“Oh, my God.” His bold handwriting slashes across the front with my shaky Return to sender scrawled over my name.
His letters. He wrote so many. A dozen, at least. And I returned each and every one of them. I was so stupid. He kept them. He brought them.
My eyes burn as I rip open the flap.
I started this at least ten times. Dear Joey, Dearest Joey, My love, My Joey, My angel, Buttercup… But none of them felt right, despite every single one of them being true.
There’s nothing I can say to take away your pain. There aren’t any words to make what happened to you okay. And even though I was doing my job, there’s no excuse for me not being there for you.
If I’d known…if I’d gotten Gerry’s message the day it arrived, I’d have been on the next plane. When I came back from Baghdad, I didn’t even pack. Told my CO I needed a lift to the States. Any state. I didn’t care. Just somewhere that would let me get to you.
I screwed up, Joey. And I’ll never forgive myself. But don’t you ever say you’re sorry again. You didn’t ask for any of this. All you asked was for my trust. And I failed you.
I love you, buttercup. Always and forever. You’re my only. My everything. And there is nothing that will ever change that. Please call me. Write me a letter. Tell me we still have a chance. I’m staying in San Diego for the next two months. Gerry says she doesn’t know where you are—that you won’t tell her or your mom. But if you call me, I’ll be on the next plane, bus, train…whatever I need to take to get to you.
Yours…forever…
Ford
The letter falls to the floor, and my sobs echo off the tile. A second envelope lands at my feet. Then a third. A fourth. All of them. Every single message he sent me. Every single message I didn’t open. Couldn’t open.
I read them all, and by the time I’m done with the thirteenth—his last one, the one where he told me he’d always be there for me, always come for me—I don’t think I can breathe for another minute without him. “Ford…?”
The door opens, and I look up at him, tears dripping onto the towel wrapped around me. “I’m so sorry,” I manage, and his brows furrow.
“Don’t ever apologize, buttercup. You did nothing wrong. Nothing at all.” He drops to one knee, close enough for me to feel his warmth, yet he doesn’t touch me. “We…weren’t meant to be then. But we have a second chance now. If—” Ford’s voice fades, and his eyes glisten as he focuses somewhere just below my neck. “Your ring…”
Wrapping my fingers around the band, I let its familiar ridges and warmth calm my racing heart. “I thought…I’d lost it forever. The man who took me…back in San Diego…he broke my finger taking it off. But when I was in the hospital, the FBI brought it back. I guess…he liked to keep…souvenirs.” Swallowing another sob, I meet Ford’s gaze. “I haven’t taken it off in twenty years.”
“Joey—”
Lurching up, I wrap my arms around him, then press my lips to his. He tastes of coffee, and he slides his arm under my knees, lifting me into his lap as he settles onto the floor.
His tongue lightly dances with mine, and I moan into the kiss. I have to do this. I have to tell him all the things I should have said twenty years ago. The secrets I’ve never told anyone outside the therapist who treated me when I…went away.
Ford tangles his fingers in my damp hair, and his other hand rests on my bare calf. I draw back, wishing with all my heart that I could have this conversation with him wearing more than just a towel. Except this is who I am, and I have to know if there’s even the slightest chance.
His eyes…I could lose myself in his eyes. With a hard swallow, I reach up and cup his stubbly cheek. “I love you, Ford. I never stopped loving you. But I’m scared…” My voice drops to a whisper. “I’m too broken.”
The lines around his mouth deepen, and sorrow wells in his eyes, the light hazel turning tawny. “Joey, you’re perfect. You always have been. You’re not broken.”
“I am. You don’t know—”
“Then tell me.” Ford skims his palm up my arm, then curses under his breath. “You’re cold.”
Gently, he eases me off his lap, rises, and offers me his hand. As soon as I wobble to my feet, he scoops me into his arms again and carries me to the bed. When I’m safely hidden by the sheet and blanket, he takes off his boots, sets his gun on the nightstand, and slides under the covers with me.
“I should have been there for you, Joey,” he says as he takes my hand and his thumb strokes back and forth over my ring finger. “I wanted to be.”
A single tear trails down my cheek. “I know. And I didn’t give you a chance. I didn’t think you’d want to be with me. Not after…”
“Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?” Hurt creeps into his voice, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. The pain etched on his face is more than I can bear, and my tears spill over as he frames my face with his rough hands. “You were…raped, Joey. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I did,” I whisper. “I didn’t trust you. After I pushed so hard for you to trust me.”
Ford blanches, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles for his next words. “That’s why you wouldn’t talk to me? Why you wouldn’t take my calls or read my letters? I thought you’d just gotten it into your head that I’d abandoned you. God knows I gave you enough cause.”
“Maybe. At first. But then Gerry said she’d called everyone she could find in the Marine Corps.” I almost laugh, and the corners of my lips curve slightly. “I think she might have gotten all the way up to a Colonel at some point. And she told me you were deployed on some mission where they couldn’t contact you. Since we weren’t married…and I wasn’t dead…”
