Chapter Twenty-Six
? Jackson ?
Boots crunching gravel and the rasp of my own breath became the soundtrack to my life.
We were posted on the edge of a village, sun beating down so hard it felt like the air itself was pressing me into the dirt. Nothing moved except the heat shimmer, but that didn’t mean nothing was out there. Out here, “nothing” was the best you could hope for.
By the time we rotated back through the wire that evening, my shoulders were screaming and my throat was dust. The squad was too cooked to talk much—just the usual bitching about chow and whether the showers would have water pressure tonight. Black humor kept us alive, but exhaustion kept us quiet.
Then the corporal barked for mail call, and suddenly every one of us was on our feet like kids at Christmas. When my name got shouted, I didn’t even try to hide the way my pulse jumped.
Jackson,
Ok, we need to talk about this “hump until your legs give out” thing. Because I’m pretty sure you know exactly how that sounds, and if you don’t, you better be glad Maria wasn’t standing over my shoulder when I read it. She’d never let you live it down.
Also—five-star dining? With MREs? That’s a war crime.
Dalton fell asleep in Psych again and snored so loud the professor threw an eraser at him.
He called it a “tactical nap.” Don’t believe him.
And it’s too bad you’re not here to tell your guard dog to “sit” and “stay”—he nearly mangled a guy on the field last weekend.
Dalton swears it had nothing to do with the way the guy flirted with me before the game, but we both know better. Overprotective men, I swear.
Classes are the same. I should be paying attention, but mostly I end up doodling Willow’s Harbor logos instead of taking notes. Don’t tell Hannah. She’ll ground me.
Maria says hi, and Jewel waved at me the other day like she knew something I didn’t. She’s going to grow up faster than either of us are ready for.
I’ll send another picture soon. Don’t expect me to top Sally, though—that was lightning in a bottle.
Stay safe, Jackson. Write me soon.
Holly
I laughed. Out loud, obnoxiously. Couldn’t help it. A couple of guys cursed me for waking them, one threw a boot, but I was still grinning like an idiot.
Of course she’d latch onto the hump line. Leave it to my Malibu to make my legs-buckling misery sound like a damn sex joke. And she wasn’t wrong—I’d never live that one down if Maria heard it.
I read it again, slower this time, letting every word sink in. The sass, the updates, the way she made me feel like we were still just two people lying under the summer stars together.
I folded the letter carefully and slid it under my pillow. Kept it close. Kept on letting it drive me forward, one step closer to going home.