Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
I want babies with her.
Only her.
I have up to six months to work on a plan to keep her. This marriage is real to me. It’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, and I plan to fight like hell to keep her.
Faith Anthony is mine.
My phone vibrates as we pull up to the airfield. Quickly, I check it. My heart squeezes when I see her name. I swiftly changed her contact information from Faith to My Wife. Not that I need the reminder, but I like seeing those two words on my screen.
My Wife: Just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you. Please be safe. Check in when you can.
Me: I’m always thinking about you, wife. I’ll be safe, because I have someone really important to come home to. We’re getting ready to board. I’ll be silent for a while, but I’ll check in with you when I can.
My Wife: We’re heading to check out the house. Married housing just called and said it’s available. I’ll text you the address.
Me: Thank you for taking care of that. I’m sorry to dump this on you.
My Wife: Meh, I get to put Ford to work. It keeps him young.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I love her. Not just love her as my best friend but love her because she’s my entire world.
Me: You do that. I’ll reach out when I can.
I love you.
My Wife: I miss you already.
Me: I miss you too, baby.
I hate to stop texting her. I have to force myself to put my phone on airplane mode as we board our flight. I could have stood on that bus forever texting her, but that’s not my reality. I have a job to do—a dangerous job, and although I love my family and have often felt guilty for leaving them, that guilt has never been stronger than it is right now.
I’m supposed to be lying in bed with her gorgeous body wrapped around mine as we plan our future as husband and wife. Instead, I’m headed to what I’m sure is going to be the hot as hell desert while she starts her new job, her new life, without me by her side.
This fucking blows.
Boarding the plane, I insert my earbuds and close my eyes. I don’t want to talk to anyone, anyway. I want to sit in silence and pout because I miss my wife. I miss the feel of her soft skin and the taste of her lips against mine. I’m worried she’ll forget what it feels like to be in my arms. I’m worried that she’s going to build this new life that I’m not a part of.
It’s going to be hard, but I’m going to write to her as much as I can, even if I can’t mail them right away. I’m going to remind her every fucking day that she’s my wife. Then, when I get home, we’ll talk about forever, because that’s what we are.
We’re forever.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
The desert.
It’s dry and hot as fuck. We made it to where we’re going to be for the next four to six months, and I’ve never missed home more. I’m trained for this. I knew what to expect, but to be here and be living it, that’s altogether different.
We’re set up in tents, with cots inside for when we get to sleep. There are long hours ahead of us. We have a command station tent that has a couple of computers and a few cell phones, but we’re so far out, I don’t know what kind of connection there will be. That knowledge has my heart racing. I can’t go that long without communication with her. I can’t do it.
“Hey, they said mail leaves and delivers once a week,” Erik tells me. He tosses his bag on his cot that’s next to mine and starts to unpack his belongings into the trunk at the foot of his cot.
“Once a week.” I nod. “That’s better than never.”
“Yeah, that’s seven days without hearing from them. Last time, Hannah wrote so many letters, I got a stack each mail day. I would save one a day, going in order of the postmarks just to feel like I have a new piece of her each day. I responded to every one of them in a separate letter in case she wanted to do the same.”
I’m already nodding before he’s even finished talking. “I like that idea. I’ll do that too.”
Lifting my bag up on the cot, I unzip to start unpacking, and a white envelope catches my attention. I pull it out, and stare at the handwriting that’s undeniably my wife’s.
Turning, I sit down on the bed and stare at the envelope. I don’t know why, but I lift it to my face and inhale deeply, trying to catch her scent. It smells like her. Closing my eyes, I can almost feel her sitting next to me.