Locke
Page 47
By the time I finished those calls, I broke.
I sat in my office, surrounded by computers and technical equipment, and I fought with my body to calm down. It was almost as if I hadn’t known how to move on without that guilt. But by the time I left the office, I almost felt whole.
After removing Mary’s letter—and my Medal of Honor—I walk into the kitchen. Then I swipe one of the lighters out of the spare drawer, place my medal on the counter, and hold her letter over the sink. With one flick of my thumb, I watch as flames take over the old paper. Each piece of ash that falls into the sink represents the guilt I’m letting go.
When I’m finished, I grab the medal and walk over to the mantel. I stand there with my legs planted to the ground, my shoulders tight, and take in the pictures Emmy insisted on putting up. Just one of the many home-decorating projects she forced me to do for her during her recovery.
There are five frames in all. The first is a picture of our group of friends from Axel and Izzy’s wedding with Emmy and me standing on opposite ends of the crowd. I am looking—unsmiling—at the camera and she’s looking directly at me. Even though it could hurt to look at this picture, I have to remind myself of what it represents—just how far we’ve come since.
The second is one we had taken when Greg and Melissa had everyone over for a late welcome home for the twins. Melissa hadn’t wanted to do it without Emmy. Emmy is sitting off to the side, one of their girls resting against her good arm and her leg propped up on the couch. She was in so much pain that day but refused to let it stand in the way of going. You would never be able to tell by the look on her face. She’s smiling down at Lillian—or Lila, as we’ve been instructed by her big brother, Cohen, to call her—with a look of pure wonderment. I made a mental promise to myself that day that I would put that look back in her eyes—only, this time, with our own children.
I run my finger over her profile in that picture and move on to the next.
It’s one of all of the guys. Axel has his arm wrapped around Greg’s neck—laughing. Beck is standing with Coop, their heads thrown back hooting, and I’m looking at them all pissed as hell. I let out a laugh when I remember why. Izzy can be seen in the background with Sway, both of them bent at their waists to hold their laughing bodies up. It took me three days until I stopped finding gold flecks of glitter on my skin. Another week until my head stopped shining in places.
“Damn Sway and his fucking glitter,” I mumble with a smile.
The next is one we had taken when Chelcie came home from the hospital with Zac. All of us met down at Coop’s grave and had Davey take a picture. Everyone was there. Emmy, still unable to walk, was in my arms. Even though this picture breaks my heart because of the reminder that we no longer have Coop with us, to look from the first one when Emmy and I were so far from this moment and then to see us together… Yeah, it is hands down one of my favorite pictures. It’s our whole family. All four of the men I consider brothers with the women they love. My girl is in my arms, her smile taking over her face and my small grin stealing the hardness from my face. Izzy is holding Nate while Axel is holding her very pregnant stomach. Greg and Melissa each hold one of their beautiful daughters. Beck has his arms wrapped around Dee. Asher and Chelcie are sitting on the ground next to Coop’s headstone with sad smiles on their faces. In their arms is Coop’s son, Zac. And then there are Sway and Cohen—both with red capes flowing in the wind, hands on their hips, and smiles on their lips. Sway said that we needed to make this a place where we could smile at and not always cry…so that’s what he did.
The last picture I take in, the one that sits in the largest frame front and center, is the one of just Emmy and me. I didn’t even know it had been taken, but I could kiss whoever did. We’re both asleep in my bed—something we did a lot over her recovery. So often that the women in our circle took it upon themselves to come by—often—and make sure there wasn’t anything needed. They would let themselves in and out, sometimes not even telling us they were here. I knew they were coming; my security system would trip them up every time.
In the picture, I have my back propped up against the headboard and Emmy is lying between my legs with her head on my thigh. She had fallen asleep rubbing the skin above my stump in a soft caress. I remember feeling her lips press against my knee right before her body went slack and her hand fell to rest where my leg stopped. That was the first and only time I ever let anyone freely touch my leg like that. She didn’t judge or flinch; she accepted it and loved me even more because of my scars. Then I fell asleep with my head tipped back and a smile on my face that didn’t even leave in my slumber.
I straighten out each frame before taking my Medal of Honor—one I never felt worthy of—and placing it right next to that picture of Emmy and me. Right next to the woman who made me believe that I was worthy of everything blessed in my life.
With a nod, I walk back to the bedroom and climb into the bed to pull Emmy into my arms.
Right where she belongs.
Chapter 31—Emmy
I immediately notice his medal on the mantel the next morning. Maddox was fast asleep when I woke up. It took me a while to get into the living room, but when I did, it was the first thing I saw. I don’t make a big production over it; I smile and continue my slow hobble into the kitchen to get some water.
It is when I stand over the sink, empty glass ready and hand hovering over the cold-water knob, that I see the ashes. The meaning of such a monumental move on his end hits me like a train. Straight through my chest and slamming into my heart.
He finds me on the floor in the kitchen. I’m naked as the day I was born with silent tears streaming down my face.
“Em? Jesus Christ, are you okay?” His hands roam over my body. Then he checks my newly freed arm and looks down to my leg to make sure there isn’t an obvious source to my pain.
I just sit there and look into his handsome face, my breathing coming in fast pants. These damn tears won’t stop. His thumbs work overtime trying to stop their falling while he cups my face between his palms.
“You did it,” I sob.
I sat in my office, surrounded by computers and technical equipment, and I fought with my body to calm down. It was almost as if I hadn’t known how to move on without that guilt. But by the time I left the office, I almost felt whole.
After removing Mary’s letter—and my Medal of Honor—I walk into the kitchen. Then I swipe one of the lighters out of the spare drawer, place my medal on the counter, and hold her letter over the sink. With one flick of my thumb, I watch as flames take over the old paper. Each piece of ash that falls into the sink represents the guilt I’m letting go.
When I’m finished, I grab the medal and walk over to the mantel. I stand there with my legs planted to the ground, my shoulders tight, and take in the pictures Emmy insisted on putting up. Just one of the many home-decorating projects she forced me to do for her during her recovery.
There are five frames in all. The first is a picture of our group of friends from Axel and Izzy’s wedding with Emmy and me standing on opposite ends of the crowd. I am looking—unsmiling—at the camera and she’s looking directly at me. Even though it could hurt to look at this picture, I have to remind myself of what it represents—just how far we’ve come since.
The second is one we had taken when Greg and Melissa had everyone over for a late welcome home for the twins. Melissa hadn’t wanted to do it without Emmy. Emmy is sitting off to the side, one of their girls resting against her good arm and her leg propped up on the couch. She was in so much pain that day but refused to let it stand in the way of going. You would never be able to tell by the look on her face. She’s smiling down at Lillian—or Lila, as we’ve been instructed by her big brother, Cohen, to call her—with a look of pure wonderment. I made a mental promise to myself that day that I would put that look back in her eyes—only, this time, with our own children.
I run my finger over her profile in that picture and move on to the next.
It’s one of all of the guys. Axel has his arm wrapped around Greg’s neck—laughing. Beck is standing with Coop, their heads thrown back hooting, and I’m looking at them all pissed as hell. I let out a laugh when I remember why. Izzy can be seen in the background with Sway, both of them bent at their waists to hold their laughing bodies up. It took me three days until I stopped finding gold flecks of glitter on my skin. Another week until my head stopped shining in places.
“Damn Sway and his fucking glitter,” I mumble with a smile.
The next is one we had taken when Chelcie came home from the hospital with Zac. All of us met down at Coop’s grave and had Davey take a picture. Everyone was there. Emmy, still unable to walk, was in my arms. Even though this picture breaks my heart because of the reminder that we no longer have Coop with us, to look from the first one when Emmy and I were so far from this moment and then to see us together… Yeah, it is hands down one of my favorite pictures. It’s our whole family. All four of the men I consider brothers with the women they love. My girl is in my arms, her smile taking over her face and my small grin stealing the hardness from my face. Izzy is holding Nate while Axel is holding her very pregnant stomach. Greg and Melissa each hold one of their beautiful daughters. Beck has his arms wrapped around Dee. Asher and Chelcie are sitting on the ground next to Coop’s headstone with sad smiles on their faces. In their arms is Coop’s son, Zac. And then there are Sway and Cohen—both with red capes flowing in the wind, hands on their hips, and smiles on their lips. Sway said that we needed to make this a place where we could smile at and not always cry…so that’s what he did.
The last picture I take in, the one that sits in the largest frame front and center, is the one of just Emmy and me. I didn’t even know it had been taken, but I could kiss whoever did. We’re both asleep in my bed—something we did a lot over her recovery. So often that the women in our circle took it upon themselves to come by—often—and make sure there wasn’t anything needed. They would let themselves in and out, sometimes not even telling us they were here. I knew they were coming; my security system would trip them up every time.
In the picture, I have my back propped up against the headboard and Emmy is lying between my legs with her head on my thigh. She had fallen asleep rubbing the skin above my stump in a soft caress. I remember feeling her lips press against my knee right before her body went slack and her hand fell to rest where my leg stopped. That was the first and only time I ever let anyone freely touch my leg like that. She didn’t judge or flinch; she accepted it and loved me even more because of my scars. Then I fell asleep with my head tipped back and a smile on my face that didn’t even leave in my slumber.
I straighten out each frame before taking my Medal of Honor—one I never felt worthy of—and placing it right next to that picture of Emmy and me. Right next to the woman who made me believe that I was worthy of everything blessed in my life.
With a nod, I walk back to the bedroom and climb into the bed to pull Emmy into my arms.
Right where she belongs.
Chapter 31—Emmy
I immediately notice his medal on the mantel the next morning. Maddox was fast asleep when I woke up. It took me a while to get into the living room, but when I did, it was the first thing I saw. I don’t make a big production over it; I smile and continue my slow hobble into the kitchen to get some water.
It is when I stand over the sink, empty glass ready and hand hovering over the cold-water knob, that I see the ashes. The meaning of such a monumental move on his end hits me like a train. Straight through my chest and slamming into my heart.
He finds me on the floor in the kitchen. I’m naked as the day I was born with silent tears streaming down my face.
“Em? Jesus Christ, are you okay?” His hands roam over my body. Then he checks my newly freed arm and looks down to my leg to make sure there isn’t an obvious source to my pain.
I just sit there and look into his handsome face, my breathing coming in fast pants. These damn tears won’t stop. His thumbs work overtime trying to stop their falling while he cups my face between his palms.
“You did it,” I sob.
