Page 47 of Forever My Soldier

I pulled the rest of the stuff out from under my clothes, this time refusing to feel any regret and deciding to stop letting my mind go back to that place. There was no use in going back there because nothing was changing. We were over, done for good this time. And if I never loved another man again like I loved him, then so be it. I could still be happy. Who needed a man for a happily ever after anyway? That was for fairytale princesses, and while I may have a tattoo of a tiara, those fairytales were nothing more than stories that filled a little girl’s head with unrealistic hopes and dreams. Being happy in that way was only an illusion.

And I knew well enough that nothing good came from yearning for something I would never have.

My desire to be with Deacon did nothing but destroy the both of us.

I bent down to pull out all of my shoeboxes next and then slid out the step stool I had folded in the corner of the closet to reach the top where I had more shoeboxes stored. Note to self, I thought, I didn’t need more shoes any time soon.

I stepped on the stool and reached with my arm for the last shoebox all the way in the corner. “Dammit,” I cursed to myself. I struggled to reach it until finally my hand swung forward, and in an attempt to grab it, I pushed it off the shelf. Tumbling to the floor, everything inside came spilling out. “Shit!”

I stepped down, pushing the stool aside. Out of all the shoeboxes that could have fallen, why did it have to be this one? I crumbled to the floor on my knees as I picked up the contents. Dozens upon dozens of pink pieces of paper, all folded and signed by me. Letters I had written to Deacon even after we broke up. I sobbed and laughed all at once. I never could let him go.

This box had all of our memories, memories I never had it in me to dispose of. I hid it because I didn’t want it to serve as a reminder. The last time I was in here was when I put the ring he gave me back. I wore it on a chain around my neck after he left for a while, but then couldn’t stand the reminder it was, so I tucked it away in here and never looked back.

As I put all the letters together and reorganized them, I began crying. I sniffled as the tears began to stream down my face. I wiped them away with the back of my hand and went back to putting everything back in the box.

Before I closed the box, I took out the ring and looked at it, clutching it to my chest. “How did I screw things up so bad?” I cried.

I can’t do it.

I can’t leave Miami.

I can’t leave Deacon.

Oh no, what had I done? I had to call Flora back. Later.

I put the ring inside the box and closed it before picking it up and carrying it with me. I rushed downstairs, made sure I had my phone, purse, and sunglasses, and left like the place was on fire and I needed to get in the car and drive off to survive.

Really, it wasn’t that much of a stretch. I did need to drive off to see Deacon in order to survive.

I needed Deacon to survive.

He wanted to talk. I blew him off. If he would still be willing to talk, then I had a lot I needed to say.

Starting with the fact that he was like a drug to me and even if it meant I’d be an addict for the rest of my life, I needed to have him. I couldn’t live without him.

I wouldn’t.

Chapter Eighteen

Deacon

Oh, come on, man, we’re not going to have this conversation again, are we?” I asked, rolling my eyes at Damon’s annoying question. I still hadn’t heard back from Jenna and I wasn’t going to push. I figured she would call me back when she was ready to talk.

“We are.”

“You don’t have all the facts, Damon. There’s things you don’t know.” Considering whether I should tell him, I rethought that idea when I heard cackling on the other line. “What the hell is that noise?” I asked.

He sounded loud, like he was yelling through the phone. “It’s the damn blender. Sabrina’s making a smoothie.”

“What were you saying before? I don’t think I caught it,” Damon said.

“Forget about it,” I replied. “You go be with your wife.” I had to go anyway, someone was at my door.

I hung up and answered the door, taking a step back when I saw who rang the bell. “Jenna,” I said, stunned to see her on my doorstep. She looked confident, a smile on her face, but no makeup and a messy hairdo. She looked beautiful—as always. “What are you doing here?”

“You said you wanted to talk,” she informed me, still smiling.

My brows stitched. “I never heard back from you.”

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