More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5) (29 page)

“I don’t think I’ve ever been jealous of a dog before.”

She smiles, her eyes clear again. “You want to see him?”

“Yeah.”

She moves off screen for a moment, then returns with the puppy in her arms, his face next to hers. “There’s Daddy, Bacon. Say hi.” She grabs his paw and makes him wave.

“You better be taking care of Mamma,” I say.

He jumps out of her hold and she frowns. “I think he needs to go on a potty break.”

“You need to take him out?”

“No. Cameron installed a doggy door and he’s trained to go out on his own.”

My smile widens. “Cameron’s been around?”

“They all have. And your dad and Eric, too. Eric set up a security system—”

“He did? Why didn’t I think of that?”

She nods. “He didn’t like me answering the door when I was home alone.”

“He’s a good man,” I tell her. “What else has been going on?”

She shrugs. “Not much. Just missing you.”

“But they’re all taking care of you?”

“Yes, baby.”

“And you—you’re okay?”

She nods.

“And the drinking?”

“No. I’m not drinking.”

“No urge?”

A second’s pause. A moment’s hesitation. “No.”

“Riley. Don’t lie to me.”

She inhales deeply and lets it out in a
whoosh
. “I’ve thought about it. But I wouldn’t do it, Dylan. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

“Good.”

“Don’t worry about me, babe. Not with everything else you have going on. I’m okay. I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, is there somewhere I can send you stuff? Do you guys need anything?”

“Probably. Dave will know—” and right on cue, I hear him say, “We gotta go. Meeting.”

“Fuck,” I spit.

“Already?” Riley whines. “That was so fast.”

“I know, Ry, but I have to. I think we’re still here tomorrow so I’ll try to call again.”

Dave walks over and bends so his face appears on camera. “Hey Boo,” he says.

Riley laughs and waves at the screen. “Hi Dave.”

I cover Dave’s eyes. “Ry, flash me your tits real quick.”

“Dylan!”

Dave tries to pry my fingers off his face. I don’t budge. “Come on!” I plead. “I’m a desperate, deployed man and I’m missing my girl.”

She bites down on her lip, her gaze lowered.

Dave’s trying to shrug out of my hold now. I keep him in place. “Quick, baby,” I say through a chuckle. “If you love me you would.”

“You just love my boobs,” she retorts. “Bye boys!”

“Did I miss it?” Dave yells, his view still covered by my hands.

Riley adds, “You’re lucky I love you so much.” Then she reaches up, quickly unbuttons my shirt she’s wearing, grips the sides and spreads her arms wide, smirking as she does.

Swear, I’m the luckiest asshole in the world.

Riley

I
pace the
kitchen, checking the time for the millionth time. It’s 6:00 a.m. On the dot. I haven’t slept. He said he’d call. Last night he called at 3. He should’ve called already. I check my phone again. 100% charge. Full volume on the ringer. I open the Skype app to quadruple check there are no missed calls. There aren’t.

Panic sets in.

Tears fill my eyes.

He wouldn’t have said he’d call if he couldn’t.

Something’s wrong. I can feel it.

I look at Bacon, fast asleep on his bed. I check the time again. 6:01.

I pace faster, my hands balling and straightening at my sides.

They’d tell me, right? If something were wrong, they’d call? No. They just show up at the door. I’ve seen it in movies. Read it in books. They don’t call.

Did he even change the address on his forms? Or whatever the fuck they have to do to let whoever the fuck know to go to wherever the fuck so they can notify if something happened.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. He probably didn’t change the address.

Without a second thought, I grab my keys, not bothering to dress and jump in my car.

I pull up to Dylan’s dad’s house and check the time on the dash. 6:02.

If it’s physically possible to have your heart beat and die at the same time, that’s what mine’s doing. I step out of the car and march to the front door, my adrenaline and fear overshadowing any sense in the situation. I knock, hard and loud, and when a few seconds pass and no one answers I start to yell and pound my fist.

Eric answers wearing nothing but his boxers, his eyes half asleep at first but when he sees me and my obvious state, he seems to wake up. “What’s wrong?” he rushes out, pulling me inside.

“He didn’t call!”

“What?”

“He said he’d call and he didn’t call. Have you heard anything?”

“Riley!” He grasps my elbows. “Slow down.” Then over his shoulder, he shouts. “Dad! Riley’s here.” He bends down and looks in my eyes—my tear-filled, panicked eyes. “Take a breath, try to calm down. And start again. Please.”

Mal appears down the hall, tying his robe. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

I try to take Eric’s advice.

Breathe.
Calm
. Speak. “Dylan called last night.” I shake my head quickly. “Not last night, but the night before. And he said he’d call again and he hasn’t. Something happened to him. Did you get a call or—”

“Riley,” Eric cuts me off, grasping my elbows tighter. “Did Dylan say he would definitely call? Or did he say he’d try? Because we can’t make those kinds of promises.”

“I—” I try to think of Dylan’s exact words but nothing comes to mind.

Sydney’s up now, her look of worry matching everyone else’s.

“Sweetheart,” Mal says, coming to me and placing his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure he would’ve called if he could. There are just so many uncertainties over there, it’s impossible…”

Eric releases his hold on me and leans against the wall, his chest rising and falling as he runs his hand through his hair. “So you haven’t heard anything?
Official
, I mean.”

“No but—”

His dad and he share a look—one of relief.

Sydney asks, “Do you want me to get your mom, Riley?”

I nod, tears releasing with my sob.

“Come on,” Mal says, his hand still on my shoulder as he leads me to the kitchen. He sits me down on a chair and switches on the coffee pot. Then leans against the counter, Eric beside him. They’re looking at me with pity in their eyes and I know what they’re thinking, because I think it too. I’ve just never voiced it. Not until now. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

“For what?” Eric asks.

“For this. This military life.”

Silence fills the air as I look down at the table, my tears flowing fast and free. Then, unable to keep it in anymore, I release a truth that even I didn’t want to believe. “I thought I could handle it but I can’t. I wanted to believe so badly that I was strong enough for this but I’m not. I can’t deal with another death and I feel like that’s what I’m waiting for. For someone to knock on my door and tell me that another person I love is dead and I can’t. I just can’t.” I wipe my tears, my words strained as I look up at them. “I love him. I do. You know I do, but—”

The back door opens and my mom appears. She’s in her pajamas, her eyes glassy as she looks over at me, Sydney behind her. “Oh, honey,” she coos. Then she smiles. “You’ve had a bad night, huh?”

I nod, releasing yet another sob.

She lifts the packet of bacon in her hands. “Will this help?”

I nod again, and even though I feel like a child—a sad, heartbroken child—having them here, having them understand—it helps.

In hushed tones, Eric, Sydney and my mom make breakfast while I focus on the table, waiting for my heart to settle.

“Riley?” Mal says, standing on the other side of the table. His voice is low, barely a whisper. “I’d like to show you something, if you don’t mind.”

He leads me
down the hallway to his bedroom. I’d never been inside before but I just assumed it would be like Dylan’s—sparse and covered in flannel. So you can imagine my surprise when he opens the door to a beautiful dark timber setting and white cotton sheets with a knitted throw at the end. He must see the shock on my face because he chuckles, low and gruff, just like Dylan. “It helps remind me of Ruby; Dylan’s mother. It’s the only space in the house that has any form of feminine touch.” He sighs. “Twenty-three years she’s been gone and I still can’t find it in myself to change the washing detergent she used. Smells like her, you know?”

It’s the most he’s spoken about her and I wonder why.
Out loud
. Then kick myself for doing so.

He doesn’t seem to mind though. He just points to a beautiful armchair in the corner of the room and indicates for me to sit while he goes to his closet. “I made the decision early not to talk about her too much around Dylan. I didn’t want him feeling left out if Eric and I speak about our memories of her since he never knew her.”

“I’ve met her,” I tell him, my hands gliding across the fabric of the seat.

From inside his closet, he asks, “Oh, yeah?”

“Dylan took me to meet her right when we started dating.”

“He did, huh?” he responds, walking out with a shoebox. Then he stops in his tracks. “Has he mentioned anything… about us not talking about her too much? Would he like us to?”

I shrug. “To be honest, I think it’s something he thinks about but doesn’t really talk about…”

He nods and continues his path toward me. Then, carefully, he places the shoebox on my lap. “Take a look,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed a couple feet away from me.

I lift the lid.
Letters
. So many letters addressed to
My love, Malvin
, but no addresses. I look up at him.

“She wrote me all these letters while I was deployed in Panama. I never knew about them until she passed and I was clearing out the closet to move here.”

I take a calming breath, wondering why he’s telling me all this. Not just telling me, but showing me. “So you’d never read them before then?”

He shakes his head. “She didn’t write them for
me
, Riley. She wrote them for herself. I guess it helped keep me close and make the distance easier to deal with.”

“And why… I mean, why are you showing me?”

He smiles. “I think there’s a lot you can learn from these letters. If not learn, then at least understand. No one is
cut out
for this life but we make it work. Because that’s exactly what life is, sweetheart. Work. And in the end, it pays off. I know—I have two amazing boys as proof.”

I spend the
rest of the day in Dylan’s bed, surrounded by tissues and letters filled with immeasurable heartache and longing and fear, but also joy and love and excitement and questions of the future. And plans—there were so many plans Ruby Banks made with a man oceans away, doing exactly what Dylan is—helping to provide a life better than the one we know.

Every letter starts the same. She loves him. She misses him.

Some are sad, some are funny, but most of them just spoke about him. About her memories of him which she missed dearly. Memories that reminded me so much of Dylan that I spent most of the time with my hand to my mouth to stop from crying out loud.

There were also a few pictures in the box. Mainly of her taken over the years, even one of her pregnant with Eric going by the date stamp.

But there was one letter that hit me right in the feels. One that changed my outlook on everything. She told him about all the unsent, unread letters and she promised he’d never see them. At least not while he was deployed. She wanted him to focus on absolutely nothing but getting home to her. Safe. So they can continue making the memories she holds so close.

And when she ended the letter with “Fuck the oceans,” I lie down on the bed, her letter against my chest, listening to the silence that surrounds me and release the fear of grief.

I connect to a woman whose words give me a sense of calm, of hope and of understanding—long after her last breath.

Ruby Banks—she was something else.

She was brave, she was funny, and she put love first.

She was an exceptional woman.

And she was everything I hope to be.

Dylan

“Y
ou think this
is enough?” Dave mumbles, sitting against a wall of what I’m sure was once someone’s home… now ours for the night.

I pocket the picture of Riley I’d been staring at and face him. “What’s enough?”

“What we’re doing? You think we’re saving the world?”

I shrug. “You think that’s our purpose?” I ask him, my weapon to my chest, finger off the trigger. We hadn’t heard anything since the sun set. Our duties are done for the day—at least me and Dave’s—and I plan on spending the next couple hours trying to get some sleep.

Apparently Dave has other plans. He likes to save these philosophical conversations for the times when we’re alone. He ignores my question and asks, “You ever regret it?”

“Regret what?” I shuffle further down the wall until I’m lying on my back looking up at him.

He shakes his head. “Nothin’.” After a pause, he smiles. “I miss my fuckin’ mom, man. And my brothers.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some photographs. “Ricky had a birthday party. They sent me photos.”

“Ricky’s the youngest, right?” I take the pictures from him.

“Yep,” he says, his pride evident. “Just turned seven.” He points to the picture. “They all dressed up as Minions.”

I study the photograph: Three boys standing next to each other in bright yellow shirts underneath blue denim overalls. They have the same red hair and freckles as Davey. Same identical smiles. “They look happy,” I tell him, moving to the next picture of Ricky blowing out the candles on his cake and I find myself smiling. “Maybe being here is different for everyone, Dave. Maybe we’re not here to save the world, or maybe we are. But in the end, you saved them—your mom and your brothers. You think they’d be smiling like that if your old man were still home beating the shit out of you and your mom? They’re your
purpose
and you’re their
reason
.”

He’s quiet as he takes the pictures from me, a solid frown on his lips. “Yeah… you’re right. I guess sometimes I forget that.”