But I don’t say any of this to him. I stay silent, prompting their next question.
“Tell me again why you were at the sight of the HMX?” slim guy asks.
This is where he expects to catch me in a lie. Little does he know, I had three hundred and sixty-five days in a hole to perfect my story. In case I ever got out. In case I didn’t completely die out there in that fucking desert.
“I was doing a perimeter sweep, checking into the route for the mission we were going to execute. I was sent for reconnaissance, to scope out the area. The HMX had been placed a day prior, as was the detail of the mission.” I don’t go into specifics, because a good soldier would never talk about his op even if it was to high-ranking Marines. “The HMX was secure. The village was fine, no commotion, and I was about to leave by foot to make it back to our base camp. I was jumped from behind by three, maybe four men, and a bag was shoved over my head. After that, I had no chance. My weapon was taken, and they dragged me off before I could do anything.”
I don’t tell them why I was really there. That I almost blew my fucking hand off before militia found me out.
There are minutes, maybe hours, of deafening silence. I’m not sure how long really, but it feels like years. Sweat trickles down my spine, but I keep stone still. Can’t let them see me sweat.
“Funny, not one of your fellow Marines can recall you being told to go on a reconnaissance mission,” the burly one tells me, eyeing me suspiciously.
He wants me to break, to squeal under the pressure. What they don’t remember is that I’ve been through far worse. That I kept state secrets, I kept loyal to my country, even when a man was lighting my hair on fire with a blow torch.
“Did those same Marines tell you how I kept my mouth shut for a year in a prison camp. A camp that, if given a choice, you’d pick death rather than to enter?”
They exchange a look and then stare at me for what seems like way too long. I school my features, not even daring to blink. They may rank higher, they may be in a position to knock me down, but I’ve been in cockfights far deadlier than this.
“We’ll be in touch,” the bigger guy says, his expression unreadable.
The minute they walk out the door, I go into a full-blown panic.
I should have known all along. I’ve been lazy, I got comfortable. In my hometown, with my girl. I let myself relax and my mind be eased. I thought I could come back to real life and make something for myself.
I should have known that the sins of my past were coming back to haunt me. That if it wasn’t those fucking enemy forces trapping me in a hole, it’d be the military of my own country, the one I was about to betray, that caught up with me.
It’s over, the life I have here. I have to get out before I hurt the people I love.
Before I drag Kennedy down with me.
30
Kennedy
When I step out of my car in the driveway, Everett is waiting for me.
I can see him, deep in thought, sitting on a rocking chair on his back patio. I haven’t seen him there since the first day we spoke when he returned home, and my stomach dips a little seeing his brow so furrowed.
Or maybe it dips because of the envelope burning a hole in my back pocket. No, not my college acceptance letter, although I’m still constantly worrying about that.
No, this letter is the one that was never delivered to him. The one that contains those three major words I’ve always wanted to say, and thought I had, until the letter was mailed back to me.
After Winter Wonderland, his admission to me about being a virgin—I still think I’m dreaming when I picture his face in that moment. I never imagined in a million years that we would be able to lose it to each other, that when we do have sex, it will have only ever been with each other. There is something so special in that, but it ascribes even more pressure to the moment. Which is why I wasn’t ready.
But I think I am now. We’ve been together for longer, and once I tell him I’m in love with him, and hopefully he says it back, then I’ll truly be ready. It might be cliché to say I need to be in love to have sex, but I’ve waited this long and I’m a traditional person.
So, I’m finally ready to give him the letter, and then give him myself.
“Hey you.” I smile as I walk into his backyard.
Everett brings his head up slowly, as if he’s so lost in his brain that he didn’t even hear me park my car. “Hey.”
Something feels off about his mood, but he gets this way sometime. I know he isn’t fully healed, that his PTSD may never fully go away. There are good days and bad days. But I try my best to be supportive, to be what he needs.
And what I need right now is to help him, and maybe this letter will do the trick. For both of us.
“Kennedy, we need to—”
I cut him off, barely hearing him because my nerves are hammering in my eardrums. “I have something for you.”
Without further talk, I whip the envelope out of my back pocket, the edges frayed and weathered. I’ve folded it in my hands for the past year, contemplating opening it. I never did, and now I’m glad it’s intact for his eyes only.
Everett takes it from me as I sit down beside him, his eyes guarded as he glances at me.
“Read it,” I say, prompting him with a tilt of my chin.
His eyes scan the page, and I know what they’re seeing.
Everett,
It’s been almost a month since I’ve heard from you. I’m scared. I hope you’re all right, that you’re just on a mission and you can’t write me at the moment. I lie awake at night, praying and hoping that the next day, I’ll open the mailbox to one of your letters.
Life isn’t right without knowing you’re there on the other end of the pen. I miss your corny jokes, or the random pictures from magazines you send. I miss updating you on my life here, and I miss hearing about the line cook’s antics at base camp.
Most of all, though, I miss the way you tell me what life will be like when you get home. How we’ll be together, or that I’ll finally get that kiss you promised. It better be stellar, by the way, with the way you’re talking it up! All the time I think about you coming to visit me at college, or finally getting out of Brentwick and being the people we want to be, together.
I’m not sure if you’ll get this. I’m really worried, Everett. Please come home to me. All of this is to say, if this is the one letter you receive for a while, I want to say it all. And I’ve known for a while now, even if we’ve never kissed, what my feelings are.
I love you, Everett Brock. I have since I can remember. Now, come home, so I can tell you in person.
Please, if you get this, even if you don’t feel the same, write me back. I want to know that you’re safe.
Come home,
Kennedy
I hold my breath, knowing he’s reached the last line. Everett gasped, ran a hand through his hair, and slumped into the rocker as he read the letter. My admission might be shocking to him, but I’d like to think it’s not. We both know how we feel.
Hope springs in my chest like brand new flowers trying to reach the sun, and a smile breaks out on my lips. This is the moment, the one I’ve been waiting for since I wrote those words down on paper. With this declaration out in the air between us, we can finally be together, no unspoken words between us.