Care Package (The Tidal Teals #1)

1. Ryan

Ryan

The stifling heat inside the tent was a physical weight, thick with the smell of diesel, sweat, and cheap canvas. I gripped the thin, sweat-soaked pillow, trying to silence the constant, low hum of the generator outside. I didn’t want to think, or feel, or breathe.

“Just write a letter!” Brody groaned.

I roll over to face the wall, pulling the blanket up to my chin. I can normally sleep through this bullshit—the constant fear, the noise, the crushing homesickness—but today I can’t seem to quiet my mind. Just then, I’m attacked by a notebook flying at my head, slapping against the wall.

“Fucking write something, man,” Brody insists, his voice a low, insistent rumble before he tackles me onto the floor.

Dust explodes around us. “You never get letters. You’re always stealing my cookies, too.

I promise you it will help to talk to someone who isn’t in this mind fuck of a place!

I know you, don’t forget that, Ry, we’ve been in for so long, I don’t remember what my bed feels like. ”

I shove him off, scrambling back onto my narrow, unforgiving bunk.

The lingering, impossible smell of the double chocolate cookies his wife, Anna, sent over a scent of cinnamon and sugar that smelled nothing like this hell, it was everything I needed to settle me.

I had no place to call home. Still, I resist, crossing my arms over my chest, pulling the armor tight.

“I’m not sending this.” If I had my way, I wouldn’t write a damn thing.

What the hell is a letter going to do? I don’t need some random civilian poking holes in the life I’ve built here.

Yeah, I don’t talk to many people apart from Brody, but he’s my best friend. He’s the only thing I have left.

“For fuck’s sake, I’ll do it if you get off of me!” I shout, finally giving into the inevitable. “I’ll write your damn letter.”

As Brody rolls off, his face split by a victorious grin, I finally notice the paper.

There are little ducks printed at the bottom of the notebook pages—little teal cartoon ducks that look absurdly out of place in this environment.

I look up at him, deadpan. “Are you fucking serious? Ducks?” Brody’s smile is wicked, full of the pure, unadulterated chaos he brings everywhere.

“Yeah, I ordered them specifically for you, Ry. I know you draw them. Come on, all the ladies love a good ducking. Give them something to talk about.”

He stands up, grabbing his rifle. “Just write about anything. Keep it light, Ry. It’s supposed to be a distraction, you’re not writing your life away!” He walks out of the tent, leaving me alone with the paper.

I pick up the pen, the ridiculous little duck staring up at me.

Little does Brody know, I don’t give a shit about the ladies.

One day I’ll tell him. One day, I’ll open up fully to Brody and tell him the real reason I can’t write to some stranger—because what if they ask a question that can’t be answered, they will know.

I will lose everyone in my life. I will be alone.