Page 4 of Eternally London

In the truck, London’s attention is back on condiments as she cheerfully talks about ketchup brands and the merits of each one as we drive toward the restaurant.

My chest fills with gratitude for her, for everything that led me to her, for this life. She’s the wish I never knew to ask for. Life with London is a gift.

I know London’s the one I’m supposed to be with because everything we do, no matter how mundane it seems, is accompanied by a joy so great that it still leaves me speechless.

London

“In all the fairy tales, there’s the happily ever after—the pivotal moment that every little girl dreams of reaching. Yet it’s this, right here—the life after the happily ever after—that’s the true gift.”

—London Berkeley

A cloud of steam rushes out before me as soon as I open the bathroom door. The cool air of the hotel room feels incredible against my heated skin, now a light pink from the hot shower.

My eyes are immediately drawn to Loïc sitting up against the headboard of the large king-size bed in nothing but his fitted boxers. I stop in my tracks, pulling in a deep breath, as I take in the handsome man who is my husband. We’ve been married for just over a year now, and he continues to steal my breath simply by existing.

He hasn’t put on his prosthetic leg yet, and that only adds to his level of appeal. Loïc is so much more than physical beauty, and his missing limb reminds me of that. He’s a fighter, a mighty warrior, and he’s mine.

He’s yet to notice me standing here, in my towel, ogling him. His brows furrow as he stares at his phone, and I know he must be reading military-related news. He always has the same equally thoughtful and concerned expression when he receives information pertaining to soldiers.

“Is everything all right?” I ask as I make my way toward him.

Loïc’s gorgeous blues find me and widen. A smooth, sexy smile graces his face. “Hey, beautiful.”

“Whatcha reading about?” I ask as I plop down on the bed beside him.

His attention drops to his phone before quickly returning to me. His grin falls. “A helicopter was shot down over the mountains, not even a mile from Bagram.”

“Oh no!” I reach my hand out and cover his.

I hate hearing about the tragedies that still take place in Afghanistan. Every time I hear an upsetting story about the soldiers who currently serve overseas, it brings me right back to Loïc’s deployment. Technically, he’s been safe from enemy fire for three years now, yet in the same breath, he fights to overcome that deadly blast each and every day. That grenade continues to detonate again and again in Loïc’s mind. He’ll forever be fighting to survive its devastation.

Part of me wishes he weren’t still so involved in military events because every piece of bad news rips open old wounds. Ironically though, his commitment to the military, to the men and women who’ve fought in the armed forces, has allowed him to heal. I understand that, but it’s still hard.

“Did anyone die?”

“They’re looking for the wreckage, but chances are, all sixteen soldiers aboard that chopper are gone,” he says solemnly.

I sigh. “Ugh, that sucks. So much.”

“Yeah,” he responds.

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

There aren’t any words that can make these things better. I’ve learned that Loïc has to work through difficult times on his own. Nothing I say can make it right. Honestly, there’s a lot of stuff wrong with the whole situation, and I feel helpless to change it. Loïc has told me time and time again that me just being here for him, loving him, is all the support he needs.

So, that’s what I do. I love him.

I scoot back against the headboard of the bed, wrap my arms around Loïc’s chest, and lean my head on his shoulder. The two of us sit in silence for a while, both lost in our own thoughts.

After several minutes, he asks, “What time is your interview?”

“Oh.” I reach for my phone on the bedside table to see that it’s only ten a.m. “Not until three. We have time.” I thread my fingers through Loïc’s and bring his hand up to my mouth. I kiss it. “We can go explore for a bit. Grab some food? You hungry?”

“Yes,” Loïc answers. “They have good food here?”

I snicker slightly. “You know we’re in the South, right? The food is heavenly. Lots of seafood, fried goodness, and butter. Everything’s better with butter.”

He peers down at me with furrowed eyebrows and a smirk on his face.

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