Page 41 of A SEAL's Heart
Her brow knits into a frown, and I look away. I haven’t told Avery I’m leaving yet, and this is the time to do it. But I can’t bring myself to write the words.
I don’t need much,is what I scribble on my notepad.
What I need is her, but I can’t tell her that. Because she sure as hell she doesn’t need me. If I stay with Avery, all I’ll ever think about is how if it wasn’t for my actions, Jake would still be alive.
One day, the truth will come out. One day I’ll tell her, and then she’ll see me for what I really am. The man who got her brother killed.
It’s best I break things off now.
“It’s blooming.” She walks over to the peace lily and runs her hands over the vibrant green leaves. I brought it downstairs to add color to the empty house.
She leans forward and breathes in the flower's scent. The movement elongates her neck, and her exposed throat makes her seem vulnerable.
I can’t do this to her now. Not in Jake’s empty house. And I’m a selfish bastard; I want one more night with Avery.
I take her hand and lead her upstairs, but when we get to the top, she doesn’t drop my hand. Her other hand caresses my cheek. Her fingertips run over my jagged scar, and I shiver at her tender touch.
“Are you okay, Ed? You seem off tonight.”
Her gaze is full of concern, and I can’t hold it. I try to speak, and my tongue forms into a half grunt. “Argh.”
Instead, I nod once and pull her onto the bed.
She sits up next to me. Her gaze goes to the box of VHS tapes and the small black TV and VHS player on the desk.
Her eyes light up. “You want to watch a movie?”
I shrug. If it buys me more time with Avery, I’ll watch anything.
She opens the box and looks through the tapes. “I’ve never seenPretty Woman.” She holds up the worn cassette with the cover furling at the edges.
I nod, and she inserts it into the cassette. The VHS whirls to life and the picture crackles onto the screen. I’m used to the poor quality, but Avery frowns at the screen.
“Why do you have all these VHS tapes? Why not download the movies?”
I reach for my notepad.
They were my mother’s.
“Oh.” Avery’s frown turns deeper. I’ve never told her about my upbringing. She’s got the perfect family life. Why would she want to hear about mine?
“Do you remember her?” she asks.
A vague memory comes to mind of the scent of cigarettes and lavender. Of a woman with long dark hair lying on the couch, always out of reach.
I grab my notebook and write.
Not really. But I remember Pretty Woman.
It was always playing in the background. That’s all I remember, fragmented memories of sitting on a worn carpet while Mom lay on the couch with a cigarette in her hand watchingPretty Woman. On her good days, she’d sit up and put her hair up like Julia Roberts and mouth the words.
I guess she was waiting for her Richard Gere. But real life isn’t a movie. White knights don’t rescue prostitutes, and mothers don’t always stick around.
When they took me into care, she handed over the box of tapes. My legacy: rom-coms from the eighties showing a fantasy life my mother never came close to.
I prop my pillow up against the wall and pull Avery to me. She snuggles into me as the movie gets going.
“Is his name Edward?” She spins around and light dawns in her eyes. “Are you named after the hero inPretty Woman?”
