The Flawed Heart Series

by Wade, Ellie

  And there they are…

  Message after message.

  Most are from London. Some are from Maggie. Others are from Sarah. As I scroll down the screen, there’s a random email here or there from a brother in my unit. I’m sure, they’re checking in on me.

  But…the majority is from London.

  I start at the bottom, opening the oldest message, which happens to be from London.

  To: Loïc Berkeley

  From: London Wright

  Subject: I’m so sorry.

  Loïc,

  I just heard about Cooper. I don’t know what else to say besides I’m so, so very sorry. I wish I had something to say to make this better, but I know nothing will. I wish more than anything that it hadn’t happened. I wish that you didn’t have to go through the pain that I know you are feeling. I wish you were here right now, so I could hold you.

  I love you, Loïc. We are going to get through this. You are going to get through this.

  Please write when you can. I hate that I can’t be with you right now.

  Are they going to let you come home for the funeral?

  I’m sorry. I wish I had something better to say that would help you, but I’m at a loss. All I know is that, as horrible as this is…we will get through it, Loïc. It won’t always hurt this much.

  I love you.

  I’m sorry.

  I’m so very sorry.

  Love,

  London

  And I open another.

  To: Loïc Berkeley

  From: London Wright

  Subject: Please call me.

  Loïc,

  I’m so sorry about Cooper, and I’m so worried about you. Please call me. We can get through this. You can get through this. Talk to me.

  I love you.

  Love,

  London

  And another.

  To: Loïc Berkeley

  From: London Wright

  Subject: I love you.

  Loïc,

  I love you. I love you. I love you.

  I can’t wait to hold you.

  It won’t always hurt this much, I promise.

  Please call me anytime, day or night. I don’t care when. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, and I just need to talk to you.

  Please call me.

  I love you so very much.

  Love,

  London

  And another.

  To: Loïc Berkeley

  From: London Wright

  Subject: I’m sorry.

  Loïc,

  I don’t know what you’re going through. But I know how much I’m hurting, and I can only imagine that you’re hurting more. I wish I could take away your pain. I wish I could change things. But I can’t.

  I can be here for you and love you. I can promise you that we can get through this.

  Please call me. I’m so worried about you.

  I love you so much.

  Love,

  London

  I read each email with detached disinterest. I know the words are meant to comfort me. I realize that they should be eliciting some emotion from me. But I feel nothing.

  To: Loïc Berkeley

  From: London Wright

  Subject: Love

  Loïc,

  I know I’m probably not saying the right words. I admit that I don’t know what to say to ease some of your pain, if that is even possible. But I do know that I love you. While I might not do or say the correct things, I can love you with everything I am.

  Love has the power to heal. I know it does.

  I know it won’t be tomorrow, next month, or maybe not even next year, but I will love you through all the pain until you’re able to feel okay. I understand that you will always mourn Cooper, but someday, you’ll be able to look back at the good times that you shared. Maybe, someday, every memory you have of him won’t be tainted with sadness. Just maybe?

  Please call me.

  I love you so much.

  Love,

  London

  It’s as if the emails are meant for someone else. I feel no attachment to them or to London. My reaction is not normal; I realize this. But what can I do about that?

  To: Loïc Berkeley

  From: London Wright

  Subject: Are you okay?

  Loïc,

  Are you okay? I mean, I know you’re not okay, but you know what I mean.

  Where are you? What’s going through your mind? Please share your thoughts with me…whatever they are.

  I’m sorry if I’m being selfish, but I need to hear from you. Anything. I’m going crazy, not knowing how you are. I’m terrified of you mourning the loss of Cooper over there by yourself.

  Why aren’t they sending you home? You can’t possibly think clearly on missions with everything that’s happened. Don’t they understand that?

  I get that what you’re going through is way worse than what I am feeling. But I love you, and I’m worried sick about you. Maggie hasn’t heard from you, and I don’t know who else to check with.

  Please don’t shut me out. Please let me help you.

  Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.

  I love you, Loïc Berkeley, and nothing will ever change that.

  Love,

  London

  I want to cry, to scream even. I want to curse God and everyone else who has ever wronged me. Even though I want to want that, I don’t. I don’t care.

  To: Loïc Berkeley

  From: London Wright

  Subject: Funeral

  Loïc,

  The funeral’s tomorrow. Are they going to let you come home for it? Hopefully, you are already on your way. God, I hope so.

  I need to see you. I don’t know what else to say besides I love you.

  I. Love. You.

  Always. Always. Always.

  Love,

  London

  I’ve read enough. I don’t bother to open the rest.

  Reading London’s emails, I feel like I’m standing outside a window, looking into a life that isn’t mine. A faint familiarity is there, a hint of a lost love. But nothing else. Even when she writes of Cooper’s funeral, I can’t force myself to feel as deeply as I know I should. It’s wrong—all of it. I don’t want to hurt, but I should be able to feel something. Some connection.

  Perhaps the high doses of medications that I’m on have made me numb. It can’t be healthy, but the alternative doesn’t feel right either. The screaming, crying, and heart-wrenching night terrors that I experienced in Germany almost did me in. I’m grateful to be on medications that stop those agonizing emotions from breaking through.

  I think back to what Dixon said about the darkness being too much for some men to withstand.

  Will that be me? It definitely could be. What then?

  No, maybe my reaction to these emails isn’t normal, but I’ll take it. I’m not physically or mentally ready to be in a relationship—certainly not now and possibly never again.

  A part deep within me resonates with some guilt for what I find myself typing out, but it’s so small that it’s lost before I’m able to truly grasp it.

  To: London Wright

  From: Loïc Berkeley

  Subject: Enough

  It’s over.

  I send the email without thinking twice. London deserves more, but those two words are all I have to give.

  I’m surprised she’s still waiting. I had expected a Dear John letter, accompanied by, I’m so sorry. It’s me, not you. Yet what I found was the opposite.

  It doesn’t matter though. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that London would take one look at my beaten and battered body and walk the other way. She deserves so much more than I could possibly give her.

  I quickly read through the rest of the emails, scanning most of them to catch the important details. Maggie says that she’s moved out of our house, paid it off, and left it in my name. I suppose it’s good that I’ll still have somewhere to live when I get back to Michigan
.

  Sarah’s emails babble on about one guy after another, concern for me, condolences about Cooper, and other random crap.

  “One person.”

  That’s what Dixon said. I need to find one person.

  London’s out, for obvious reasons. Maggie’s out because she has her own grief to deal with. She doesn’t need me piling my shit on her.

  So, that leaves Sarah. Sarah will have to be my one person. I don’t have many options at this point. I won’t mention to Dixon that my person lives about a nineteen-hour car ride away.

  I write down Sarah’s phone number, which she left in one of her emails. I’m about to sign out when another email comes through.

  To: Loïc Berkeley

  From: London Wright

  Subject: I love you.

  Loïc,

  I don’t understand what your email means.

  We need to talk. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I want to help.

  I know that we can get through anything—even this, as long as we’re together.

  I will never give up on you or us. Please, talk to me. Call me, anytime.

  I love you so very much.

  Love,

  London

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper before I shut down the computer.

  Loïc

  “The thought of being responsible for another life sends a wave of panic through me so fierce that I can barely breathe.”

  —Loïc Berkeley

  I drop my duffel onto the floor with a thud. Home. I look around the living room where I shared so many laughs with Cooper and Maggie. I swallow hard at the memories. It’s all the same yet so vastly different.

  Maggie left all the furniture and knickknacks. To most people’s eyes, this space would look like a normal home.

  But I see all that’s missing, the little personal details.

  The socks that were always on the floor at the base of the couch where Cooper had taken them off after a long day at base—he hated the feeling of socks and had an issue with actually putting them in the laundry room—are gone. Maggie’s colorful water bottles that used to grace every flat surface of our house—she apparently wanted to make sure she was never more than an arm’s reach away from a drink—are missing. The framed pictures of the three of us and those of Maggie and Cooper have all been taken down.

  Yeah, this is a house, but it’s not my home.

  I don’t even know what to do with myself. I no longer have a job. I was medically and honorably discharged—aka fired. Apparently, one needs both legs to be able to serve in the military. The closest person that I had to family died. I have no girlfriend and few friends. I’m alone in this space that’s haunted with painful memories.

  Sighing, I plop down on the couch and grab the remote. I’m pleased when the TV comes on, and I make a mental note to thank Maggie later for keeping the cable hooked up. I sit in front of the television for what must be a few hours. I’m mindlessly flipping channels when there’s a knock at the front door.

  What the hell?

  I stare toward the door, almost convinced that I’m hearing things, when the knock comes again. I get to my feet and steady myself before making my way toward the door. It takes me longer than usual with my prosthetic. Although I’ve made huge gains since I first attached the light metal piece to my leg, I have a ways to go before I’ll be walking at the pace I used to. The pounding gets louder as I amble my way over and turn the lock. I hesitantly open the door and am greeted by Sarah’s shining face.

  “Loïc!” she shrieks before forcefully throwing her arms around me and pulling me into a tight hug.

  “Sarah?” I say as a question as I hug her back. I have to admit, it’s good to see a familiar face.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, pulling away from our embrace. That’s when I notice her round belly. “Whoa! Are you pregnant?”

  “I’m here because you need me. And, yes,” she says in response as she comes inside and closes the door behind herself. “I’m starving,” she adds.

  I follow her as she makes her way to the kitchen and starts opening the cupboards and the refrigerator. “Loïc, you literally have nothing to eat or drink in this entire kitchen.”

  “There’s water.” I nod toward the tap.

  “Oh my God, I got here just in time.” She sighs with a shake of her head.

  “I just got back three hours ago,” I say in my defense.

  “Well, come on. We have tons to talk about, but I can’t even think about any of that until I get some food in this belly.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I shake my head.

  “Come on. It will be fun. What do you think? That Italian place?”

  “Sarah, I’m not leaving this house,” I say more forcefully. The thought of going out and participating in normal life around strangers makes me anxious. I’m just not ready.

  “All right, grumpy pants. I’ll order a pizza, salad, and some pop for delivery. Then, I’ll go grocery shopping later. Okay?”

  I nod in agreement. Now that she mentions it, I am pretty hungry.

  Sarah calls the pizza place and places our order. Then, she heads back outside with a, “I’ll be right back.”

  A minute later, she’s dragging two large suitcases through the front door. I stare at the huge bags as she says, “I’ll get the rest later. What I really need is to take a shower and brush my teeth. I’ve been driving for the past nineteen hours. I’m severely gross at the moment. So, I’m assuming I’ll be taking Cooper and Maggie’s old room?”

  My gaze jumps from her bags to her face. “Sarah, what are you doing?”

  “Um, unloading my car.” She looks at me with a squint. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  I run my fingers through my longer than normal hair. “I’m honestly not sure,” I respond with a scoff. “Can we sit and talk for a minute?”

  She releases the hold on her suitcases and brings a hand up to my shoulder. As she rubs gently, she says, “Of course.”

  We take a seat on the couch.

  “Seriously, I feel like I’m not understanding something. I’m happy to see you, of course. But why are you here?” I ask.

  Sarah leans back a fraction, looking shocked. “Because you are,” she states simply.

  I let out a sigh. “You’ve got to give me something. I feel like you’re talking in code. Why are you here? How long are you staying? Spill the details, please, without making me pry them out of you,” I say, attempting not to sound completely annoyed. “And, holy hell, the baby?” I motion toward her round belly. “What is going on?”

  “I always said that, when you got back from Afghanistan, I was going to move up to Michigan to live close to you. When you called a couple of weeks ago, you told me that you were getting back today. I just assumed that, since you now live here alone, I would just stay here with you for the time being. I mean, I can find a place of my own after I get a job, if you want. But I really think it’s best that I live here with you. I can help you.”

  I stop her. “I don’t need your help, Sarah.”

  “Just…” She holds up a hand to stop me. “You do need me. You need someone, Loïc. Please don’t push me away because you’re too stubborn for your own good. You might think you don’t need anyone, but you do. Everyone needs someone.” Her blue eyes scan my body, and her stare falls on my metal leg that’s visible beneath my shorts.

  I explained everything to her when I called her from Walter Reed, including the injury to my leg. Yet I’m sure that seeing it and hearing about it are two different things.

  “I’m not in a good place right now. I’m no fun to be around. I’m simply…” I let out a pained breath. There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t find the words for any of it.

  “I don’t care. I will be here for you. I love you, Loïc. You’ve always been there for me, even when I was at my worst. Especially when I was at my worst.” She shakes her head, as if to ward off horrible memories from the past. “You saved
me over and over again. I wouldn’t be here without you.” Her voice falters as her eyes shine with unshed tears.

  “But—” I start to say.

  She cuts in before I can finish my thought, “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through in the past six months. I’ve read up a little on PTSD. I Googled news articles about other soldiers who went through similar experiences as you.” Her eyes drop again to my leg before she darts them back up to my face. “I know I won’t be perfect. I’ll make mistakes, probably most of the time, but I’m going to try my hardest to be the person you need.”

  “I’m not in a good place, Sarah,” I state again, putting emphasis on each word.

  She places her hand on my good knee. “And that’s why you need me. Listen, you loved me and took care of me. It’s my turn to take care of you. Do you understand? Let me love you, Loïc. Please let me stay,” she pleads.

  “Of course you can stay. That’s not the issue. I just don’t want you to feel obligated to take care of me. I’m fine on my own.”

  “I know you are.” She smiles. “You’re the strongest person I know. I want to be here for you. I need to help you. Think of it like you’re doing me a favor.” She winks, and it brings a small smile to my face.

  I nod my head. “Okay, fine. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?” she asks eagerly.

  “Tell me what the hell is up with your round belly.”

  “Oh, right.” She giggles. “Well, I’m pregnant.”

  “We covered that.”

  She bites her lip before saying, “I’m not completely sure who the father is although I’m pretty confident it’s a one-night stand I had.”

  “Does he know?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I don’t even know his last name or where he’s from. I seriously know zero about the dude. I was quite tipsy when we hooked up. I don’t remember much of it.”

  “Do you think he lives in Orlando?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe, but Orlando’s a pretty big place. Plus, it gets tons of tourists every day, so he could be from anywhere really. What am I going to do? Put out an ad that states, Wanted: A man who banged a blonde chick that he met at a bar in Orlando in November?”

  “So, he never told you his name?”

  “I’m sure he did. I just don’t remember. I didn’t think twice about him until I found out I was pregnant and did the math. But, by that time, I couldn’t recall any of the details.”