PART TWO
Come Let Me Love You
~2007~
"You've got mail, girl."
Lucy doesn't hear the announcement over the strumming sounds of "Rocky Mountain High" blaring through her earbuds. She jumps when an envelope sails through the air, landing with a slap and a skid across the open pages of the journal article she's annotating. Glancing up, she sees Julia, her redheaded loudmouth of a roommate, watching her with crossed arms and a knowing smile. "G.I. Gorgeous writes again, huh?"
Lucy rolls her eyes and tugs her earbuds out of her ears before picking up the envelope. Joy surges instantly from her heart to the tips of her fingers and toes when she sees her name formed by the rickety letters that line the front of the envelope. That boxy handwriting is practically tattooed on her brain.
"You know how it feeds his ego when you call him that. Last time he was here, he kept trying to insist that I call him that. He doesn't need the flattery. And he's my friend, Jules. He's pretty much my best friend."
"I can't believe the two of you still write actual letters. I mean, I know you're all about the past, but you realize things have progressed, right? Why don't you try emailing or texting?"
Lucy shakes her head and smiles down at the envelope, brushing off her friend's skepticism. "We do text and email when we can, but letters actually work better when he's deployed. Besides, I like handwritten letters. There's something more personal about putting pen to paper. I like seeing ink smudges and imperfect handwriting. He knows that, so he humors me. It just feels more real for some reason.."
"Feels more romantic, you mean," Julia singsongs, her messy top-knot wobbling as she shakes her head teasingly.
"We're friends," Lucy repeats firmly.
"You send him care packages," Julia points out dryly. She settles against the door frame, looking quite comfortable in yoga pants and a Stanford t-shirt. This could take awhile.
"Who else is going to do it? His grandfather isn't exactly the sentimental type," Lucy insists. She knows that Sherwin sends the occasional note, but more often than not he depends on Lucy to keep him apprised of the goings-on in Wyatt's life. She likes to call him and fill him in each time she receives a letter, and oftentimes he'll relay short messages that he feels are pressing enough to be shared. She and Sherwin have become something of a team in their shared mission to support and love Wyatt Logan.
But Julia remains undeterred and the verbal rally continues. "He sends you survival kits for finals."
Lucy scoffs, "He sends me coffee and snacks. Mostly because he knows I'll wither and die in a forgotten corner of the library if he doesn't."
"He sent you flowers for your birthday."
"Yellow roses mean friendship."
Julia rolls her eyes skeptically before looking pointedly at the framed photo on Lucy's desk. It's the one Sherwin had taken of them when Wyatt had graduated from Basic Training. The one of the two of them laughing like idiots at the camera she stands tucked into his side, his arm looped familiarly around her narrow waist, gripping the fabric of her dress like he's afraid she'll disappear.
She still remembers agonizing over her choice to wear that striped sundress. She can vividly recall her efforts to tame her hair into unusually sleek waves. And she can still picture the admiring look Wyatt had given her when he'd seen her that day. She remembers the way his buddies had looked at him upon meeting her. And she remembers the way he hadn't corrected a single one of the incorrect references to her as Wyatt's girlfriend. It's the reason the dress is still hanging in her closet despite the fact that it has long since gone out of style.
"Have you told him about Mr. Right Now?" Julia wonders innocently.
"Will you stop calling him that? He has a name." Lucy finally slams her book shut and sits up.
Julia prods further. "So does it bother Noah that you have a framed photo of yourself with a guy who isn't him?"
"Why should it? He knows all about Wyatt. And Noah and I...we just aren't like that."
"What? Romantic? Yeah, I've noticed. He's drop-dead gorgeous, Lucy. He's a med student. He treats you like a queen. Your mom actually approves. You should be in the head-over-heels-just-want-to-spend-all-your-time-together phase. Instead, you two are just...boring."
Lucy rolls her eyes. "You're as bad as Amy, you know that? What I meant is that we aren't jealous. Not every relationship has to be nonstop passion and desire. Noah and I get along. We enjoy each other's company. We have similar aspirations."
"My God. Stop. I'm dying of jealousy," Julia deadpans. She shakes her head and explains, "Here's the problem." She gestures to the framed photo once more. "Mr. Right is right there. And I'm willing to bet he's going to be less than thrilled to meet Mr. Right Now."
Lucy chews mindlessly at her lip and shakes her head fervently, insisting, "No. We've known each other for years now. He just doesn't see me like that. And believe me, I'm not under any illusion that he's been a monk over the past few years. If the number of names he's dropped in conversation are any indication, the line of girls he's dated would probably wrap around the block. He's not exactly pining for me. That much is clear. He's happy with the way things are." There's a wistful lilt in her tone as she glances back over at the frame photo.
"And what about what you?" Julia probes kindly. "What about what you want? Have you told him?"
"I want Wyatt in my life," Lucy retorts quickly, her tone strangely bright. "I'm lucky to have him as a friend."
Julia eyes her suspiciously, unconvinced by the performance, but she recognizes the finality of Lucy's claim, so she nods silently before retreating from the room.
Lucy tears excitedly into the envelope once she hears the telltale snick of her bedroom door closing. Leaning over the side of her bed, she pulls out an old decorative hat box and hefts it up onto her bedspread. Inside is a substantial mound of old letters, a colorful assortment of squares and rectangles with frayed and torn envelopes. Her name looks the same on every single one, and the sight of it feels warm and familiar, almost as much as the throaty caress of his voice across each syllable when he has the opportunity to call her.
She doesn't even have to open each envelope. If asked, she could arrange them in order from earliest to latest, longest to shortest, happiest to saddest, or by any other ordering principle one might think of.
There are the letters exchanged during his time in Georgia. Mostly awkward small talk in a desperate attempt to stay connected while avoiding the topic of that night.
There's the letter he sent her to request that she attend his graduation from Basic training. And there's her response — a wholehearted acceptance of his invitation.
There are the letters exchanged during his advanced training when he so vividly described the friends he made along the way: Oscar and Rob and Adrian, guys that she has met multiple times since and has come to think of as friends of her own.
Then there are the letters he sent to inform her that he was being stationed at Fort Carson in Colorado, which was welcome news to both of them since it was quick flight for each of them when they had their respective breaks from school and work. And there are the written accounts of the shenanigans and adventures he shared with his buddy Matty, a guy who had quickly become a friend, a right-hand man, and a huge fan of Lucy.
The envelopes are all different colors and different sizes, but together they are the patchwork story of their relationship: agonizing deployments, stressful graduate courses, grating family drama, and life-threatening missions. But through it all, a steadfast thread of support and encouragement and a constant wish to be together once again.
This deployment has felt even longer than the last one, which she never would have believed could be true. He's been gone for almost eight months already, and while she misses him tremendously, she also knows that the end is nearing and he will return to her soon.
She turns her attention to the newest letter, and settles back into the plush nest of pillows on her bed as she begins to read.
Lucy,
Let the countdown begin! I can't tell you how ready I am to get home and to see you. I even miss Sherwin and his grumpy ass. I'm sorry to hear that things didn't work out with Grrrrrant! — except that I'm really not because the guy sounded like a total tool. You deserve better. And tell Julia I approve of the nickname. I trust her judgment and appreciate her honest assessment of these idiots...where do you find these guys? Anyway, I have to tell you about the monumentally stupid thing that Matty did the other day...
She dates. Well, she's dated. There's been a long and monotonous list of first dates, a slightly shorter list of tedious seconds, and then a relatively limited collection of third and final dates. And among those there have been a few winners who have managed to graduate to relationship status. There was John, the European History TA, who quickly became known as Just John around the apartment because "That's just John" became Lucy's tagline for all of the annoying things he would do when he would visit the apartment. Nitpick and correct during casual conversations? That's just John. Make the weakest pot of coffee known to man? That's just John. Occasionally refer to himself in the third person? That's just John. After John had come Blah-Blah-Blake, the nonstop talker. And most recently had been Grant or Grrrrant! as Julia had called him due to the inhuman level of energy and enthusiasm he possessed—it was enough to put Tony the Tiger to shame.
She chuckles as she reads through the rest of his letter, appreciating his ability to effectively convey the ridiculousness of so many of the antics of his colleagues. She smiles when she reaches the end and sees the usual parting words:
Miss you more than you even know. See you (sort of) soon.
—Wyatt
Immediately, Lucy pushes all of her study materials aside and retrieves a fresh sheet of stationery from her desk. Julia's right—she could email him—but she likes the intimacy of actually penning her thoughts. She twirls her favorite pen thoughtfully as she ponders her words, and then she begins to write, reveling in the scratch of the ballpoint against the heavy cream page.
Dear Wyatt,
Thank you so much for your condolences regarding Grant. I'll have you know he was not a tool...he was just enthusiastic. Maybe a bit too enthusiastic, I'll admit, but you can't fault the guy for loving life.
I do have news on that front, however, because now my mother is trying to marry me off. To be fair, I do have to say that he's actually relatively normal. Even Julia admits that he's a vast improvement over the guys I've dated before. (I know, I know. You're thinking that the bar isn't super high, but trust me, okay? He's not bad.) He's a third-year med student named Noah, and he's nice, so maybe I should give him a chance.
I don't know. Amy thinks he's boring, but her current life goal is to become independently wealthy as a fashion blogger, so I'm not sure I can trust her judgment.
I can't wait for you to get back. I don't know how people do this on a regular basis. Let's get In-N-Out when you're here, okay? Your treat though. I'm a starving student after all.
See you (in person!) soon!
Lucy
Wyatt crumples the letter, rolling it between his palms until it's a hard ivory sphere. He always keeps her letters. He's got a whole box of them. But he's trying to forget he ever read this one.
"What the hell's up with you?" Matty prods with a confused scowl. "You've been snapping and snarling like a rabid dog ever since…" Realization washes over him, and understanding lights in his eyes. "Did you get Dear John'd by Luce? Because I've seen how that girl looks at you, man, and…"
"How the hell do you get Dear John'd when you're not even in a relationship?" Wyatt snaps irritably. "And I can assure you she's not looking at me right now. Apparently her mom is trying to set her up with some other asshole. Trying to help her forget about me, no doubt."
"Okay, man. First of all, you need to calm the fuck down. There's no way Lucy has fallen for another guy. That girl is all about Wyatt Logan." He chuckles. "I still think it's hilarious that the two of you are rolling with this 'just friends' thing. You've kept this charade going for how many years now?" He repeats, "There's no way she's fallen for anyone who's not the almighty Wyatt Logan."
"Well, feel free to write her and tell her that, because I'm not sure she realizes that," Wyatt grumbles sullenly.
"Wait a minute. I'm confused. Didn't you just tell me that you aren't in a relationship?"
"Well, we aren't," Wyatt points out.
"But you're sitting here, pissed because she might be seeing someone else? I mean, what is she supposed to do? Sit around and wait for her friend to come home? Girl's gotta get her kicks somehow. You can't be mad at her for that."
"I'm not mad at her," Wyatt assures him.
Matty nods slowly. "Okay, so you're pissed at yourself." He gestures to the photo Wyatt has tacked next to his bed. The one from his graduation. The one with the damned striped dress that nearly ended him on sight. "She's a beautiful girl, Wyatt. If you don't let her know how you feel, someone else is going to sweep her off her feet. Why does that surprise you?"
"He's not good enough for her," Wyatt insists stubbornly, still idly rolling the crumpled letter between his fingers.
"Have you met the guy?"
Wyatt is silent, but his posture is rigid and his jaw ticks slightly as he attempts to feign nonchalance. He pinches the letter even harder between his forefinger and his thumb.
Lifting his hands in surrender, Matty backs away before remarking, "I'm going to take that as a no."
"I don't have to meet the guy. I just know, okay? She sells herself short. She's too damn good, and she doesn't always demand what she deserves."
"Okay, man. Let me ask you this. When was the last time you were in a relationship?" He watches Wyatt intently, waiting for an answer.
"Uh...does Caitlin ring a bell?" Wyatt replies smugly.
Matty chortles and shakes his head. "I said a relationship. Not a drunken night on the town."
"Allison."
"You went on two dates."
"Gabby."
"Yeah, that wasn't a relationship so much as it was the two of you yelling at each other and then occasionally fucking out your frustrations." Matty frowns. "And she hated Lucy, by the way. Said you were obsessed. No, man, I'm talking a real-live healthy relationship. Like...dinner dates and movies and hanging out in t-shirts and sweats and cooking dinner together. Normal shit like that."
Wyatt avoids Matty's probing stare. There's only one person he's done those things with, and it sure as hell isn't Caitlin or Allison or Gabby. In fact, he's pretty sure that's part of the reason things hadn't worked out with Caitlin or Allison or Gabby. None of them had been big Lucy fans, which he hadn't understood at the time. How could anyone not love Lucy?
"Okay, let me try something else. Who was the last person you spoke to at home?"
With a begrudging grumble, Wyatt replies, "Lucy."
"And the last person you Skyped?"
"Lucy."
"Last email you wrote? Who was it sent to?"
Wyatt rolls his eyes, mumbling, "Lucy."
"And obviously the last letter you received was from Lucy, so let me ask you this...have you spoken to anyone who isn't Lucy Preston?"
"I talk to Sherwin," Wyatt insists stubbornly.
Matty laughs and claps Wyatt heartily on the back, "I've got news for you, buddy. The last time you were in a relationship is right now." He gestures once again at the tacked-up photo of Lucy. "With her. You'd just better make sure she knows it."
You're being ridiculous. She's a friend," he replies. But he doesn't even believe himself. He doesn't know what Lucy is to him. Is she a friend? She seems like more. He can't remember ever wanting to be around another person as much as he wants to be around Lucy. She's a craving—an addiction. She makes him feel good about himself. She makes him feel excited about life and the world. Is that what friends do? Or is she something special? Something more? One thing he does know, he's certainly not going to hash this inner-conflict out with Matty. So he keeps it simple. And vague.
"She's a friend," he repeats unnecessarily.
"Sure," Matty replies with a shake of his head. "Whatever you say." He looks disappointed.
He looks the way Wyatt feels.
He likes to surprise her when he comes home. She always has a general idea of when to expect him, but he never calls before he shows up. He likes knowing that her joyous reaction is a genuine one. The knowledge that someone wants him around is still like a balm to his war torn soul — even after all these years.
He tosses his duffel in the back of the truck, but not before he tugs a photo, the photo, from the zipped side-pocket.
A tangle of ragged ridges run up, down, and across the image so that it's no longer glossy to the touch. She's laughing at something — he can't remember what — and he's watching her with a lightness on his face that he hardly recognizes. It's a physical tether to a version of himself he likes better than anything he's been before. The photo has become a touchstone of sorts, and it's been tucked and rolled and folded into countless pockets, duffels, and consoles as he's trekked around the world. There's even one particularly pronounced crease that runs a purposeful path through his eyes. Her face, though, is still blessedly smooth — he's made sure of it. The humor in her eyes is so vibrant in the image that he can almost hear her belly-laughing even now. Her laugh is a wonder. She laughs loudly and deeply and unapologetically, and it's one of his favorite things about her.
Tucking the photo into the small storage tray in the console of his truck, he starts the engine. He makes a mental note to get a new copy of the photo before he leaves again.
He thinks it might time for a few new things this time around.
Lucy lives in a two bedroom university-subsidized apartment with her roommate, an outgoing law student named Julia. He likes Julia. She's no bullshit. She looks out for Lucy. And Julia likes him back.
Julia also doesn't say anything (aside from a whispered "GI Gorgeous!" in greeting) when she opens the front door to find him standing on the other side, which allows him the opportunity to knock casually on Lucy's bedroom door and really elevate his surprise-game. He knows she's studying. She always closes the door when she's studying. So she's a little miffed by the interruption when she yanks the door open, wondering who would dare disrupt her. She looks rather comical in worn jeans and a striped t-shirt, her hair working diligently to escape the confines of its high ponytail. He stands silently for several moments, just waiting for her to acknowledge him, and then he laughs loudly as she shrieks, her brain finally processing the sight of him.
"You're here!" she cries out, her elation and disbelief causing a shrillness he's not used to hearing from her.
Within seconds, she's dangling from his neck, her arms linked behind his head and her feet kicked up behind her with intense excitement at his sudden appearance. He wraps her in his arms, as tightly as he can, his cheek against her shoulder, his nose brushing her neck as he breathes her in, inhaling deeply, hoping he can store the rosy scent of her so the memory will last long after they're separated again. They're frozen in place for what seems to be hours, just savoring in the sensory elements of the reunion: the touches and sounds and sights and scents of one another.
When Lucy finally lowers her socked feet back to the floor, she pulls back and they get their first good look at each other. He looks good—lean, and a bit roughened by work and travel—but he looks strong and his eyes are shining and he's watching her with something resembling hunger. Running a self-conscious hand over her messy hair and her faded sweater, she thinks for a moment that she's a total disaster, but then she remembers that it's Wyatt and she doesn't have to care.
She tugs him into her bedroom and shoves him at the bed before closing the door behind them.
"Kinda forward, aren't you?" he teases gently as he drops lazily onto her bed.
She rolls her eyes at the joke and then moves to stand in front of him, her hand outstretched as she watches him expectantly. "Well?" she prompts, playing her role in this well-rehearsed ritual.
"I've got something for you," he answers.
Reaching into his pocket, he catches something in his grasp and then holds out his fist as she waits expectantly. The locket tumbles from his hold and dangles delicately over her open palm before he lowers it carefully into her grasp.
She smiles at the well-loved necklace and then up at him. "Welcome home, soldier," she murmurs sincerely, rising to her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.
He nods as he replies, "Glad to be back, ma'am."
They head to In-N-Out for a very fancy welcome-home meal—his treat, as promised—and they work to catch up on all of the little details that fell through the cracks of their dedicated letter writing. He's got six weeks of leave coming, and he promises that he will be spending the bulk of it with her, so long as Julia doesn't mind him crashing on their couch.
He hasn't asked about the Noah situation in the two months since she first mentioned him in her letter, but he can't help but make a casual inquiry now.
"Ugh," she groans. "Obnoxious. That's how it is. There's just...no spark with him. I don't mind him, but I don't particularly enjoy his company. Of course, my mother thinks we're soulmates and goes out of her way to push us together every chance she gets.
"So nobody else has triumphed in the Lucy Preston Relationship Challenge, huh?" he queries craftily.
She takes a healthy slurp of her chocolate milkshake and shakes her head. "Nope. I think I break them." She looks momentarily stricken. "Or maybe I'm the broken one."
He's shaking his head before she even finishes the thought. "You're not the broken one. They're just not worthy. Simple as that."
"And you?" Lucy probes curiously, keeping her tone light and vaguely interested. "Was Gabby the last one?"
"Gabby's ancient history," Wyatt confirms.
"Good," Lucy nods. "I don't think she liked me. She didn't look too thrilled the one time we managed to Skype." She sighs, stirring her milkshake with her straw. "Maybe we're both just destined to be alone."
Smiling down into his own vanilla shake, Wyatt shakes his head, murmuring, "I wouldn't be so sure about that."
It all comes to a head after a small party thrown by some of Lucy's colleagues. Since the novelty of Wyatt's presence hasn't come even close to wearing off, she begs him to accompany her.
"Please?" she pleads, her eyes looking huge as she watches him hopefully. "I don't even really want to go, but I promised Julia I'd make an appearance. It's just a small group of grad students from some different departments around campus. I'd rather spend the evening with you."
Her request is so genuine that he can't deny her request, so he soon finds himself in an airy Palo Alto craftsman which probably costs at least twice as much to rent as the amount he takes home each month. There are IPAs and local wines and fancy little finger foods that look like mistakes and taste like feet. And there are people who talk about little more than their respective areas of study.
It annoys him, if he's being honest with himself. It all feels so disingenuous and so far removed from the Lucy he knows and...likes a whole lot.
But she looks beautiful in the wisp of a dress she chose, and she's had her hand in his for most of the night so far, so he's sure as hell not about to complain.
He thinks maybe tonight is the night.
Three people stop her when she leaves Wyatt's side to look for something more edible than what she's seen so far. Who is he? How do you know him? How long have you been dating? And, perhaps most perplexingly, "Where did you find him?"
She gets tired of the constant questions, the constant elbow nudges, the constant raised eyebrows and looks of surprise. She isn't sure what bothers her the most—the fact that people think she's with Wyatt or the fact that they're so surprised that she might be. It's not like she isn't aware that they're an odd pair, but it stings a little to see how shocked people are that she might have ended up with someone like him.
"I mean, you and I both know that Wyatt and I are just friends, but still—is it so shocking that a guy like Wyatt might actually be attracted to me? You know, I'm told that I'm not exactly hideous," Lucy gripes irritably to Julia upon meeting her next to the hors d'oeuvres table.
Julia gives her an odd look. "Someone had to tell you that? No one is surprised that you can land someone like Wyatt. Everyone is just surprised that you're here with someone. Like...with someone. I don't think you realize the effect he has on you, Luce. You're like a different person when he's around. You're normally a bit of an ice queen in social situations."
"That's not — "
"It's true. I love you. And I totally get what Wyatt drools over in you. But you don't exactly make yourself available to people. Normally I have to drag you out here, and then you usually find the dullest, most non-threatening person at the party and lock yourself in conversation with them. It's like you don't actually want people to get to know you."
"He doesn't drool."
"That's what you took from my little soliloquy there? Oh, my sweet friend. You've got it bad. And yes, he drools. I've actually pondered asking you to keep him off the furniture. The other day when you two were watching The Philadephia Story, which, by the way, should have been a billboard-sized sign that he likes you, I thought he was going to put a dent in your skull with the force of his gaze. And there was a puddle on the couch cushion."
Lucy rolls her eyes and gives Julia a playful shove. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not." She pauses to sip her wine, and then continues, "You were watching the movie. He was watching you. I know you study history, Lucy, but just this once? Do the math."
After Lucy is gone for several minutes, Wyatt starts to wander a bit as he searches for her. When he spots her near the snack table, looking like she's in deep conversation with Julia, he decides to help himself to a beer. He's pouring a glass of wine for Lucy when he feels someone approach from behind. He turns slightly, nodding at the dark-haired guy who nods back politely.
"Engineering?" the other man guesses, giving Wyatt an evaluative look.
Wyatt shakes his head. "Nah, I'm not a student. I'm just here with a friend."
Dark-Haired Guy nods in understanding as he steps up to help himself to a beer. He gestures at the glass of wine in Wyatt's hand. "Who's your friend?"
Not feeling particularly inclined to get sucked into conversation, Wyatt answers brusquely, "Lucy Preston."
"Lucy Preston? Dark-haired, dark-eyed, lives-in-the-library Lucy Preston? How'd you manage that?" Dark-Haired-Guy wonders aloud, his tone and his smile both teasing.
Despite the guy's friendly demeanor and lighthearted tone, Wyatt stiffens at the millions of potential implications of the guy's commentary. "We've been friends for years," he replies plainly.
"Well, I guess she had to cave some time." The guy laughs and then offers a hand. "You must be Wyatt. I'm Noah."
Surprised, Wyatt is frozen for a moment before he reaches out to return the handshake. "Yeah, uh...how did you—?"
"Lucy talks about you all the time. We dated briefly," he explains. "I was surprised to see her here tonight. Normally it's hard to tear her away from the library. She can be a bit single-minded when it comes to her work. Tonight's the most social I've ever seen her."
The words are innocuous enough, but Wyatt detects the barely-perceptible hint of resentment in Noah's tone, and it pisses him off.
Lucy chooses that moment to approach, a friendly smile on her face, and Wyatt can see the hitch of surprise in Noah's expression at the sight of Lucy looking so carefree and open. He grabs her hand, tugging her closer, and slings an arm low around her waist, his thumb strumming against the rise of her hip bone. It's safely within the unspoken bounds of friendly affection that they've established over the past several years, but Wyatt knows what it looks like to someone looking in from the outside of their relationship. He doesn't know why he does it, but he doesn't care. He likes having her at his side — he likes being at her side. He likes the idea of them being partners-in-crime and having each other's backs. He doesn't like Noah's vague implication that Lucy is some sort of frigid snob.
"Noah," Lucy greets politely, her smile tight. "It's nice to see you. I see you've met Wyatt."
Noah grins charmingly in return. "Indeed. I finally got to meet your soldier, Lucy. After hearing you talk so much about him, I feel like I already know him."
Lucy flushes at the words, but Wyatt relaxes into the knowledge that she obviously hasn't forgotten about him in his absence.
"How's the book coming along?" Noah inquires casually, taking a pull from his beer.
Unable to resist the shift to a topic she adores, Lucy spouts little gems she's unearthed in her research, and Noah engages her in a discussion of the research process—something Wyatt knows (and cares) very little about. But Noah's question needles at him. What book? In all of the texts and phone calls and emails and letters, she's never once mentioned a book, and shouldn't that be something you mention to your so-called best friend?
He remains at Lucy's side for the next hour or so as she flits from group to group, making polite small talk in a manner he's never seen before. She laughs politely at political humor and offers feedback on dissertation topics. There are snippets of gossip about an aging professor and his questionable grading practices, and then there are admiring remarks made about some of the published research Lucy has been credited for during her time at the university.
She's light and vibrant and charming and beautiful...and goddamn smart, and while he's enchanted by this version of her, he's also terrified beyond belief.
He's got little to nothing in common with these people, and it causes him to wonder just what he has in common with Lucy.
Wyatt has disappeared.
After being talked into taking shots with Julia, Lucy is feeling particularly light and bubbly. Her stress and worry and self-consciousness are fizzing away like the foamy froth atop the beer she's carrying now. With a jovial laugh and a bit of a sway to her step, she circulates through the party until she spots him through the sliding glass door. He's standing on the patio, looking a bit distressed as he speaks animatedly into his phone. Slipping her slim frame through the narrow opening of the door, she approaches him silently from behind, afraid to startle him with her sudden appearance.
"Some fancy party with her Stanford friends." There's a pause. "Because she asked me to." He laughs heartily at something and continues, "Yeah, you're one to talk. Tell me again about how easily you used to say no to Grandma." There's another pause, and she can hear the slight crackle of sound coming from his phone. "No, I haven't said anything. Tonight is the perfect example of why. You know she's writing a book? A goddamn book, and she never even mentioned it to me. We're from two different worlds, okay?"
Lucy stops short, frozen in place. She's walked in on a conversation she shouldn't be hearing, but she's not sure how to back away from the situation without exposing her presence. Grimacing, she glances around, looking for an escape.
"She's in her element here. I don't want to mess that up. It's better this way," he declares firmly. "For everyone."
Well, that's just great. She doesn't even have to hear both ends of the conversation to know what he's talking about. Apparently her opinion doesn't matter at all.
She turns on her heels at his words, and she's not sure if she should blame her tipsy state or her innate gift for inopportune clumsiness, but her feet nearly spin right out from under her, and the door rattles loudly as she grasps it to keep from falling.
He turns at the sound, but she's already through the door and into the house by the time he spots her.
She's sitting on a bench on the front porch when he finds her, and the crisp lightness that he'd so enjoyed seeing earlier in the evening is gone. Instead he finds her mired in the sort of weighty darkness that he's used to seeing after she's had an encounter with her mother. Great.
"Lucy."
She turns to face him, and gives him a sweet smile that does nothing to erase the sag of her shoulders and the sadness in her foggy eyes. "Hey," she greets. "Are you ready to go? I'm kind of tired."
"Lucy," he repeats. He opens his mouth to continue, and she shakes her head.
"I'm sorry for eavesdropping. I was just coming out to check on you since you looked upset," she explains, looking fraught with guilt.
"Lucy," he says again, this time with a forceful edge. He knows what she's doing. He's not going to let her babble her way out of this conversation.
"Do you know why I didn't tell you about the book?" she asks suddenly, the words sounding strangely thick on her tongue.
"We don't have to…" Wyatt starts to protest.
"No, really," she insists, the words still wavy in the air. "I want you to know."
"Lucy, I understand. I thought...maybe...finally...that you and I might... But seeing you tonight? You deserve someone who can be a part of all this," he gestures back towards the party. He trails off at the look on her face, and he feels his gut twist at the sight. She looks equal parts mortified and devastated.
"Wyatt," she shakes her head uncertainly, the words in her mind snagging stubbornly on something in the back of her throat. "I...that's not…I don't…"
"Just...let me take you home," he finally sighs.
She ponders for a moment, and nods shakily, offering her hands so he can pull her to her feet.
She's oddly stiff in the passenger seat, and her head is resting against the cushioned headrest. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is even, so he assumes she's already fallen asleep. He's leaning over the console to buckle her seat belt around her, when she startles him with an abrupt command. "Okay, Wyatt. Let's have it."
Her eyes are open now, and they're impossibly wide in the streaky darkness of the car. He shifts his weight back into the driver's seat and huffs impatiently. "Let's have what?"
She harrumphs skeptically and rolls her eyes. "Please! You've been quiet all evening. I thought it was just because you didn't know anyone, but then Noah mentioned that you seemed tense when he spoke to you. And then I walked out to hear your end of that phone conversation. What's going on?"
"I don't have a problem. Maybe I'm not the one with the problem. Maybe it's your ex-boyfriend."
"Ex-boyfriend?" she echoes cluelessly. "You mean Noah?" She exhales in a shrill peal of laughter. "We went on a few dates. Boring ones. Because my mom insisted that he was my soulmate."
"Of course she did," he mutters.
"What's that supposed to mean? Where is this coming from? And why should you care?" she challenges.
"He's not good enough for you."
"Well, that's fine since, like I already told you, I'm not seeing him anymore. But if you recall, you were just on the phone telling your grandfather that you aren't right for me. And you don't seem to think anyone else is either. So am I just supposed to spend the rest of my life alone?"
"Is that an option?" he deadpans. He ducks when he hears a frustrated growl and sees her hand slicing violently through the air between them. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding! Of course I don't want you to be alone. I want you to be happy. And respected. And loved the way you deserve to be loved."
"And how is that?"
"Completely," he replies immediately. "Without reservation or hesitation." He waits a moment, readying himself, taking a breath before he leaps. "The way I love you."
She freezes at that. She's certain that the blood in her veins has halted its flow and has subsequently pooled at her feet, because she is instantly lightheaded and numb.
"I'm sorry — what did you just say?"
"I said I love you. And I don't deserve you. I know that. But you deserve to be loved in a wholehearted, you-jump-I-jump kind of way. I can't even imagine the possibility that there's a guy out there who could possibly love you as much as I do. There's no way."
"Wyatt."
"Lucy," he replies teasingly.
"I don't know what to do with this. I wanted this, and then...and now…"
He shakes his head and gives her the softest smile she's ever seen, and he speaks using a warm velvety tone to match. "You don't have to say or do anything, Lucy. I just should have said it a long time ago. And I didn't. So I'm saying it now. There's no wrong reaction if it's an honest one."
"There's absolutely nothing between us."
He knows that he told her mere seconds ago that there's no wrong reaction, but there sure as hell is a painful one, and she's just launched it at him with with striking precision.
"Uh...what?"
She gives him an impatient little smile and then shakes her head before she explains, "There's absolutely nothing going on with Noah. I'm just not attracted to him in that way."
"Uh, does he know that? For a fact?" Wyatt questions, unconvinced.
"He does," Lucy nods certainly. "I've made it abundantly clear to him. I know he wants more. And so does my mom. She's oddly invested in the idea of the two of us dating, but it's all moot in the end."
"Why is that?"
"Because I can't seem to get beyond a third date with a guy since I met you. And here we are, out together for what must be the millionth time, and all I can do is think about the fact that I don't want this night to end. I don't want these six weeks to end. I don't want you to leave me." She's quiet for a moment before continuing, "I didn't tell you about the book because I talk to you about the real stuff. The book? That's just a show. That's just the Preston way. It's expected. That's what I talk to everyone else about because it's all anyone else knows about me. But you?" She looks up earnestly. "You know everything that matters. I like that you're the only one who gets that part of me. It's my favorite part. And it's yours."
"So you're...open...to this?"
She stares at him for a moment, assessing the sincerity behind his words, and then a light gale of effervescent laughter bubbles from her throat. "You're kidding, right?"
He says nothing, his eyes narrowing in genuine bafflement.
She shrugs. "I've been open to this for more than three years. All you ever had to do was ask."
Her apartment feels like home.
She feels like home.
He's touching her and tasting her in ways he never has before, and yet everything about it triggers his sense memory in the most intimate and glorious of ways. She's safety and fulfillment and adoration and happiness all poured into one beautiful vessel of a woman.
He touches her in some capacity for the entirety of the drive back to her place: their hands tangle across the console, his hand rests at the small of her back while they walk to her front door, and then his fingertips are caressing and stroking, delighting in every texture they encounter: the wispy decadence of her silk dress, the satin-smooth softness of her skin, and the glide of her slightly mussed hair.
She leads the way into her bedroom, striding to the center of the room on legs that are wobbling like reeds in the wind. She's never been more certain of wanting something. And she's never been more terrified of getting what she wants.
She hears the soft click of the door behind her, and then she feels his hand on her arm, his grasp sturdy with desire. She clenches against the trembling in her jaw, and she looks searchingly at his face, startled by his satisfied, almost smug, expression. Then his lips are on hers and his hands are roving reverently over the whisper-thin fabric of her dress. He backs her towards her bed, never breaking from the cadenced pattern of soft kisses he's pressing down the column of her neck. His hands settle on her back to guide her in the gentle descent to the softness of the mattress, and suddenly she's looking up at him, dark desire in her eyes, and he's looking down at her, adoration and anticipation visible in his parted lips, and they each see in the other the feelings they've been harboring and hiding and protecting for so long.
She reaches for his belt and fiddles with the buckle, pausing just long enough for him to tug at the hem of her dress, lifting it up and over her head. In a matter of moments, their clothes are discarded and their kisses are ceaseless and she's drawing him down and into her, where she thinks maybe he's belonged all along.
There should be some element of awkwardness, but there's not.
He feels like home.
The peace lasts for two weeks.
It's the happiest she's ever been, and she's pretty sure he feels the same way. Julia has been kind enough to make herself scarce by staying with her boyfriend (but not without a healthy dose of "I told you so" after being apprised of the change in Lucy's relationship status) so she and Wyatt have had plenty of alone time at the apartment. Neither of them wants to think about the fact that his short stretch of leave is rapidly approaching its end. Neither of them wants to think about a long-distance relationship when they've just started to figure things out. They don't want to disrupt their happiness quite yet. In the end, it doesn't matter anyway.
Their peace ends abruptly with a knock on the door.
He's making beer pancakes, and she's pressing kisses and brushing her nose against the prickly stubble at his jawline when they hear five sharp raps against the front door.
"Lucy! Lucy, open this door right now!"
Her mother's voice is terse and irritated. Lucy cringes at the sound, shrinking into Wyatt's one-armed embrace as he flips the first pancake, and then she sighs. "I guess I have to deal with her eventually."
She moves to open the door, her feet dragging with every step, her hands resistant as they flip the lock and turn the knob. Carol pushes her way into the apartment before Lucy has the chance to open the door completely, and in a matter of seconds she has surveyed the room and dismissed it with an impressive air of condescension. It's as though Wyatt doesn't exist.
He doesn't want to leave Lucy alone, but Wyatt can sense that the conversation is supposed to be a private one, so he cups Lucy's elbow and presses a kiss against the crown of her head. "I'm just gonna…" he gestures to her bedroom. He turns to face Lucy before leaving. "If you need me…"
She nods in understanding and gives him a grateful smile before she turns to face her mother. The two of them stand, squared off like they're about to duel, both waiting until they hear the click of the bedroom door closing. The sound of it is like the sound of a pistol at the start of a race, and it sets them both to tearing into a heated debate.
"Why are you here, Mom?"
Carol cocks her head and eyes Lucy disbelievingly. She glances around the small apartment, turning her nose up at each and every sign of Wyatt's presence: his wallet on the kitchen counter, his jacket hanging on a hook near the front door, his forgotten mug of coffee sitting on the kitchen table with steam still twining from the surface, and then she flinches ever-so-slightly when her gaze settles on the oversized sweatshirt currently dwarfing Lucy's lithe frame.
"You can't be serious, Lucy," she sighs disappointedly.
"I'm absolutely serious, Mom."
"Him, Lucy? He's a nice boy, and I will forever be grateful for the fact that he was there when you had your accident, but this is not a forever romance. You can't afford this kind of whimsical rebellion. I thought we had established that after your accident. You have responsibilities. And you have a nice young man like Noah ready and waiting to help you achieve your full potential. The two of you could be so happy together, Lucy. You're from the same world. He understands the demands and expectations that will be placed upon you better than someone like Wyatt ever will."
Lucy scoffs, "Wyatt isn't an act of rebellion, Mom. You do realize he's been my best friend for the past several years, right? And you're wrong. It's not Noah who understands me. Noah understands the person you want me to be, which is why you like him so much. Wyatt is the one who's been with me every time you've belittled my accomplishments. Every time you've questioned my efforts and minimized my achievements. Who do you think stayed up with me all night over Skype when you berated me for being rejected from the doctoral program at Princeton? I didn't even want to go there, and you still made me feel about an inch tall over it."
"Lucy, you've got a future to think about. There are things you don't realize—things you don't understand. Responsibilities you need to be prepared to embrace."
"Like what, Mom?" Lucy's voice is raised in pitch and in volume. "You've been saying things like that to me for my entire life. What don't I realize? What don't I understand? Why don't you clear it up for me?"
Carol looks strained, her lips pressed into a thin line. "You've always been so stubborn, so difficult. Why can't you just trust that your mother is looking out for you and knows what best?"
"And what about Amy? Why hasn't Amy been held to these standards? Amy's never had to get perfect grades or perfect test scores. Amy was allowed to get an after-school job. Amy was allowed to join the swim team and act in the school play. Why does she get the freedom that I never had?"
"Your sister has different gifts, Lucy. She's on a different path."
"Well, maybe I want to be on a different path, Mom," Lucy declares, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest. "And this is it. This is the path I choose. It includes Wyatt. But I'm not sure it includes you. You need to leave."
Shaking her head in disappointment, Carol makes her way to the front door. "You're only making things harder for yourself, Lucy. You'll see that eventually."
Never one for dramatic displays—even under the most dramatic of circumstances—her mother slips out quietly, the front door closing behind her with barely a sound.
Frustrated, saddened, angered, and confused, Lucy is frozen in place, eyes closed, breathing deeply in an effort to cleanse herself of yet another fractious encounter with her mother. Things have only grown worse over the past several years, and while she's grateful that she's managed to salvage enough of a spine to stand up for herself these days, she grieves for the loss of a true mother-daughter relationship—one built upon a foundation of mutual respect and unconditional love. She knows now that theirs will never be that kind of relationship.
"You okay?"
She nearly sobs with relief and appreciation at the sound of his voice. Ninety-nine percent of the time, these confrontations take place when he's in Colorado or Afghanistan or Iraq or God knows where, so while she knows he always supports her and would happily fight Carol Preston to the death for the sake of her happiness, the luxury of having him right here, where he can hold her and reassure her in person, is almost more wonderful than she can handle.
"How much of that did you hear?"
"Enough," he responds, and then he asks again, "You okay?"
She tries valiantly to give him a smile, but her tears spill over before she's able to muster much more than a pout. "No," she admits finally.
He watches her, concerned when she doesn't answer right away, and then steps forward to pull her into his arms. "C'mere," he urges softly, rubbing her back soothingly with one hand while using the other to gently wipe at her tears. He lets her cry softly against his chest for several minutes before he speaks again. "What are you thinking?" he asks her finally.
There's a stretch of silence before she pulls back to look at him. He smiles tenderly at the fire in her eyes and readies himself for her answer.
"I'm thinking that it took us more than three years to figure us out, and I'm thinking that we have three more weeks together," she tells him, "so I'm not going to spend even three more seconds worrying about a woman who has tried to rob me of happiness at every opportunity."
Wyatt's smile widens at the sudden shift in her mood, and he nods in agreement. "You know what?" he responds. "I think you're right. And you know what else? I love you. So much."
Her small smile becomes a cheeky grin as she returns the sentiment. "I love you too."
"And hey," he cracks, "it only took us three-plus years to say those three little words."
She chuckles lightly and shrugs a shoulder. "Better late than never."
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated!
