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Shit.
Slowly, I drop my hands. Devin’s picture fills the screen, and every last image of the teenager-turned-man I had conjured up in my head falls to the wayside because the real him is so much more than I’d imagined. My heart races as my eyes roam over his profile picture, which was obviously taken at the beach.
His entire body is ripped, chiseled to perfection—much more so than the last time I saw him half naked. I can’t help but think that this is the type of body I read about in books. Board shorts sit low on hips. A thick, corded arm is slung over the shoulder of another man, equally as gorgeous in a rugged sort of way. As expected, Devin’s green eyes pop under thick dark lashes and pair perfectly with his straight nose and full lips, which are split into a breathtaking smile. He’s always had strong features, but they’re different now … more defined. And if that jawline isn’t enough to make
any girl swoon, the single dimple in his left cheek—the one that I’ve always loved—would more than do the trick.
“Please tell me we can look at more pictures.” Maggie’s warm breath fans the side of my face, bringing me back to reality. I don’t even want to know how crazy the two of us would look to an outsider as we sit here drooling over a picture on a screen.
“Absolutely,” I say, nodding my head.
Maggie fist pumps the air. “Yes!” Clicking on the arrow, she slowly scrolls through pictures. There are several of Devin by himself, a few of him with some friends drinking beer and one of him with a girl. She’s a tall blonde with sparkling blue eyes. Her body is tucked in close to his, her left arm wrapped around his lower back. Devin’s arm is hooked around her neck in a kid-sister sort of way, but it does nothing to ease the tension in my stomach.
My mind drifts to my last email and the very important question that I asked him. Is this his girlfriend, or maybe his wife?
Suddenly, I want nothing more than to rush home and check my email. I know Maggie would let me use her computer, but my letters to and from Devin are just that … they’re mine.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I continue to take in the various photos when a thought pops into my head. “Maggie?”
“I know, I know.” She blows out a slow breath, her eyes glued to the screen. “You’re one lucky bitch.”
“What if I’m not ready for this?” Her head snaps toward me. “What if I’m making a huge mistake?” I ask. Her eyes bounce around my face, uncertainty swirling in the depths of her whiskey-colored eyes.
“But what if you’re not,” she breathes, her eyes imploring me to really consider what she’s saying. “What if this is a second chance? You’ve told me how much Devin meant to you and how crushed you were when he left. But what if it just wasn’t your time? What if the two of you needed to separate so that you could come back together, stronger and more solid?”
“What if I let him in and he leaves again?”
A slow smirk plays at the corner of Maggie’s mouth. “Then I’d rip his fucking balls off.” I offer her a tremulous smile and she sobers up. “But I don’t think it’d come to that. You want to know why?”
I nod.
“I think that Devin is probably a fairly smart fella, which is why he’s been writing you. Now, I don’t know exactly what the letters say, but you did tell me that he’s apologized more than once. I’d bet just about anything that he realizes he made a big-ass mistake—a mistake that he won’t make again.”
I want to believe her—I really do—but there are too many ‘what ifs.’ Starting with, “What if I’m making a big-ass mistake by thinking he won’t hurt me again?”
“Katie.” Maggie sighs, scooting forward on the cushion. “Life is one big chance. You can either choose to sit on the sidelines and always take the safe route, or you can jump into the game. I think you need to jump into the game. Fate has fucked with you enough, and this time I think it’s working in your favor … either that, or your old man is pulling some pretty big strings from upstairs.”
My mind drifts back to the silent plea I made to my dad the day of his funeral.
“You promised you’d never leave me,” I cry, making no attempt to wipe away my tears. My throat tightens, making it hard to talk, but I need to get this out. Lowering myself, I kneel next to Daddy’s casket, which is perched just inside the ground. His name, Christopher James Devora, is etched into the nameplate. My chest hurts—physically hurts—and I rub at it, trying to ease the pain.
“I’m not sure I can do this without you.” My words break on a sob and I bury my face in my hands. “Show me the way,” I beg, my shoulders heaving. “Put me on the right path, and I promise I’ll follow it … I promise. But you have to give me a sign, Daddy,” I plead, finally gathering the strength to look up. Gently, I place my hand against the side of his casket, my fingers drifting over his name. “I need to know you’re with me.”
Devin’s name was on that pen pal list for a reason—I know it was. Would I have formed a bond or friendship with any of the other soldiers, or did fate and something entirely too big for me to understand bring Devin back to me?
Unspoken words linger heavy in the air, their meaning so powerful and intense that I’m too scared to speak them.
“Maggie, I need to go.”
“How To Save A Life” – The Fray
I CAN’T STOP SMILING. EVEN if I could stop, I don’t know that I’d want to. I left Maggie’s in a hurry to get home, hopeful that I’d have a message from Devin waiting in my inbox. Plus, I was shaken over what I’d seen on the news and admittedly rattled by the realization that maybe—just maybe—he and I were supposed to come back into each other’s lives. And who knows, maybe we’re meant to be nothing more than friends, but I needed to get home and process it … process everything. I didn’t get much time to take it all in though because the second I pulled up my Gmail account and saw his name, I had to read what he wrote—and I wasn’t disappointed.
His words put a big, goofy grin on my face. Oh, and the fact that he isn’t married and I didn’t inadvertently become an emotional mistress. That makes me smile too. A lot.
After hitting reply, I sit and watch the cursor blink steadily on the screen. I want nothing more than to lay it all on the line. I want to tell him that news of the roadside bomb scared the shit out of me, and that in that moment, I was desperate to hear from him and talk to him—that I would’ve given anything to be able to pick up the phone and call him, just to make sure he was okay. I want him to know I was worried, to know that I care.
But as my fingers continue to press against the keyboard, unmoving, my mind goes completely blank. Laughing at myself—because this Devin, and I know how to talk to Devin—I decide to do what comes easy …
