AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Do you love her?”
Yes. But I wouldn’t tell it to him until I’d told her.
If I ever got the chance.
If I could just unlock the damn metaphorical box that held all my words hostage—the most important ones at least, the ones Jenna wanted—then maybe I’d finally get the chance to tell her the three words that would be true whether she heard them or not.
For the rest of my life, I’d love her.
My phone beeped in my pocket, and I pulled it out without hesitation, always hoping it would be her, but instead it was someone I hadn’t spoken to in months. I read his text, wondering if there was maybe someone else who understood the choke hold I was experiencing.
“I gotta go,” I told Grant.
“Was that her?”
“No, but maybe it’s someone who can help me find a way to get her back.”
Without a backward glance, I was out the door.
I was the first one to the bar, so I grabbed a stool at the counter and ordered a beer. My fingernail scraped against the moisture on the beer bottle, my gaze staring vacantly at the woodgrain of the bar top. This last week had been hell. If I thought I was wrecked after what happened overseas, it was nothing compared to the hollowness of losing Jenna.
It was made worse knowing I could’ve prevented it if I could’ve just opened my fucking mouth.
Why was it so hard to tell her what happened? To tell heranythingabout my life. Maybe because I hadn’t told anyone anything personal since the army. Hell, even then, I’d barely scraped the surface about my personal life. Only my closest friends knew about the strained relationship I had with my parents.
But Jenna still deserved better. She opened up to me when she didn’t have to. She let herself be vulnerable, so why the fuck couldn’t I?
I brought the bottle up to my lips and took a long sip, wishing it could wash away the guilt and loss and ache of missing her.
A hand slapped my back, and I looked behind me, but he’d already moved to my other side. “How’s it going, Cowboy?”Ryan Hurley asked as he sat down on the stool next to me. My gaze dropped to the prosthetic limb where his right leg used to be, and that guilt in my stomach swirled violently. His gaze followed mine, but he didn’t seem nearly as affected as I was.
Hurley and I were in the same unit in the army. Only three of us made it out of that hellhole, and I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for the role I played in putting us in that situation.
Hurley watched me with an almost clinical gaze before he stated, “Youstill haven’t talked to that therapist I recommended.”
He’d suggested one right after I got discharged, but I’d thrown that card in a pile and never looked at it again. I didn’t even know what happened to it.
“No,” I said, my voice low and weak.
He frowned and then lifted a hand for the bartender’s attention. “I’ll have what he’s having,” he said, and the bartender quickly flipped the top off and handed him the icy bottle of beer. He took a hearty sip, staring straight forward before he spun and faced me.
“Did I ever tell you why I started seeing that therapist?”
“I assumed because it was recommended. You always were a rule follower.” Hurley was the Boy Scout and good boy of our group, but all that preparedness was for nothing when the ambush hit.
I took another hearty sip of my beer, trying to wash away the never-ending guilt.
“I was going to kill myself.”
I snapped my head to face him and saw the truth in his gaze, but he nodded to confirm it was true. “My wife caught me.” He did look away then, but I’d recognized the shame in his eyes before he’d turned away. “I’ll never forgive myself for what I put her through, or that she saw me like that, but she saved my life. And then she forced me to go to therapy. She found the therapist, and I only went that first time because she drove me. I expected to find some woman there trying to get me to share my feelings, but instead it was an army vet who’d also lost his leg. I’m not really sure how he did it because that first meeting is a bit of a blur, but he got me to talk, and I’ve been going every week ever since. He’s a good guy, knows his shit, and if you can’t talk to me or Cody, you should talk to him.”
Cody Maxwell was the only other survivor from our unit, and even though he’d reached out a few times, I’d been too chickenshit to call him back. Hurley only got me out tonight because I was sick of staring at Grant’s TV.
“I…I can’t talk to anybody.” If I couldn’t talk to Jenna, I doubted anyone could get me to share. She’d been the first person to make me feel anything besides guilt since I returned stateside.
Hurley rested his hand on my shoulder. “I know the feeling, brother, and it took rock fucking bottom for me to open up, but I wouldn’t go back now. It’s scary as shit at first, but eventually it feels fucking good to let it all out. If you keep it bottled up, you’re going to ruin your life. Trust me.”
I already felt like I had. I’d lost Jenna.
