Page 92 of Miss Typed

“You’d fall in love again?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Someday. But back to you. Let me ask you something, point blank, as your best friend. Do you love her?”

“Yes.” I threw back the remainder of my tumbler, knowing Reid would see through any lie I tried to tell him. “I love her enough to let her go.”

“That’s some martyr-ass bullshit from a guy who feels awfully sorry for himself. For the last year, I’ve ignored your self-pity, hoping you’d pull yourself out of your misery, but you haven’t.”

“I haven’t because nothing is going to change. Every time I look down, I will see half my leg missing. I may not even pass the physical tomorrow. Then what use am I to anyone?”

“You’re still here. You’re still alive.”

“I’m half living. All my plans, all my goals—poof. Gone. I worked so hard to make this life for myself outside of my family, and now I have nothing to show for it.”

“You survived the roadside bomb for a reason. And I refuse to believe we only get a shot at one dream in this life. Your dream may have to change, and you may not even know what it is now, but perhaps what happened was a way to get you to something better. But if you have to go all Lieutenant Dan on Iraq and face your demons, then so be it.”

Despite my misery, I grinned at his Forrest Gump reference. Maybe I did have to face the storm.

“I love you like a brother, Aiden, and will support you no matter what you do, even if we both end up alone and bitter. But if that happens, you should know I hate going to the gym, and your chicken parm needs work. Even though I was drunk at the time, I could tell it was dry. Also I don’t find you remotely sexy, with or without your leg.”

I threw the couch pillow at him while we both chuckled.

“No, but seriously—when you picture Chloe five years from now with another man, how does it make you feel?”

“Like it hurts to breathe.”

“And how does it feel to know you’ve hurt her and may never see her again?”

“Like shit.”

He threw the pillow back. “You’re a man who likes to fix things. At least fix this before you leave.”

* * *

What did you say to the woman you loved but knew you’d hurt? I didn’t know. Yet I was here knocking on her door at nine o’clock two nights later, hoping she was home and not at the club again. I’d forfeited all rights to have a say, however, if that were the case.

My relief was palpable when Chloe opened the door. She was in cotton puppy pajama bottoms, a tank top, and bare feet, obviously spending a night in. I didn’t miss the way her eyes looked puffy, most likely from crying. Most definitely because of me.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Can I come in for a few minutes?”

She opened the door wider to allow me to pass.

“Is your roommate here?”

“No. It’s just us.”

She took a seat on her sofa, her feet curled up under her, a glass of water next to her on the end table.

I remained standing, suddenly at a loss for words.

Luckily, she broke the ice. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.” I’d passed the physical and would be shipping over to Iraq next week. I’d go to LA first to get my gear.

We were both quiet as I tried to figure out how to articulate my feelings. “I lied to you.”