by Wade, Ellie
“You do realize that he’s the only non-military guy here who is our age. You sure you want to commit to a target before scoping out the rest?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m sure.” Paige nods her head. “Besides, I’m over military men.”
“Really? Since when?” I chuckle.
“Since Mr. Hottie Pants arrived. He’s my dream guy. I want to marry him and have a hundred of his babies and pet him all day long.”
“Pet him?” I quirk up an eyebrow.
“Yes. All. Day. Long.” Paige adds a pause between each word for emphasis.
“All righty then. As your wingwoman, I shall make it my goal to get you some petting time with Mr. Hottie Pants.”
Paige and I start walking toward the bar.
“I’m feeling good. You saw that look,” she says to me.
“Oh, yeah, I saw it. I think he wants more than petting.”
“You know what? I’m completely okay with that,” Paige states.
We both laugh.
Paige has a fruity cocktail in hand, and I have a water. I scan the yard, waiting for Loïc to return. He’s probably helping Evan with something inside. I’m just about to tell Paige that I’m going to go check on him when Mr. Hottie Pants himself walks up to us.
“Hey, ladies,” he says with a smile.
“Hi,” we both answer, Paige a little more exuberant than me.
“So, you here with Sarah or Pete?” he asks.
“Pete?” Paige and I say at the same time.
Ethan laughs. “I always forget that everyone here calls him by his last time. I’m not really big into the military jargon. To me, he’s always been Pete.”
“I’m not into military either,” Paige blurts out.
I quickly pipe up, giving Paige time to recover from her outburst, “I’m London. Loïc’s my husband. He’s pretty good friends with both Sarah and Dixon.”
“Ah, so you’re London!” he says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I went up to Michigan with Pete a few times to visit Loïc during your infamous break. Loïc’s a good guy. I like him. Glad to see everything worked out for you two.”
“Um, thanks. Me, too.” I put on a smile, but just talking about the year that Loïc and I were apart makes me uncomfortable. I hate to think about that time. And I know it’s silly, but I feel a pang of jealousy that Mr. Hottie Pants got to spend time with my man during that year when I didn’t.
“And you are?” he asks Paige.
“Not married,” she exclaims abruptly.
He lets out a chuckle. “Well, that’s good.”
I hold in a smile. Where is the sultry temptress from a moment ago?
Paige is clearly affected by this guy, and I feel guilty because I find it slightly humorous.
“This is Paige, my best friend. She knows both Dixon and Sarah as well.”
“Ah, gotcha. Well, nice to meet you both.” His gaze goes from me to Paige, where it lingers.
“You know what?” I say. “Ethan, would you mind keeping Paige company? I want to go check on Loïc.”
“Of course,” he answers.
I shoot Paige a smile before turning to head toward the house.
Inside, I hear Loïc’s voice coming from the bathroom. “It’s okay, buddy. It happens. Weddings are fun. Sometimes, we can’t think clearly when we’re so excited.”
I step inside the bathroom to find Loïc kneeling in front of the bathtub as Evan splashes a plastic dinosaur in and out of the water.
Evan notices me and blurts out, “Yondon, my brain had too much fun and made me pee my pants.”
“Aw, that’s okay, Ev.” I stand beside Loïc and run my fingers through his short hair. “I was wondering what you two were up to in here.”
Goose bumps pebble my skin as Loïc slides his hand up and down my bare calf. “Babe, can you please go find Evan something to wear? I didn’t get that far.”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
A minute later, I’m back with a pair of khaki shorts and a cute little short-sleeved button-up shirt. It’s the closest ensemble I could find to Evan’s previous outfit. Loïc and I have Evan out of the bath and dressed in a couple of minutes.
I’ve just finished combing Evan’s hair when Dixon enters the bathroom.
“Thank you so much, guys. You’re awesome.” He focuses his attention on Evan. “You ready to go eat?”
“Yes!” Evan exclaims cheerfully as he takes Dixon’s hand.
After Dixon and Evan leave, I look to Loïc’s shoulders. “Do you need a new shirt? Did he get ya?”
Loïc chuckles. “No. Thankfully, it all started flowing right after I put him down.”
I grin. “That’s good.” Stepping toward Loïc, I run my hand under his shirt and up his back, feeling his warm muscles under my touch. “You turn me on so much when you’re all fatherly. You’re going to be the sexiest dad ever.”
Loïc closes the bathroom door and presses the lock button. “Oh, yeah?” he asks, taking a step toward me. He gently brushes a lock of my hair off my shoulder before he leans down and presses his soft lips against the skin at the base of my neck.
I swallow. “Yeah.” I breathe out heavily. “I’m going to have to guard you from all the horny PTA moms at school.”
I lean back against the bathroom counter. My head falls back as Loïc’s hot breath and kisses light a fire against the sensitive skin along my collarbone.
“Are you getting jealous of future imaginary moms?” he whispers.
“I can’t help it. You know jealousy is one of my faults.” I pant as Loïc’s kisses become harder, more demanding.
“Well, I find your jealous side fucking hot.”
His lips find mine, and his tongue enters—greedy, wanting. It searches my mouth, twirling with my own. I press my pelvis against his, needing friction, release…anything.
Without removing his lips from mine, he unzips the back of my dress and guides the straps over my shoulders, allowing it to fall to the ground. His palm moves down my waist until he’s touching my hips. Pulling his lips from mine, his gaze darts down.
“You didn’t wear any panties?” he asks, his stare heavy with lust.
I bite my lip, shaking my head. “It’s a wedding. I knew I’d get horny,” I say simply.
Loïc firmly grasps my hips, leaning his forehead against mine. “Oh, fuck, London. You’re my living dream.”
He lifts me onto the counter, spreading my legs wide, as he crashes his mouth against mine again, kissing me hard. I moan into his mouth as his finger works around my opening, spreading my desire, teasing me. I press myself against his hand, and I can feel the smile on his lips. Finally, his finger enters me, rubbing deliciously against the front wall of my opening.
I throw my head back with a cry. “Oh God… Loïc,” I whimper.
His finger picks up speed as his hot mouth dances across one of my nipples, and I gasp. He gently bites down on my nipple, pulling it, as his finger works harder inside me.
I’m desperately fucking his finger in a frenzy of lust and desire as his mouth continues to tease my boobs—sucking, pulling, biting.
“I need,” I pant out. “I need…” I can barely breathe. I’m so worked up.
“What do you need, babe?” Loïc’s husky voice asks.
“I need you. God, fuck me, Loïc. Hard. So hard.”
“Fuuckk,” Loïc breathes out.
I can just make out the sound of his zipper before he thrusts inside me.
“Yes!” I cry out. “Harder. God, harder.”
Without breaking our connection, Loïc lifts me from the counter and pushes my back against the opposite wall. He circles his hips and pounds into me as my back shoves against the drywall. I squeeze my eyes shut as I dig my fingers into his shoulders.
The sensations are so good that they’re almost painful. Raw, aching ecstasy is what sex with Loïc is like every time. My toes curl, and heat builds.
“O
h, baby…I’m coming,” I moan.
“Fuck yes. Come for me,” Loïc growls.
My body trembles as a wave of pleasure explodes within me. My climax seizes me, and I gasp. Loïc bites my shoulder as he chases his own release, thrusting vigorously as his body tightens.
After a moment of pure insanity, Loïc pulls out of me and sets me down. We sink to the ground and plop down against the cold tiles, staring at the ceiling.
Loïc takes my hand in his. “I have the best wife in the world.”
“Hell yeah, you do. You remember that when the PTA moms come slinking around,” I kid.
Loïc turns to his side to face me. “Your jealousy is a turn-on, but you are kidding, right? You know I’ll never touch another woman for as long as I live. You don’t ever question that, do you?”
I put my palm against his cheek. “No,” I say truthfully, “I don’t.”
I’ve never questioned Loïc’s ability to remain faithful. Neither of us has been with anyone else since the first time we were together, even during the year we don’t speak of when we lived on opposite ends of the country. The thing about destiny is that it doesn’t have to make sense; it simply is. It’s real and true and unbreakable. There’s nothing that will ever pull Loïc and me apart. I believe this down to my core.
“Good.” He leans in and places a quick peck on the tip of my nose. “I love you, London Berkeley.”
“And I love you, Loïc Berkeley.” I squeeze his hand in mine before releasing my grasp. I stand up and begin cleaning up.
Loïc zips his pants up and straightens his shirt some. Then, with arms crossed, he leans against the wall and watches me finish getting dressed.
“So”—he nods pensively—“me as a dad is a turn-on. Good to know.”
“Heck yeah, it is. You’d better drink lots of protein shakes when our baby comes because you’re going to need the energy.”
I turn away from him, pulling my hair up, and he zips up my dress.
“Oh, I’ll have the energy.” He chuckles.
I wash my hands and take one more quick look in the mirror before I nod to Loïc, letting him know to open the door.
We walk hand in hand out of the house and over to the buffet table, grabbing plates. Everyone else is already seated and eating.
“Oh, this looks amazing. I’m starving,” I say as I plop a large spoonful of cheesy mashed potatoes on my plate.
“Me, too.” Loïc piles some barbeque beef brisket on his plate. “You know, they say that having a baby tires you out. You might not have the energy for random bathroom hook-ups once the baby arrives, and that’s okay.”
He’s too sweet.
“Um, our baby is going to sleep through the night, not ever be cranky, and just be perfect all around. So, I’ll have loads of energy,” I say matter-of-factly, causing Loïc to laugh.
“I can’t wait for you to be a mom.” He shakes his head with a grin.
“What?” I ask innocently. “We’re going to have the most easygoing baby ever. Just wait.”
“All right,” he draws out.
“We are.” I frown.
“Sure,” he says in a placating tone.
“I hate you,” My eyes narrow.
“And I love you, babe.”
Several hours later, I’m exhausted but having so much fun as I bounce around with Paige and Sarah on the dance floor. Paige is definitely a little tipsy, and Sarah and I might as well be because we’re having just as much fun as Paige. We’re the only ones dancing at the reception. Save for a few of Dixon’s buddies’ dates and his mom and grandma, we’re the only girls at the wedding. It’s definitely a predominately male gathering.
Paige wouldn’t have had the slightest problem with finding a rebound guy here. Ethan’s lucky he was so quick on the draw. The two of them dance together during every slow song, kissing like a couple at their high school prom. It’s adorable. They’re definitely getting lucky tonight.
“I’m going to get another drink,” Paige calls out over the music. “Need anything?”
“I’m good,” Sarah says.
“I’ll just have another glass of water, thanks.” I excuse myself from the dance floor to go use the bathroom.
I’m finishing up in the bathroom when, suddenly, the air leaves my lungs. My chest aches, and fresh tears of disappointment fill my eyes.
I was so sure. I was positive. I felt different. Didn’t I?
But I couldn’t have been different because I wasn’t. It’s there. Right there on the toilet paper in my hand. The red blotch that crushes everything I thought I felt or thought I knew the past couple of weeks.
I was so sure.
I drop the paper into the toilet with a sigh. So many emotions race through me—anger, jealousy, disappointment—but the loudest is simply sadness. I’m just bummed. I was ready to start this journey with Loïc.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“Hey, London…you in there?”
“Yeah.”
“I have your water. Hurry up. I have to tell you what Ethan just said,” Paige says through the door.
I wait a few moments.
“London?”
I try to compose my thoughts, but before I can answer Paige, I hear her shuffling on the other side of the door.
Then, she’s singing through the crack by the door handle asking me if I want to build a snowman.
I chuckle, swiping the tears that fell.
And, now, she’s literally screaming the song from the other side, and all I can do is laugh. Paige and I watched that Disney movie so many times a few years back, and we can sing every word to every song.
“Paige!” I yell above her vocal number. “Paige!”
She stops singing. “Yes?”
“Can you do me a favor?” I ask her.
“Sure. What do you need?”
“I need a glass of wine, a tampon, and Loïc, please.”
There’s a momentary pause, and I know her alcohol-clouded mind is processing what I just said.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice is lined with sympathy. “I’m on it. Be right back.”
Minutes later, Loïc is holding me in his arms.
“I’m so sad,” I tell him. “I’m sorry I didn’t get pregnant.”
“London, stop. You have nothing to be sorry for. It doesn’t always happen on the first try…or the second or third. Sometimes, it takes time. Just because it didn’t happen this month doesn’t mean it won’t. It’s okay, babe.”
“I just really thought I was.”
“I know. Me, too,” he admits, his beautiful blues so gentle. “I think it’s because we wanted you to be pregnant so badly. But, in a week or so, we get to start trying again, and that’s kinda awesome.” He squeezes me tight.
“Yeah, it is.” I release a dry chuckle. “I’ll never complain about trying with you.”
“Exactly. That’s the fun part.”
“Maybe we should get one of those ovulation tests at the pharmacy, so we know for sure when we should be trying,” I suggest.
“Sounds good. You ready to go back out to the party?”
“Yeah, but if Sarah starts blabbing on about baby names, I’m out.”
He laughs. “If she does, you’ll have to race me out of there.”
I’ve never been a patient person. Besides the year of my life without Loïc, I’ve always gotten pretty much everything I’ve wanted. Or at least the important things. It’s such an odd feeling to know that I can’t make it happen. I’m going to get pregnant when I get pregnant, and that’s that. It’s annoying and frustrating, but I have Loïc, and I can do anything with him by my side.
Loïc
“She’s in no way perfect. Yet, at the same time, she’s absolutely perfect for me.”
—Loïc Berkeley
The men leisurely file out of the room that we use for our weekly PTSD meetings. The room isn’t very inviting with its stark white walls and interrogation-like bright fluorescent lights, but this is t
he room that the VA has available.
“See you next week, sir,” one of the newer guys says to me.
“See you next week,” I reply.
My attention goes to Tommy, who hasn’t moved since he arrived here an hour ago. He normally waits until most people have left before he navigates his wheelchair out. But his eyes seem even more vacant than usual today. He barely said two words during our meeting, which in itself isn’t any different than the other meetings he’s attended over the last seven months. Yet, still, something’s off today. It must be in his body language. I can’t quite figure out what it is though.
“Hey, Tommy. I’m starving. Want to go grab some lunch? I was thinking about hitting up that new barbeque place that just opened in town.”
None of that is in fact true. London made me a healthy lunch full of my favorites that I was planning on eating during my hour commute back home. Today is pregnancy test day—a day that I’ve now experienced with London two times. Today will be the third. I’ve grown to hate this day every month.
The negative pregnancy tests don’t really bother me because I know it will happen in time. It’s the devastation that London feels each time that damn negative line pops up on that plastic wand that really sucks. I’m running out of reassuring things to say to her. As each month passes with another negative result, she’s becoming more desperate and disheartened. It physically hurts me to see her in emotional pain like this. London’s always been so strong. It’s one of her many attributes that I love. This will technically be the fourth pregnancy result if we count the one at Sarah and Dixon’s wedding, and with each passing month, I see a little more light leave her eyes.
I know I should go home, yet I find myself asking Tommy to lunch because his eyes are haunted, and I have an unsettling feeling deep within my gut that tells me he shouldn’t be alone.
Tommy, aka Thomas Washington, joined my PTSD group a little over seven months ago, shortly after he arrived home from Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. For some reason, I’ve always addressed him by his first name. If he were anyone else in the military, I’d call him Washington. Maybe it’s because, at the age of nineteen, he looked so young and lost and broken. Tommy just fits him.
He’s staring at me, thinking.
