Page 12 of A Man in Uniform

“That's probably a good thing, you're better off not remembering what happened. And that asshole better hope I don't run into him someplace else, because I'm going to fucking kill him.” He sounds serious, and I don't doubt he means it.

Wyatt Saint might look almost the same as I remember, but his eyes are different. They're dull, empty, distant. I don't like it. He's changed.

I'm not sure what that means. The change I see, the difference; his eyes are telling a story, but I can't hear what it is.

Resting back, I grip the cup with both hands and stare at Wyatt. I have so many questions for him, and I'm trying to decide which one makes more sense right now.

It's been five years. He left right out of high school, and I haven't seen him since. Until right now, untilhemade the choice to come back. I'm just not in the right state of mind to think this hard. My brain is mush, it isn't functioning the way it should.

But how do you know you'll get another chance?

How do I know he won't disappear again for another five years?I don't.

Don't waste this!

Sucking in a big breath of air, I tilt my head. “Where have you been Wyatt?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, don't pretend like you don't.” Leaning forward, I grip my mug. “So. . .” Pausing, I give him a second to get his thoughts together. “Tell me, where the hell have you been?”

He sets his fork down, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You should eat, you'll feel better.”

“I feel just fine, don't change the subject, Wyatt. Tell me, tell me where the hell you've been?”

He drops his eyes to the table, and lets out a heavy breath. “You know where I've been, Story, you don't need me tell you. And now I'm here, having breakfast with you.” His tone is low, almost annoyed I'm even asking him.

Rage floods my body, turning my blood hot and percolating under the skin. This goes deeper than just a fact check. This is about us. This is about how he left me, and never looked back.

And if he isn't willing to man up and answer me, he can just leave.

“Get out.” He flicks his eyes up to mine, and leans back in his chair. “Go, get out,” I say again sternly, jerking my head towards the door. Standing up stiffly from my seat, I shove the plate away, and point at the door. “Out. Now.”

I don't say anything else and I don't want to. I deserve to know where he went when he left. I know he went to war, I know he was stationed some place in Iraq, but that's not what I want to hear him say.

I want to know where he went, where did my boyfriend go once that bus pulled away. Because I never heard a fucking thing after that moment, and I at least deserve an honest answer.

I deserve to know why he left me. I deserve to know why he let me keep writing if he never intended to talk to me again.

“Get the fuck out, Wyatt, I don't want you here!” Storming away, I go into the bathroom and slam the door. I don't want to see his face anymore. Locking the door behind me, I slide down the wood, and wrap my arms around my knees.

It's like everything hits me all at once. All the time I waited for him. All the love I lost. All the moments I gave him that he never returned. All the years I let myself still love someone who didn't love me back.

Tears sweep in, consuming me like a tsunami. And I let them. I let the tears take me because right now, they own me. I'm sobbing to the point I can't even take a full breath.

I hear the front door shut, but I stay where I am. I can't look, I'm not ready.

This man had been my everything. I gave him every piece of my heart and soul and he destroyed me. But, even through the fury, through the need for answers, through the hate that's sending my brain spinning; just seeing him breathes life back into my soul.

It's bittersweet.

To love someone so much it hurts. To love someone so much that even amid the hate, my heart still beats for him. And because of that, I hate him even more. He has too much power over me, I can't stand it.

What the hell is happening to me?

Poking my head out of the bathroom, Wyatt's gone, and I'm glad to be alone. My head is spiraling out of control, and I'm not sure how to process everything I'm feeling.

The least he could have done was answer me. Don't I deserve that?

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