I'll Be Home for Christmas

by Jessica Scott

  Iaconelli flipped him off.

  “Nice to see you, too, sweetheart.” Carponti ducked as a rocket whizzed overhead, grossly off target. God, but he was happy the insurgents had crappy aim. “Y’all want to get your asses out of there? Kind of a hot zone out here.”

  The driver and gunner climbed out, followed last by Iaconelli. Iaconelli paused in the doorway.

  “You’re never serious, are you?” Iaconelli asked.

  “I thought we already had this conversation.”

  Iaconelli heaved himself out of the truck. “We need to try to get this thing back on all four wheels.”

  “Got it covered.” The Humvee in front of them was already maneuvering into position to try and drag the flipped truck over. More rounds tinked off the truck’s armor and Carponti ducked down behind the door he was still holding. “Shit, that one was close.”

  “Get off the damn truck before you get blown up,” Iaconelli said, leaning over the side of the truck and firing at a group of approaching men armed with what looked like a couple of rocket-propelled grenades.

  “Oh goody, the greeting committee,” Carponti mumbled.

  “Get down!”

  It was the last thing Carponti heard.

  * * *

  “Carponti!”

  The voice came from very far away. Carponti frowned and tried to open his eyes. They were heavy. Something was burning.

  “I hope that’s not my balls,” he mumbled.

  “Jesus, you never stop. Open your damn eyes.”

  “Am I still in Kansas?” Carponti frowned and managed to blink. His vision cleared slowly and Iaconelli came into view, clearly not happy. “What’s that smell?”

  Iaconelli glanced at Carponti’s side, then his gaze flicked back to Carponti’s face. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Wait, that smell is me?” Panic clutched at him, closing off his lungs.

  “I said don’t worry about it. We’ve got the MEDEVAC coming for you.”

  Carponti tried to sit up and Iaconelli damn near flattened him with a single palm to the chest. He groaned. The pressure made him see spots. “Oh, what the hell? Did I manage to get myself blown up?”

  “Little bit.”

  A slow ache sharpened abruptly, tearing up his arm and down his side like molten fire. “Oh, now I feel it,” Carponti said. He no longer tried to sit up. The fire in his arm went from nonexistent to eleven in less than a nanosecond. He winced and breathed out hard. “That stings a little.”

  Iaconelli cleared his throat as he continued to do whatever he was doing to Carponti’s arm. “Yeah, I’m sure it does.”

  Carponti reached up with the hand that didn’t feel like absolute hell and gripped Iaconelli’s body armor. “Give it to me straight. Just tell me if my manhood is still intact?”

  Iaconelli flushed and finally laughed. “I have no idea and I’m not checking for you.”

  “Jesus, it takes me getting blown all to hell to get you to laugh? That is seriously fucked up.”

  He wasn’t a fan of the gory details. But he had to know. “Dude, seriously? I can’t move my arm to check myself.”

  Iaconelli’s gaze flicked over to Carponti’s side again and the source of the pain. Carponti was tempted to look, he really was. But he knew something bad had happened. Nicole was going to be so upset with him.

  “You’re fine. Does that help?”

  Carponti sulked. The thunder of overhead air support rumbled closer. “Not really, but it looks like my ride is here.” He frowned and bit down on his lip as a bolt of pain ripped through his arm and down his side. “Is it bad?” he finally asked Iaconelli as the helo touched down. Dust swirled violently around them. Moments later he was jolted onto a stretcher. “Ow.”

  “The docs are gonna sort you out, okay? But I think it’s a long way from your heart.”

  Carponti managed to laugh. “My dad used to say that to me all the time.” He blinked and looked up at Iaconelli. “Does that make you my daddy?”

  “Fuck off, Carponti,” Iaconelli growled. But for once, he didn’t sound like he wanted to knock Carponti’s teeth out.

  Which Carponti took as a very bad sign.

  * * *

  Her phone rang at five-thirty in the morning. Nicole was instantly awake, praying it was Vic. “Hello?”

  “It’s Laura. I need help.”

  An hour later, Nicole was busy in the emergency room, trying to help Laura keep order in the chaos. Laura’s call for help with the Family Readiness Group had been desperate. Someone had leaked on social media that their unit had wounded soldiers coming in from Germany and everyone was gossiping and trying to figure out who was hurt. Normally families would have already been notified if their loved one had been wounded, but this was the Surge, and nothing was normal anymore. It had happened more than once that soldiers had been wounded and shipped halfway around the world before families had been notified.

  Today, apparently, was turning into one of those days when getting a manifest was in the too-hard-to-do category.

  The emergency room was crowded full of spouses jockeying for information, and the staff there was doing their best in the middle of abject insanity. Nicole fought for patience as she tried to herd the women and two men into some semblance of order while she waited for Laura to figure out what was going on. She breathed deeply and tried to keep her own fear from paralyzing her.

  There was no news from Vic. No e-mail telling her he was okay. No phone call. Fear clutched at her heart as she tried not to hover near Laura and their friend Jen—a nurse at the hospital—who was trying to get the list of names of the wounded from the admin folks.

  She almost missed her cell phone vibrating in her pocket. She fumbled for it and nearly dropped it before desperately connecting the call.

  “Hey, babe.”

  Nicole almost collapsed with relief. “You’re okay,” she breathed. “You’re okay.”

  “Yeah, about that.” She froze. Her heart stopped in her chest. “Um, I’m kind of in Germany.”

  Tears instantly burned behind her eyes, pouring down her cheeks. She swiped at her face. “What? Vic, what’s going on?”

  He breathed deeply on the phone. “So I got blown up a little bit.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going in for another surgery so I’ll call you when I’m out.” His voice was strained.

  “How bad?”

  “I’ll see you when they evac me back to the States, okay?”

  “My ass you will. I’m getting on a plane.” Like hell she was going to sit there and wait. They didn’t have a ton of money but her mom could get her a flight. Nicole knew her mom would do that much.

  “Nikki—”

  “Don’t argue, Vic. I’m coming.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment. His silence terrified her but she held it in. “Okay.” He paused. “I love you.”

  Her voice cracked and broke. A flood of fear crashed against her heart. “I love you, too. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  She hung up the phone. Laura was right there. Nicole’s eyes burned. “Vic’s been hurt.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I’m good. I’ve got to go, okay?” She was this close to falling apart. She needed to get away from the pitying looks from the wives who’d overheard the conversation.

  The wives who were grateful it wasn’t them. She couldn’t blame them. It came with the territory. It was a guilty relief, a terrified fear that maybe next time it might be their loved one.

  Right now, none of that mattered. She needed a plane ticket now. She didn’t have time to fall apart.

  Laura pulled her into a quick hug. “He’s okay.”

  “I know.” Nicole wiped beneath her eyes. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something, okay?”

  Laura nodded and let her go.

  Nicole was on the phone instantly, having her mom make the travel arrangements. She packed a bag in a blur. Somehow she remembered to pack a coat. She didn’t even check any luggage. T
he plane took forever to taxi down the runway.

  Her thoughts raced. Her heart drummed in her ears. She didn’t do well with sitting on her hands but there was nothing else she could do. She paid the flight attendant for three little bottles of vodka. The first one burned all the way down then spread through her veins like a languid, numbing balm. The second one made her head fuzzy. She pulled the dark blue airplane blanket over her chest and turned her face toward the window so no one would see the tears as they ran down her face.

  The third one went down smooth and she forced her eyes closed. She didn’t sleep. She couldn’t stop the fear that ate at her. Vic was in the hospital. He was alive. She clung to that thought amongst all the chaos in her head on the long hours of the flight to Frankfurt.

  Her husband was alive. Whatever else happened, he was alive.

  Chapter Ten

  It was dark the next time the puffy cloud of morphine let him go. He blinked and tried to open his eyes but they were still too heavy. So he lay there in the dark and waited for the drugs to fade a little more.

  He had a vague memory of being sent out of Iraq. The flight on the hospital plane was nothing but noise as far as he could remember.

  He frowned as he blinked, hoping his eyes would obey at some point in this century. There was an itch on the palm of his right hand that was driving him crazy. He tried his hand to rub his fingers together to scratch it and felt… nothing.

  Going in for surgery.

  Carponti swallowed hard against the snippet of memory and breathed deep against the panic in his chest. Oh fuck.

  He didn’t burst awake in a panic. He blinked a couple of times then opened his eyes. Another deep, unsteady breath and he held up both hands. There was empty space where his right hand should have been. His forearm was heavy and numb and wrapped in thick gauze.

  His eyes burned. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

  He covered his mouth with his hand. His hand. He held it up. His left hand was intact. He made a fist. His fingers closed. Okay. Wedding ring. He needed to find it. Nicole was going to kill him.

  He looked at his right hand. Or rather the space where his right hand used to be.

  The bandage was thick and heavy and extended past his elbow to his mid upper arm. He didn’t really feel anything about six inches below his elbow. He felt like his hand was still there but the empty space his eyes saw argued with the sensation in his brain.

  Alone in his room, Carponti didn’t have any smart-ass comments. He couldn’t really come up with anything funny to make himself laugh.

  He just kind of sat there for a minute and did nothing.

  He didn’t swear at God. Or get angry.

  He just… sat.

  It was much harder to wrap his brain around his missing hand than anything else. He was going to have to learn to write with his left hand. Was he still going to be able to shoot? Hell, he was going to have to learn to fire left-handed.

  He scrubbed his left hand over his mouth. He stopped looking at the bandage and the empty space. Echoes from before his surgery came back to him.

  Infection. We have to amputate now.

  Might lose the whole arm if we don’t.

  He swallowed. All of that was a blur. He remembered making a crack about his balls but maybe he hadn’t because the doctors hadn’t laughed.

  Maybe his sense of humor had been in his right hand and that had been amputated, too.

  That was a shitty feeling. Holy crap, Nicole was going to be pissed. Had he called her? He couldn’t remember if he’d called her.

  What if she freaked out about it? What if she took one look at the missing appendage and executed an about-face and walked out of his life forever and went and found someone who was still a whole person? Someone who hadn’t left her alone for years on end while he was off fighting some stupid-ass war.

  A man with both his hands to hold her with.

  Holy hell, he didn’t want to call her. He wasn’t ready for that. She was going to be so pissed at him for getting hurt. Damn it, how the hell had he gotten himself blown all to hell in the first place? He frowned and glanced down at the bandage. Residual limb. Was that what it was called? Where had he heard that?

  The silence was closing in on him. He wondered if the nurses would be irritated if he got out of bed. He didn’t do well with sitting still. Never had. Hell, he’d driven his teachers nuts when he’d been a kid. The ginger kid with the smart mouth. He’d made everyone laugh. Except his teachers. They had never been amused.

  He had a sudden, terrified thought that maybe he was missing more than just a hand. He froze.

  Took a deep breath and lifted the blanket.

  His legs were intact. A white bandage spread across his hip. Oh fuck. He lifted the gown.

  Relief was something cold and wet that slapped across his skin. Everything was still there. His arm buzzed like a low jolt of electricity that hummed over his skin. He lifted it back onto the pillow where it had been resting before he’d started fidgeting.

  He had to piss. He could do that by himself, right? He pushed the blanket off his legs. Hospital gowns were so sexy. He cradled his bandaged arm against his chest and gently eased his legs over the edge of his bed.

  His head spun and the world tilted. He gripped the edge of the bed for a moment, waiting for the spinning to stop.

  There was a quiet knock on the door. His stomach pitched, imagining Nurse Ratched coming in to give him hell for getting out of bed.

  The door to his room swung open.

  And a thousand emotions crashed into him.

  His wife stood in the doorway, a small bag over her shoulder. She looked rumpled and tired and so goddamned wonderful. His heart did a funny flip in his chest. Right above the bandaged limb he’d cradled against his hospital gown.

  * * *

  Nicole stood there, rooted to the spot. He hadn’t shaved. There was at least three days of stubble on his face. A light dusting of red hair. His cheeks were thinner. He hadn’t been eating well.

  But his hair had grown back.

  Tears burned behind her eyes. She felt like she hadn’t stopped crying since she’d left the States.

  She stood there—her husband a dozen feet away—and she couldn’t move. He looked so good. So tired. So strained.

  Her gaze drifted down his body, stopping on the bandages wrapped around his right arm. And reminded herself to breathe.

  * * *

  His first urge was to hide his arm. To keep her from seeing what had happened to him.

  To run and hide from the fear of her reaction. The worst fear in the world seized him: that she would turn around and walk out that door. Asking her to wait for him had been nothing compared to this: asking her to love him when he was missing a piece of himself.

  A thousand options raced through his head. Fear burned through him. He’d be damned if he was going to cry about it. So he sat a little straighter, despite the dizziness that threatened to pitch him face first onto the floor. And wouldn’t that be a disaster?

  “Hey, babe.” His voice sounded strange to his ears. “Don’t be mad. I got a little blown up.”

  She bit her lips together. Her eyes filled. Fear stabbed him in the heart. She was going to leave. She was going to leave. Oh fuck, she was going to leave.

  She dropped her bag and rushed to the bed. It was all he could do to move his bandaged arm out of the way.

  And then she was there, her face pressed to his neck, her arms tight around him. A shudder rocketed through her. Grief, happiness, sorrow. A thousand emotions ripped through him, tearing at his heart and blocking his throat.

  He froze for a moment, not really believing that she was there, in his arms. For the first time in months, he was holding his wife.

  And at that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the missing hand. Not the months he’d spent away.

  He wrapped his arm around her and held her tight. Breathed in the scent of her hair. Savored the feel of her body against his. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. �
�I’m so sorry.”

  And when she crawled into the bed with him, he didn’t argue. He held her as best he could and tried not to embarrass himself by crying.

  * * *

  Nicole came awake slowly, the steady beat of her husband’s heart warm beneath her cheek. She lay there for a long moment, just feeling him breathe, reassuring herself that yes, this was real.

  It was morning. She’d fallen asleep after the doctor had come in and brought her up to speed on Vic’s injuries and where he stood. Vic’s expression when the doctor had said no sex would have been almost comical if the warning hadn’t been so serious. She’d spent the rest of the evening lying with her husband, reading through the pamphlets the doctor had left. She remembered lying there quietly when the nurse came in to take his vital signs.

  Her fingers curled over his heart as the tears threatened again. She wasn’t normally this much of a crier. At least she hadn’t been before this deployment. It was just fatigue. She’d get some more rest and then she’d be fine.

  Vic was alive. She sniffed quietly, trying not to wake him, but his arm tightened around her shoulders.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  “Sorry.” She swiped at her eyes. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead and she closed her eyes as the sensation of him touching her warmed her terrified heart. “You didn’t,” he said.

  She swallowed and wiped her eyes, not wanting to move from the cocoon of warmth in his bed. She vaguely remembered the nurse asking her to sleep in the chair. She wasn’t sure if Vic had threatened the woman but she knew she’d been allowed to stay.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “They already brought breakfast.”

  She turned her head, and saw the tray sitting off to one side. She brushed her hair out of her face and looked down at him. He looked tired. But he’d never looked better to her. “What time is it?”

  “After eight in the morning.” He reached up and brushed his fingers over her cheek. “You slept a long time.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  His lips were curled in a funny half smile. “Don’t be.”

  Her stomach rumbled and he smiled. “Eat, if you’re hungry.”