You're Not Broken (4 page)

              But Jason…he seemed different.

              He was someone who not only seemed to enjoy talking to her but enjoyed listening to her secret hopes and fantasies. Kat had never realized how simple yet incredibly fulfilling it felt to have someone just simply listen and care.

              With his dangerously attractive looks and his open ears that seemed constantly ready to listen, Jason seemed like the absolute perfect package. It was a wonder he wasn’t already snapped up by some girl.

              But then again, she realized, so far they had only really been talking about her. She hardly knew anything about him except that he was in the military and from up north with not very good parents. But she had yet to hear him speak about his plans or his dreams. He knew she loved to bake and cook and yet she hardly knew what he did on his off times.

              Feeling like she had been monopolizing the conversation, Kat leaned against on side of the truck bed, looking up at Jason.

              “So,” she started, “what brings you to Peytonville? It’s quite a far drive from Fayetteville.”

              Jason’s eyes, which had been warm and engaged when listening to her plans to polish up Doughy Pop’s, suddenly became hooded and dark. His lips tightened and Kat could see him slightly grind his jaws.

              “I didn’t come from Fayetteville,” he said lowly, leaning against the opposite side of the truck bed. “I was coming from Arlington.”

              Kat froze. “Oh,” she said.

              Arlington, Virginia. There could be many reasons why one could be in Arlington but looking at the soldier in front of her, she knew he had only had one reason.

              One very sad and tragic reason.

              “Was it someone close?” she asked softly.

              Jason nodded. He then looked away and gave a cold huff of a laugh. “They were all someone close,” he said quietly. He shook his head. “Never thought I’d come to know the layout of a cemetery so well. But seven visits and you get pretty damn good.”

              Kat’s eyes widened. Seven funerals he’d had to attend at Arlington? That was mindboggling. She could only imagine the devastation of seeing your comrade in arms being buried. But to see it
seven times
over? It was brutally unimaginable.

              “I had some time off and I couldn’t go straight back to Bragg. I just couldn’t,” Jason said, his face shadowed in more than just the night’s darkness. “So I drove a bit, taking the long way around. And I ended up here. In Peytonville.”

              There was a quiet that descended between them as each collected their own thoughts. The soft winds of summer blew by, letting them know fall was right around the corner. Crickets chirped and their music seemed to hang in the slightly humid air.              

              “Do you mind if we walk a bit?” Jason asked suddenly. He seemed antsy after talking.

              Kat nodded.

              Again, after jumping off the truck, he helped her down. She felt that tickle in her belly again at having his strength wrap around her.

              Kat led them to the path around the library’s park. Together, they walked in companionable silence. It was peaceful and there was a sort of ease as they walked together. There was no pressure to talk. They simply enjoyed being together.

              “Thank you for talking to me today,” Jason said after a few minutes of silent walking. He looked over at her with a look of wry bashfulness that made Kat’s heart flutter.

              “I know that was a weird request and very out of the blue but I want you to know that…” he seemed to be searching for the right words “…that it helped. It’s helped me in more ways than you’ll know and I really appreciate it.”

              Kat shook her head. “Please,” she said, smiling. “Don’t mention it. I’ve enjoyed talking with you just as much.”

              And she really had.

              Jason looked down the path and then suddenly stopped. He looked up at the night sky. It was easier to see the stars out here than in the cities. There was much less light pollution in Peytonville.

              “It was good to feel like I was part of a town today,” he said, smiling faintly. “Thanks to you, I almost felt like I was home.”

              Kat smiled but unsurely. She could see the reluctance in his eyes and the pain that kept his smile from touching his heart.

              He didn’t want to go.

              He didn’t want to fight anymore.

              And suddenly, Kat felt a fear that she would lose Jason. Not in the physical sense since clearly he would be leaving soon. But in every other sense that mattered, she felt she would lose him if he left again. And this man, this warm, handsome, attentive, funny man would be gone.

              Leading by impulse, Kat suddenly grabbed his arm. Jason jerked in surprise at her touch.

              Looking up at him with pleading eyes, she said, “It’s brave to ask for help when you need it.” Her eyes searched his, hoping to see her words sinking in. “It’s incredibly brave to recognize how human you are and to know when you need help. There is a strength in knowing when you need others. It means you know yourself.”

              His eyes flickered at her words but instead of understanding, she saw a look of heavy darkness cross his eyes. It was a dark place he was going to and it was hard to keep any light of hope or positivity lit in such a place. He knew that.

              But Kat was determined. He was someone special. She wouldn’t let the darkness take him. She wouldn’t!

              “It’s brave,” she said again, emphasizing each word.

              Jason nodded and gave her a fleeting smile. She knew he was pacifying her so she wouldn’t worry. He already considered himself lost.

              Wrapping an around her, he gently pulled her in and hugged her. The warmth of his body enveloped her. Kat breathed in his spicy musk and sighed.

              “Thank you,” he murmured into her hair. He held her close for another minute, both seemingly reluctant to let each other go.

              Kat closed her eyes.

              Time seemed to stand still.

              It felt as if two floating survivors in a stormy ocean had finally met each other and were clinging to each other, happy to have found another survivor. Happy to have found someone who understood the rough waves and salty ocean stings.

              The connection felt unreal and unearthly. It was sudden and deep as if she had fallen into a hole where she had thought would be solid ground. But it was a good fall. It was a fall into the arms of someone who cared, someone who understood loss and pain and responsibility.

              Later, Jason insisted on driving Kat back home. Sitting in his truck in front of Uncle Do’s house, there was a quiet denial that filled the space between them. Neither wanted the other to leave.

              Suddenly an idea struck her.

              “Letters!” Kat suddenly said.

              Jason looked at her quizzically. “Letters?”

              “Could I write you letters? Where you’re going, will you be able to get letters?” Kat asked, her eyes bright with hope at the idea.

              Jason’s face changed into surprised understanding. “You want to write me letters?” he asked incredulously.

              Kat’s heart almost tore in half at how surprised he looked. “Of course,” she said smiling. “Not once tonight did I get to tell you where Uncle Do’s
special
tattoo is.” She winked.

              Jason laughed. He shook his head. “You really are something else, sweetheart,” he said.

              The quick endearment filled Kat’s heart with a rosy glow.

              “Well?” she asked. “Could I?”

              Jason thought about it. “Well, I’ve never received letters before,” he said slowly. But he reached over into the glove compartment and pulled out a notebook. He wrote down an address and ripped out the page for her. “But if you write here, it should get sent on to me.”

              Kat took the paper and read the address. She tried to commit it to memory. Folding the paper carefully, she looked up at Jason. “I’ll write,” she promised solemnly.

              Jason looked at her. His smoky green eyes searched her face. Gently, he brushed a hand across her cheek, his thumb swiping across her cheekbone. “Today is what I’m going to be thinking about for a long, long time,” he said quietly. And in his eyes, she could see the cloudless desert nights, the echoing shots of bullets firing overhead, the cries of anger and terror ringing clear in the hot sun. “Today felt like a miracle.”

              Kat softly touched his hand. She couldn’t have thought of a better word.

             
Miracle.

             
What a miracle.

Chapter
Four
Three months later

              “You can’t be writing another one,” Malcolm said as he passed through the kitchen, scratching under his arms sleepily.

              Kat barely raised her head as she continued writing her letter. “And you can’t be just waking up,” she said, mimicking his tone. “It’s nearly one in the afternoon.”

              Malcolm shrugged as he pulled out the orange juice from the fridge and took a long gulp straight from the carton. Kat looked up and immediately made a sound of protest. Still gulping, he moved towards a kitchen cabinet to pull out a glass. By the time he poured the remaining juice in, there was only half a glass left.

              “Honestly,” Kat muttered as she returned her focus back to her letter. “What is the point of buying cups and plates if you’re just going to eat like an animal?”

              Malcolm burped and took a seat across from her on the kitchen table. “Ask myself that every day, sis,” he responded.

              Kat shook her head, grinning. She then felt a shadow over her letter. Looking up, she saw Malcolm leaning over the table to read her writing. Quickly she jerked the letter closer to her, putting an arm around her work.

              Malcolm gave an annoyed sigh. “What could be so private between you two?” he demanded. “You hardly even knew this man before you started writing to him!”

              “None of your business,” Kat said defensively. Besides, she knew there was no way to explain the unexplainable. Even she had been unsure how her connection with Jason had happened. It had been sudden and it had been deep. When he had left mere hours after dropping her off at home, she had felt an acute ache of loss.

              “And anyway,” Kat added, “I know more
now
. I know he’s with the 5
th
Group Special Forces. A green beret.”

              Malcolm’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “He is? How do you know that?”

              “His return address from his letters. They show his battalion and squadron information and I looked it up,” Kat said.

              “Stalker,” Malcolm muttered quickly before furrowing his brow. “A green beret, huh? Those are like the soldiers’ soldier, aren’t they?”

              “Some of the toughest sons of bitches around,” Uncle Doughy said as he came in from the backyard, covered in sweat. He had been working in his garden. Although the man looked like he would rather be taking a bat to some man’s poor kneecap, Uncle Doughy preferred growing tomatoes.

              The diner was having ventilation problems and had to shut down for the day, giving the whole family an unexpected day off. Uncle Doughy had immediately headed for his garden and Malcolm had slept all morning.

              “Who’s a tough son of a bitch?” a voice piped up from the hallway. Dillon entered the kitchen, just as sleepy looking as his brother had been.

              Dillon was the youngest of the family at only eighteen. But he looked much older. With closely cropped blonde hair and his thin as rails body, he looked like an old man trapped in a teenager’s body. There were frown lines deeply etched into his face and his brow always seemed to be furrowed.

              But that’s probably what anyone would look like if they had cancer.

              Dillon had been diagnosed at thirteen and had been in treatment for nearly two years before claiming remission. He still went in for regular check ups but was now considered healthy. If he made it to year five in remission, he would be considered cured.

              Kat looked over her younger brother carefully. There were dark circles under his eyes. “Did you not get any sleep, Dill?” she asked casually. Dillon hated being mothered and monitored and Kat was careful to always keep her tone light. But after years of treatment, Dillon’s immune system wasn’t as strong as everybody else’s. Kat was always worried when winter came around.

              Dillon shrugged and went over to the fridge where Uncle Doughy was frowning at the empty juice carton. “Who could sleep with Mr. Trumpet Nose over there honking his horn the whole night?” he said. But before Malcolm could protest this accusation, Dillon looked at his uncle. “Who’s the toughest son of bitch around?”

              Uncle Doughy shook his head as he threw the empty carton away and filled two glasses with just water, handing one to Dillon. Uncle Doughy pointed towards Kat with his glass. “Talking about Kat’s mystery beau,” he said gruffly. But she could see the twinkle in his eyes.

              Kat rolled her eyes but was unable to hide the blush that colored her cheeks.

              Malcolm tried to peer over her arm at her letter again. “You know,” he started again, “it’s odd how devoted you are to a man you knew all of four hours for. If that, even.” He paused, giving her a suspicious look. “What exactly
did
you do that night when you went out?”

              “Nothing!” Kat said automatically in a voice that sounded incredibly suspicious. “We just talked,” she added, calming her voice.

              “Talked with your mouths like responsible adult or talked with your bodies like a bunch of dirty hormonal teenagers?” Malcolm asked, quirking one brow.

              Kat narrowed her eyes. “Speaking from experience, are you?” she countered, staring at her nineteen year old brother.

              “I’ll have you know I shower every night,” he said piously.

              “I see you’re not arguing the ‘hormonal teenager part,’” Kat muttered.

              But before Malcolm could say anything else, Uncle Doughy leaned against the kitchen island. “You do seem quite fond of him,” he said, his gravelly voice steady and studious. Kat could feel his eyes on her back.

              Despite what her family thought, they truly
had
done nothing but talked. And of course, that made it all the stranger. For two people who hadn’t even shared a kiss, where was this sense of loyalty and connection coming from?

              Well, it beat her as much as it beat her family. All Kat knew was what her heart felt. And she wasn’t one to argue with her heart. She remembered his dark green eyes. She remembered his stubbled jaw, hard and chiseled like a statue. She remembered his warm arms and his tall, broad body.

              And even though they had only had a few short hours together in person, through their letters, she had begun to see more of who this Jason Daniels was. Kat wrote more frequently than he did. He wasn’t always able to write but when he did, it was clear he had read and reread all her letters.

              He encouraged her to keep planning the future of Doughy Pop’s. He gave her strength to keep encouraging Malcolm to finish his studies at the local community college. He told her of the starry desert skies and the cold that permeated the quiet landscape and how it reminded him of their own starry night together. He told her about how he couldn't wait to have another slice of her blueberry pie again.

             
The stars here are brighter than they are in North Carolina. Brighter and bigger. But they’re colder too. It’s hard to look up at these stars alone with my own thoughts for company. Especially after some rough days.

              I prefer those North Carolina stars. They’re warmer. And beneath them, there’s a pretty girl and some blueberry pie waiting.

              Kat was keenly aware that Jason still was withholding a lot of personal details about himself. “Rough days” was as detailed as he got in terms of his job out there. He never spoke of family or even his comrades but Kat didn’t push. He was in a dangerous environment and she didn’t want to add to it by making him feel forced to talk about things he didn’t yet feel comfortable with.

              “I never got to meet this guy,” Dillon complained as he plopped himself down at the kitchen table.

              “There wasn’t much to him,” Malcolm said confidently. “Short, fat, balding drifter.”

              Kat slapped her brother’s arm as she laughed. Jason was tall, built, and dark haired like a forbidden fantasy. She felt her body warm at just the thought of him. There were definitely a few nights when she had imagined his lips against hers, his large hands squeezing her breasts before slowing moving down her body. She had bit her lip in the dark of the night many times as she imagined his fingers stroking her growing wetness, urging her further into the spiral darkness of pleasure. And then just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he would thrust his large—

Kat felt her face heating like a summer barbecue. She looked up and saw Malcolm eyeing her with a knowing smirk. Kat quickly shook her head clear of such steamy thoughts and instead finished her letter.

She wondered if he really would come back to Peytonville after his deployment was over. She had mentioned it several times in her letters. Kat hoped he would.

              Standing up, she quickly folded the letter and licked it closed. “I’m going to drop this off at the post office,” she said. “Anyone need anything while I’m out?”

              “Juice,” Uncle Doughy grumbled as he glared shrewdly at the correct culprit. Malcolm, having enough sense, blushed and looked down.

              Kat laughed as she grabbed her keys on her way out.

***

             
Three months later

              Kat stopped on the last step of the stairs just as Malcolm was coming back into the house. She had heard him step out for the mail and had dashed down the stairs, hopeful.

              But Malcolm looked up at his sister, clearly torn between pity and disappointment. “Sorry, sis,” he said. “None today.”

              Kat swallowed the disappointment, feeling it sting all the way down her throat. She shrugged and gave a half smile. “Ah well,” she said casually. “Those desert camels sure are unreliable when it comes to post.”

              But however unreliable those desert camels were, they became almost impossibly reliable as the weeks rolled on. For awhile, Jason would send a letter every three weeks. Kat usually sent one every week.

              But after a few months, Jason’s letters became sparser and sparser. Not only in presence but in their words as well. His letters became almost terse. He wrote as if he was writing to a stranger with no warmth or even recognition.

              Kat wondered what was going on. Was he stressed? Was he just battle worn and tired? After receiving a third letter in this same tone after nearly six weeks of silence, Kat even began to wonder if maybe Jason had been kidnapped and someone was forging these letters to hide his disappearance. Her mind flew to all kinds of crazy theories.

              And then finally, they just stopped coming.

              Nothing. No letters. No postcards. Nothing.

              Kat doggedly wrote still, asking if everything was alright. She even asked for him to just send a letter back to assure her he was okay, even if he wanted to stop the correspondence. She wouldn’t write another letter to him as long as he could reassure her that he was okay.

              But still, nothing came.

              Soon, sleep came less easy to her. Dark smudges appeared under her eyes and she ate in small bites, never finishing a meal. Could his silence mean something worse?

              She shuddered, only imagining the absolutely horrific.

              Even Uncle Doughy took notice of her state. One night after closing up the shop, as they were cleaning, he said casually from the kitchen, “Military is meant for war, not for managing mail. A lot of things get lost along the way.”

              Kat had looked up from wiping down a table and saw her uncle through the small order window. He was looking down as he scrubbed his worktop, as if he had not spoken at all.