She was a good woman. My heart ached for keeping her at arms length for so long. “I shouldn’t have been so distant with you after I left. And about the letters, you were right. Evelyn deserves to read them. She has read them, all but one. And it’s about how this happened.” I gestured to my leg.
Tears swam in her gray eyes as her chin dimpled. “Oh, honey. I know. It’s okay.”
“But it’s not okay. You’re my mom. I do appreciate you. I don’t want you to think otherwise.” I bounced my thumbs together.
She sat her knitting stuff on the other side of her before pulling me into a hug. Her arms were trembling as she held me. It was oddly comforting. I hadn’t hugged my mother in years. I wrapped my arms around her and heard a small gasp before her grip on me tightened. “It’s okay, son. You’ll always be my sweet child.”
I pulled away and she folded her hands in her lap with a smile. “Are you alright now?”
I nodded. “I’m fine.” I didn’t know how much I needed my mother. She’d provided a sense of comfort I didn’t know I’d been seeking.
“So, what did Evelyn think of the letters?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. The woman was God Sent, but she was still a gossip.
I rolled my eyes. “She wants to meet me tomorrow afternoon at her place.”
A knowing smile played on her lips as she grabbed her knitting tools and went back to knitting. “She’s a good girl. You two have always been made for one another. A mother knows these things.”
“We’ll see, Ma. But, what if she can’t see past my past?”
“Oh, she will.”
I hoped she was right. I knew it was fucked up to hope for it, after leaving her the way I did. But fuck, I needed it. I needed Evelyn as much as I did when I left—more so now than ever before.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out to glance at the screen before getting up and going upstairs to answer it.
“Hey, Oliver. What’s up? Haven't heard from you in a while.” I sat on my bed as I answered the phone.
I heard a deep breath before he started talking a mile a minute. “Man, I don’t fucking know anymore. There’s this emptiness in my heart. It’s a heaviness, like everything is resting on me. It’s like something’s eating me from the inside. Every day I plaster a fake smile on my face and act like I’m fine for Millie and our girl, but I’m dead inside. How the fuck—”
I swallowed the pain in my throat. I could relate, but he was fucking drowning himself. “Oliver, man. Hold on. What happened? I thought you were happy to be home?”
“I was. I mean, I used to be happy about it. Still am, but fuck. Remember that night in Iran, mid-August?”
I squeezed my eyes, willing away the flashbacks that blasted into me full-force. The deafening sound of the gunshots, smell of gunpowder, and their faces flashed in my mind.
“I keep telling myself the bullet did it. The bullet killed them. But I know that I was the one that pulled the fucking trigger. Why did they have to pull a gun on us?”
I buried my hands in my hair. “I don’t know, Oliver. But if you hadn’t shot first, we’d be dead.”
“Yeah. I keep telling myself that, but what if we could’ve neutralized them without killing them?”
“That couple was dead set on killing us. They were prepared to take out our whole squad. You saved us.”
He took a few deep breaths, and the line went silent for a few minutes. PTSD was a bitch, but it seemed like it was hitting Oliver differently.
“Have you been talking to someone?”
He huffed. “Like a fucking therapist? You sound like Millie now.”
“Seeing a therapist isn’t a bad thing. I’ve thought about it.”
“You have?” he asked.
“Yeah. It’s a hard adjustment to civilian life.”
He hesitated. “Yeah. I’ll think about it. I gotta go pick up Millie from her appointment. Thanks, man.”
The phone call ended abruptly.
I scooted back and took off my prosthetic. The swelling had finally gone down, and I was grateful. Military life was fast paced and filled with duties. We didn’t have the chance to sit down and think about the shit we’d done. Hopefully, Oliver would work it out and talk to someone.
My eyelids fluttered closed as my thoughts drifted toward Evelyn. I was scared shitless of what would happen tomorrow.
I gripped the edge of my sink as I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. I’d let my hair air dry from the shower this morning, and the curls were wild. My eyes were wide and curious of what the conversation would mean. I wore a simple, green flowing dress that hit just above the knee. I was optimistic but couldn’t stop the doubts from creeping in.
I yawned, shaking my head. My bed sheets were in a knot from twisting and turning all night. I'd been so lost in formulating scenarios for the afternoon ahead. My heart thudded hard against the cage of my chest. I’d rehearsed the conversation a million times in my head, each time it ended differently.
A knock on the door signaled that Flynn was here. I glanced at my watch and sure enough, it was noon on the dot. He’d always been punctual. A smile formed on my lips as I maneuvered through my house to the front door. I took a steady breath before turning the knob and pulling the door open.
He had his dark brown hair tousled, and it was thick and lustrous. I wasn’t sure if it was the hairdresser in me that wanted to run my hands through it or the woman who’d been in love with him since high school. It was probably both.
As his gray eyes swept over me, flecks of silvery light twinkled in his irises. His facial structure was
