When I See You by Katherine Owen

Author:Katherine Owen [Owen, Katherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Writing Works Group
Published: 2011-12-20T05:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 15. Catalyst

Jordan

April 28th. The day taunts me from the page. We spent a lot of time planning for that day. Ethan and me. It was the day he was supposed to return home from Afghanistan. For good. Now? It doesn't matter. He's home all right, buried in the cemetery, here in Austin. The loss of him weighs me down. I didn't think it would be so hard to see the date on the page, but it is. My hands begin to shake, and I put Brock's release papers down on the desk and clasp my hands together to keep them from trembling.

"So, it looks like you're approaching a kind of deadline, within a three- week range, where they won't recall you back to serve your term, unless you're medically fit to return." My voice has this lyrical quality to it. I sound like his mother. I catch my lip between my teeth and have to hope he didn't notice the catch in my voice.

"Unless I can see," he says.

"Yes."

"A few more weeks then, hoping for a fucking miracle," he mutters.

"Yes."

"Do you have any in mind?"

Brock's attempt to be flippant doesn't quite work. His distress is still palpable. He has this stoic, proud look as he sits across the desk from me, but, I notice his hands shake just before he clasps them behind his head. He leans back in the chair and sighs.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"I know."

I sink back against the chair across from him and nervously tap its leather surface in a regular rhythm.

The room is cold, and so are we.

He leans forward, rubs his eyes for a moment, and then holds his face in his hands. I'm overwhelmed with sympathy and something else.

"I just want to see."

"I know," I say. "But then, you'd have to go back."

"I want to go back. My whole team is there. They need me."

With irritation, I grab the sheaf of papers, lean across the massive desk, and shove the documents his way. He looks disconcerted by my sudden action and fumbles with a key, and after a few unsuccessful attempts, unlocks one of the desk drawers and throws the paperwork inside. He barely misses his fingers when he slams it shut and turns the lock with the key.

"God damn it," he says in a low voice. He looks so unhappy.

I experience this unexpected urge to reach out to him. I blink rapidly and attempt to get a handle on my emotions. I press my body back further into the chair as physical distance from this man becomes paramount. What the hell is wrong with me? I touch my forehead and feel the instant heat. What do I want him to do? Why do I have this inexplicable need to beg him not to return to Afghanistan? These confusing thoughts race through me as this out of control heat surges. With rapid clarity, I realize that I'm scared for him. For me. I care about him. The revelation rushes through me like adrenalin. I get even more light-headed and feel undone all at once.

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