Page 37 of Keeping London (Flawed Heart)

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” I sigh as I wrap my arms around his back and nuzzle into his chest. It’s not the most profound promise, but I’ll take it.

London

“This pain isn’t exclusive to me, but it aches as if it is.”

—London Wright

“I love you,” I say, forcing my voice to be steady with strength that I didn’t know I had.

“I know, and I love you, London—more than you’ll ever know. I’m not good with words.” He pauses, letting out a strained sigh. “And this good-bye stuff is so new and hard. I want to tell you all the right things…and I just…” His voice trails off as he grabs the back of his neck. His eyes close, and he lets his head fall back until his face points toward the cloudy sky.

“Hey…” I place the palm of my hand against his abdomen.

He lowers his gaze to meet mine.

“First, you are amazing with words, much more so than you give yourself credit for.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. They emit so much sadness, but I know he’s trying hard to be strong for me.

“We knew this was coming, right?” I say more to myself than him. “You’re going to go and do your job and come back to me. You’re going to be fine. I’m going to work and go on with life while you’re gone. I’m going to be fine. We’re going to be okay, Loïc…I promise you. This isn’t forever. In fact, in the story of our lives, this will be a very small chapter.”

I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek against his chest, absorbing as much of his warmth as possible. “You’re off to do something noble and great. You have an important job, and I couldn’t be prouder of you. I’m so happy we found each other, Loïc. I love you so much. I’m going to write to you every day. We’re going to be okay,” I repeat. “We’re going to make it.”

“I love you, London. I’ll email back and call you as often as I can.”

Pulling my face back, I peer up to him. “It’s just a year. We totally got this.” I force a grin.

He nods. “We got this.”

He bends as I rise up on my toes. Our lips meet, and it’s perfection. Loïc’s wrong when he says that he’s not good with words because he’s said some pretty swoonworthy things to me in the time that I’ve known him. But the thing is that he wouldn’t even have to because no one has ever communicated more love through a kiss than Loïc. Truthfully, he doesn’t have to utter a syllable because this kiss, his lips, his passion say everything that I could hope to hear.

He left.

Eight hours ago, I kissed Loïc for what was the last time for a while—for about three hundred sixty-four days actually, if we’re lucky.

I watched as he boarded the bus with his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. I stood with Maggie in the parking lot of their military base as a hundred or so other men dressed in camouflage boarded buses as well. I was surrounded by people—wives, mothers, sisters, girlfriends, fathers, brothers, and children. Many were crying with looks of sadness, fear, and heartbreak haunting their faces. Others wore brave expressions in hopes of giving their soldiers strength on their journey. I was in that group. I waved and blew kisses with a strained smile as the military procession pulled away.

Long after the busses were out of sight, my hand continued to move back and forth in front of me, the pained smile frozen to my face. Eventually, I dropped it. Sighing, I gave Maggie a quick hug, and I left.

Now, I’m sitting, cross-legged, on my couch, where I’ve been sitting for the better part of the day, feeling numb.

It’s been mere hours since I’ve seen Loïc, yet the gravity of a year of longing is weighing down on my heart, causing a pain I’ve never known.

I know that I’m not the first to see their soldier off on deployment. I realize that countless wives have said good-bye to their husbands, the fathers of their children. This pain isn’t exclusive to me, but it aches as if it is.

I ignored the impending sorrow that the enormity of this reality was sure to bring for so long, not wanting to spend a second of my time left with Loïc feeling down. But it’s here now, and I must face the next year without him. I just don’t know what to do with myself or how to make this hollowness in my chest go away.

My cell vibrates next to my leg. My hand springs for it, causing it to fumble in my grasp. I take a calming breath and hold the phone steady. Loïc’s name flashes across the screen along with one of my favorite pictures of the two of us.

I quickly swipe the screen to answer. “Hey.” My voice sounds relatively okay, not hinting to the internal mess that I am.

“Hey, babe. Miss me yet?”

“Very much,” I answer honestly. “Did you just get there?”

The busses took the guys to a National Guard base in Columbus, Ohio, where they will leave from tomorrow.

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