Suddenly, the need to write Andrew Drexler back slams into me like a freight train, and I jump up, grab my notebook and a pen off my dresser, and drop back down on the bed. Opening up the notebook, I situate it on my knee. I’m ready to give my heart the closure that it needs, and I as I transfer the words from my head to my heart and onto paper, I realize that it wasn’t really closure that I needed, just love. Because the love of my family and my love for my dad ultimately led me to be able to forgive.

Dear Andrew,

I forgive you.

Thank you for serving our country. Thank you for your letter of apology. I hope that you’re able to find the same peace that I have.

Sincerely,

Katie Devora

“Break Your Plans”—The Fray

“DEVIN?” A DULL BUZZ IS crackling through the line, and that coupled with the noise coming from my living room makes it hard to hear. Pushing up from the couch, I hold my hand over the receiver. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper to the room full of cackling women.

Mom and Bailey both smile and nod, but leave it to Maggie to open her big ol’ mouth. “Who’s on the phone?” she asks as she refills everyone’s wine glasses.

“Devin—”

“Oooh, Devin,” she croons before I even finish. Rolling my eyes, I walk out of the room as she yells, “No phone sex. It’s not polite while you have company over.” I hear my mom and Bailey crack up just as I shut my bedroom door.

“Devin?” At first I think I lost him—a dropped call or something—but then I swear I hear him breathing through the phone. “Devin? Are you there?”

“Katie.”

“Hey! I thought I lost ya.” Yanking the covers back on my bed, I climb in and prop myself up against the headboard.

“Um …” Devin clears his throat. “My day … it, uhh … shit.”

His voice is too gentle, his thoughts too scattered, and the hairs on the back of my neck instantly stand up. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are your men okay?” I ask, pushing myself upright as though it’ll help me hear him better. My body tenses as I wait for his answer.

“No,” he breathes. I hear rustling as though he’s moving around or running a hand over his face. “I mean, yes. I’m okay, and my men are okay.”

“Oh, good,” I say, feeling my tightly coiled muscles relax.

“But I do have something to tell you.”

“Looks like we’ll be on the phone a while then,” I say, settling back against the bed, “because I’ve had one hell of a day, and boy, do I have some stuff to tell you. But you first.”

“My mom died.” His words come out flat and completely lifeless, and it takes a couple of seconds for my mind to process what he said.

“What?” I gasp, flinging myself out of bed. “Oh my God, Devin.” Tears spring to my eyes and I shake my head. “I’m so sorry.” My heart aches, not because Josephine is gone—as bitchy as that might sound—but it aches for Devin. She may have been a shitty mother, and I had hopes that Devin would be able to find peace where she is concerned, but she’s still his mom and now that’s no longer an option.

He doesn’t respond, although I’m not really sure what I expect him to say. I know the numbness that he’s probably feeling right about now. Hell, I’ve been there—and not that long ago. “What can I do? I want to help. Please tell me what I can do.”

Devin sucks in a breath and I swear I hear him sniff. That sound absolutely breaks my heart. Closing my eyes, an image of a ten-year-old Devin pops into my head. We were sitting by the creek and he was crying because of something his mom said, and I can picture him now, a grown man grieving the loss of the woman who’s caused so much pain in his life. She doesn’t deserve his tears.

“I’m going home,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I get a four-day leave.”

He’s coming home? Oh my gosh, he’s coming home! “You’re coming home.” It’s not a question, just something I repeat to convince myself that what I heard is true. Excitement bubbles up inside of me, and despite what he just told me about his mother, I can’t stop the smile from erupting on my face.

“I’ll be home early Friday.”

“Okay,” I breathe. My mind instantly starts making a list of what I have to do to be able to go see him.

I’ll actually get to see him.

I’ll get to touch him, and hold him, and kiss him.

I’ll get to tell him—

“I was hoping you could come … you know, out to Pennsylvania … to see me.” There is insecurity in his words that softens my heart. I obviously haven’t done a good enough job of convincing him that I really do want us, and everything that goes along with that.

“I’ll be there. I don’t want you to go through that alone.” And he would have to go through it alone. Devin has no one. His father has been absent for longer than I can remember, and he’s an only child.

“You will?” he asks, his voice full of disbelief. “You’re going to fly out there?”

“Yes,” I say. “Of course, I’ll have to rearrange a few things. I’m supposed to work on Saturday and Sund—”

“You don’t have to take off, Katie.”

“Stop it,” I scoff, walking out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. I pull my work schedule out of the drawer to see who’s off that might want to pick up some extra shifts. “I want to take off; it’s just short notice so I’ll have to find my own coverage.”

My mind drifts to all the other things I’ll have to do like book a flight and find a hotel—because I don’t want to be presumptuous and assume that Devin wants me to stay the night with him. And honestly, I don’t even know where Devin will be staying.

“I’m getting a hotel,” he says, catching my attention.

“Huh?”

“You said you don’t know where I’ll be staying.” Shit. Saying stuff out loud is becoming a habit for me. “I’ll be staying at a hotel, and if you come, you’ll stay with me.”

The way he says that, as though I don’t really have a choice, causes my mind to conjure up all of the things I’ll get to do to—I mean with, do with—Devin over the next four days.

“Okay,” I say, cringing when my words come out way too raspy.

“Other than take off work, what else do you have to do?” he asks. “You’ve got someone to help with the farm, right?”

“Yes. I’m not worried about the farm, and other than that, I’ll just have to cancel dinner plans with Wyatt and—”

“Dinner plans with Wyatt?” he interrupts in a tone I haven’t heard in about a decade.

Dropping my work schedule on the table, I stand up straight. Did I hear him right? Is he mad? He can’t be mad; I haven’t even had a chance to tell him why I was having dinner with Wyatt.

“Yessss,” I drawl out. “Wyatt asked me to dinner Friday night, and with everything that’s happened, I felt the least I could do is meet with him.” Plus, it’ll be nice to tell Wyatt about Devin myself before he ends up hearing about it through the grapevine. It sounds asinine, I’m sure, considering that I still haven’t seen Devin. But if he really is coming home on leave in less than two months, and we really do decide to give this a whirl—which we are, otherwise I’m kicking him in the damn balls—then everyone will find out anyway.

The last thing I want is for Wyatt to think I broke things off with him to be with Devin, because that’s far from the truth. Plus, I was hoping Wyatt would be able to get some closure, once and for all.

“So you said yes?”

“Of course I did.” My brows furrow, and I bring my hand to my hip. “He was my best friend for years, Dev. He picked up the pieces that you left behind, and—” Devin sighs and I close my eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad … and I’m sorry, but it’s true. You have to understand that he’s been there for me through everything, and I broke his heart. He needs closure and I owe that to him.”