A Soldier's Christmas

Chapter 1

He was dying. He had to be. Nothing good could hurt the way that Logan’s head did, or the way his body did for that matter. Then, as he turned over in bed, it all came rushing back to him.

Last night he’d been out with some of the guys from his unit before they headed home for the holidays. All the married or attached ones had made their way home to reunite with their wives or girlfriends. One of his buddies had invited him to tag along and meet his family, but Logan hadn’t accepted. He knew how important this leave was since he’d been deployed as long as his friend had been. The last thing Logan had wanted to do was be a third wheel. Though, perhaps if he’d accepted, he wouldn’t have felt like shit now.

Groaning, Logan rolled onto his back and caught his breath as it hissed between his teeth. Unmoving for a few minutes, he peeled an eye open and caught sight of the bottle of water and painkillers he’d had the sense to leave on his night table before he’d passed out cold.

With the one eye still closed, he grabbed the water and painkillers, and managed to get them down without gagging.

He was an idiot. At thirty-seven, he should be old enough to know not to over do it, but not being in the spirit for Christmas, he’d decided to drown his heartache in a bottle of Jack. It had felt good at the time; he just wished that he’d remembered how he’d felt the last time he’d drowned his sorrows in a bottle.

He needed to get cleaned up because lying in his own sweat, which was mingled with stale beer, Jack, and cigarette smoke, made his stomach roll.

With another groan, he crawled out of bed and staggered into the bathroom. He relieved his bladder first before he scratched his balls—they ached just like his heart did.

A heavy sigh and ten minutes later, he was back in the bedroom with a towel around his hips looking for his kitbag.

He’d checked into a small, pay-by-the-hour hotel near the base last night. He’d dumped his belongings inside before he’d headed out to meet everyone at the bar. A stupid thing to do the minute he was back on U.S. soil, but it was done and his only consolation was that his friends were probably suffering as much as he was.

He did feel marginally better after the shower, but the throb in his head hurt tenfold as he bent to grab his kitbag, which was propped up next to the dresser.

One day he’d have somewhere to actually call home. Most people, at least, had a town or state that they’d call their home, but he didn’t even have that. He always did a short term rental when he was stateside, and then he’d let the rental go when he was deployed. It worked for him. But after this last deployment, he wanted something permanent.

Upending his bag on the bed, he watched everything tumble out...the last to fall was a bundle of letters. The letters had become his most valued possession, which was why they were at the bottom—no chance of them falling out.

He dropped his ass to the bed and picked the letters up, a slight shake to his hand. He turned the bundle over in his hands, and smoothed a finger over the return address, which was written in her handwriting.

Every time he thought of Emma his heart thudded loudly in his chest. For two years she had written to him, but there had been silence for the last six months, which hurt. It hurt a lot to think that she just stopped without even a letter to tell him there’d be no more. Her letters had been the only thing to keep him going. They’d given him hope, and made him long for her to be the woman that he returned to.

She’d admitted to him that he knew everything about her, even her biggest secret that not even her family knew. Her words didn’t just give him hope, they made him feel loved as though he had to go on and stay safe because she was waiting for him back in the States. Which was why he’d been devastated when no more letters arrived from her.

It was like a claw in the gut not knowing why she’d suddenly stopped writing. He’d continued to send letters to Emma, and hoped that he’d get a response. But there had been nothing.

How would she react if he turned up in her town in Vermont? He’d lost his Christmas spirit somewhere along the way, but maybe, he would find it again if he had Emma to share it with. Would she be happy to see him? What if she was married with two-point-five kids that she’d forgotten to tell him about? He knew that he wouldn’t be able to settle until he knew the reason for her silence; he only hoped it wasn’t because something had happened to her. That wasn’t an option he wanted to think of.

The more he thought about it, the more the idea took root in his head. She probably wouldn’t recognize him from the photograph that he’d sent her two years ago. He looked so different, and the only resemblance now was his eyes. Should he follow his heart, and go and get his girl?

His indecision didn’t help his headache, or perhaps the alcohol still played havoc with his body—either way he felt like shit.

With a sigh, he finally rooted through his belongings for underwear and jeans. It was more difficult finding a clean shirt, but he found one that had more creases in it than the bed sheets. It would have to do until he could get some laundry done.

He felt lighter with the decision made to spend Christmas in Vermont, and he only hoped he wasn’t heading toward an even bigger disappointment.

Chapter 2

Where had her Christmas spirit gone? Usually the winter months were Emma’s favorite season, this year was different though. No matter how hard she tried, her heart felt heavy.

She had no enthusiasm for anything, and regardless of what her sister, Bree, suggested, she just had no interest. Take what she was doing for instance, hanging decorations up around the family room, anyone would feel the Christmas spirit, especially with the carols playing on the radio, but she felt miserable. All she wanted to do was escape to her bedroom, and stay locked away until the New Year and every last ornament was packed away out of sight.

“Emma, please snap out of it.

You have me worried,” Bree said, breaking into her thoughts.

Emma sighed and dropped onto the sofa beside her sister. “I’ve never been so out of sorts before. It’s as though something’s happened but I don’t know what.” All her confusion and loneliness welded together and her eyes stung from tears. She leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder. “I’m going crazy, Bree.”

“Oh, sis.” Bree took her hand. “It’s about your soldier, isn’t it?”

The whole family knew how upset she was that he’d stopped writing to her. One minute, letter after letter had arrived, sometimes three or four at a time, and the next minute, there had been nothing—for the past six months, nothing. It hurt her to think that something might have happened to him. In fact, she worried on a daily basis—thoughts of him were there when she woke and when she went to sleep. Why would he suddenly stop writing to her? She hadn’t written anything bad in her letters, certainly nothing to make him angry enough to stop all communication, so she could only think the worst. He must have been injured or even worse.

She wiped a tear from her cheek and faced her sister. “I miss him, Bree. I know we’ve never met, but he knows everything about me, even things that I’ve never told anyone.” Emma shrugged. “I opened my heart to him and I felt like my best friend died when he stopped writing. I still do. I pray every day that he’s okay, and that nothing has happened to him. But it’s killing me that I don’t know the reason why?”

Bree squeezed her hand, and tentatively asked, “Do you think that perhaps you relied too much on your soldier, and forgot about the people who are real and present in your life?”

Emma frowned and stared at Bree. “What are you saying? That my preoccupation with Logan was what ended my relationship with Seth?”

Bree wouldn’t meet her gaze and pretended to be distracted with her bulging stomach. Pregnancy suited her sister, but Emma couldn’t decide whether or not to be angry with her.

Emma admitted, “Logan, in the time I’ve known him, came to mean the world to me. My friendship with him had nothing to do with Seth walking away. My relationship with Seth started as mutual attraction, but, I became bored with him. We didn’t share any interests and everything always had to be his way. There was no give. When he received the job offer, I urged him to accept it. It was a relief when he did.” She frowned. The only relief she received from Logan was when she’d receive another letter confirming that he was safe...and that was six long months ago.

The clunk of pots drew their attention toward the kitchen, and there stood their mother. “I thought you were both decorating in here?” She carried a tray with cake and refreshments—afternoon tea, as her mom liked to call it. Her mom often said it was enough to cheer anyone up. The English tradition had started after her parents had arrived home from a vacation to England—a few years ago now.

“Emma was.”

Their mom glanced at Emma after she took in the half done room. “What’s really going on?”

“I’ve had enough of talking.” Emma leaned her head back against the top of the sofa and closed her eyes. She felt close to tears and wished that she’d done what she’d talked about doing for the past twelve months...moved out. She’d have the privacy that she craved, and wouldn’t have someone who always wanted to know what she was thinking, what she was doing.

They were her family, so of course they were concerned for her, but it was constant and she’d started to hate it. Even when she locked herself in her bedroom, she didn’t have privacy. They’d just knock until she opened the door and let them invade her space.

She knew what she had to do, and she also knew that it wouldn’t go down well. Her family thought she only had income from her part-time job at Elizabeth’s Emporium to live off, but she didn’t. Only one other person knew how she actually made her living, and he appeared to have disappeared from the face of the earth.

“Emma, honey. You’re old enough to know better than to moon around after a boy.”

Emma rolled her eyes and glanced at her mom. “Are you serious? A boy? Mom?” She glanced at Bree before she focused on her mom again. “He isn’t a boy. He’s thirty-seven, so I’d call him a man…a soldier. I know you don’t understand the connection we have…had, but it was there and I miss him. It hurts not knowing what went wrong between us, or if he’s been injured or worse. I just want to know. It’s unfinished, and that’s why I haven’t been able to settle.” Emma stood. “I’ve tried one last time to make contact with him. If that doesn’t work then I’ll have to accept that it’s over, or if it comes back to me, I’ll have to accept that he might no longer be alive.” Emma let the tears on her lashes fall because it truly broke her heart to think of the latter.

Her mom stood and took a step toward her, her eyes filled with concern, but Emma stepped back, out of reach. She didn’t want comfort, or rather she did, but it wasn’t her mom she wanted it from.

“What do you mean that you’ve tried one last time?” her mom asked.

Emma wiped at the tears with a Kleenex. “I mailed him a care package two weeks ago.”

Her mom frowned. “I didn’t know that.”