PS — I’ve only just been told I can send you things… so here is the first of many… Enjoy the cookies, soldier. I got them from Vegas.
11
Ryan
I think I’m losing my mind. There is a package on my bunk with a letter this time! I’ve never been sent anything like this before—certainly not something packed with this much deliberate intent. The cardboard box feels impossibly heavy in my hands, a scary, overwhelming weight that represents a type of care I haven’t known in a decade.
Before I can even sit down on my bunk, Brody lunges forward, grabs the package, and starts violently shaking it, his eyes alight with the chaos he thrives on.
“Give me that, dickhead!” I shout, lunging to tear it away from him. My heart is racing, a protective instinct flaring up. This isn’t just a box; it’s a fragile connection to a world that doesn’t smell like gun oil and exhaust.
“Come on! What’s in it?” he demands, laughing as he keeps shaking it, the items inside thudding with a promising sound.
I finally grab it from his grip and sit on my bunk. In my periphery, I see Brody sit on his own bunk directly across from me, watching intently. I carefully unwrap the cardboard, peeling the tape back with a surgical precision that feels silly even to me. Yeah, I’m being careful, deal with it. My parents didn’t even send a postcard when I deployed; they completely disowned me the moment I chose this uniform over their narrow expectations of a son. To them, I was a disappointment to be discarded. But here, a total stranger has sent a piece of home.
I pull out three identical packs of cookies. Brody’s eyes widened instantly. “Come on, man! I shared mine, now you have to share with me!”
“Oh, is that the rule now?” I scoff, though the tightness in my chest is starting to ease. “Last week you got a box, and did you share a single cookie with the rest of the unit?” His face completely drops, that genuine puppy dog sadness that makes him the heart of the squad. God, I hate seeing him look genuinely sad, so I launch one of the cookie packets directly at his chest. “One packet. That’s all you’re getting. The rest are mine!”
His grin is instantaneous. “Fucker.”
I lay back on my bed with my cookies, but as I reach back into the box, my fingers brush against something soft. I pull out a thick, high-quality pair of Tidal Teals hockey socks. They are vibrant, teal and white, feeling plush and alien against the rough canvas of my bunk. A note is pinned to them in Jackson’s familiar, looped handwriting:
“For the days when it feels like you’re playing shorthanded. You’ve got a whole home crowd cheering you on over here.”
I stare at the words until they blur. Jackson isn’t just sending supplies, he’s sending a team. He’s telling me that in a world where my own blood turned their backs, there is a man in Seattle who sees the soldier, sees the boy who draws ducks, and wantshim to be warm. It’s a sudden, staggering wave of warmth that hits a place I thought had permanently died when I walked out of my parents’ house for the last time. For the first time in years, I feel seen, not as a rank or a serial number, but as a person worthy of a home crowd. Fuck, this man is getting under my skin… scratch that, he’s already there, anchoring himself in the marrow of my bones. I keep smiling, the socks clutched against my chest, until I finally close my eyes to sleep. Tidal Teals, I wonder why that team?
12
Letter
Jackson,
Me, hilarious? Let’s be totally honest—I’m really not. I’ve been told I’m the boring one of the group, the ultimate stickler for the rules. What people back home don’t realize is that where I am right now isn’t a game. Real people die here every single day, and it is always at the forefront of my mind that it could be us next. Does that make me sound crazy?
It’s like you read my mind, though. I don’t think I’ve been one hundred percent honest with another human being in my entire life. So, I’ll take your deal. You stay real with me, and I’ll give you the exact same. One hundred percent, no less.
And Jackson? Thank you for telling me the truth about yourself. I think it’s a great thing that you felt you could share that with me, and honestly, it makes me feel even closer to you. I’ve been sitting here in the dark, re-reading your letters andtrying to imagine the man behind the words. If you’re even half as handsome as your personality suggests, I’m in serious trouble. Maybe one day I’ll get to see those “big moments” you mentioned, and maybe I’ll be the one sharing that king-size table with you.
My parents were always incredibly distant. We were never a fun, typical family. I honestly can’t remember ever going on a family holiday or celebrating a special occasion with them. They completely disowned me the day I signed up to enlist, and I haven’t heard a single word from them since. I’d say I was surprised, but that would be a lie. I sometimes wonder why they even had me. It was always about them, and I was just an afterthought.
That lonely feeling you talked about is very real for me, too. I think it’s the main reason I keep re-enlisting. This place, this unit, is my family. It’s what I live for and what I love. I could never see myself leaving Brody here to fight without me. We do this together.
Also, your ‘fine old age of 26’ has nothing on me being 29! You say you’re lonely, but you’re surrounded by people constantly. What’s stopping you from finding the right person to share your life with? Not that I’m encouraging you to go out and find that perfect person, I quite like having you all to myself!
Splash
PS — Thank you for the cookies. I had to share a pack with Brody; he clearly knows exactly how to wear me down. Lucky for him, he’s my best friend—I wouldn’t share them with anyone else. Well… maybe you.
13
Jackson
I’m smiling again, and of course, Logan notices. I’m not going to be able to keep this a secret from the entire locker room much longer. I re-read the last line Splash had sent—If you’re even half as handsome as your personality suggests, I’m in serious trouble—and a sudden, hot realization washed over me. Is he flirting with me?Just as the thought crosses my mind, Logan walks over and plops down next to my locker.
“So, are you going to talk to me, or am I going to have to guess what’s going on with you?” Logan asks.
I shift around uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at him. “I think I’ve kinda met someone.”
