Dear Soldier Boy (19 page)

“No,” her voice trembled.

“Don’t you recognize me?” His voice
cracked.

Vivian took a quick step back. She hit the
wall and her purse dropped to the ground. Matthew lunged forward to pick it up,
but then he remembered: he couldn’t. The realization hit him. Shrapnel tore every conscious thought. He couldn’t pick up her bag. He couldn’t teach her to rock
climb. He couldn’t run a marathon with her. He wasn’t the soldier she wrote to.
He couldn’t be the fantasy they had created. Reality kicked him hard in the gut.

The color drained from her cheeks. She
opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but nothing came out. She shook her head and took another step
back. She was leaving. He should let her go. He shouldn’t have had her in the
first place. He had no right.
He would let her go, but first, he wanted
just a few more minutes, seconds even. He just wanted to be with her, to speak
to her…tease her…love her. Oh, God, that was real. That part was real. The rest
of it was just a fantasy now, but that was still real. Shit, he wished he had
his crutches so he could get up and stop her from leaving. He would barricade
her in, kidnap her, whatever it took just for a few moments. He would let her
go again because she wasn’t his, but he would let himself pretend for just for a
minute, maybe two. He just needed to smell her, and touch her. He needed to
feel her skin. He looked down at her hands. He had imagined those hands on him so many
times.

“I know. You don’t recognize me because
you never let me show you a real picture. Here, if I show you just the top of
my head, would you recognize me? Maybe imagine it between your legs.” A laugh
found its way into his voice. The part of his soul that processed joy ignited.
He thought it was dead, but it was just asleep, and just like a sleeping limb
awakening, it was accompanied by a rush of fresh tingling pain.

“No,” she whispered softly. A tear slid
down her cheek. “Why? Why Matthew?”

“Why would I put my head between your
thighs?” he asked, deliberately misunderstanding her. “Because we would both
thoroughly enjoy it.” He rolled his
chair closer to her. “And because at this precise moment, page fifty-seven is off the
table. Give me a few months to get used to my new leg, and it will be game on.
I can’t promise we'll be ready to take it to the shower, but I remember you
saying you preferred the bath. Do you remember telling me about the bath? All
the things you did in the bath?” A wicked grin spread across his face. The muscles
in his cheeks ached from it.
The color returned to her cheeks. It
crept up from her neck. God, he wished he could see lower, where it started. He
wanted her. He tried telling himself he didn’t, but he did, he always would. He
didn’t deserve her. He couldn’t have her, but, God, he wanted her.

“Why? Why didn’t you write back?” She
asked. She wiped her face with the back of her hand but as soon as her hand
came away there was a stream of fresh tears.
Matthew looked down at where his leg
should be. Was she really asking him that? Wasn’t it painfully obvious? He
shook his head. “Because it was over. The fantasy is over; I’m not that guy. I
never was.”

Vivian’s fingers touched her forehead like she was trying to signal her brain to focus.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were okay?”
she demanded. She had found her voice, and it shook with uncontrolled anger. “I
have been dying over here. You ripped out my heart and threw it on the ground
like trash. Did I mean that little to you?”

Matthew shook his head. “No. No, I didn’t
do that, Civilian Girl. Fate did that. I didn’t have the right to start this in
the first place. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” she asked incredulously.
“You’re sorry? You made me fall in love with you. That is not an accident you
apologize for and we go on our merry way. And what the hell do you mean, you
didn’t have the right?” She was shouting now. If the other patients couldn’t
hear her, it was because they'd had their eardrums blown out.
She took a step forward, her hand on her
hip her finger pointing at him in accusation. She was pissed and nothing was
going to stop her. God, he loved her anger. Thank you! Finally! It made a change
from all the goddamned melodramatic bullshit he had witnessed since he woke up
in Germany. The saccharin-sweet declarations of love and loyalty, they made him
sick. Not speaking for the last three months meant that he had overheard more
conversations than he cared to count. Because he was silent, people assumed he
was deaf or so damn gone he couldn’t understand, but he heard every single oath
of undying loyalty. Soldiers who probably had no intention of getting married
were suddenly popping the question left and right, desperately trying to lock
someone, anyone, into a relationship, just as long as they had someone. And then
there were always tears from the women. They were crying because they had no
desire to marry a wounded vet and live off disability. That wasn’t the dream
they had bought into. But they couldn't exactly say no in front of his entire
family and all the doctors and nurses. It wasn’t romantic; it was a goddamned
ambush.

“Why are you smiling? Do you think this
is funny? Was this all a joke to you?” Vivian shouted. Both hands were on her
hips now. If she was trying to look intimidating or badass, she was failing
miserable. She was far too small for that, and way too sexy. “You break my
heart and then smile.”

“I’m smiling because you wouldn’t marry
out of guilt and subject yourself to a lifetime of pity fucks.”

She threw her hands up in exasperation.
“What the hell are you talking about? Can we focus on the heart-ripping asshole
part of this? I cried for three months. I don’t cry. I’m not a crier, but I ugly
cried on the bus, and at work, and in the supermarket. Basically, there is no
place in DC I can go that I haven’t blubbered away at. You killed me. Why? Was
it a game for you?”

“No, it wasn’t a game. It was real.
Everything I wrote was real,” he admitted softly.

“Then, why? Why did you do that to me?
Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you come home for me? Is it because of who I work for—who I worked for?”

Matthew’s eyes squinted at the realization of what she said. “God no, woman. I don’t care who you work for. I told you that.”

“Then why, Matthew? Why? Because there has got to be some explanation for the pain. I have to know what your reason is.”

Matthew ran a hand through his hair.
“Because I’m stupid. You knew that going in, Civilian Girl.”

“Don’t. Don’t call me that.”

“But you are, you’re my Civilian Girl.”

Looking at her now, the black haze around his vision dissolved. He saw her, the
situation, everything. He saw everything for what it was. He didn’t deserve her,
but God, he wanted her and he would fight for her. With her standing here now, all he saw was hope.

“You’ll always be my Civilian Girl.”

Vivian shook her head vigorously. “I’m
not. Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“How can you even ask me that? You
really are an idiot. I thought you were being self-deprecating, that it was
part of your charm, but you really are that stupid if you have to ask me.”
A few nurses stopped in the hallway to
watch their interaction. If nothing else, they were providing some entertainment
to the overworked staff.
Matthew reached for her hand and wrapped
his fingers around hers. Even if she pulled away he would have touched her, if
only for a moment. He would always know what she felt like. His breath hitched
when his calloused fingers brushed against her smooth skin. Heat radiated through
his. They were so soft and perfect, just like he imagined. No, better. She was
so much better than he ever imagined. “Just tell me this, is this about Tommy?
Is that why you can’t forgive me?” He held his breath as he waited for an
answer. He didn’t have the right to ask for her forgiveness. Some things were
unforgivable. But he needed it, he needed for her is forgive him.
Vivian shook her head again. “I don’t blame
you for Tommy. I never did. You are a moron. Only you blame yourself for that.” Her hands balled into tight fists, like she was thinking of punching him. “It is war. My brother died in a war, not because of you. You are giving yourself far too much credit. He—”

“Is it because of my leg?” He cut her
off. He needed to know. Could she get past this?

“How can you even ask that,” she gasped.
“You think that little of me!”

Matthew squeezed her hand tighter when
she tried to pull away.

“Did you miss the heart-ripping and
stomping part? You broke me, shattered me. There are pieces I won’t ever find.
You did that to me.”

“Oh Vivian, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She pulled her hand away. “No. I can’t
do this. I thought you weren’t real. I thought I had made you up. You made me question my own sanity. Do you know what that does to a person? To think that you had created this perfect person and had this amazing romance with them? Do you have any idea?” She wiped her cheeks. “Because I do, Matthew. I died inside the day I got your death letter, the letter I was given for
closure
.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too…but I guess now we both got our closure.” Her eyes left his.

She turned and ran.

“Vivian, don’t go. Don’t leave me,
please.” His voice broke. “Please,” he begged. But she was already gone. Even
if he had both legs, he would not be able to catch her because she didn’t want
to be caught.
Matthew watched the door at the end of
the hall for a long time, hoping, praying that she would come back, but she
wouldn’t. He had made sure of that with every decision he had made since they
met, even before they met. He let out a long stream of air. He rolled his chair
back into his room so he could shut the door. He didn’t need an audience.
He had failed. At life, with her, with
everything. He balled his hands into fists. He stared at his reflection in the
full-length mirror behind the door. He took it all in: the missing leg, the
disfigured eye, the scruffy I-don’t-give-a-shit beard. He was a mess.
But he wasn’t a quitter.
He didn’t give up on anything, but
especially not on her. If there was anything worth fighting for, it was her. He
pulled out his phone. He had a lot of work to do. Lucky for him, hard work
never put him off. He glanced at the clock. Shit, there was a lot to do.
He used his thumbs to write a list on
his phone. And then he texted her. Before he sent her business card in the letter, he'd saved
her number. Thank God he had.
 

Chapter Forty-Three

Matthew took a deep breath. She wasn’t
coming. It didn’t matter that it was Christmas. She wasn’t his. It wasn’t meant to be. His gift had been the letters with her. This was asking too much. Vivian was too much. She was more than he had ever imagined. Christ, he should have made contact. It didn’t matter about his leg. She didn’t care about that.

This was the longest he had stood in three months. His armpits ached
where his crutches bit into his skin, but he loved the sensation. If it hurt, it
was because he was pushing himself. He would keep pushing himself until he
could walk on his prosthetic unaided, and then he would keep pushing until he
could run. He wouldn’t stop until he succeeded. Like Ranger School, this was
pass/fail, and there was no failing. He looked into the metal eyes of the
Franklin Delano Roosevelt statue. FDR was now his favorite president. He had
always been partial to Lincoln and Jefferson, but now it was all about his man,
Franklin, another determined man in a wheelchair. “Frank. I think I’m going to
have to recycle this phase. I’ll get it, though.”

“Talking to statues now. I thought I was
supposed to be the crazy one.” A soft voice asked.

Vivian. She came.