Alone with You

by Aly Martinez

ounce of peace to be found. But then again, I’d died failing the people I loved. Dying was the most god-awful, heinous, and terrifying experience imaginable. Or so I’d thought—until someone had brought me back to life. Surviving. Now that was one level of agony that could never be matched. I was a prisoner. Like a storm hovering on the horizon, Death followed me. Day in. Day out. The Grim Reaper became my own personal stalker. Unfortunately for me, my name had yet to be at the top of his list.

my fate was worse. I’d become something of his tour guide, sentencing everyone around me to his wrath.

When Death finally came looking for me, I was going to be ready, eager, and alone.

forty-two, my body was all but revolting against me. I’d put it through hell in my twenties. Six years of jumping out of planes in the Army had done the real heavy lifting in the damage department, but I’d done my fair share of destroying it in other ways. Tequila had been my poison of choice for most of my thirties, but eventually I got my shit together. After that kind of abuse, I should have been grateful all I had were a few rusty creaks.

And I was… God, what was I? Anxious. Bitter. Broken. Those had all been more recent developments. At one point, I’d been witty and bold. I think? It was hard to remember anymore.

Stepping out on my own after ten years of marriage had been terrifying. My marriage had fallen apart long before I’d actually left, but checking out emotionally

but when starting over at forty-one, I assumed that was par for the course. I’d made that confirmation pretty clear when I’d chopped off eight inches of my hair, added blonde highlights to my natural mahogany,

pierced my nose with a tiny silver stud.

Co-parenting with a narcissist was hard enough. I couldn’t control what Jeff said about me on his weekends with Nate, but I’d vowed I would never sink to his level.

was more like the GQ version of a convict.

His cold, distant brown eyes collided with mine,

The air seemed to thicken as a rush of emotions, long dormant, surged within me. Disdain. Anger. Bitterness. The laundry list could go on for a mile,

He said nothing. I’m not sure why I was surprised. I’d spent over a year playing one-sided charades with that man. Silence was his preferred method of communication. Clearly that had not changed.

Even when they were wrong, they were still right, and the mental gymnastics and abuse used to make sure you understood that they were superior to you in every facet was utterly impressive—and totally fucked up.

It took years for me to see through Jeff’s constant cycle of love bombing, manipulating, and gaslighting to recognize that I wasn’t always the problem in our relationship. I wasn’t stupid or naïve. I didn’t enjoy drama. And his yes did not hold more weight than my no.

My instincts screamed for me to reach out and soothe whatever demon had overtaken him. Experience, on the other hand, told me that attempting to help Truett West was the definition of insanity. Experience also begged the question of why I would even care to try.

Riddle me this, True. When exactly did leaving me become a problem for you? Because you were damn near a professional not too long ago.” A myriad of emotions washed over his face, pain prominent in each one. The truth hurt. It sure as hell had destroyed me. He hadn’t given one single fuck back then,

I did care about him. Or I had back when I’d existed in a magical land filled with beauty, invincibility, and fairy tales—also known as youth.

“A lady does not kiss and tell.” She paused dramatically. “We screw and tell. I’ll fill you in when I see you in the morning.

I’d always found it amusing that he had grown up to be a head-doctor while I’d turned into a head-case.

Contrary to the dense tattoos and thick ropes of muscle, Truett had always been something of a gentle giant. He was older now, but somewhere inside him was still the same kid who’d once pulled over on the highway to pick me a bouquet of wildflowers when he couldn’t afford anything else for our anniversary. But gentle did not equal a pushover. When it came to his family and friends, Truett had the heart of a warrior and the ruthlessness to match.

had abandoned me after six years of marriage.

My chest ached as I took in her tear-stained cheeks. I wanted to tell her I loved her and, no matter what she thought, I had loved her every minute of every

day since she was sixteen years old and walked into my math class wearing a smile that branded my soul. Nothing would change that. Not even death.

Once upon a time, our lives had been full of laughter and sarcasm. We’d poked at each other relentlessly, until one of us got annoyed. Then we made love, slow and tender, ensuring nothing was ever taken to heart. We’d had a good life. A beautiful life. It was easy to forget how incredible we’d been together when our relationship had met such a tragic demise. Hate was easier. Or at least I missed him less when the memories were tainted with anger and resentment.

ignited me like Truett. In a way, it was why I’d married him. Jeff was a controlled burn rather than the wildfire of the man in front of me.

she filled my every sense, grounding me in a way I’d never been able to master on my own. That calm—her calm—was like a lifeline, wrenching me from the dark, tumultuous waters flooding my mind. “We’re safe, True,” she repeated, and even as the flashing continued from outside, I believed her. Mind, body, and soul. Because, fuck me, I’d always been safe with her, even if I hadn’t been able to offer her the same.

I’m a corporate recruiter. Specifically for veterans. I help them transition into civilian life, find jobs that suit them rather than based solely on what they did while they were in.”

Now, I’m not so sure that it was the smartest choice, but what I lack in talent, I make up for in feral determination.”

Please hear me when I say this. You were the most incredible wife any man could have asked for. Strong and steadfast. Patient and understanding. You did everything right. But I wasn’t ready for that.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “This is crazy, Truett. I spent eighteen fucking years without you. And you’re telling me I lost the love of my life over a miscommunication?” “No. I lost the love of my life over a miscommunication. You lost me the day you kissed me goodbye in front of the barracks. I wasn’t the same man who came home,

“I deserve every bit of hate and anger and resentment you feel for me. But make no mistake, I have never, not ever, not for one fucking second of my entire god-forsaken life, stopped loving you.” Her body stiffened against me, but before I had the chance to overthink it, her mouth collided with mine in a frenzy of need.

“And then I’m going to fuck you until the only thing you know for sure is that you are, and have always been, mine.”

“Hey, True,” she called just before I crossed the street. “Just so you know, I would have sat in that house with you for the rest of my life, completely alone, just to be with you.”

I was a different person in a different place in life now. One where I was a forty-one-year-old two-time divorcée, single mom, coparenting with a narcissist, while trying to open my very first restaurant and most recently being stalked by a producer who wanted to make a documentary about the worst day of my life. My plate was full. I had absolutely no room for a relationship with a man as complicated as Truett.

“Yes, he’s changed,” I admitted. “But maybe it’s too late. I’ve been wearing his scars for so long they’ve become the foundation for who I am and how I love.”

It’s why I don’t leave the house. I’m not scared of the outside world, Gwen. I’m scared of the reality that she doesn’t exist anymore outside of these four walls.”

But you asked me to give you a chance so here it is… In this house, Kaitlyn might be alive, but you are dead. This”—I waved my hands out, motioning around the room—“is the coffin you buried yourself in.”

Jeff Weaver was the worst kind of human. He thought he was a smooth talker, born with a silver spoon in his ass, someone who had never been held accountable for his actions. He’d spent his entire marriage getting away with any and everything he wanted, abusing the woman he was supposed to love and protect

“I’m the reason for this mess. I’ll be the one to fix it.” He spoke with such conviction, I saw the man I’d fallen in love with again. The man who was confident and strong. The man who believed in himself.

But I knew that making the decision to attend a residential treatment program was the only way I was ever going to be able to fully heal and move forward with my life. With our life.

During that time, we were forced to do the one thing we’d never done after his deployment. We talked. Laughing, crying, getting to know each other again, and rekindling

Couples therapy had been challenging, forcing us to confront the parts of our relationship we had avoided for so many years. Some days, it felt like we were making no progress at all, maybe even slipping further away, but we kept fighting. The past—our past—wasn’t something that could be fixed overnight. We both knew it would be a journey that would consume us for the rest of our lives, but we were committed to doing it together.