Chapter 13 #2
“Holy shit,” Truck said. He didn’t remember the Army Ball or the incident Mary described, but just reading about it made him tear up.
She had to have felt so helpless. It was obvious to him, just by reading her words, that he’d loved her then.
If she asked for his help, of course he would’ve given it to her. He’d give her anything.
It was also obvious that her asking for help was big.
Huge. Mary didn’t ask for much, even now that she wasn’t sick.
He hated thinking about her being so weak she couldn’t make it to the bathroom.
The only reason she’d asked for help in the first place was because she was watching Annie.
If the little girl hadn’t been a factor, she probably would’ve lain on the floor of her own bathroom until she somehow magically found the strength to get up. God, he hated that.
Did I say Truck was perfect? I lied. He’s insane. Crazy. Has a screw loose. After the incident at Emily’s house, when I puked in the bathroom, Truck came over to my place and told me he had a question for me.
The daft man asked me to marry him!
All I could do was stare at him in disbelief.
I’m dying. Why the hell would he want to marry me?
But…the more I thought about it…the more I wanted to say yes.
The man drives me crazy, but I think I love him.
Heh, I know, I know, I said I’d never love another man for the rest of my life, but this is TRUCK.
He doesn’t get pissed when I’m snarky, in fact he seems to find it amusing (which is annoying).
He doesn’t let me push him away (again, annoying), and he tells me how pretty I am all the time (which I know is a lie, because hello… chemo hair!!).
But you know what? The second I opened my mouth to tell him yes, that I would marry him and spend the rest of my (limited) days with him, loving him, he had to go and open his mouth again.
I’d stupidly spilled the beans while I was sick at Emily’s house that my insurance wouldn’t pay for any more chemo treatments.
That I did my best, but I was done. I was going to let the cancer do its thing and just be done with it once and for all.
My only excuse for blabbing was that I was missing Rayne.
I haven’t seen her in ages (if she saw me losing my hair again, she’d know what was going on, and I can’t risk it).
I’ve only talked to her here and there on the phone.
So I was lonely. And I word vomited my plan to go to the beach and die peacefully.
Alone. (OK, I know it wouldn’t be peaceful, but I’m trying to fool myself so I don’t scare myself half to death.)
So there I was, about ready to accept Truck’s proposal. Happy beyond anything I’ve ever felt because this perfect, amazing man wanted to marry me. What were the odds?
Well, then he explained that if I married him, I would qualify for all his Army benefits…including his health insurance. Talk about a buzzkill. I was ready to tell him that I wanted to be Mrs. Ford Laughlin, and he had to go and tell me he was only asking to save me.
Fuck my life.
Truck closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing.
Mary loved him.
He’d been pretty sure, but there it was in black and white.
Then he wanted to kick his own ass. She would’ve said yes if he hadn’t opened his mouth and told her it was so she could be on his insurance, which he was pretty sure had only been a desperate ploy on his part to get her to say yes.
His head was pounding now. With every sentence he read, flashes of Mary sparked in his brain. She’d lived here. With him. They’d slept in the same bed every night. They’d watched TV together. He’d fixed her meals. Forced her to eat when she was so sick she didn’t want to do anything but sleep.
Mary loved him and had wanted to say yes to his proposal as a result. Yeah, things between them had definitely been “complicated,” as she’d called it.
Wanting to know what else he’d fucked up, Truck read on.
Truck won’t give it up. He calls me every day and orders me to marry him. Tells me he’s not ready to let me go. That he loves me and wants to see my smiling face every day for the rest of his life. I know he’s full of shit because I haven’t exactly been smiling lately.
Why did he have to bring health insurance into it?
I told him to fuck off.
Truck shook his head. Yeah, he’d really screwed up by bringing insurance into things. Mary was proud. She’d never agree to marry him for his insurance.
He should’ve been freaking out that he’d asked a woman to marry him and couldn’t remember it, but the only thing he was worried about was if she’d finally given in or not. He kept reading.
I thought I was dying today. I hoped I was dying.
I’ve never felt so terrible. Not even the first time I went through chemo.
I couldn’t get out of bed. I haven’t eaten anything in two days.
Nothing feels as bad as your body eating itself from the inside out.
I have no idea if that’s what’s going on or not, but it feels like it.
I was lying there, praying for death, and all of a sudden Truck was here. My “perfect man” broke into my damn apartment (although I have to admit, it’s kinda hot that he can pick locks!). He used his medic training and told me I was dehydrated and had to eat. Duh.
He stayed with me all day. Forcing me to drink. Making me eat, even though twice what I ate came back up. (Good Lord, can I not throw up in front of the perfect man for once in my life?!?)
Then I broke.
He told me that he’d researched it and we could be married in three days. All he had to do was get the application and we could go down to the courthouse and get it done. Easy-peasy. He told me that his insurance would kick in immediately and I could start the chemo again.
That’s the last thing I wanted, but for some reason, I let him convince me.
I’m just tired. Tired of fighting him. Tired of being sick.
Tired of worrying about every-fucking-thing.
Truck said he’d take care of me, and I believe him.
He might be marrying me so I don’t croak, but I have no doubt that he’ll do anything necessary to take care of me.
I think I gave in because no one (other than Raynie, and that’s different because she doesn’t actually live with me) has ever given the littlest shit about me. Mama sure didn’t. Neither did all those uncles.
If I wasn’t so tired and sick, I know I probably would’ve stuck to my guns. Had some pride. But when you’re at rock bottom, what’s a little pride?
Mary agreed to marry him?
Holy fucking shit!
Truck put his head back on the couch and closed his eyes.
Had they gone through with it? He had to think they did, since she was still alive today. If she was that bad off, there’s no way she would’ve been able to beat the cancer without chemo.
He was married? Mary was his wife?
Eager to find out what happened next, Truck opened his eyes and read the next entry as fast as he could.
Well, it’s done. I married Truck today. It wasn’t exactly romantic, we were in and out of the courthouse in thirty minutes, but I’m now Mrs. Ford Laughlin. How did I celebrate? I barfed all over the bathroom floor. Again. FML.
Truck brought me to his apartment and got me in bed, then left to go to post and file the paperwork so I could get on his insurance.
He’s been distracted because all the guys left to go out to Idaho.
Something to do with Fish and his new woman.
But of course I don’t know what’s going on because I haven’t talked to Rayne or the others as much as I’ve wanted to.
Then, while he was gone, I christened our married life by puking on the bathroom floor.
I’m pathetic.
And hideously ugly (it’s a good thing sex is off the table because Truck would take one look at my flat-as-fuck chest and run screaming from the room, saying he was no child molester).
And married.
Fuck. What did I do?
I married a man for love and he married me for pity.
Fuck!
Looking down at his ring finger, Truck had a distinct memory of Mary sliding a ring on it. Where was it now?
Suddenly, finding his wedding ring was more important than reading. Putting the journal aside, Truck stood and headed back into his wrecked bedroom. He went straight to the bathroom.
Instinctively knowing exactly where his ring was, he opened the bottom drawer to the left of the sink, crouched down, and rifled through the junk there, pulling out a small velvet bag in the back.
How he’d known right where to look, Truck had no idea, but when he dumped the bag into his hand, two rings clinked together as they landed in his palm.
Their wedding rings.
Closing his eyes, he suddenly remembered everything about the day he’d put them away.
“I’m not going to wear my ring,” Truck told Mary.
Her eyes were sad, but she nodded. “Okay.”
“Not because I’m not happy to be married to you, but because it’s not smart while we’re on a mission.”
“Okay,” she repeated, then pulled her own off. “If you’re not going to wear yours, then I won’t wear mine either. If you have a naked finger, so do I.”
“That’s not necessary,” he said.
“It is. And this goes for more than just this mission. If you take off your ring, mine comes off too. Got it?”
Truck remembered nodding at her, but not worrying about it much because he had no intentions of taking his ring off otherwise, except for missions.
He’d never cheat on Mary and he’d never willingly leave her.
He’d thought the idea romantic, her not wanting to wear her ring if he couldn’t.
He’d taken both rings, put them into the small bag, and placed it on the counter.
Later, he’d moved the rings to the bottom drawer for safekeeping.
He meant to tell her where he’d stashed them, but they’d both gotten busy and he’d forgotten.