My Kind of Love (Finding Love 1)

Several hours later, RJ and I are on the campus of the University of San Diego. Since my appointment with admissions and my advisor aren’t until later, I’m meeting with a leasing agent to discuss off-campus housing. She’s going to show me the two-bedroom apartment they have available. Since my scholarship covers living expenses, I’ll be able to live right off-campus in their approved apartments. They also have daycare on campus. I’m not thrilled about RJ going to daycare at only eight months old, but from what I’ve been told, it’s small and clean, and the caregivers are college students majoring in early education.

I find the leasing office, and roll RJ’s stroller inside. “You must be Micaela,” an older, gray-haired woman says, standing from behind her desk. “I’m Sonia. We spoke on the phone.”

I step around the stroller and shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The apartment we have available is on the first floor, so you won’t have any stairs to climb with your little guy,” she says. “It’s not far from the office, so we can walk there if you’re up for it.”

“Sounds good.”

She’s right, the apartment is only a block away from the office. When we enter the apartment, the first thing I smell is chemicals. It must’ve been cleaned since the pervious tenants moved out.

“Take a look around and let me know if you have any questions,” she says, stepping to the side so I can check out the place.

The foyer is small, and the living room is just off it to the right. The walls are all stark white and empty, unlike the cream-colored walls at home. I can paint them, though, and add pictures. I try to imagine recreating the walls of candid photos I did at the house, but when I picture it, my heart drops into my stomach. Would I include pictures of Ryan? Just because we can’t be together, doesn’t mean he isn’t RJ’s dad… But would it be weird to have pictures of him on my wall? What if I meet someone?

The thought causes my heart to pick up speed, and before I know what’s happening, I’m standing in the middle of the living room, damn near hyperventilating.

Calm down, Micaela. You made this decision because it’s for the best. It might hurt right now, but in the long run…

I suck in a sharp breath, but it’s hard to get air into my lungs. I push the stroller out of the living room, hoping it will help calm my nerves to leave the room. But when I enter the master bedroom, my freak out only worsens, as I try to imagine having to buy all new furniture… having to sleep in my bed without Ryan.

I poke my head into the bathroom. It’s simple and clean. But all I can think about is when Ryan and I made love in the shower. The way he organizes my toiletries around the sink. How he wrote an actual note on the mirror to remind himself to throw his clothes in the hamper.

I glance in what would be RJ’s room and visualize where his crib and changing table will go. The rocking chair in the corner—where Ryan has spent every night reading to him before bed.

Oh my God, he won’t be able to read to him.

I choke back a sob and take a deep breath. It won’t matter if he reads to him every night, because when he dies during a deployment, he won’t be alive to read to him anyway.

But what about all the days he’s not away? All the moments he’ll miss…

I head to the kitchen, and a flashback of me burning dinner and then Ryan making love to me on the table hits me straight in my chest.

I can’t do this…I can’t live without him. Even if it means there’s a chance I lose him…

I need him. I love him. He’s my world, my future. What’s the point of any of this without him there by my side?

I pull my cell phone out of my purse and dial his number. It rings several times before it goes to voicemail.

“Ryan, it’s me,” I say through a sob. “I-I need you. I’m so sorry for leaving, but I’m standing here in this apartment in San Diego and I miss you and I need you. RJ needs you. I can’t do this without you. I’ll change my major. I’ll—”

“No, you won’t,” a deep voice says from behind me. I whip around and find Ryan standing where the dining room table is supposed to go. He’s dressed casually in a blue T-shirt and jeans. His head is shaved, and he has light stubble along his jawline. All I want is to run into his arms, so he can hold me.

“I was just leaving you a message,” I say dumbly, hitting end on the call and dropping the phone back into my purse.