Chapter Thirty-One
Tabitha
I’M BEING CARRIED INTO MY living room. I must have left my keys in the door before I fainted, because I don’t remember actually unlocking it. He holds me tightly to his hard, muscular chest. I’m surrounded by his sweet, musky scent I always found soothing and never really forgot. He walks us over to the couch and lays me down before sitting down next to me.
Mathew?
I finally catch up with reality and become all too aware of who I’m sharing my couch with. I sit up. I reluctantly pull away from the stranger, the ghost from my past. Once one of my best friends and the first love of my life.
“God, it feels so good to get to hold you in my arms again,” he says mostly to himself.
“You…you died.” I’m stuttering like an idiot, but I’m still in a blurry state of shock. I continue to ramble on. “They said you died. Th-they said your bodies were unidentifiable.” My eyes tear up, and I reach up to feel his face again, just to make sure he’s really here.
He smiles and reaches up to catch my hand and hold it against his cheek, then closes his eyes while he leans his face into my palm. “It’s really me, Tabby,” he whispers.
“How did…? Wh-where have you been?” I must sound like an idiot, but I need answers right now to break me out of my current confused state of shock.
“I’ve been living between here and my mom’s house. Going to school.” He stops to clear his throat. “I just graduated with my master’s, actually.” He smiles.
I swallow the lump stuck in the back of my throat. “What happened?” I ask again carefully, because I don’t know if he would be comfortable reliving it all. I was told once that you should never ask a soldier about their combat experience, so I’m trying to tiptoe my way around the topic, just find out everything he’s willing and able to give me.
“I was traveling with my unit to a checkpoint when we were hit with an IED.”
“IED?”
“It means improvised explosive device,” he answers.
I nod to show that I understand and urge him to continue.
“Anyway, we were hit, then in the next moment chaos reigned, and everything went up in smoke. The flames were the worst part, after the screams.” He looks down with his face scrunched up as he relives the past. Then he continues, “I was thrown from the Humvee. I rolled around in the sand, until the flames were smothered from my clothes, then I tried to assess what I could from my position. The situation was grim, and I could tell it was dire that I find a place to conceal my status until help could arrive. I managed to drag myself some distance until I passed out from exhaustion, and that’s all I can remember from that day.”
“Did anyone else make it? They told us there were no survivors, but if you made it then there might have been others.” I can’t help but feel hopeful for all the other families who have lost their loved ones a decade ago.
“There wasn’t anyone else. Just me.” He looks as devastated as the story sounds.
I feel like a jerk for even asking.
I’m about to ask if his mother ever said anything about me, but I remember how she reacted when she found out I was pregnant at his funeral. I doubt she updated him at all. I’ve sent her pictures and updates over the years, just in case she ever did want a larger role in Mattie’s life, but she never responded. I assumed she still blamed me for her son’s death. Instead, it seems she’s been trying to keep him away from me and our daughter instead. I try to keep my rage in check, but on behalf of my daughter, deep anger stews beneath the surface.
My brain is being overloaded with an array of emotions and questions. I’m unsure of how I should react or what I should say right now. I stare into the much older, and not surprisingly, even more handsome face belonging to the boy I grew up loving. He’s bigger, more muscular, and his eyes are drawn with harder lines. He has scars running from his left temple, down the side of his face, and across the front of his neck. His left arm looks like the skin is almost melted, and he has it covered up mostly by a sleeve of colorful tattoos. It doesn’t take away from his looks at all. I never considered tattoos as an attractive feature, but I know now that it’s definitely one quality I like. In fact the scars and tattoos make him appear tougher. Tough is sexy. I’m still beyond attracted to him. Old feelings rush to the surface, but an overwhelming amount of anger bubbles up right along with it.
I jump off the couch and turn to face the man I thought was dead for the past ten years. “How long?” I ask in a calm way that distracts from the waves of anger and confusion I have rolling off me.
He winces. He always knew when I was hiding my true feelings. I know he can sense my ire. “How long?” he asks.
“How long have you been back?”
A guilty look washes over his face. “Ten years.”
“It’s been a decade. You have a daughter, Mathew! We mourned you, we all thought you were dead!” I’m trying to be understanding, but I’m furious and heartbroken all over again. It hurts thinking about all the years our daughter lost with him. “Where have you been?” I demand.
“Finding my way back to you.”
“I don’t know what that means, Mathew!” I try not to sound frustrated by his answer, but I can’t help it.
He clears his throat and continues, “After I passed out, I woke in a bedroom I didn’t recognize, hearing voices I didn’t understand.” He’s frowning. “I was badly burnt and cut up, but someone had bandaged me up. This doctor and his family found me and took care of me,” he explains. “I spent months recovering, without any way to get word out that I survived. My only goal was to get back to you, and our baby, as fast as I possibly could. I promised you that I would come back to you. I was desperate to find a way back to you, Tabby.” He goes silent for a moment, then continues, “When I was healthy enough, I returned to base, and they shipped me home. I was so excited to finally return to you. I’d planned on it being this big surprise. I was hoping it would be his big epic homecoming that we could tell our grandkids about someday, but I was too late.”
I remain silent, waiting for him to continue, and he does.
“When I got back, I ran into John.” He pauses and drops his gaze down to his lap. “It was your wedding day.” He looks up, and our eyes lock into each other. “You looked so happy, Tabby. I didn’t want to take that away from you.”
“I still deserved to know you were alive! Oh my God, your poor father…” My heart aches for Phil.
“He knew. I went to him that night after he got home from your and Brandon’s wedding reception.”
“Wait.” I absorb the words he just said. “So everyone knew you were alive, everyone except me?” I’m trying not to fly off the handle, but the fact everyone’s been lying to me is almost too much for me to take.
“No.” He reaches for my hands when I sit back on the couch, but I pull away. He looks hurt, but I don’t really care right now. He recovers quickly, and acceptance quickly passes over his face. “Only those three knew, until my dad’s funeral, when I ran into Beth and Brandon.”
“I wanted to come to you in the hospital, to see if you were okay, but that was Brandon’s place, and I couldn’t risk you seeing me. You weren’t mine anymore, you were his.”
The mention of Brandon’s name causes a pain to seize my chest. Tears begin to crawl down my cheeks, and I try to imagine what he would tell me to do in this situation. Mathew reaches up to wipe away my tears. I turn away.
“You need to leave.”
“What?” He frowns in confusion.
“You can’t be here right now. I can’t. I can’t deal with all of this right now. I need space to think.”
I stand and head to the front door. I pull it open and motion for him to leave. He looks stricken but nods in defeat as he walks out onto the front porch.
He turns back around to face me. “Tabby, wait.”
I don’t. I slam the door in his face, turn the lock, and head up to bed. I spend the rest of my night crying over everything that was revealed earlier tonight.
The next morning, I wake up early and drive over to pick up my kids up. When Beth answers the door, I know she knows about the night before. “Tabby, I’m s—”
I lift my hand, cutting her off and shaking my head. “We’re not talking right now.” I interrupt any excuse or apology she may have for me.
I usher my kids into the car, and we leave. I see Beth standing on the porch watching me leave. Tears are running down her cheeks, but I make an effort not to let it bother me. She was in on this secret. She deserves the guilt she feels right now.