“Wyatt, for fuck’s sake: go talk to her. The way she’s been looking at you, there’s no way this isn’t something.”
I shake my head and take a breath to tell him all the rational reasons why going to her would be a bad idea.
I leave in six days.
I don’t lead a normal life.
I have nothing to give, aside from my heart, all my soul, and the rest of my days to her if she wants them, but that’s not enough, is it?
Not enough when I’m gone for months on end, not enough when I’m hundreds of thousands of miles away from her, thinking about her, making us both miserable.
It would be complicated. It could end up badly.
It isn’t worth exploring, not when our time is already running out before it has even started.
Is it?
I look away from Jonny’s concerned face and down at myself, my heart screaming that it’s fucking not.
It could be worth it, so worth it, and I don’t really have a choice when the thought of not going to her or walking away from this without at least her name and number is so painful it’s like an iron vise around my heart.
Then I look toward my little babydoll and any hesitation flows out the window when I see she’s no longer sitting on her stool but running toward the darkened, empty shore, that motherfucking son of a bitch scrambling after her with an evil glint in his eye.
My body is springing into action before I’m even aware and I’m running after them, my heart in my throat.
She looked fucking scared. No one scares what’s mine, this limpdick loser just pissed off the wrong guy.
Prologue Part 3
KENNA
August 15, 2015
I’m clinging to Wyatt’s hard body like a spider monkey as he carries me through the hall of the bed and breakfast and then up the stairs, past about the double I was sharing with Veronica and into his own larger suite, the one with the big four-poster bed in which I’ve spent every night of this week with his arms around me and my head on his chest.
We took a look at each other and we just knew.
Veronica left me here and headed back to Jacksonville, she thinks I’m crazy to be acting like this, but I can’t help it if I love him so much and I don’t care if it’s fast, irresponsible, rash and any other bad word in the book, because it doesn’t matter, not to us.
Wyatt says we are it, that we’re so sure because our souls know it’s true and he’s right: that’s why we feel like we have always known each other even if we have just met. That’s why it’s so easy to lie in his embrace every night as we waive tales of the life we are going to live. I’ve told him every little thing I’ve ever dreamed of, every little thing that I’ve ever hoped for and held nothing back as I shared with him all the things that scare me.
He smiles at me and takes away my every doubt, makes me feel like I’m worth loving, like for once in my life I really belong.
The first time we kissed, my first kiss ever, I felt as if my soul was pouring into his and his into mine.
I thought I could never survive to be ever kept apart from him for more than an hour at a time, that I would wilt like a flower in a frozen land if we couldn’t be together always, then Wyatt told me about having to leave, not for an hour or for a day, but for six months.
Wyatt has explained that while conventional Army units deploy for twelve months at a time before returning home for another year or so, Rangers’ rotations tend to last only three to six months, but with far less stateside time in between.
Which means until he’s on active duty we would be spending extended periods of time apart and only a few weeks together, which effing sucks.
I could not speak for a full minute after he told me.
It was just too darn painful.
We were on the beach, holding onto each other while the waters of the Atlantic raged on and the sky above us seemed to lose all of its stars when he said it.
Our love is the real thing, but our timing is the absolute worst.
Six months or more of waiting for him, after only a week together. Six months of worrying that he could get hurt, six months with little news to be had because my Wyatt is special forces and a Ranger. Tomorrow he gets deployed to somewhere in the Middle East and he can’t even tell me where or why because his unit will be running a non-conventional op.
So I’ve been plastered to him all day, soaking in as much as I can of him, so it can hold me over until he comes back to me because meeting your soulmate is wonderful, but having to let them go after a single week sucks.
I feel tears prick my eyes again and I sniffle into his neck.
I don’t want him to feel any more awful than he does already, this is difficult for both of us and while it’s not nice to be the one that gets to be left behind, it’s not like he’s going out to party, Wyatt’s older and he has responsibility, he’s under oath to protect our nation’s interests and our people and to make the world a safer place. If anything, his dedication to duty and his brave, selfless heart make me fall even more in love with him, but I still hate this.
Damn, I don’t want to cry again.
I told myself I wouldn’t. Not on our last night together, but I’ve been keeping this bottled up since he told me the first night on the shore where he saved me.
The second day was bad. We kept to ourselves, just kissing, cuddling, and feeling sorry for ourselves because we were about to be separated, but then we realized how ridiculous it was to waste six days in utter commiseration at the timing and the unfairness of it all, when we could just be together.
We decided we would just put it out of our minds until unavoidable so we could focus on getting to know each other unhindered by the gloomy prospect of his imminent deployment. And that’s exactly what we have done since then.
We laughed, cuddled, kissed, talked, fooled around, explored Plumeria, and joked around with Wyatt’s best friend, Jonny, and generally ignored the ticking clock.
Today has been different, though. Today time is running out on us.
Wyatt’s large, strong hands stroke over my lower back in slow, comforting circles.
“Please don’t cry anymore, babydoll, I’m so sorry I have to leave you. I’d give anything to stay with you if I could, you know that don’t you?” he asks.
I nod, my arms tightening around his neck as his own fasten over my back. “I do, I just… I’m going to miss you so much, love.” I tell him.
He kisses the top of my head. “I know, I know. I’ll miss you too, Kenna. You know how much I love you. I don’t even know how am I going to ever get on that plane tomorrow.”
“I don’t know how am I going to let you go,” I whisper, my eyes blurring again.
Our lips meet mid-air as we simultaneously move in for a kiss.
For long minutes, our mouths and tongues explore the undisclosed passion we have yet to unleash, our bodies trembling with all the things we haven’t shared.
We don’t stop until my heart is pounding against his and we’re both gasping for air, then Wyatt walks us to the bed and rolls us onto the mattress until he’s on his back and I’m curled into his side, our flip-flops falling on the floor as he reaches with his arm around me to pull me even closer.