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Jesse
LETTER
ELLA
JESSE,
Another year has gone by since I’ve seen you. It hurts. I try to keep myself busy. I’m even dating again. But no one is you.
Do you think when you’re out of the Army, you’ll come back home? Move back here?
I miss you. I wish I could just text you that.
Until next time whenever that may be.
Love,
Ella
CHAPTER EIGHT
ELLA
NOVEMBER 2015 - WALKINS GLEN, ALABAMA
“Where is he?” I asked, tears already streaming down my face at the thought of seeing my brother. Knowing he was in hell.
“He’s in Dad’s workshop, but he wants to be alone, Ella.” Mom dragged a palm down her face, a slight tremble in her hand as she did her best to keep it together.
But none of us were “keeping it together.” Not since Marcus’s death was aired on live TV by terrorists three days ago.
I’d been waiting for A.J. to come home . . . with an empty casket. Because even though it was a public execution, Marcus’s body hadn’t been recovered, and . . .
“I have to see him,” I cried and took off before she could stop me.
Flinging open the door, I nearly lost my balance as I slammed into a wall of muscle. Jesse. His strong arm slipped behind my back to steady me, then he hauled me close and hugged me tight.
Standing on our back deck, I fell apart, sobbing against his chest as he quietly held me.
“You’re here,” I whispered, sniffling as I clutched his shirt.
“Of course I’m here,” he rasped, running his fingers through my hair to try and comfort me. “Where’s A.J.?”
I forced myself to stop ugly crying long enough to free myself from his embrace. “Dad’s workshop.”
“Come on. He shouldn’t be alone.” He offered me his palm, and all I could do was stare at it. My fears, nerves, and every other emotion had me in a chokehold. Knowing A.J. would be . . .
Closing my eyes for a moment, I forced myself back to the present, then took his hand, and allowed him to guide me to a place I’d been a million times before.
We stopped outside the worn-down barn Dad used as his workshop, and I winced at the sounds of A.J. scream-crying.
“Maybe I should go in first? Alone?” Jesse let go of my hand and faced me, shielding his eyes from the bright sun.
“No, I need to see him.” I lifted my chin to meet his gaze, then gave him a firm nod to say I was ready. He shook his head but took the lead and opened the door. Protecting me with his body, as if worried something might go flying my way and hurt me, he cautiously stepped inside.
“A.J.,” I cried as he flung a partially constructed rocking chair across the room. It fell to the floor, splintering into pieces.
Breathing hard, A.J. turned toward us, tears streaking down his face. “We shouldn’t have followed fucking orders. Shouldn’t have let him go on that op alone,” he roared. “He didn’t have his . . .” He frantically reached into his pocket and produced the lucky black band Marcus always wore . . . “Why the fuck did he forget it that night, of all fucking nights?”
