I just wanted to give a quicks thanks to all my readers for coming this far with me into my writing journey. I have enjoyed this more than I could have ever imagined. This book have gone farther that I originally planned. So please keep reading and remember to vote❤
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"But this is how reality works,
men aren't literary heroes,
they don't change overnight, and
no one does anything right here in the real world.
I'm no Darcy and she's no Elizabeth."
-Anna Todd, After
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ABBIE
Bring me a box when you come back." Liv shouts over her shoulder as I exit the spare bedroom to retrieve us some bottles of water. Unpacking is a workout, and I don't remember having so much junk nor how I could have accumulated all of it is such a short period of time.
It was too hard for Liv to move back into our apartment since her assault. Plus staying with the guys has been nice and gives us both a peace of mind. The house they rent is double the size of our once tiny apartment and has a mature yard, complete with a large covered patio surrounded by big ponderosa pines. Gorgeous, but not comparable to the lovely live oaks like back home. This cute tucked away estate luckily doesn't have a construction site out of each window like ours. And the kitchen, without a doubt, is a step up all on its own. Beautifully dark marbled grey countertops rested on top of white washed cabinets with a slim matching pocket door to a small walk in pantry, finished with timeless yet out dated "vintage" appliances including a gas stove and an oven that actually works.
Handing her a bottle. "So, Sean called again? Did he ask you out?"
Snatching the water, Liv turns up her nose "Hm, yes, he called, and before you ask no, I don't know my answer yet."
Giggling "Someone's snappy today, now talk to me, why not, have you not seen him?"
Plopping herself on the bed, Liv turns into a little schoolgirl letting out a squeal as she grabs my arm with excitement. "Oh my god! Duh! His facial hair is swoon worthy and he is so adorable with those glasses! But you don't think it's too cliche to date a Cop? You know like the idea of dating someone for their profession, like a doctor or lawyer?"
"Correction, Detective." I tease her while doing a hair flip for extra flare before answering back.
"And cliché? You goob! That's your excuse? Are you worried people might actually think you would date him just for his career choice? Like to use him?"
Well yea, I actually like him Abs. I don't want to mess this up! I just don't want him ever thinking I'd date him to get out of a parking ticket or something."
Oh sweetie, I'm sure he doesn't think that of you. Plus, the idea of being used is probably something he has considered in the pass with a job like that. The fact that he is choosing to pursue you tells me he is willing to take that chance. You've probably got the poor guy nervous, thinking something is wrong with him."
"Now call him. Or I will Livi!"
She leaps off the bed, grabbing her phone. "You will not! I will. I'll be back, wish me luck." Leaving the room with her cheeks a burning bright red, she lifts her phone to her ear.
"Hi, uh Sean? How are you? – This is Liv by the way-".
Rolling off the bed, I start on another box, my books. When the boys searched for apartments and rentals off of base, Wyatt stumbled across this place, landing him dibs on the master wing. Wyatt's master suite has an attached room that I think was built as a nursery for the original owners. It's small and painted yellow with tropical floral wallpaper trimming along the white crown molding. There is a small window near the middle with little white built-in bookshelves on each side. Wyatt's added a desk and a few posters, but you can still see the hand painted giraffe and monkey peeking below, standing near the bookshelves for Storytime.
I shift a few of his novels around and reminisce on a few. Wyatt enjoyed reading dystopian classic literature commonly found on reading list colleges would but out for the summer. I'd read a few classics, mostly from the romantic period but preferred to lean toward the novels written in the Contemporary Era.
I remember him reading this one in the cabin, the edges are worn, and you can tell where the pages were once folded to hold the spot for his reading. On the cover sets a stain from a coffee mug ring. His books are scattered along the shelfs, some laying in stacks and some still neatly standing, , running my fingers along the beautiful binding, I stand them up one by one, grabbing decorative vases and candles from my boxes to use as book ends. As I move them around, I color code all of his books on each shelf to ROY-G-BIV condensing them to the one on the left so I can take the other. Grabbing more than I can handle, the iron book end manages to slide off the shelf along with three other books, falling open onto the floor. The one that draws my attention is the one filled with handwritten passages; the pages slightly raised due to the indentations of the pen marks that overflow the margins. I bend down, sitting on my knees, and lift the book up. These are to me. My Abbie. Days on the ranch. I'd do anything to have another day with her. Dear Abbie. The way she tucks her hair. I miss her laughs. love of my life. Until we meet again. Love, Wyatt.
Journal entries and letters to me, fill each page. I'm in awe at his writing, so zoned in didn't hear Alivia calling my name or Wyatt standing in the doorway. His voice draws me out of my deep concentration. How long have I been here? Hours? My legs feel stiff from the lack of blood flow.
"Reading as always." he says playfully, folding his arms, leaning into the door frame.
I pull my body up to fix my posture, tucking my hair back, but before I could answer, he is walking toward me. The book.
As Wyatt reaches my side of the room, his eyes fall to the open pages. His jaw tenses, and I can see him swallow, as his skin turns pink and his mouth falls to a slight frown. Is he embarrassed, hurt, or both? I can see the betray in his eyes. He wrote these for me to read one day, but not like this.
"What the hell Abbie, that's my personal fucking shit."
"Wait, it's not like that, it fell open when I was moving my books in."
"So, you sit down and read it? That makes it okay?"
"No, I-" , but he cuts me off, holding up a hand.
"I'm not fucking doing this, I need some air."
I step forward, pulling at his arm, "Oh, so you're just gonna walk out, when I do something you don't like? Is this what it's going to be like? You are just giving up? Just like that? Jeeze, I'm sorry!"
"You think sorry makes it better? Why would you read my shit Abs?" he shouts, pointing to the journal still open in my hands. he breaks, I can see the disappointment in his eyes.
"I just can't do this right now." He turns to leave but pauses on his heel, with his back still turned he speaks, his voice low and smooth. "Those are my thoughts, that's my creative outlet, my safe space."
Placing a fist gently to the wall, as if to gain composer and remain calm he continues, "Damnit, why would you betray me like that? - I trusted you!"
Reflecting on my stupid actions, I'm lost for words, why would I do that? He is right, no matter if what I read was about me, that was HIS safe space. What have I done? As I turn to put the book back, I hear the front door slam.
"Wyatt!", but when I turn the corner the cry out his name its to an empty house.
I pace the floor until the sun completely descends and darkness clouds over the lonely living room. Migrating to the dimming lit kitchen, I decide to get started on dinner, thinking he just needed time to cool down and would return soon. But when dinner is ready, he still isn't back. Weston and Liv are out for the night, so the house is quiet as I sit and wait. Fidgeting with fork, I push my asparagus around the plate, I'm too upset to eat, and as the time ticks by my food has turned cold. Calling and texting were no use, lifting from my seat, I can't help but resume my worrisome pacing. Peeking through the window's blinds that overlook the drive at any sign of headlights, biting my lip I call once again but to no avail.
Fine, don't come home.
Thick steam spills over the shower stall as I walk in, instantly warming my insides, the water is hot and tingles as it runs down my body, but I don't care, the slight burn keeps me distracted. Where is he? But no amount of discomfort or scolding water could divert my attention from Wyatt.
I stay until the water turns cold, the heat and steam that filled the stall leaving me, just like Wyatt. My knees break, and I just sit there on the shower floor letting the now chilled water palet my back and shoulders like needles. But I don't care that it hurts, at least the cold doesn't leave and soon the painfully icy stings will numb me.
Leaving a trail of trinkling water, I drop my towel near the foot of the bed before lifting one of his dirty shirts from the floor. Staring at graphic, I lose since of time for moment, replaying the night before. How he playfully chased me into the room, lifting me in the air before gently placing my on the cool sheets and lying next to me. He was wearing this shirt, bringing it to my nose, I take a deep breath, inhaling his woodsy scent until my lungs burn. Soon his scent will leave me too. Pulling the shirt over my head I get in bed, grabbing his pillow and soaking it with my hot tears, falling asleep in the place he occupied less than 24 hours ago.
When I awake, the throbbing pain on my forehead reminds me Wyatt is gone, but when I shift in bed, I realize something heavy is draped over my body, I notice the subtle movement of my hair tickling my scalp with each warm breath. Wyatt, he came back. He must have tip toe in late last night. How hard was I sleeping? Rolling around, I softly rest my hand on his cheek, instantly my fingers melt along the warmth of his jaw.
As his eyes flutter open from the chill with a sweet morning smile, it soon fades and is replace with concern when he notices my red eyes and puffy face. Cupping my cheek, "I did this to you?" He pulls me to his chest, tucking the comforter around my back, as if trying to swaddle me with a subtle rock.
"I'm sorry baby."
Reaching under the pillow with his free hand, he pulls out an old envelope, the clean white had yellowed due to time, the corners are no longer sharp but soft, and there in Wyatt's beautifully written penmanship reads: My Abagail.
"I want you to read this." He says softly, followed with a kiss along my hairline.
"Will you read it to me please?"
Wyatt sits up, propping a pillow behind his back, before scooting me close. Unfolding the worn letter, he grants me another smile before clearing his throat. "Here goes"
Dear Abbie,
The day I fell for you, wasn't the day we married. But the day you were no longer afraid of me. I'll never forget the first time I heard your laughter that followed such a brilliant smile.
Truth be told, I was foolish Abbie. I pretended I didn't need you, because I didn't think you could love someone like me back. I knew me confessing how much I cared for you, loved you, couldn't make you love me. I, couldn't make you love me. And I knew that. I feared pouring my heart out to you would cause you pain and would end our friendship, that you would be quiet again, that you no longer would fill our home with laughter. I was selfish, I couldn't go back to the darkness that accompanied my lonely life, and had to have you the only way.....the safest way I could. Just you being there was enough for me, until you were gone. I felt so empty Abs. by the time I swallowed my pride, it was too late. But I won't repeat that mistake again, When I find you, I'll tell you in person, I'll look you in the eyes. I won't hold back. I always BE yours Abagail, until my dying day.
Yours forever, Wyatt
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Did the letter meet your expectations? What was your favorite line?
Thanks for sticking with me this far and for all the comments, they truly mean so much to me! with that being said please please comment and vote.
See in the Chapter Eleven my lovelies!❤