by Wade, Ellie
“I know, but it was, like, the best book hangover ever, right?”
“Oh, totally.” I grin, grabbing my purse and cell phone. “Let’s pick back up on our Grey’s Anatomy marathon tonight.”
“I can’t,” Kate says. “My heart can’t take it. Denny died, London. Ugh, too sad.”
“I know, but sometimes, it’s nice to have a good cry, isn’t it?”
I head toward the door, and Kate follows.
“Um, no. It’s sad,” she disagrees.
“Yeah, right. That’s why you just read a book where you knew the hero would die. Admit it. It’s cathartic to cry your eyes out every now and then.”
“Whatever.” She chuckles.
“All right, I’m out. Grey’s and sushi tonight. It’s a date.”
I find a seat in the auditorium and scroll through my phone. I read the email Brad sent me, making sure I understand the essence of what he wants for the article.
The talk is being run by a group of veterans who travel around the country, trying to bring light to current issues regarding veterans and some of the obstacles they face when they return from war.
I pull my laptop out and open it up. I’ve tried taking notes on my phone, an iPad, and with straight-up pen and paper. But I’ve found that typing out my notes is the easiest for me. I set up my recorder as well, which is always handy if I need to go back and listen to something again.
A colonel who served in Vietnam comes out first. He’s wearing the Purple Heart he received from the President of the United States for his acts of bravery during the war. The colonel takes a seat in the center of the stage and tells the crowd about a specific mission where over two hundred men went in but only forty-four men survived. His job was to fly a helicopter through enemy fire to rescue the injured men.
I’m glad I’m recording his speech because it’s so interesting that I’m having a hard time typing out notes.
When he finishes, he receives a standing ovation.
I close my laptop and put it back in my purse. I can tell this is going to be so fascinating that I’m going to have to just listen again and take notes from the recording later.
I lift my head after situating my purse to see the next soldier walking out onstage. I gasp loudly as I grab ahold of the armrests of the chair, hoping the contact will center me.
There he stands, after all this time. My heart beats loudly in my chest, so boldly that I can hear the drumming resonating throughout my body. Or maybe I can’t hear it at all over the piercing hum screeching from my ears. I don’t know what I hear or feel. I can’t focus. I can’t think.
I suck in jagged raw breaths. My body’s acute awareness of him brings a torrent of emotions, making it hard for me to find oxygen. The sorrow that courses through me burns with a tangible pain.
There he is…
Loïc.
A flood of warm tears streams down my face, falling onto my lap. I’ve completely lost the ability to control my body’s reaction to seeing Loïc for the first time in so long—twenty months, to be exact.
I know exactly how long it’s been since I’ve seen his face. I know because not a day goes by when I don’t think of him, mourn for him, and miss him. Not a night goes by when I don’t dream of him. Not a second goes by when I don’t love him.
The rush of blood coursing through my body subsides enough that the ringing in my ears quiets so that I can hear his words as he speaks.
“The problem with PTSD and depression is that, for many soldiers, they don’t know how bad it is until it’s too late. Those who go into the armed forces have a certain type of mentality. Soldiers are strong, tough, resilient. Men and women go into the military because they think they have what it takes to defend our country, to go to war, to fight.
“But it doesn’t matter how strong someone is. Some things are so gruesome that our brains can’t process them. Humans are not meant to kill other humans. Taking another’s life is something that’s impossible to forget. Watching another soldier be tortured or killed isn’t something you can get over. Watching your best friend be blown into little pieces isn’t something you can get over.”
Loïc pauses. He looks down toward the ground. His chest rises as he pulls in air.
Then, he continues with renewed conviction, “Yes, many soldiers come home, but they never come home the same. Even if they aren’t physically damaged, they are mentally wounded. There’s such a stigma regarding mental illness in this country that many soldiers don’t seek the help they need. There’s shame that comes with admitting that you’re mentally unwell. So, many soldiers choose to suffer alone, believing that they’ll be able to pull themselves out of the hole. Yet, before they know it, the darkness takes over and pulls them under.
“Twenty-two veterans commit suicide every single day. Twenty-two.” Loïc’s voice breaks with the last word. He scans the crowd.
Raw emotion prickles across my skin as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest with its inexplicable pull toward him.
Loïc continues, “That number is unacceptable. We are failing our soldiers. The mental demons that accompany many soldiers home can lead to depression, rage, substance abuse, addiction, and mental illness. It is estimated that two hundred thousand veterans are homeless on any given day. Two hundred thousand.” He breaks off again, allowing the number to sink in.
“These are people who put their lives on the line to serve our country. They are someone’s sister, brother, son, daughter, husband, wife, or friend, and we are failing them. We have to bring more awareness to the battles our veterans fight when they come home. More resources need to be available for them. We owe it to them to help when they can’t help themselves. These are good people who gave up everything for their country.”
It is with a near tangible sorrow that Loïc says, “I’ve been there. I’ve seen the darkness, and I know how lonely it is.”
A frenzy of emotions pounds through my veins, the loudest being guilt.
Loïc pulls in a steady breath before going on, “I lost so much, yet I’m one of the lucky ones because I’m standing here before you today. We need to stand together to help our soldiers. Thank you.”
The crowd rises to clap for Loïc.
I can’t make myself stand. My legs feel shaky and weak. I didn’t hear the beginning of Loïc’s speech, and I could barely comprehend the latter part. But I heard enough.
I heard enough to know the horror he must have been going through.
Loïc was drowning in a dark depression, and I left him. I should have known. It didn’t make any sense. I tried to respect him by giving him what he wanted. Yet he didn’t have a clue what he wanted because he needed help.
Why didn’t I fight harder?
The guilt that floods my mind weighs down on me like a tsunami of despair, threatening to drown me in remorse.
The worst part is, I can’t go back. I can’t change any of it. I wasn’t there for Loïc when he needed me the most, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I’m so ashamed.
I left him.
I left the love of my life when he needed me.
But I didn’t know.
That thought brings me no absolution from my guilt. None.
I pull in air, but it doesn’t reach my lungs. I inhale again and again.
I feel faint.
I have to get out of here.
Standing, I throw the recorder into my purse.
“Excuse me. Excuse me,” I say to those I pass as I get closer to the aisle.
Once I’m in the clear, I run toward the back exit of the auditorium. A desperate desire to escape this room propels me. I throw the door open and sprint across the lobby toward the entry doors.
Outside, I stumble toward the side of the building, thankful it’s shaded from the hot California sun. My back against the building’s brick exterior, I crumble to the ground in a heap of sobs.
In an instant, the strong, independent woman I’ve worked so hard to be dissolves, and
I’m just a heartbroken girl, crying for everything she’s lost.
Seeing Loïc up on that stage—the real standing, breathing, talking Loïc—is something I can’t wrap my mind around. Since he left, I’d simply close my eyes, and he would be there. He never truly left me. Yet seeing him in the flesh is more powerful than I can handle.
“London?”
I lift my face from my knees and quickly scramble to my feet, hastily wiping under my eyes. I take in a few calming breaths.
“I thought I saw you leaving the auditorium. I can’t believe it’s…you.” He stumbles on his words.
He’s here, right in front of me. My love. My Loïc.
I love him. God, I love him.
I’ve missed him with a tangible ache every single minute since he left that December morning, twenty months ago.
His deep blue eyes scan me from my feet to my head as I simultaneously take stock of him. He looks the same yet so different somehow. I notice some scarring on his right arm and the side of his neck. There’s some evidence of old wounds on the side of his cheek, but someone who hadn’t known Loïc before, the way I did, wouldn’t even notice them.
But I know every inch of his skin. Memories of Loïc have kept me going for so long. I’ve imagined running my palm along his cheek and down his chest—just feeling his warmth in every way possible—every day since he left. My dreams of him, both when I’m awake and asleep, have sustained my aching heart.
I’ve loved every part of Loïc. I still do.
“Hi,” I say weakly. There are so many things I want to tell him, and now is my chance, but I don’t even know where to start.
“Hi.” He grins, and my heart nearly falls out of my chest.
His smile is genuinely happy. His eyes shine with what seems to be joy to see me. He’s in his military uniform, and he is truly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
It’s reminiscent of the first time I saw him in uniform at the charity car wash, which seems like a lifetime ago. Except I can tell he’s not the same man who pulled up in that dirty truck way back then. I’m nowhere near the same girl I was then either.
“How are you?” he asks.
I let out a forced laugh as my hand gestures from my head to my feet. “I’ve obviously been better.”
I can’t take it anymore. His proximity is maddening.
“Can I please hug you?” I blurt out.
“Yeah.”
He takes a step toward me, and I throw my arms around him.
Being in physical contact with Loïc again sends my senses into overdrive. It’s completely overwhelming. My tears start falling again, and there’s no hope in stopping them. So, I let them fall onto Loïc’s uniform, and I hug him tighter.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into my hair. His arms pull me in tighter.
“I’m sorry,” I sob into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
The two of us stand in this embrace for some time. I’m in no hurry to release him because I don’t know if I’ll ever get to hold him again. I’m committing the feeling of his body against mine to memory.
Eventually, when my tears have run dry, I drop my arms and take a step back.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit, my entire body feeling tired and heavy.
With a thoughtful expression, he asks, “Are you happy?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“I am.” He nods.
“Well, that’s…great,” I offer. The simple sight of Loïc before me makes my knees weak.
“What are you doing here? Did you know I’d be here?”
I shake my head with a sad chuckle. “Uh, no. Hence, this mess.” I point to myself. “I was assigned to write an article about this.” I bite my lip. “Well, crap. I guess the story is just going to be about you and the guy before you.”
Pulling his shoulders back, he smiles. “I’m proud of you, London.”
I grab the base of my neck, rubbing out the tension. “For what?”
“For coming out here and living your dream, being a fancy journalist.”
I sigh, dropping my arm to my side. “Well, I have you to thank for that.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s fine. I know.” He nods slowly.
I swallow hard. “I didn’t want to leave you, Loïc. I would have done anything for you.”
“I know, and I’m sorry I pushed you away. I was in a very dark place. I wasn’t thinking clearly. In my mind at the time, I thought you’d be better off without me. It was a cowardly move, but it was all I was capable of then.”
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah, I am. I got help. Lots of doctors, medications. I’ve been able to get off most of my medications, but I’ll always have to stay on top of my mental health. It will probably be an ongoing struggle. But talking to others, like I did today, is very therapeutic.”
“I’m so glad you’re better, Loïc. How are Sarah and the baby?” I ask with a clench of my jaw.
“Great. Evan’s first birthday is next week. He’s the most adorable little boy. I love him so much.”
“I’m happy for you,” I say even though my heart is shattering all over again as I think of Loïc with Sarah and their beautiful little family.
“How’s your boyfriend?” Loïc’s question seems random.
My eyes dart up to his. “Uh, I don’t have one.”
“You broke up?” he inquires.
“I haven’t dated anyone since you, Loïc.” For some reason, I want him to know that.
A mixture of emotions crosses his face, the most obvious being confusion. “But I saw you.”
“What do you mean?” I bite my lip with a frown.
“Last year, I flew out here to see you. I got your address from Maggie. I went to your apartment and saw you sitting outside on a restaurant patio, right next to your place. There was a man, and he kissed you. I didn’t want to ruin anything for you. So, after seeing that you were happy, I just left.”
I hold my hands to my sides as they start to tremble. “What?” I shriek, barely able to process his words. “You came for me?” My eyes fill with tears once more.
Disappointment gleams in his eyes. “Yeah, but you were happy…and…”
“And nothing. I wasn’t happy without you. I certainly wasn’t dating anyone. That was my boss, and he kissed me to be funny. That was the second and last time he ever kissed me. I can’t believe you came out here, and you didn’t come see me.” My voice rises. I gulp down the ache that’s building a tightness in my throat.
“I was going to, but I told myself, if you were happy, then I would leave you alone. You looked great, London. I didn’t want to bring you pain.”
“I can’t believe this.” I shake my head. “I just can’t. So, you’re with Sarah now?”
“No, I’m not with her.”
“You’re not?” I ask, my voice shaky. “What about the baby?”
“I love Evan, of course, but I’m his uncle, not his dad.”
The weight in my chest lessens. “Are you dating anyone?”
He shakes his head. “No, not since you.”
I pause, pulling in a long breath. I nervously search his eyes as I ask, “Do you still love me, Loïc?” My voice trembles, and my heartbeat quickens. My lips part to accommodate faster breaths.
He lifts his arm and gently pulls a strand of my hair between his fingers. “Every minute of every day.”
I press my quivering lips together, afraid to speak. I’ve hoped and prayed that this day would come, that I would hear Loïc tell me he loves me. Now that it has, I’m so overcome with emotions that I could just crumble.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, his deep timbre thick with love, desire, and need.
Before I can think straight, his full lips are crashing on mine, desperate and intense. My skewed equilibrium causes me to sway. I grip his back with my trembling hands, holding me upright. He ravishes my mouth with his.
Something innate take
s over as a torrent of emotions fall down on me. I kiss him back with a fiery need.
Our lips collide. Our tongues dance. Our souls reconnect.
This is the greatest instant of my life.
Loïc’s hypnotic spell of a kiss mends my heart in a way that time never could. Nothing matters but this moment right now, today. This kiss communicates so much, but what I hear the most is the hope for tomorrow.
All I’ve ever wanted with Loïc is a future. I don’t care about yesterday. All I want is tomorrow and the day after that. And just maybe I’ll be gifted with enough tomorrows to last a lifetime.
I begrudgingly pull away from our kiss. “I realize that I have a major flaw.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Loïc asks, his voice husky.
“My heart’s incapable of loving anyone but you,” I admit, a small smile forming.
Loïc pulls in a sharp breath before saying, “I’m flawed in the same way. My heart only beats for you, London Wright. No one else.”
And then his lips find mine once more.
Loïc
“I don’t know what I did to deserve her love, but I’m never going to deny myself again.”
—Loïc Berkeley
I sneak a peek over to London at the same time she takes her eyes off the road to glance at me. Our eyes meet briefly before she turns back to the road with a giggle.
“This is awkward, right?” she asks from the driver’s seat.
“A little,” I agree.
“But amazing, too?”
“Definitely.” I smile.
“When’s your return flight?”
“Tomorrow morning, eight o’clock.”
London sighs, “Uh, that sucks.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
She parks on the street in front of her apartment building. I think back to last year when I saw her sitting at that restaurant with that guy in his expensive suit. She was laughing and smiling. She looked stunning, and when he kissed her, I had to go. If I had only known, the past year would have been so different.
We both exit her car and meet on the sidewalk. London reaches out her hand, and I entwine my fingers through hers. Just the feeling of her hand in mine does crazy things to me. This day has been so surreal.
