Keeping London (The Flawed Heart Series Book 2) (18 page)

I’ve been in such a funk since New Year’s, and I’m not sure why. I know I didn’t do anything wrong where Brad was concerned.
Or maybe I did unknowingly?
I’m not sure, but my intentions were in the right place.

Perhaps my sour mood has nothing to do with Brad and everything to do with the fact that I just miss Loïc. I knew this long-distance-relationship deal would be hard, but, man, it sucks.

Loïc seems to think we will be able to find a time to Skype in the next few days, which is great. I need to see him.

Yeah, everything will be better when I can see him.

Loïc

Age Eight

New Hope, Mississippi

“It’s so hard to be brave when I’m so scared. But I have to be.”

—Loïc Berkeley

I walk into the side kitchen door to find my mom frosting my birthday cake.

“How was your day, Loïc, love?” she says with a wide smile.

I answer her with a big hug as I wrap my arms around her waist. I love when Mom is happy.

Dad bursts into the kitchen. “I thought I heard a birthday boy in here. Come on, come on,” he says to Mom and me. He grabs our hands and leads out the door and to the backyard.

I stand in the center of the square of grass that makes up our yard and expectantly look around.

“I spy with my little eye something that is red,” my dad says, his eyes shining with happiness.

I turn in a circle in the middle of the small grassy space, but I can’t find anything that’s red.

“I spy two wheels…twenty-inch wheels,” he clarifies.

I gasp and frantically search.

“With six speeds,” he adds.

“Where is it? Where is it, Dad?” I shout, feeling so happy.

He nods toward the garage, and I take off running until I’m in the building, standing in front of the coolest bike ever—an awesome, shiny red six-speed mountain bike. It’s like the one that boy down the street has, except way cooler.

“Thank you!” I shout as I jump into my dad’s arms.

He lets me down, and I hug my mom.

“Thank you so much! I love it!”

I can’t believe they got me the bike. I really wanted it, but I thought it was too expensive. I glance over to the worn green bike leaning against the wall of the garage. It’s the bike I’ve had since I was four. Even though it hasn’t had its training wheels for a long time, it still looks like a baby bike to me. Dad had raised the seat all the way up, but I could barely ride it because it was too small. But, now, I have a big-boy bike, a real bike.

“Happy birthday, Loïc,” my dad says as he pulls me into another big hug.

The memory of my seventh birthday plays in my mind. I can’t believe it was one year ago already.

I wish it were still my seventh birthday. Actually, I wish my parents were here to celebrate my eighth birthday with me.

I twirl the Happy Birthday pencil that I got from my new teacher between my fingers. If it weren’t for school, I probably wouldn’t have even known it was my birthday. Dwight and Stacey haven’t said anything about it. I’m sure they won’t.

My mom and dad used to tape streamers and balloons onto the outside frame of my door, so when I woke up on my birthday, I would have to break through them to get out. I loved that.

I loved everything.

I haven’t even been here for a whole month yet, but it’s been the worst few weeks of my life. I’m trying to be strong, but truthfully, I hate everything about this place. I hate the smell. I hate the dirt. I hate Dwight.

And, mostly, I hate that my mom and dad died.

I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!

I drop the pencil onto the dingy brown carpet and bury my face in my bent knees.
Why did this have to happen to me? It’s not fair!
Silent tears soak the knees of my pants. I’m trying to be quiet so that they forget I’m here.

My back still stings from where Dwight threw me against the wall yesterday. I’m sure it’s bruised, but I don’t have a mirror to look.

My dad never hurt me. He never even spanked me. I don’t even know why Dwight got so mad at me. I didn’t do anything. I’ve been trying to be extra good, so he won’t be angry. I don’t understand it.

I can’t figure out why I’m here and not in London with Nan and Granddad. I don’t know who to ask either. When I asked Stacey if I could speak to my grandparents, she just laughed and said that no one was coming for me. It wasn’t a happy laugh but a mean one. I hadn’t realized until then that there was such a thing as a mean laugh. When my parents had laughed, their whole bodies would vibrate with happiness.

I miss happiness. It’s nonexistent here. Of course, my world is covered in heartache, but even Dwight and Stacey seem to be miserable, like all the time.

Why do they even want a child?

I have so many questions and not a single answer. I just don’t understand why any of this is happening. There are people in this world who love me.
So, why am I not with them? How do I get to them? How do I get out of here?

My dad always told me that I was strong and brave, a warrior. That thought, as I’m crouched in a ball on my bedroom floor, makes me cry harder. It’s so hard to be brave when I’m so scared. But I have to be.

I know that Nan and Granddad are looking for me, and when they find me, we’ll be happy. When they find me, I won’t have to be strong anymore because they’ll take care of me. They’ll love me and keep me safe. So, I just have to be brave for a little bit—until my grandparents come.

Maybe they’ll be here tomorrow. I can be brave for one more day. I can do anything for one day.

I let my body fall to the side until my face is lying on the carpet. It has a yucky smell, but it’s soft enough. My eyes close against the grimy brown material. I’m so tired, and my body’s worn out from crying.

I feel myself drifting off to sleep, and I welcome it. I hope my dreams take me someplace happy. A small smile comes to my face as I look forward to tomorrow. I feel brave and strong.

Tomorrow, they’ll come.

Tomorrow, I’ll be happy again.

Loïc

“She’s everything that I never had the courage to wish for, but for some reason, I was lucky enough to find her. Now that I’ve found her, I just hope I can keep her.”

—Loïc Berkeley

Damn it!

I bolt up to a sitting position and drag my fingers through my damp hair. I hate how long and unkempt it feels already. Absentmindedly, I drop one of my hands to my beard, which has a good half inch of growth already. In the Special Forces, we are encouraged to let our hair grow so that we’ll blend in on our missions. But let’s face it; there’s no way in hell we are blending in here. Most of the guys love it. It’s an excuse not to shave every day. It annoys me, but honestly, everything does, especially my damn nightmares that are back to being a nightly occurrence.

I’ve never been more ready for a deployment to be over, and I’m only a month in. There’s this air of unease that follows me around like a suffocating fog. I keep searching, waiting for something to happen, for a ball to drop. It’s exhausting, but I can’t shake the feeling.

Maybe this is how all guys who leave behind someone they love feel. I’ve never had to deal with the paranoia before because I’ve never left anyone I’ve loved. I trust London. I do. I believe that what we have is real. Yet I’m constantly worried that she’s going to leave me, cheat on me, get bored of waiting. Name it, and I’ve thought of it.

It’s insane—these irrational thoughts. Yet, at the same time, I’ve watched guys’ marriages fall apart while on deployment, and some of them had been married for years. It makes my seven-month relationship almost laughable. Regardless of the duration, it’s the most meaningful relationship of my life, and I can’t lose it.

I can’t lose her.

London isn’t just my end objective; she’s the entire mission. She’s my life from here on out. I never thought I would love someone the way I love her. I could never have imagined needing someone the way I need her. She’s everything I never had the courage to wish for, but for some reason, I was lucky enough to find her. Now that I’ve found her, I just hope I can keep her.

So, add my fears of losing London to the place of hopelessness and loss that enshrouds me when I wake from a nightmare, and I’m a fucking basket case.

I’m so tired of dreaming of the scared boy, the pain, the loss, the fear of losing Sarah. I’m so sick of thinking about all of it. I want to move on to a place where I can be happy. London has shown me that true happiness is possible, and I want it—with her.

It’s maddening that my brain won’t cooperate. I just want to forget it all, except for her.

Is that too much to ask?

I quickly throw on my running gear and exit my room. I pound on the door next to mine until a tired Cooper answers.

“The fuck, dude?” he huffs out.

“You ready?”

His eyes drop to my feet before they make their way up to my face, as if his tired mind is trying to figure out what’s going on. Some clarity lights his eyes. “Why are you up already? We weren’t planning on going running for, like, another hour.”

He looks back into his dark room, and I know he’s looking at his alarm clock.

“Like an hour and a half actually,” he grunts.

“Well, I couldn’t sleep. You coming, or you want me to go without you?”

“I’m coming.” He runs his hands through his longer hair, which is so thick that it almost stands up straight on its own. “Let me get dressed real quick,” he says before letting the plywood door swing shut in my face.

A minute later, we’re running through the dark base, the only light coming from the dim streetlights. Cooper doesn’t say anything when I follow our ten-mile route even though today was supposed to be a six-mile run.

My feet pound against the ground, and I push my body until it screams in pain with each breath, but I don’t stop. Running is the best stress reliever I have access to in this country, and I’m going to take advantage of it.

We don’t talk the entire time, not that we could anyway.

When we reach the end of the run, Cooper bends at his waist and lets out a groan as his hands rest on his knees. His chest rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath. I put my hands behind my head, trying to stretch my lungs so that they can take in air more efficiently.

Finally, Cooper says, “Did you time us?”

I shake my head.

“Damn. I bet we beat our time, too.”

“Probably,” I agree.

“Bad night?” he questions.

“Something like that,” I answer as we start walking toward our rooms.

After I shower, I power up my laptop, hoping to find London online, but I know that it’s midnight, Michigan time, and a weekday, so she’s probably sleeping.

Sure enough, she’s not online at the moment. We’ve been able to Skype a few times since I’ve been here, and that’s my favorite. It almost feels like we’re not almost seven thousand miles away from each other.

I have a new email from her.

To: Loïc Berkeley

From: London Wright

Subject: Question 31

Hey, babe. It was so fun Skyping with you yesterday. We need to work out times when we can do that more often. It’s the best. I know you said that your schedule changes a lot and you don’t know when you’ll be around the computer, but still…we should try to set up some chat dates—at least when you know you’ll be around.