He met my eyes, and I saw his were sparkling with tears.
"You changed your mind."
My breath hitched, and I nodded.
"I didn't know," he breathed. "I would have come back before leaving for deployment. I would have married you then, if I'd known you'd been begging me to come back that whole time. The answer I wanted was given to me over and over again, piled up in a locker in the dark. And when … when I read them, I knew there would be no going back. I believed at the time that I'd lost you forever without even asking you because how could you ever forgive me? I pushed you and blamed you, and you believed I didn't want you because I didn't come home. I could have married you then, but I had too much pride. I was young, young and stupid. And by the time I realized how wrong I'd been not to reach out to you, it had been years. Your letters had stopped. You were through. But I kept writing you back, every day, even after you stopped. I never stopped loving you, even though I thought you had stopped loving me."
He set the box on the concrete rail and picked up the journal, unwinding the strap, opening it to one of his letters before he offered it to me.
The leather was soft, the book heavy in my palm as I read his words, the words I'd imagined for so long.
Elliot —
Every day that passes takes me farther away from you, from us, from what we had. I sit in the mountains, surrounded by men who are each alone entirely, and I think of you. I can remember you so vividly that sometimes I feel like you're here, and I imagine what you would say, what I would say. Sometimes I imagine that we talk about nothing, that I make you laugh, that you kiss me and tell me you'll always be waiting. Other times, I imagine us saying all the things we'll never have a chance to say.
I wish I were brave enough to send these letters to you. As much as I love you, as much as I always will, when I sit under the stars on the other side of the globe, I know that you and I can't fit into each other's worlds. But there will ever only be you, for all my life.
I ran my trembling fingers over his words, then across a letter I'd written him that rested in the crease, folded like a paper boat. I flipped back through the pages, letter after letter, his words breaking me, his sorrow, his longing. His heart had been through what mine had.
"It's always been you, Elliot. Every night when I lay my head on the pillow, every morning when I rise, it's only you. Tell me I'm not too late. Tell me there's still a chance for us, and I will spend every breath I have earning your forgiveness. Tell me that you still love me, and I will give myself to you completely."
I was overcome, unable to speak as I closed the journal and clutched it to my aching heart. And because words could not find me, I stepped closer until our bodies met, laid my hand on the hard line of his jaw, tilted my chin, and kissed him with everything I possessed.
His lips against mine transferred truth, singing softly as they parted and closed against mine in a song of deliverance and salvation.
He wrapped his arms around me, breathing me in deeper with every second as the kiss went on and on forever just as it ended too soon. He searched my face, only a few inches from his, his breath warming my skin.
"Is it true? Is it real?" he asked in a whisper. "After everything I've done, could you still love me?"
"I have loved only you," I whispered back, and his face lit with joy, bent with grace as he kissed me again. And with a few simple words, he was mine and I was his, as it had always been, even when it was unspoken.
He dipped his chin, breaking the kiss as he pressed his forehead to mine.
I was home.
27
Wait
Waves lap my feet
Eyes on the horizon
Love in my heart
As I wait
For you.
* * *
- M. White
* * *
Wade
I closed my eyes, certain I'd open them to find her gone, but there she was with love and forgiveness in her eyes. And my new mission was to earn that forgiveness with everything I did.
I kissed her again, pulling her into me, drinking her in with every breath, every touch. When she broke away, she smiled up at me.
"What do we do now?" she asked with swollen lips.
Within a split second, I had my answer. I smiled back and took her hand. "Come with me."
"I'll follow you anywhere. Where you go, I go."
I couldn't resist another kiss, slipping my hand into her hair before I pressed my lips to hers, transferring all the gratitude and triumph I felt. And then, I hastily packed away my notebook and closed up the box, tucking it under my arm as I took her hand again.
Anticipation crackled between us, popping with wonder. Her hand was in mine, and she was smiling. She was happy, but not as happy as I was — she'd given me everything I wanted, everything I'd been hiding from, the things I thought I'd never had. But all I'd had to do was ask.
"Where are we going?" she asked as we hurried down the sidewalk.
"To my house, is that all right?"
"Perfect," she answered.
We didn't speak along the way, both of us too busy with our thoughts, with our awe and reverence, and before long, I was towing her up the steps of the house and through the door, up the stairs and into my room, closing the door behind me.
She stood in the middle of my bedroom catching her breath, looking around with wide eyes that scanned the walls and furniture.
"It's just like I remembered it," she said half to herself as she unwound her scarf absently, walking to my desk to hang it and her coat on the back of my chair. The cork board still held our photos, my boutonniere from senior prom pinned next to our picture, a poem she'd written me there alongside it. She trailed her fingers across the words. "It feels like a lifetime ago."