“Ryan.” This time, the way she says my name has my heart plummeting. I already know what she’s going to say, and I don’t blame her. This was a bad idea. We said goodbye, went our separate ways.
“I know,” I tell her, not needing her to explain. I shouldn’t have called, shouldn’t have put her in this position. “Everything’s okay with you?” I ask, steering the conversation away from rough waters.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “You?”
“Yeah.” We’re both silent for a moment, and I mentally kick myself for calling her. I already know she’s doing good. I’ve asked around, stalked her social media. She’s happy, moving forward. “I better go,” I finally say. “I just want you to know I’m so proud of you.” And before she can say anything back, I hang up.
“Cruz,” Antwon Stark, my friend and squad mate says, walking over. “The guys and I are going to head to Trolley’s. You down?” Trolley’s is a bar near the base where everyone goes to have a drink, get dinner, chill out when we have downtime.
I stare at my phone, wondering if maybe I should’ve tried harder. Told her how I feel. Begged her to come visit me. As I’m contemplating calling her back, a text comes through from her.
Two words: I’m sorry
“Yeah,” I say to Stark, “let’s go.”
Ryan
Seven Months Later
“Oh my God, you’re here!” My mom runs across the room and throws her arms around me for a hug. “Let me see you.” She backs up, wiping her happy tears from her eyes, and assesses me from head to toe like she does every time I come home. I’m seven months into my tour in Afghanistan and was able to put in for my leave for the last two weeks of December. As soon as I arrived on U.S. soil, I drove home to see my parents. I had assumed they would be in Breckenridge for the holidays, but luckily, instead of surprising both my parents, I told my dad to give him a heads-up, and learned they were staying home this year.
“Welcome home, Son.” My dad pulls me into a tight hug.
“Thanks.” I glance around the house. “Where are Faith and Chloe?”
“They’re at the boutique,” Mom says. “It’s crazy busy with the holidays. They’ll be over later with Cameron and Brad and the kids.” Mom hugs me again.
“Is that why you guys aren’t in Breckenridge this year?” I ask, bummed they’re here while everyone else is there. It’s been seven months since I’ve heard Micaela’s voice, almost nine since I’ve seen her. I considered calling her a million times, but didn’t think a satellite call from overseas was the best way to talk about us. I typed up a dozen emails, but nothing I wrote seemed to convey my thoughts correctly. I checked her social media a couple times, but she hasn’t posted a single thing. To say I was looking forward to finally seeing her would be an understatement, but it’s not like I could go to Breckenridge when my family is here.
“Everybody stayed home this year,” Mom says, shaking me from my thoughts.
“What do you mean?” Everybody always goes to Breckenridge for the holidays, every year since I was brought into this family. Except last year when Micaela’s family stayed home because she was mourning the death of her husband…
Mom frowns. “It’s been a weird year. Micaela left for a couple weeks and when she came back…” She clears her throat.
“When she came back, what?” I prompt, starting to freak the hell out. My dad gives me a weird look, but I ignore it, focusing on my mom.
“She found out she was pregnant.” All the blood drains downward. “She’s due soon and can’t travel, so everybody is staying home for the holidays. We’re planning to still go up for a couple weeks after the New Year.”
“She’s pregnant?” I choke out. “How far along?”
“Nine months. She’s due in a couple weeks,” Dad says, eyeing me curiously. “You okay?”
“Who’s the dad?”
Mom shakes her head. “We’re not sure. After she found out, Marco and Bella kind of stepped back from everyone. I think they’re just trying to be there for their daughter.”
“I need to go,” I say, already halfway out the door.
“What? Why?” Mom calls out.
“I’ll be back!” I yell, slamming the door behind me and jogging to my truck.
The drive to Micaela’s house isn’t far since they live in the next neighborhood over. I could’ve walked, but I’m too worked up. There’s no way… She can’t be… I’m not… I can’t even finish a single fucking thought. My fists are clenched around the steering wheel, and I’m dripping in sweat from the adrenaline coursing through my body. There has to be an explanation. Maybe she got home and slept with someone else. The thought of another man inside her only pisses me off further.