Ava #2
After a long silence, Jules says, “I’m really sorry that happened to you.”
“Me, too,” Amy says. “I can’t imagine…”
“I wish I’d known,” Camille says, subtly wiping away tears. “I would’ve tried to help in some way.”
I smile at her. “That means a lot to me. There was nothing anyone could do.”
“Um, we ought to go and give you some space.” Rob stands and offers a hand to Camille, who takes it somewhat reluctantly, or so it seems to me. She probably wants to stay, but he’s right. I could use some space.
I hug them all, saving my sister for last. “I’m sorry if you’re hurt. That wasn’t my intention.”
“It’s not about me,” she says stoically. “Call me tomorrow?”
“I will.”
While Eric walks them to the stairs, I go into the kitchen and start doing the dishes. I’m putting plates in the dishwasher when he returns.
“Let me do that, honey. You should go take a hot bath or something that’ll help you relax.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind doing it.”
He puts his hands over mine. “Let me take care of you.” Giving a little tug, he convinces me to follow him as he walks backward toward the bathroom, where he draws a hot bath and fills it with my favorite bath beads that he bought for me after I mentioned my affection for the scent of lavender.
One of the things I love about him is how he pays attention to the little things, such as my favorite scent. After testing the temperature of the water, he helps me out of my clothes and into the steaming water, which feels heavenly.
When I’m settled, I reach for his hand. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“Sorry to cause so much drama tonight.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. I totally understand how shocking that news would be for you to hear.”
I give his hand a little tug. “You want to come in with me?”
He kisses the back of my hand. “You enjoy the tub while I clean up.”
“Okay.”
I watch him as he walks out of the room, noticing the unusual hunch to his shoulders that lets me know I’m not the only one who was undone by the news of Al Khad’s capture.
Eric
I leave the bathroom and go directly to the bar we set up earlier on a side table in the living room. I pour a drink. I’m not even sure what exactly I’m drinking, but what does it matter? Seeing Ava come apart earlier has left me rattled and off-kilter.
My mind races with scenarios, each more dreadful than the next.
What if John was involved in the raid and is now able to come home to resume the life he put on hold more than five years ago?
What if he wants her back? Would she go?
What if he was one of the people killed in the raid?
Will she ever have a minute of true peace if she never knows what became of him?
I can’t bear the speculating. I’ve been so incredibly happy with her these last few months.
Even my parents’ marital meltdown barely touched me because I was so busy being blissfully involved with Ava.
Now that I know what it feels like to be in love with her, I’ve had reason to wonder if I was ever really in love with Brittany.
There’s no comparison between her and Ava, who is, quite simply, the best person I’ve ever known.
She is sweet and kind and funny and smart and so, so sexy, she makes me crazy with wanting her. My mind drifts to earlier when she dropped to her knees in front of me… I moan at the thought of losing her now that I’ve found her. I somehow managed to survive what Brittany did, but if Ava leaves me…
God, I don’t know what I’d ever do without her.
And I’m disgusted with myself for making it about me, when it’s not about me.
It’s about her and the men who risked everything to capture the son of a bitch who killed so many innocent people.
It’s about the heartbroken families who’ll once again have scabs ripped off wounds when they’re forced to relive the horror.
It’s about the families of the soldiers who were killed and the country that’ll be on edge waiting to see if the terrorists will retaliate against us for taking down their leader.
It is most definitely not about me. And yet, I ache anyway, trying to imagine life without Ava. We need more time. We’ve only had a few months. He had years with her…
“Stop. Just stop.” I down the last of my drink—vodka, which almost always gives me heartburn—and take the glass with me to the kitchen, where I pour Sauvignon Blanc for Ava and take it to her in the bathroom. She’s staring at the far wall as tears roll down her cheeks.
Her heartache guts me. I’d give everything I have, everything I am to spare her this new pain.
I don’t want to intrude on her privacy, so I retreat, taking the wine with me.
With nervous energy bouncing around inside me, I get busy cleaning the kitchen.
I need to do something to keep from losing my mind as the frenetic coverage continues unabated hours after the story first broke.
I should shut it off, but I don’t. I keep it on and absorb each new detail of the raid as it’s reported.
I’ve got the kitchen sparkling by the time Ava emerges from the bathroom, wearing a robe she brought here the third weekend we spent together.
It’s been here ever since, along with clothes and shoes and makeup.
I love having her stuff all over my place and knowing she’ll be there most nights when I get home from work, snuggled up on the sofa, watching the news.
Once I teased her about her obsession with the news, but when her face fell with dismay, I realized my error. She’s obsessed with the news because she’s looking for any sign of him that she can find. I never teased her about the news again.
She comes over to me, her face flushed from the heat of the bath and her hair damp at the ends.
“Feel better?”
“Much.” She puts her arms around me, and I do the same, holding her close to me where I want her to stay forever.
I can’t tell her that. Not yet, and certainly not now when my motives would come into question.
But it’s true. I want to marry her and have babies and a life.
I want it all with her, and I’m terrified that this man from her past is going to come back and take her away from me.
In that way, it’s very much about me.