But I read your letter under my flashlight. I read it until my hands stopped shaking.
You said you love the guy who draws the ducks, but Jackson, I don’t know where that guy is right now. I feel like he died with Brody. There’s nothing left inside me but dust and grease and a chest that hurts so bad I can barely catch my breath.
The guys in the tent are watching me. They think I’m just grieving a brother in arms. They keep telling me to stay strong, to stay tough. I have to nod and pretend they’re right. I have to keep the armor on. If I tell them that my entire world just ended, they’ll ask too many questions. He was my home, my safe place. I have nowhere now.
I am so tired of hiding, Jackson. I am so tired of being entirely alone in this hell.
Please don’t stop writing. Even if I don’t reply, even if I can only manage a few words. Don’t let go of the line. You are the only light I have left over here.
I’m trying to breathe.
Splash
51
Ryan
Every single time I close my eyes, the barracks vanish. The ambient smell of burning trash and desert dust instantly becomes the thick, metallic stench of fresh blood. Drywall explodes into white powder around my head.
“Man down! Man down!”Brody’s voice screams in my ears, so incredibly loud that my teeth rattle. My hand violently twitches on the mattress, my fingers clawing at an invisible rifle grip, my muscles locking hard as I prepare to drive my body weight back into the line of fire at that window—
I blink.
The room is quiet. Dust drifts lazily in the harsh desert sun, cutting through the window. My heart is hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against my ribs, and my t-shirt is completely soaked in a cold sweat. I let my hand drop slowly to my side, forcing the tremors to stop. I reach my pocket, slowly tracing theedge of Jackson’s last letter. I take a slow, mechanical breath, burying the panic back down into the dark.
Now, I’m sitting in front of a base therapist who is looking at me like I’m a lost fucking puppy. Yeah, I’ll say all the right things to you just so you give me my gun back, but fuck if I actually feel them. I can feel myself shutting down completely, but all my energy right now is focused on keeping a tight lid on my boiling rage. I know it’s going to fucking explode the second I’m back out in the field.
Let them keep me benched for now. Let them think I’m done. They wouldn’t let me fly home to say goodbye, but they can’t keep me on this base forever. The second they put a weapon back in my hands and send our unit back out, revenge is going to be my only closure.
The silence of the barracks is absolute torture. In the quiet, I can hear the gunshots over and over again. I still feel the crushing weight of Brody on my shoulders as I carried him through that valley. The silence of the base is just a placeholder for the noise of vengeance. Memories of my time as a soldier are merging together, all my fallen brothers, all the noises suddenly attacking me.
52
Jackson
I stare at the sheer sea of crisp military uniforms. There are so many people here today for the lost soldier. I haven’t got a clue how Donovan managed to pull some strings to get the exact time and location for the service.
So here I am, awkwardly clutching a box of Crumb & Crust cookies, all because of a memory that popped into my head—how Splash and Brody used to fight over the care packages I sent.Who the hell turns up to a military funeral with fucking cookies?
I’d told the guys I needed to do this entirely alone. Logan and Donovan begged to come with me, but being here today meant missing a mandatory practice, and Coach already made it clear, my ass better be on that team flight to New York tomorrow morning.
A military honor guard stands just beside the flag-draped coffin. I hang back at the edge of the gathering, keeping my headdown. I don’t want to be seen. It’s my first military funeral, and I’m not here for any other reason than to be a quiet shadow of support for Splash.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
The sudden, loud burst of the three volley salute rips through the quiet air, making me jump. My heart is hammering against my ribs as the echoes fade. Off to the side, soldiers are meticulously folding the flag over the casket into a perfect, tight triangle, presenting it gently to the grieving family.Life isn’t fucking fair.Why can’t Splash be here? Why couldn’t they just let him come home to bury his best friend?
Eventually, the crowd thins out. People begin filtering back toward their cars, engines starting up in the distance. Once the very last mourner pays their respects and walks away, I finally step up to the coffin.
I look down at the polished wood, my throat tight. “You don’t know me,” I whisper, my voice thick. “But I’ve heard so much about you. Splash said you used to fight over the cookies.” A wet, broken laugh slips out of me, and I place the bakery box gently on the edge. “I’m here because he couldn’t be. You meant the absolute world to him.”
I choke back a sob, reaching up to wipe my eyes beneath my glasses. As I stand there for a moment longer, paying my respects to the unknown soldier who was like a brother to Splash, a soft voice breaks the silence.
“Jackson?”
I jump, startled, and turn to see a woman standing a few feet behind me, wearing dark sunglasses that hide her eyes. I immediately recognize the raw grief in her posture.
“I’m Anna,” she says softly, stepping closer. “Brody’s wife.” She looked at the cookie box resting on the casket, and a small, heartbreaking smile touched her lips. “He told me everything. Right before that final mission, he called me. He told me allabout the man who sends the best cookies. He told me how happy your letters make Splash. He was so proud of you both for finding each other.” She reaches out, gently touching my arm. “He was so happy you were there for his best friend. Thank you for being here today.”
