A Lover's Lament

“I can’t help it.” I sniff, burying my nose in his chest. “I don’t want you to go. I just got you back.”

Out of nowhere, my mind drifts to the what ifs that I’ve been trying so hard not to think about. Panic crawls up my throat and I pull back, my eyes landing on Devin’s. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t get them to come out. Do I tell him that it scares me? That the thought of something happening to him makes me want to go fucking insane?

“No.” Devin’s voice is low and firm, the complete opposite of his eyes, which are swimming with love. “Don’t go there, Katie. Please don’t go there.”

“Don’t go where?” My voice is watery and way too shaky. I swipe away the tears running down my face and I suck in a deep breath.

“It’s written all over your face, baby,” he says, threading a hand through my hair. “And trust me, I get it. The unknown is scary, and there are no guarantees where war is concerned, but if there’s one thing you need to know—one thing that I want you to carry with you—it’s that I will fight like hell to make it back to you.” Devin’s eyes fill with tears. “I’m coming back to you, Katie.”

I offer him a tremulous smile; it isn’t much, but it’s the best I can do. “Promise me,” I whisper. “Promise me you will do whatever you have to do to come back to me.”

Devin’s eyes bounce between mine as though he can’t decide exactly how to respond. I know I’m asking for a lot, but I’m desperate, and right now I need the words.

“Baby.” Sitting up, Devin pulls me onto his lap. The sheet falls around my waist, leaving my body as naked and vulnerable as my heart, but Devin’s eyes don’t stray from mine. He cradles my neck between his warm palms, his thumbs running a soft path along my cheekbones. “I let you down once, and I promise you I won’t let you down again.”

“Tell me you love me,” I beg, wrapping my hands around his neck, mimicking his hold on me. We’re nose to nose, our breath mingling, and this moment is so incredibly perfect, I don’t want it to end.

“I love you.” Eyes locked on mine, Devin kisses me softly. “I want you every single day for the rest of my life.” He kisses my nose, followed by each eyelid. “I want to marry you and have babies with you.” His lips trail to my ear. “I want to make love to you every night and wake up to your beautiful face every morning.” Wiping away more of my tears, Devin smiles at me, and it’s that smile combined with these words that bring me peace. “I want to grow old with you, Katie. I want forever.”

“You mean the world to me, Dev.” I drop my forehead to his and slip my hands to the back of his neck. “I want all of that. What you just said … that’s my dream.”

“It’s not going to be a dream for long, because in six weeks I’m coming home and we’re going to start building that dream … together.”

The urge to start building that dream now is so damn strong, and knowing that he’s leaving just drives home the reality that it’s going to be a damn long time until I get to be wrapped in his arms again. “Make love to me,” I whisper.

Devin growls and slams his mouth to mine at the same time the alarm goes off. We didn’t set it to wake us up; we set it to remind us when Devin needed to get going in time to make his flight. I hate that fucking alarm. Reaching around me, Devin slaps the alarm, effectively shutting it off.

“Don’t go,” I beg, my nerves taking over. “I need to you to make love to me one more time.” Hurriedly, I pull the sheet off of us and wrap my legs around his waist. My hands roam every inch of his body, because suddenly I need one last chance to memorize everything about it so that when I’m home by myself and I’m missing him, I can pull the memories out and drown myself in them.

“Slow down, Katie.” Devin wraps his hands around my wrists, then pulls them to his face and kisses them. “We have time, baby. I’m going to make love to you, and then I’m going to drive myself to the airport—”

What? Is he crazy? Hell no. “No.” I shake my head, brows furrowed. Doesn’t he want to spend as much time with me as he can? Doesn’t he want me there right before he boards the plane? “I want to go with you.”

“No,” he says, gently nudging me to my back. His larger than life frame hovers above me. “I’m going to show you how much you mean to me, and then I’m going to leave you right here in this bed, sated and happy. That’s the memory of you that I want when I go back to Iraq. I don’t want to see you crying in the airport. I want to see you lying here in this bed, your hair fanned out on the pillow with the sexiest little smile on your lips. Because you do,” he says, kissing my lips, “you get this smile on your face, and it makes me feel fucking fantastic. It makes me feel like, for once in my life, I’ve done something right. And I need to feel that when I leave here.”

Well, son of a gun, how am I supposed to argue with that? My heart swells and I let my knees drops, allowing Devin to settle between my legs. “So this our goodbye? Right here in bed, instead of at the airport?”

“We aren’t saying goodbye, Katie. This isn’t goodbye. It’s a promise … remember that dream we just talked about?”

I nod, feeling him position himself at my entrance.

“This is a promise that you’re going to be waiting for me when I come home … a promise that we’re going to make those dreams come true.”

“Do we need to shake on it?” I ask, finally gaining the strength to smile.

“Oh baby, we’re gonna do more than shake on it.”

And with those words, Devin pushes inside me.

Home.

“Tiger Lily”—Matchbook Romance

THE HOLLOW ACHE IN THE pit of my stomach is something I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. JFK is flooded with mobs of other passengers walking past the barstool I’ve claimed as my own, but I pay no attention to them. I don’t see my fellow bar patrons, because in this moment, right now, I just need to forget.

I take two shots of Jameson and chase them with a shot of pickle juice. Not wanting to be seen drinking in uniform, I slide the shot glasses as far down the bar as I can. I don’t like disrespecting the uniform and any other time I’d be stronger than this, but leaving Katie was unbearable. There is nothing okay about how I’m feeling right now, and there’s definitely nothing okay about leaving her again. Of all the shitty things I’ve experienced in all the years of my life, this—this right here—takes the cake. This kind of hurt sticks with you; it fucking guts you wide open.

I wave two fingers toward the bartender and she nods in acknowledgement. She chills two more shots of Jameson and sets them before me, along with the requisite shot of pickle juice. I glance around me, making sure no one is looking, and then down all three in succession before once again sliding them down the bar. I feel like an asshole for drinking these feelings away, but the warm tingle the Jameson creates ripples through my body, just under the skin, and numbs the pain a little.