s me. I had these great expectations of who I thought I would be after the military and I didn’t end up being who I thought I would be. I’m not cured, Pippa. There’s no perfecting the way I try to live my life anymore. I can only manage the cards I’m dealt and make good use of them. Valor House taught me that I don’t need to be some unattainable level of perfect before going after what makes me happy. So if you’re wondering which version of yourself—past or present— that I love, the answer is still the same. Both. Always.”
The heaviness in my chest was crushing. “So what if I told you I wasn’t as sure as you that this could work?”
“I’d say, by the way you’re touching you ear, you’re a bad liar.”
“I am not,” I protested, moving my hands into my lap.
“But I’d also say that I’m not so sure either.”
The words stung. “That’s not what I was expecting to hear.”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it? I’m not sure anyone is capable of loving someone they don’t know. We don’t know really know each other yet, do we? After all, this is our first date.”
“Doesn’t feel like one,” I replied.
“Do you love Dylan?” Jackson asked.
“Technically you’re not even supposed to know about him because we haven’t brought him up in conversation yet, so I’m not answering that.”
“Your non-answer is an answer.”
“I will always love Dylan, yes. We have an entangled history no other person can possibly comprehend or judge us for but that doesn’t mean I am in love with him.”
“That’s fair.”
“It’s not fair,” I shot back. “My heart feels so big and I want to let you in so badly but I’m so scared. Everyone I have ever loved walked away from me. My mom, Dylan— YOU!” I said throwing my hands in his direction.
“Meg hasn’t.”
“She tried,” I said bitterly.
Silence fell between us. I fumbled the remote then stood up. “Why even ask that question?”
“I asked for a reason, Pippa. I wasn’t being a jerk, I just wanted to know if you loved him, because even if you did and you wanted to be with him, who would that be fair to?”
I eyed him. “What do you mean?”
“I had to face who I became when I got home, when I was a civilian again. I was not the same person that I was when I left. Something changed.”
“So?”
“So if you think that the bombing didn’t change you, that you are still the same person you were before, you’re wrong. You’re stronger now, more aware. You know what it means to not be invincible. There’s power in that, but also a change. I’m not saying you don’t love Dylan, I’m just saying… who is that fair to? Probably neither of you. You’re setting yourself up for failure by assuming everything about your past relationships would remain the same when you’re not.”
“So what about you then? Why bother trying this with me when we know we both have our things to work out?”
“I’d still marry you right now,” he said. There was no hesitation in his words, no indication he thought twice about it.
I sighed. “So what now, Jackson?”
He looked around the apartment, sipping on his beer as he nodded. “I think Meg should move in with you.”
“Because you wouldn’t want to?”
“Because you’re good to each other, and you’re what each other needs right now. Even if it means you never want to see me again after tonight, I’ll be happy knowing that you and I gave it an honest try and that you’re living your life surrounded by people who love you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“My feet hurt,” Meg groaned. She reached for a chair to her right and slid it out, clunking her feet on top and sighing. “Ahhhhh, that’s better.”
“Real classy to put your feet up at a restaurant,” I said, looking around to see if anyone was offended.
“This is a real classy place,” Meg agreed. “Have I never brought you here before? The Inlet is a local hot spot for celebrities and escargot, everyone knows that.”
“Your feet wouldn’t hurt so bad if you didn’t own so much crap. It really shouldn’t have taken us a full two days to move you into my apartment.”
“Our apartment,” Meg corrected. “And I don’t have that much stuff, the boxes only take up half the living room. Do you think I need to actually unpack everything or could I live out of cardboard boxes for a while?”
“I’ve seen stranger things,” I admitted.
We melted into our casual Sunday routine like a slow burning candle. A wispy breeze rolled off of the ocean, enveloping us in the aroma of sea salt and seaweed. The Inlet had its usual slow-paced crowd, our spot out on the deck was still the one with the best views, and we both happened to show up wearing practically the same outfit once again but…
Something had changed.
Meg was composed and serene, staring out at the ocean with clear eyes with an aura that beamed through her hooded sweatshirt. Whenever she was deep in thought her fingers would lightly dance over the skin on her wrist that was hidden beneath the long-sleeved shirt.
I felt different, too, and joined her in staring at the ocean. Waves crashed up against the shoreline, pulling the sand and shells back with it. Each time a new wave appeared the sand composition would inevitably change with the rush of water and pull of the undertow.
“He ruined my life,” I said, putting my chin in my hand and pouting. “I’ll never be able to look at garbage cans sitting out by the curb or read to my mom without thinking of him.”
Meg shook her head in disagreement. “Your eyebrow lady can ruin your life faster than any man can, sweetheart.”
I snorted. “Do you think people can change, but still be the same?” I asked.
Meg was still staring at the mesmerizing transition of waves to sand. “How so?”
I shrugged. “I mean do you think you can love someone, but something forces them to change who they were—so they’re not really the same anymore but there’s parts of them that are still the same person you fell in love with.”
“I think you can learn to love two different versions of a person, Pippa. I don’t think love has to be so black and white. If it was, I honestly don’t think many people would experience it. There are gray areas and people learn to grow through mistake
s or experiences. I thought I loved myself before, but now that I’m in a different place mentally, I don’t think I knew what true self-love really was. I still have some learning to do. So I guess the real question floating around in that brain of your is, do you love the difficult, hard to manage pieces of Jackson or just the calm, gorgeous ones?”
“Both. Always,” I replied. “But I feel like I’d have to get to know him all over again to know for sure.”
Meg nodded, looking past my shoulder. “So go get to know him.”
I sucked in a breath and spun around in my chair. Jackson was standing on the deck, his hands clasped in front of him. The breeze ran through his hair like a wild horse, his face telling me he was there to tell me something important.
“Meg, you called him?” I asked.
She nodded, taking a sip of her drink.
“You don’t do that,” I hissed. “You don’t call people from your bar, remember?”
“I think we all have some growing to do, Pippa,” Meg said. She slid her chair back and stood up, making her way toward Jackson, but not before lowering her head to my ear. “There’s nothing about either of you that’s unlovable.” I watched her walk away, wishing the butterflies in my stomach would fly away with her.
“You’re here,” Meg said to Jackson.
“I’m here.” Jackson kept his eyes locked on me as he answered.
Meg looked back over her shoulder. “I’m going to hang out at the bar, it’s a bit too crowded out here for me.” She turned back to Jackson. “Thanks for showing up,” she said, touching his arm gently as she stepped past him. She paused two feet away from him and turned back around. “Oh, and Jackson? In case I’ve never told you, thank you for your service.”
Jackson closed his eyes. “Welcome home,” he responded.
“Huh?” Meg asked, turning around.
“If you want to thank someone for their service in the military, tell them welcome home. We’re not always proud of the things we had to see and do while we were away to warrant thanking us. We do our jobs, no regrets, but most of us don’t come back the same person. So to welcome us home when it’s finally over, regardless of who we are now… that’s something.”
Meg eyes glanced from the back of Jackson’s head to my face. She smiled and nodded. “See, Pip? Always growing.” She turned on a heel, calling over her shoulder as she headed toward the bar. “Welcome home, Jackson!”
Pushing my chair back I walked over to him, thankful that the deck was deserted and that the embarrassment of getting caught off guard by his presence wouldn’t be witnessed by anyone else.
I opened my mouth but he abruptly held up a hand.
“I’m scared to start over too, because there’s a chance the outcome won’t be what I want, but I’m more scared to not try and never know. I want to do one thing every day that will make you look at me the way you did that first day on the beach. You’re the one person I feel I don’t have to hide from, and I need you to know you don’t have to hide from me either. I’d like to find out.”
“Jackson…” I said inching closer to his chest, letting my fingertips run down the front of his shirt. “There’s so much we need to talk about.” I grasped his wrist, turning around and wrapping his arm around me so I could face the ocean. “I’d like to find out, too.”
He nodded, pulling my shoulders into his chest and resting his chin on top of my head. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he looked out onto the ocean and cleared his throat a few times. “It’s blue,” he said finally.
“What is? I asked. “The ocean?”
“The day Freddy died…every time I close my eyes, all I can see is blue smoke.”
Special Thanks
To the seven men from American Legion Post 927 and their PTSD support group, and Valor/Paul’s House of Kunkletown, PA, who bravely opened up their lives, hearts, and stories to me so that I could accurately depict what it is like to experience PTSD as a war veteran.
Writing this novel wouldn’t have been possible without you.
To my brother, Sgt. Daniel
For your indispensable knowledge and stories. I’m really proud of the person you’ve become, little brother, and appreciate you helping me bring this novel to life so much more than I could ever put into words.
Also, name your first baby after me or I take it back.
To all of those mentioned above, including the brave, selfless individuals who serve and protect our country each and every day.
Welcome home...
Contact K.L. Randis
K.L. Randis, author of bestselling novel Spilled Milk and the Pillbillies series, started journaling at the age of six and had short stories and poetry published by the time she was thirteen. She is a graduate of Pennsylvania State University and has since written numerous local publications that brought awareness to domestic violence and child abuse. K.L. Randis engages audiences on a local and national level to raise awareness about child abuse, serving as a frequent commentator to media outlets and traveling to be the keynote speaker at various events. She has developed various high school presentations, was named Community Woman of Distinction, and was invited to the Pentagon several times to speak to the department of defense about child abuse. Spilled Milk* is her first novel, which grabbed the #1 bestseller spot in the genre of Child Abuse on Amazon only 24 hours after its debut, where it has remained since 2013. She resides in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania with her family.
*Spilled Milk was based on true events. Author K.L. Randis testified at a criminal trial against her father, who was sentenced to prison for his crimes. He was sentenced to up to sixteen years in 2004.
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Other Books by K.L. Randis
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Pillbillies (Pillbillies Series Book1)
When paramedics discover three-year-old Lacey floating in the bathtub and Jared Vorcelli barely conscious in his parents' living room, his drug addiction is put into the limelight and his pill-pushing days as a Kingpin of the Pocono Mountains come to a screeching halt. A chance meeting with a man named Dex opens a can of worms only Jared can close, as following a trail of red-speckled pills and green-tinted heroin become the only way to avenge his sister's death.
Laced (Pillbillies Series Book 2)
Exiled from his past life and plagued with the responsibility of a broken empire of Pillbillies, Jared Vorcelli dives into the underbelly of an addict's world to avenge the ones he loves and pull them from the wreckage of his choices. Targeting a dangerous ex-drug kingpin and his own father, Jared needs to learn who to trust, who to kill, and who to forgive when their respective paths collide.
Read on for a free sample of bestselling novel by K.L. Randis, Spilled Milk
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SPILLED MILK
Prologue
They never gave me a polygraph. I imagined myself strapped to a machine with a series of questions being rattled off. The proctors would nod their heads and mark the sheets as it fed out the results. Everyone wanted to know the truth, yet they asked the wrong questions over and over. “Are you okay?” “D
o you need a break?” “What can I do?” No one would want to hear the real answers.
My hand closed around the organic chemistry note cards in my pocket. How do hydrogen and chlorine react in the presence of an alkaline?
The corner of my mouth twisted upward. Realizing it was inappropriate to laugh, I forced a serious face before anyone noticed. There I was, sitting in the District Attorney’s office with stupid organic chemistry note cards in my pocket.
My mom sat against the adjacent wall from me staring off into space, a behavior I often mimicked myself. I never questioned the origin of my ability to transfix my eyes on an inanimate object while my brain sputtered into shutdown mode. It was a welcomed retreat at times.
Deep crevices muddled the brilliance of my mom’s eyes and I wondered what she was thinking. Her weight shifted from one side of the chair then back again. It was a common dance she did to relieve the pressure in her lower back. The only interruption to her gaze happened when a man or woman wearing a suit entered the room.
I wondered if she even knew what organic chemistry was. “You would need this oxidizer. These two elements react like this, see?” I would draw a little diagram. “Simple.”
“Oh, I don’t know Brooke. You’ll never need that anyway.” The look on her face, the way her lips spread into a smaller, thin line told me she didn’t want to hear about the things she refused to understand.
I was nineteen years old and a sophomore in college. The room could barely hold ten people and it was cement gray, just like I imagined when I thought of a courthouse waiting room. A secretary sat in the corner checking her email, only stopping to pick up the phone or take a long, hard swallow of her mega-sized WaWa coffee. She was the only one in the room that looked at ease, while everyone else sat in an awkward silence waiting for Heather to come in and tell us what was next.
