Keeping London (The Flawed Heart Series Book 2) (21 page)

“You see, I know you meant that as a jab, but I took it as nothing but a compliment.” Cooper shoots me a grin.

“I can’t even remember what we were talking about.”

“Skype sex.”

I ignore his comment. “No, my weird feeling.”

“There you go, talking about your feelings again.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass,”

“I love ya, too, bro,” Cooper responds before punching me in the arm.

After the gym and another shower, I open my laptop to type out a quick email to London before heading to bed. I find one from her in my inbox. Besides Skyping with her, there is no better feeling than the one I get from seeing her name pop up when I open my email.

To: Loïc Berkeley

From: London Wright

Subject: Question 49

Loïc,

My favorite exercise? You know I hate exercising! I’m not surprised that yours is running. I would have guessed that. I’m going to have to say Zumba. I’ve never done it, but I think I’d like it. It’s like dancing. Who doesn’t like dancing?

Wait a minute! Sex is totally exercise, right? Forget Zumba. Sex with you is the only exercise I need, and it’s totally a workout.

Tomorrow’s my birthday, as you know. ;-) I think we’re just going to go out to a piano bar with a group of girls.

I was thinking of doing a spa weekend with my mom, Georgia, and Paige, but my mom is in Europe with my dad on business, and Georgia has to study for some exam.

Then, I thought for a moment about doing something fun, like an all-inclusive resort in Mexico or some other cool destination, but I feel like we just got back from LA, and honestly, it wasn’t the most fun. So, Michigan, it is. Yay.

Going to new places without you is kind of depressing. The entire time I’m there, I’m thinking, “Oh, Loïc would love this.” Or, “I wonder if Loïc has been here before.” It’s weird, annoying, and slightly pathetic. But I just can’t help it.

I’m hoping that, as time goes by, this year will get easier, you know? It has to.

Part of me thinks I’m an idiot for being so infatuated with someone I’ve only known for nine months. But I don’t even care. I can’t help the way I feel. I believe my feelings. I know they’re real. I know I love you. And there’s no guidebook on how to love or miss someone. Some of my feelings might lean toward obsession. But who am I to judge myself? Lol. It is what it is.

I love you. I miss you. I’m lost (metaphorically) without you. I don’t handle being without you well. I suppose you can add it to my flaw list, but if I’m going to have a flaw, it’s a good one to have. Without it, it would mean that there’s no you…and that would never be acceptable.

You know what else? Who thought of this question game? We’re on 49, and I’m drawing a blank. Do you know how hard it is to come up with so many questions for someone you already know pretty well in the first place? It’s difficult. I have no idea how I’m going to come up with new material when we’re in the hundreds. There are going to be some pretty random questions at that point.

So, in honor of the randomness to come, here’s question 49: What kind of sheets do you like? You know, there’s flannel, silk, T-shirt, cotton, and so on. I ask because I’m sitting here in bed with my laptop on my lap, exhausted and ready to climb into my soft satin sheets to go to sleep. I love my sheets. Satin is my answer because, to me, they are perfect.

I love you, Loïc. Stay safe.

Love,

London

God, I adore her.

I love Skyping with her for so many reasons. Obviously, I get to see her face, hear her voice, and have a live back-and-forth conversation. But I truly love her emails. They are just so…her. They’re funny, sweet, random, whiny, and incredibly adorable all at once…just like she is. I can almost hear her saying the words as she’s typing, and though it’s not the same as a live chat, I definitely feel closer to her after I’ve finished reading one.

She’s brilliant, plain and simple.
And she’s mine.
That thought will never get old.

I start to type my response.

To: London Wright

From: Loïc Berkeley

Subject: Question 50

London,

Sheets are sheets. And, for what it’s worth, to me, you are perfect. But, I suppose, if I’m going to answer your question, I have to say satin as well because my vote will always be whatever type of sheet is covering you Who’s pathetic now? ;-)

It’ll probably be after midnight, my time, when you get this email, so…HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY! January 22 will forever be one of my favorite days because it was the day your beautiful, spunky, spoiled, sexy ass came into the world.

You’re right. It sucks that we have to miss all of our first holidays together. I wish I were back in Michigan or in the locale of your choice to celebrate with you. I’m sure the piano bar with Paige and the girls will be fun. You’ve had a blast at your other twenty-two birthdays, I’m positive, so don’t let my absence stop you from having fun at this one.

It’s late, and I have to get up early, so I’m going to go. I’m free tomorrow between 1–2 p.m., your time. So, try to be on around one, and we’ll Skype. I’d love to at least see your gorgeous face on your birthday.

Question 50: In your history of birthdays, which one was your favorite?

I think mine would have to be my seventh birthday. I’ve told you about it before, I believe. First, it was the last birthday that I celebrated with my parents. I got this awesome red mountain bike that I wanted so much at the time. My mom was happy. When I think about that day, feelings of joy come back to me. I actually dreamed about it the other day, which was weird. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because of all our talk about your birthday and mine coming up next month. Plus, the memory of that day is pretty clear, whereas my earlier birthdays are fuzzier, getting more unclear the younger I was. So, anyway, that’s mine.

Remember, 1 p.m., your time.

I love you, London.

Happy birthday, baby.

Love,

Loïc

Loïc

“Perhaps I fell in love with her not because of one moment, but because every moment led me to her.”

—Loïc Berkeley

It’s killing me that I don’t have time to check my laptop before we head out, but I don’t. I’ve grown what I might classify as an unhealthy dependence on that device. It’s as close as I’ve ever been to an addiction in my life. I live for communication from London. I crave it. Truthfully, that brilliant little machine is getting me through this deployment. Let’s face it; I’m already an addict, and London’s my drug of choice.

I don’t know when it all happened.
When did lust become interest? Interest become adoration? Adoration become love? Love become all-consuming need?
It’s so strange. I feel like, one minute, I was trying to avoid this insistent girl named London, and the next, I was head over heels in love with her. I can’t pinpoint the instant that it all happened. Maybe it wasn’t even a specific minute in time? Perhaps I fell in love with her not because of one moment, but because every moment led me to her. Each second that I’ve spent with London has contributed to the overwhelming way in which I love her now.

Me, Loïc Berkeley, in love.
Obviously, I’ve known for months that I’ve felt this way about London. Yet I don’t think I realized the gravity—the all-encompassing nature of it all—until I got here, and I couldn’t see her, touch her, and feel her every day. Her absence solidified everything for me. It’s only London. It will only ever be London.

I’m twenty-six, as of yesterday, and I will never want another woman in my life. Oddly, I’m completely okay with that.

Pounding sounds on my door.

“Berk! We’re out!”

I’ve just finished putting on the last of my gear, so I grab my gun and open the flimsy door of my room.

“Ready,” I greet Cooper as I exit.

It’s three in the morning. The sun won’t rise for another three and a half hours.

I jump up into the armored Humvee with the rest of the guys. We’re heading out for a mission in Sarowbi, which is about an hour away, just east of Kabul. We received intel late yesterday that an Al-Qaeda general, who is responsible for killing at least twenty Marines in the past several months, has a safe house there. Chances are, he’s long gone by now, and this is going to strictly be a reconnaissance mission where we’ll collect any intel we can from anyone willing to talk about the general’s current location. However, we’re getting there early, before the sun rises, to either capture the general or to startle some local Afghans with a scary wake-up call.

As far as missions go, this one has uneventful written all over it. The intel we received was too scattered and random. It leads me to believe it’s either old or incorrect information. More than likely, today’s going to be a glorified field trip to Sarowbi, which is a pretty boring little village.

“Dude, birthday Skype sex?” Cooper whispers next to me so that only I can hear over the rumble of the truck’s engine.

“What is your obsession with that?” I look to him, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

The deep timbre of his laughter resonates through the back of the vehicle. “Dude, you know I only keep asking because it makes you all uncomfortable and shit. It’s hilarious.”

“Hilarious,” I deadpan with a roll of my eyes. “If you want to know that bad, it was fucking awesome. The best Skype sex I’ve had since I’ve been here. Happy?”

“Nice! Some kick-ass birthday virtual sex. London’s a keeper.” He nods his head in approval.

“She is,” I agree.

“Did you get a chance to Skype with Maggie yesterday?”

Maggie works all sorts of odd shifts at the hospital. I’ve long stopped trying to keep up with her schedule. It’s easier just to ask Cooper.

“I did. She was off last night.”

“Sweet. How is she?”

“Great. Do you remember that broad Patricia?” Cooper asks.

“Um…” I run the name over in my head, trying to recall who she is.

“You know, that tall, busty brunette friend Maggie had in college. Remember she always used to call you Loh-Key?”

Realization dawns. “Ugh, I hated her.”

“I know, right? Well, she contacted Maggie out of the blue yesterday. Apparently, she had heard from someone that we were getting married and was pissed that she hadn’t been asked to be a bridesmaid. She hasn’t spoken to Maggie in probably two years. Even when they were friends, she was such a bitch to Maggie. Honestly, Maggie wasn’t planning on inviting her ass, let alone asking her to be a bridesmaid. Isn’t it weird how delusional some people are?”

“She was always so stuck on herself. God, I hated that bitch.” I shake my head, trying to rid my mind of the memories of Patricia.

“She was. Well, you know how Maggie is with confrontation. She basically tried to explain to Patricia that she wasn’t invited to the wedding in a way that wouldn’t hurt her feelings.”

“How’d that go?” I smile, thinking of sweet Maggie and her inability to be mean to anyone, even those who deserve it.

“Not good.”

“No? So, Patricia’s going to be at the wedding?” God, listening to myself, I sound like a gossipy college girl.

“Hell no. Maggie told her the wedding was two weeks after it’s actually planned. Then, she’s going to forget to send her an invite and block Patricia’s angry calls after the fact.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I chuckle. “What else is going on back home?”

I lean back and listen to Cooper fill me in on the news pertaining to his sisters and parents and other friends of Maggie’s. None of it is that interesting or particularly relevant to our lives here, but his words are soothing in an odd way.

Talk of normalcy and home is like a lullaby for soldiers. It’s a quiet reminder of why we’re here, why we’re fighting. The life that we all take for granted when we’re in it is actually the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Living a life that is so ordinary is a true gift, one worth defending at all costs.

We park by the mountain’s edge on the outskirts of Sarowbi. As soon as we exit the vehicle, all side conversations are over, and we’re completely concentrated on the task at hand. Even though, more than likely, this is going to be a giant waste of time, we never execute a mission without putting one hundred percent of our focus toward it. Surprises happen, and here, they aren’t good things, so we must always be ready and alert.