Heartbreak Warfare

by Heather M. Orgeron

  With my good hand, I drag the bins inside, flipping on the radio, and keeping the music low. “Deck the Halls” comes on as I pull plastic branches from a container and sort them out on the living room floor.

  He needs presents. I’ll buy him everything on his list. Whatever the hell he wants, he’ll have it, no matter the cost.

  After resurrecting our tree, I struggle with the lights, checking each strand while I try to detangle them. Frustrated after minutes of getting nowhere, I begin to panic. Anger bubbles below the surface as sweat begins to trickle down my spine. Gavin has always been meticulous about packing them away.

  “Dammit to hell,” I snarl, continuing to wrestle with them until I hear his low chuckle behind me.

  Instead of humoring him, I give him a hard look.

  “You always twist-tie them up. Why didn’t you do it last year?”

  He’s leaning against the kitchen entryway, bare-chested, in his pajama bottoms, his arms crossed and his eyes alight with mischief.

  “Think really hard, Katy.”

  Sweat beads on my forehead as I rip at the lights. “Why do I have to think? Why couldn’t you just have done it the way you always do?”

  “Because,” he whispers, closing the gap in two strides before gently taking them from my hands. “Things got a little freaky the last time we took them down.”

  Seconds later, I’m immersed in a memory that seems like a lifetime ago. Noah had spent that night at Grandma’s, and we’d taken full advantage of it.

  “Oh, yeah. Well, why didn’t you put a tree up? Noah needs his tree.”

  I can’t ignore the tinge of hurt in his voice. “He wanted to wait for you.”

  “And what if I hadn’t come back?” I snap. “What then? Christmas is canceled? He’s a baby.”

  “Not anymore. And he knew you would come back. We both knew.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” I retort.

  “Then tell me,” he offers softly.

  I ignore his prompting question. How can he not know I’m not ready? He’s no stranger to deployment, though I’ve heard his stories in detail and can’t for the life of me find them anywhere near similar to mine. He’s never slept in his own shit or sat and watched a scorpion sting his leg just so he could feel something. He knows nothing.

  He unravels the lights with ease, and it only fuels my frustration.

  “Of course, you can get it done.” I fake an apologetic smile. His eyes scour me, and I turn away, dotting the branches with the large bulbs, the kind from A Christmas Story, my favorite holiday movie. Last year, I even bought the leg lamp. It sits in the corner, ready to be set up.

  “This will be a good surprise in the morning. We’ll leave the ornaments for him to put on.”

  Gavin stays silent as I turn to look back at him.

  “Don’t you think?”

  He nods, his features twisting with a pain he’s trying to mask. There’s no mistaking what he’s trying to convey.

  “You know.”

  “Yes.”

  “Roger?” We lock eyes, and I hate the look in his—devastation and sympathy—a warranted reaction, the perfect reaction. I hate it.

  “Yes.”

  “Figures,” I say, turning to look up at the glowing tree.

  “Talk to me, Katy.”

  “I’m not ready,” I say in a dull voice. “And you know it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Will you help me put these bins back? I’m tired.” It’s a lie. My whole body is covered in sweat, and I want away from his watchful eyes. I feel like I’m under a microscope.

  Gavin remains quiet, waiting.

  “Please, just help me get the boxes back.”

  Without a word, he gathers the bins and takes them to the garage. I watch him go and am waiting for him when he comes back inside the house.

  The look of surprise on his face stuns me momentarily as I stand in wait, my intent clear. I close the space between us, lift onto my toes, and press my lips to his. His reaction is instant. His hands cup my face as he kisses me gently, taking his time to explore my mouth.

  I need more…more than this. I need to recapture what we had.

  Spurring him on, I palm his cock and rub up and down his growing erection as his whole body tenses. “Fuck, baby. Katy—”

  More, I need more.

  I’m tearing at his back as I attack my husband with dire need.

  “Gavin, now,” I order. He rips himself away, panting. “We can’t.”

  Instantly furious, I step up to him. “Why not?” All of the reasons swimming in my head—I’m ruined, I’m tainted, I’m impure—aren’t the ones he gives.

  “You have a week-long physical starting tomorrow.”

  I’d completely forgotten.

  “Fine.” I kneel down at his feet and rip at his pants until his erection springs free.

  “Katy,” he hisses as I grip him in my hand. “Baby, let’s wait, okay?”

  “How ’bout you let me decide what I’m up for?” I pump his dick in my hand and stare at him. Just before I can wrap my mouth around him, he backs away, out of reach. Still kneeling, I hang my head.

  “Don’t do this,” I whisper, pressure building behind my eyes. “Don’t.”

  In my peripheral vision, I can see his body shaking. I’ve just destroyed my Captain by trying to give him a fucking blow job.

  “Don’t do this,” I beg. “Don’t, Gavin.”

  His voice is a thousand miles away. “I just want to give you a little time.”

  Rising to my feet, I shake my head. “American heroes get to come home to a parade and a nice piece of ass. I’m a POW, and I can’t even give my husband a blow job.” I laugh sarcastically.

  “I want you, Katy, like I always have.” He wants her, but she’s not here.

  “I believe you.” I flash him another fake smile and can’t miss the slice in his chest when he recognizes it.

  I’m hurting him. The first night I’m home, and I’m hurting him. I betrayed him. He doesn’t deserve it.

  “Trust me?” he whispers, and instead of taking his words as comfort, I feel condescension. Anger consumes me, and I walk away without a reply.

  Chapter Thirty

  Gavin

  “Gavin!” Katy shouts with excitement as Sammy follows her through the front door, her hands filled with at least ten shopping bags full of toys we can’t afford. I’ll make it work. Sammy has close to the same count and sets them down on the carpet before she sinks back in our recliner, exhausted.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” Katy tells her. “Mom is dropping Noah off soon, and he can’t see these!” She pulls several rolls of wrapping paper from the bags and looks up at me with a genuine smile. “Hi.”

  She’s manic.

  I hate that it’s my first thought. My second is that she’s going to crash, and it’s going to be bad. It’s been a few days since she was discharged from her physical, and I’m itching to test the waters, to touch her, but I’m waiting for permission from her.

  “Hey, baby, get everything?” She insisted on doing the shopping anyway, even though I couldn’t take her because I had to get back to work. But I’m off duty for the next forty-eight and excited about the prospect of a quiet Christmas at home.

  “I have to get back to Momma’s. I left my laptop,” Sammy informs us as she stands.

  “What? It’s Christmas Eve, where else do you need to be?”

  “I have a huge case. I told you that while you were flying down the aisles like you had won the lottery.” Sammy glances over to me with a look of warning. She’s onto her, as well.

  “Fine,” Katy replies, “but it’s ridiculous. You could wake up here and watch him open all of these.”

  “I’ll be back in the morning. Got something to drink?” Sammy asks me as she walks my way with a crooked finger for me to follow her.

  Katy’s already consumed with her task, and despite her cast, manages to get the present wrapped before stripping a ri
bbon with scissors, so it bunches into curls on top of the box. I walk into the kitchen as Sammy retrieves a bottled water from the fridge, uncaps it, and takes a sip.

  “I already know what you’re going to say.”

  “She’s manic.”

  “I said I knew,” I snap, keeping my voice low, glancing toward Katy to make sure she’s not watching us. I don’t want her feeling discussed. Sammy and I get along, for the most part, but when it comes to her sister, she’s fiercely protective. She’s both sister and best friend. The phone rings on the counter next to me, and I glance at the caller ID. It’s the Washington Post. I pick up and hang up before leaving the phone off the hook. They’ve caught wind of her return, which is no surprise to me, and our phone has been ringing for days. I’ve had the base forward all my calls to my cell. Soon they’ll be harassing us outside our doors, but our address is harder to find.

  Irritated, I look over to Sammy. “I’m doing everything I can.”

  “I know, but I’m worried, okay? You weren’t there today. She drank at lunch and then went turbo.”

  “That’s because she’s manic.” It’s not an excuse; it’s the truth.

  Her eyes drift past me to Katy. “What did they do to her?”

  “She’ll tell you in her own time.”

  Sammy raises a brow, her expression so much like her sisters. “She hasn’t told you.” Not a question, a statement.

  “Not yet. She’s still decompressing, and I’m not about to fuck it up and rush her.”

  “You’re not the only one who’s read the books,” she says, masking her voice so it sounds casual. It’s an assumption on her part, but she’s right. I’ve read everything I can find, and still, I feel clueless. Even with my own experience, I don’t know how to make this better for her.

  “Hey, you two assholes want to stop talking about me and help?” Katy shouts from the living room.

  “Dammit,” I mutter, frowning at Sammy.

  “Sorry, and just so you know, I paid for half of those toys,” she says on the sly as she passes me. Doing my best to get my balls back, I join Katy in the living room and pull a remote-controlled truck from the bag.

  “He’s going to love this,” I tell her.

  Katy nods, keeping at her task. She’s so damn beautiful. Her golden curls are tighter today. She put in a little effort, which I consider a good sign. Even in a baggy sweater and jeans, without a stitch of makeup, the woman owns my attention.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Sammy says, giving me the don’t-you-fuck-this-up eye, the same one she gave me on our wedding day.

  “Here,” Katy orders, handing me the scissors. “You keep wrapping. I’m going to go upstairs and clean up some of his toys to make room for this haul.”

  “Sounds good, and baby?” She looks down at me from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I have a kiss with that order?”

  “Shit.” She slinks down next to me, her voice apologetic. “Sorry, I’m just excited.”

  “I know, it’s fine.”

  “I spent a lot of money.” She isn’t even aware her sister picked up half the tab, and it rips at my heart.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Trust me?” she asks with slight vulnerability, and for a few seconds, I revel in it.

  “Always.”

  “Still love me?”

  “So much,” I promise. “Forever. Now give me those fucking lips.”

  Her eyes widen, and she leans in and kisses me. It feels honest, and it’s far too short. Sighing as she flies upstairs, I resume the impossible task of wrapping too many presents and gather up a good portion of them to put in the closet to deal with later. It’s only after I’m done that I make my way upstairs and find Katy pacing in Noah’s room, carrying a trash can.

  “Doing okay up here?”

  “You don’t have to babysit me,” she sighs as she picks up one of his toy soldiers and tosses it in the bin. “We shouldn’t encourage this.”

  “He’s got a lot already,” I agree.

  “No,” she says sharply, holding up a green plastic soldier, “this.”

  “He’s an army brat, Katy. He’s growing up in a military home.”

  “All I’m asking is that we don’t encourage him.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “You know what they do over there,” she warns, anger bubbling to the surface.

  “Tell me. What do they do?”

  She stands to her full height, looks up at me, drops a soldier in and shakes the trash can back and forth so the soldiers rattle inside.

  Crash.

  I’m at a loss for words as she dares me to defy her. I’ve never seen her so pissed.

  “From this moment forward, we don’t encourage him. Promise me, Gavin.”

  “Katy—”

  “Of course you’ll defend it. Because the army is such a fucking great place, right, Captain? It’s where boys become men, right? Wrong. They become killers. They’re forced to kill or be killed. And it’s all sensationalized by movies and media.”

  Every part of me that is an army captain rises to the occasion in defense, but the husband wins. “He’s got the right to choose.”

  “To choose,” she snaps, “not to be encouraged into this lifestyle.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Great!” She keeps shaking the wastebasket as she tosses the soldiers in. The sound is grating, and it’s all I can do to keep from stopping her.

  “Baby, talk to me.”

  “I am. I’m trying! I want all of this shit out of here, right now. Right fucking now, Gavin!”

  She turns to me accusingly.

  “You won’t glorify this for our son, you hear me? You’ll change into civilian clothes before you come home. I don’t want to see them.” She’s seething. “This is propaganda. God, we’re so fucking stupid. We’re so stupid for buying into this shit!”

  “Mommy,” Noah asks behind me, gripping my leg. I look behind him to see Katy’s mother frozen in her tracks, horrified.

  Noah’s eyes water up as Katy stops her tirade to kneel down in front of him. “Oh baby, don’t get upset,” she whispers, running her fingers through his curls. “Mommy was just cleaning out your room to make sure you had space for Santa’s presents.”

  “Why are you throwing my soldier away?”

  She bites her lip, and I interject. “Santa’s bringing something a lot better, bud, I promise.”

  Regret lines Katy’s features as she apologizes, “I shouldn’t have yelled, and I’m sorry.”

  “’Kay,” he nods. “See, it’s okay, Mommy.”

  Katy looks around the room, lost, as if she can’t figure out how she got there before she looks up to me.

  A crack the size of Texas rips through my chest. She’s sick, and my suspicion is it’s not going away any time soon.

  “Noah, show Grandma the tree,” I say as I run my own fingers through his curls, the color of his mother’s.

  Noah bounces back, as he always does, while my wife sags with defeat, a toy soldier in her hand. She stares at it with longing before tossing it in with the rest.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  I kneel on the floor with her and toss another soldier in. “It’s okay to feel this way.”

  “I scared him.”

  I shake my head. “He’s seen us argue before, he’s fine.”

  “He can’t be like us; he can’t. Promise me you won’t encourage this.”

  Swallowing, I nod.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, as I wait for tears that don’t come.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Briggs

  Rapping my knuckles on the door, I look around the duplex with an armload of presents, freezing my ass off. Though, at this point, I’d brave the cold, because I fear what’s on the other side of the door a lot more. She opens it after my second knock and her face cracks at the sight of me.

  “Hey, Mandy. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas, Briggs.”
<
br />   “Sorry I didn’t call first.” This visit was a last-minute decision. I had my Christmas this morning with Gran, who has a church function tonight. Instead of giving myself more whiskey dick and flirting with women I’ll never fuck, I decided to own up to my responsibilities. Jones and I had spent a drunk Christmas together years ago, on a deployment. Can’t say it wasn’t a good night. We laughed so hard we pissed ourselves. We made the most of it; we always did. People credited me for being the funny one, but he was the one with the better sense of humor. This day has been especially rough. I can’t stop thinking of him. Mandy looks at me standing here as if she knows what’s weighing on me. Maybe I made the wrong call.

  “It’s late. I can drop these off and come back another time.”

  “It’s fine, come in.” She ushers me through the front door with a pained smile on her weary face. I’ve come here many times for dinners when Jones was still alive. Mandy was always a bubbly, happy woman. Small, but mighty in both bark and bite, a beautiful brunette with bright blue eyes and a smile that stretched from ear to ear. She’s hardly recognizable in her grief.

  The house is a wreck. There’s wrapping paper and toys littering every surface, and it’s not just due to Christmas. Unfolded laundry is piled high on the couches. I pretend not to notice. I don’t know what to say, or how to act. I pretend being in his house isn’t suffocating the life out of me. I clear my throat as I lay the presents beneath the tree and find a framed picture of Jones sitting under it. “I wish I could have been here.”

  There’s no need to elaborate. I know that she’s aware I’m referring to my best friend’s funeral.

  She nods. “Me too.” Mandy rubs her nose, sniffling as she steps around me and starts toward the kitchen where the kids’ supper dishes are still on the table. I move to pick them up and carry them over to the sink, and she stops me. “I’ve got it, Briggs.”

  “Where are the rug rats?” I ask, looking for any way to start up conversation.

  “I already put Gabriella down, but D.J. is playing on his iPad in his room.” The garbage disposal runs as she empties the scraps of food down the drain. I feel fucking stupid just standing here.