27. Chapter 27
Chapter 27
Rina
Was it a chickenshit move to text Oakley about the new message instead of Arlo? Absolutely. Even though I’ve told myself time and time again that I’ll pull on my big girl pants and be a grown-up who can talk to Arlo without my feelings taking over, doing so is a completely different story.
I’m still so mad at him.
But I also think I’m ready to hear him out. I kicked him out before he could tell me anything past us still being married.
He gave me the all-clear to go back to work the day after the bombshell hit. Since then, I’ve done nothing but work and sleep. By the time I call it a day, I barely have the energy to shower and change before collapsing into bed. I know this isn’t sustainable, though. Playing catch-up gave me the excuse to push everything I’m feeling to the side, and now that I’m on top of things, all I can do is think about what still being married to Arlo means.
I’m wrapping up the picnic tables, happy to have them complete and ready to be picked up once again.
I finish the stain on the kids’ table and clean up before calling it a day and heading up to my house .
Something catches my eye, and I stop in my tracks when I see a box sitting at the side door. If this was a normal delivery, it would be at my front door. Everyone, including our mailman, knows to put things at my front door, not the side door.
Tipping my head back, I blow out a steady breath, preparing myself for what I know I have to do. Pulling out my phone, I snap a picture and then pull up my messages to Arlo.
Me:
*Picture attached* I found this when I finished up work. No one I know would drop off a package to the side door.
The Liar:
Go back to your workshop and lock the door. Don’t come out until I get there and leave the package alone.
I roll my eyes at what I know is his stern tone, even through a text message.
Me:
Yes, Sheriff.
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I hurry back to my workshop. I lock everything up, double-checking the back door too, before settling at my desk. Taking a deep breath seems like the easiest thing to do to calm my nerves, and it works to an extent until I see the letter sitting in the middle of my desk.
My heart drops to my stomach, and my blood runs cold .
How was I so caught up in my thoughts that I missed someone lurking around? That they not only had time to leave a package by the side door but also a letter in here? What the fuck is happening?
Me:
I’ve locked up my shop, but please hurry.
I attach a picture of the untouched letter and send it to Arlo as I continue to freak out. He doesn’t text me back—not that I expect him to, especially if he’s driving. But what I don’t expect is, no more than two minutes later, a pounding on my door that scares the shit out of me. A scream leaves me as Arlo’s voice sounds through the barrier.
“It’s me, Rina. Just me.”
My forehead thumps on the desk as I catch my breath. “Jesus, I don’t know how much more of this I can handle,” I mutter before standing up and rushing to the door before Arlo breaks it down.
Unlocking the deadbolt, I rip the door open as he rushes in without preamble. He beelines it to my desk and grabs the envelope carefully, looking at it in every direction. Squeezing my hands together, I hope it’ll help stop the shaking as I watch him analyze everything. He drops it back onto the desk, turning to me, and I can see him gearing up.
“How did you not see anyone?” His voice is loud, but it’s the hint of fear I hear that stops me from yelling back at him.
“I just didn’t, Arlo,” I say softly.
I step up to him, wrap my arms around his waist, and lean into him. The air seems to release from him all at once as his arms come around me.
“What the fuck is going on?” he asks .
“I wish I knew. I don’t know who is doing this or who I pissed off, but I don’t want to live like this.”
“You won’t. I’ll be by your side from now on.”
I pull back from his hold. “No, you will not.”
“Oh, hell yes, I will. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Arlo,” I scoff.
His grip on me tightens. “I can’t let anything happen to you, okay? Just … let me figure this out how I need to.”
Sighing, I lean into him once again. We take a minute to let the adrenaline mellow out and for both of us to be a little more level-headed.
“Sorry,” Arlo finally murmurs against the crown of my head.
“I get it. I’m just not good at accepting help, especially from someone I’m used to hating.”
“Does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?” he asks.
“It means we have some talking to do.” I pull back and look up into his eyes. I still see the underlying fear, but I also see determination.
“Let me grab the stuff that was left, and then we’ll head to the house.” His sheriff voice is present, and it almost makes me laugh. Until I realize he wants me to go back into my house, and just the thought has my anxiety ramping up.
“Umm, do you think we can, maybe, go to your place?”
His head whips around after he grabs the letter, and his eyes soften as he looks at me.
“Of course. Let me grab the package and put it in my truck, and then we can head to my house.” He grabs my hand and leads us out to the side door, before heading to his truck and carefully dropping the package off in the back. He opens the passenger door, lifting me up into the truck before buckling me in and shutting the door .
Once he climbs in the driver’s side, I feel a little of my defiant self return. “I can get myself safely into a truck, you know.”
“Not now, Marina. I need you safe, and I know you’re just trying to get under my skin.”
“Is it working?” I barely hold in my chuckle.
“Unfortunately.” He sighs.
I slide my hand over the center console to take his hand in mine. His thumb grazes over mine as he pulls out of my driveway. We’re both quiet as we make our way to his house. I’m trying to figure out exactly how I want things to go once we get there. I know we need to talk, but I hadn’t planned on this psycho stalker encroaching on my time with Arlo. Or scaring me more than ever before.
Too soon, we pull into his driveway, and I’m no closer to knowing how I’m feeling than I was when he first showed up.
“I need to call Oakley and hand off this package. I’ll meet you inside?” he asks.
“Sure.” I jump on the chance for a few minutes alone. He opens the front door for me, and I try to walk inside, but he grabs me around my waist and presses a kiss to my temple.
“I’ll be two minutes,” he whispers.
As he goes to meet Oakley, I pace around his sparse living room. I know I want to talk to him about why we’re still married, but this stalker situation is distracting me from that goal. I’ve racked my brain trying to figure out why me and what I did to make someone think this behavior is okay. I’ve come up empty at every turn, and now my only hope is that Arlo and Oakley can find this asshole before things get even worse .
Grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch, I kick off my shoes and curl up on the corner of his couch. The ivy chill I’ve felt since I saw the package has only deepened.
“Hey, Emmerdeur, you doing okay?” Arlo’s soft voice reaches me.
“I—” I think about how I want to move forward with Arlo and brushing my feelings to the side won’t help accomplish that. “I don’t think so.”
Arlo kicks his shoes off before picking me up off the couch and settling in my spot, placing me in his lap and wrapping his arms around me.
“Why me? What did I do?” I ask, even though I know he doesn’t have an answer.
“You didn’t do anything. I promise I’ll work my ass off to find this guy and stop him from doing this again.”
“I know, but you aren’t a superhero, Arlo. You can’t promise anything, especially when we have no idea who this guy is.”
“Oh, Rina, you underestimate me.” He chuckles.
“I’m serious.” I pull back and look at him. “We have no clue who this is, and you can’t make promises like that. And you can’t be with me twenty-four seven. That’s not feasible for anyone.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes! You have a job and a town to take care of! I have furniture to make and don’t need a shadow for a just-in-case scenario here.” I throw my hands up, trying to keep my thoughts logical.
“Rina… You are more important than anything,” he says softly.
I look back and forth between his eyes, unsure of what to say or how I’m feeling about his statement.
“Am I?” It comes out without my consent. “If I’m so important, how did we land ourselves here?”
He sighs. “Do you want to a take a shower or bath? Get more comfortable for this conversation in bed?”
“We can go to the bedroom, but I’m not getting naked around you before we talk. We can’t be trusted naked together.” His booming laughter makes me join in.
“Fair enough. I’ll let you borrow one of my shirts to sleep in.”
“Who says I’m sleeping here?” I ask, but the look he gives me tells me I’m not fooling him. “Just sleeping, Arlo. Nothing more.”
“Whatever you say, Marina.” His smile is infectious, and I kind of want to punch him. Even after all these years of distance, all these years of anger, he still somehow knows me better than anyone.
He stands up with me still in his hold, and I smack his shoulder. “Are you kidding me? You’re going to hurt your back!” I yell at him.
“My back is fine.” He continues to walk to the bedroom, setting me down next to his dresser before pulling out an old Marines shirt and tossing it at me.
“You can’t just toss me around and throw shirts at me and expect me to just go along with everything.” My need to be rebellious, to not cave too quickly to him overrules any logic.
“Just trying to get you comfortable,” he says, so nonchalantly it grates on my nerves.
“Liar,” I snip as I snag the shirt and head to the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” he calls out.
“To the bathroom to change,” I say over my shoulder.
“Seriously? Like I haven’t seen you naked?” His confusion is kind of adorable, but I refuse to focus on that.
“We need to talk. Seeing me naked will distract you, and I need you to focus. ”
“What makes you think I won’t think about you naked either way?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re gorgeous.” He shrugs.
“Arlo!”
“Rina!”
I laugh at his response. “I’m changing,” I say before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door. Leaning against the door, my chief concern is that he’ll keep this playfulness and make me forget that we have a very real conversation to have.
I strip out of my jeans and tank top, tossing on the oversized shit, and leave my legs bare. Staring at myself in the mirror, I vow to myself to figure out where we stand before things go further between us. Sex comes easily, but if I really want to move forward with him, then a long, hard talk is in order first.
Cautiously opening the door, I peek out and see him in basketball shorts, lying on top of the bed. I really wish he wasn’t so damn hot or that the tattoo on his ribcage wasn’t a glaring sign that we were never quite done with each other.
It’s time to grow up and deal with the past.
As I softly walk to the bed, his eyes follow my every step. Climbing into the bed, I quickly get under the covers to help with the temptation that is Arlo.
Turning toward him, I tuck one hand under my head as the other trails over his tattoo.
I take a deep breath and ask the question that’s been bothering me for almost two weeks.
“Why didn’t you sign the papers?” I can hear the shakiness in my voice, the fear that the answer will be too much for me to handle .
His heavy exhale draws my attention, and I watch as he slides down and mimics my pose, facing me.
“Logically, I knew it was the right decision. I saw so many guys die on missions, men who had families and kids. When one of my closest friends died, I visited his wife while I was on leave. Seeing her devastation was something I never wanted for you. At the time, it felt … merciful. Not saddling you with the life of being married to a Marine who may not come back from a mission or might not come back the same man. We were so young…” He trails off, his voice betraying the pain caused by his decisions.
“Did it ever cross your mind to just talk to me?” The pressure of unshed tears and a tightening throat send me right back down the depressive spiral from all those years ago. I’ve asked this question what feels like a million times, and somehow, I still don’t understand it.
“This is where I sound like an asshole, but no. I knew you would never agree, and I didn’t think you understood how tragic things could be.”
“So why go through the trouble of sending papers? At the same time my parents died, I might add, and then not actually filing them? I still don’t understand any of this.” I’m not trying to guilt-trip him, but I do want him to understand how broken I was. Hell, probably still am because of his solo decision.
“When you sent them back, it was like my heart smashed in my chest. The pieces were just carnage left behind in my body. And I know that doesn’t make sense, but I couldn’t even look at them for weeks. Every time I tried, it stole my breath and I started to panic. It took me a few months to look through them, and that’s when I found your note.” His hand goes to his ribs, and the pain in his eyes almost makes me forgive him, but we both need to work through this if we’re to move forward .
“When did you decide you weren’t going to file them?”
“I honestly don’t know. I said I would do it the next time I was on leave, and then I would put it off and just repeat the process, and then I got hurt and it got brushed to the side while I figured out how to recover and deal with a life outside of the Marines.”
“Can I just spew my thoughts, even if they’re shitty and don’t make sense?” I ask, knowing I have many, many thoughts that I need to get out.
“Please.”
“God, I don’t even know where to start. I was pissed as fuck when you told me we were still married. It was such a shock that I didn’t even know how to act. When I got home, this weird sense of relief hit, and that just made me angrier. You crushed me, plain and simple. I feel like I’m lucky everything with my parents happened at the same time because no one questioned why I was so broken, and that’s super shitty to say, but I didn’t want to explain anything to do with us to anyone.
“I was over you. I thought I was over you…” I feel wetness on my cheeks, but I don’t stop because I need to get this out. “But it still hurts so fucking much. And you’re the asshole who never left my heart, and I’m so mad at you for that. I was so mad when you moved back here. It was easier to be angry at you than to analyze how I actually felt when you came back. I honestly don’t know if I can move past all of this, but I really want to. And that makes me even more annoyed with myself because I shouldn’t want you still, but I do.” I heave out a breath and look over at him.
“I’m so sorry I put you through all of that. And I know I don’t deserve another chance with you, but fuck, I want one, Emmerdeur. It’s always been you; it will only ever be you. If it takes you years to forgive me, I’ll be here waiting for you.”
“You’re not allowed to say things like that.” I let out a watery chuckle.
His hand reaches up, fingers grazing my cheeks to wipe away the tears.
“I know I did everything wrong with you, with us, but I’m trying to be better, to be someone worthy of you every single day. Even if at the end of the day you decide I’m not what you want, I’ll continue to try to be worthy of you.”
A make-or-break moment. That’s what this feels like. And I want to make it.
Grabbing the hand that’s on my cheek, I pull it away and kiss his palm, subtly telling him I’m ready to move past all the heartache.