I'll Be Home for Christmas Page 3

  “Mission accomplished.” Carponti removed his hand and buttoned his pants. “What’s your problem? You need a hug?”

  Garrison sighed heavily, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I’m not in the mood to deal with the LT right now.”

  “When are you ever? Just go find him before he shows up here and kills all the fun.”

  Garrison lifted one eyebrow and stared at him until Carponti started to squirm. Carponti swore under his breath. Damn it, he needed to get better at lying to Garrison.

  “What did you do this time?” Garrison asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “What did you supervise this time?”

  Carponti sniffed and his mouth twitched. “Nothing.”

  “I swear to God, Carponti,” Garrison growled. “What did you see happening and not stop?”

  “Did you know we have some very talented artists in our platoon?” Carponti couldn’t stop himself from laughing because this was the second time someone had defaced the latrine with Lieutenant Randall’s ugly mug. “One of the troops drew a new picture of the LT on one of the latrine walls. It’s really a work of art. You can completely see the freckles on Randall’s nose and everything.” Carponti blinked innocently.

  “Carponti!”

  Carponti pointed over his shoulder. “The LT will be here any minute. I saw him walking into the latrine a few minutes ago.”

  Garrison laughed quietly, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You’re not right in the head.” Garrison shook his head and swore beneath his breath. “I really don’t want to deal with him today. I’m liable to shove his ego down his throat the next time I see him.”

  “That would be terrible, just terrible,” Carponti said.

  “You’re not going to go find him, are you?” Garrison said. His leg was bouncing again.

  “I mean, if it means that much to you, I’ll swing by the company ops and see if I can find out what he wants. But really, we both know I’m just saying that to make you feel better because the almighty platoon leader won’t deign to talk to a lowly sergeant like me.”

  Garrison stood and slung his weapon over his chest. “I’ll go find him. Just to keep you out of First Sarn’t Story’s office for screwing with Randall again.”

  “Taking one for the team,” Carponti said, slapping Garrison on the back. “I can’t tell you how much that makes me want to write you a Hallmark card.” He swiped his finger beneath his eye dramatically.

  Garrison flipped him off as he walked out of the bay. Carponti watched him go, wishing there was more he could do to lighten the load. He would have gone to find LT Randall but it wouldn’t have done a damn bit of good and everyone knew it. Randall was an epic and unforgettable douche bag and he was making everyone’s life miserable.

  Especially his platoon sergeant. Garrison liked to pretend everything was fine but Carponti could see the strain of this deployment. Garrison wasn’t sleeping well. Hell, no one was. The Surge, as deployments went, sucked. They were getting blown up every time they rolled outside the gate; they were down a half dozen guys who’d gotten hit at various times and, well, shit was just ugly.

  Carponti was in the not-happy-but-sleeping group of soldiers that included him and… well, him. Everyone was wound too tight, waiting for the next influx of horrible shit to happen and fill up their rucksacks with even more bad news.

  Carponti stuffed his hands in his pockets, slung his weapon across his chest, and headed out of the hundred-man bay, where his platoon was stacked up like sardines in a smelly can. The guy in the bunk next to him needed to take a goddamned shower. Carponti was willing to bet that stinky bastard hadn’t bathed since the initial invasion back in ’03. That was the only way to explain the smell.

  Carponti adjusted his weapon and headed toward the company ops. Someone had decorated First Sarn’t Story’s door with bright red and silver wrapping paper. Story wasn’t exactly a jolly type of fellow and he’d sworn something fierce when he’d discovered the defacement. But he’d left it up.

  He didn’t knock before he entered Trent’s office. He walked in to find Trent flipping through a folder, his feet kicked up on his desk. Carponti studied his feet for a moment then decided against saying anything.

  Trent looked like he hadn’t slept in at least twenty-four hours and possibly more. There was a dirty coffee cup steaming with fresh caffeine near his knee and his hands shook from a combination of too much coffee and not enough sleep. There were dark circles beneath Trent’s eyes that his glasses didn’t hide.

  “You look like shit,” Carponti said by way of greeting.

  Trent grunted then a moment later looked up. “Huh?”

  “Dude, you need to get some sleep before you pass out.”

  Trent frowned and tossed the file onto his desk, pushing his glasses up onto his head. “Sorry. Long night. Two more patrols got hit.”

  “I thought no one got hurt?” Carponti folded his arms over his chest.

  “Yeah.” He motioned to the wall, a large map of their sector spread across a corkboard. There were pins in clusters surrounding the soccer stadium in their area.

  “All the attacks still following the same pattern?” Carponti asked.

  “No; that’s what’s funny. They’re decreasing in number,” Trent said.

  “This isn’t exactly a bad thing,” Carponti said dryly. “I’m not really a fan of getting shot at.”

  Trent grinned and took a sip of his coffee. “What brings you by?”

  “I’m here to bitch about your executive officer. Why else would I be here?”

  Trent’s expression shuttered closed. “Randall’s not a bad guy.”

  “He’s a raging douche bag and he’s not even an effective douche bag. Do you know he was down in the platoon bay demanding we do a weigh-in? We’re running patrols every twelve hours and he wants us to do a weigh-in?”

  Trent cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry about that. That decree to conduct the weigh-in has come from on high.”

  “Are you fucking serious?” Carponti didn’t even try to make light of the situation. “The boys are whipped and the powers that be want to do a weigh-in? I think we should be more worried about oh, I don’t know, fixing broken weapons and vehicles instead of worrying about whether or not the boys are having too many Twinkies.”

  Trent held up his hands. “Preaching to the choir. Believe me, I argued and lost. So let’s just shut up and color, okay?”

  Carponti swore beneath his breath. “Fine.” He glanced at his watch. He still had a few minutes before his next hit time.

  “Somewhere to be?” Trent asked.

  “Calling home. I’ve got a, um, arrangement with one of the commo kids.”

  “Is it something I’m better off not knowing about?” Trent asked dryly.

  “Probably.” Carponti shifted in his chair. “When’s the last time you called home?”

  Trent frowned. “Not sure.”

  “You need to be sure,” Carponti said quietly. He stood, noticing there was a timeline on the wall behind Trent. He wanted to ask but the shadow that had fallen across Trent’s face when he’d brought up calling home worried Carponti. “Speaking of which, I’m late for my own call home.”

  Trent had more than enough going on but something in his expression made Carponti worry that home was a bigger worry than he let on.

  * * *

  He crossed behind the tactical operations center and pounded on the door of one of the commo shelters. The door swung open slowly, then when the kid inside saw it was Carponti, he opened it all the way.

  “Hey, Sarn’t C.” Jackson was a chubby kid who had an addiction to Oreos and Monster energy drinks. He had a wife who ran around Killeen in a 2006 Escalade, which meant Jackson was always in short supply of cash.

  Carponti was not above bribing the kid for a few minutes of alone time with Nicole. Not at all. Carponti slipped him a twenty and Jackson slid it into his pocket.

  “You’ve got thirty minutes until the evening briefin
g is over. So the network is clear for you.”

  “You’re a great American, Jackson.” He patted Jackson on the back as the husky kid climbed out of the shelter.

  “Make sure you lock the door, will you? I really don’t want to explain to my sergeant why you’re whacking it in our shelter.”

  “Jack, Jack, just ’cause I’m calling my wife and want some privacy doesn’t mean…” Jackson shot him a baleful look as Carponti laughed and climbed into the shelter. “I won’t leave any evidence.”

  He closed the door in Jackson’s mildly horrified face and flicked the lock into place.

  He turned to the terminal and pulled up Skype on the network that had no firewalls to keep him from seeing his wife on the other end.

  He waited for her to pick up. Hoped she would pick up. Hoped she wasn’t out on an investigation and was actually home. He was damn proud of her that she’d started the new job with the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division before he’d left. She was the perfect agent for the job. She looked like someone who belonged on TV instead of investigating the army’s worst of the worst.

  But she loved what she did and he wouldn’t complain.

  He was about to give up hope when she picked up. The screen flickered and darkened and he prayed the network would hold.

  Finally she came into view. Her hair was draped across one shoulder, her eyes sleepy. She’d turned on the bedside lamp so her face was cast in soft light and gentle shadows. God but she was beautiful.

  “Damn I miss you,” he whispered.

  Her smile was sleepy and sexy. “Hi, baby.” She leaned up and propped her head up on her palm, slowly waking up. “How are you?”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. He could tell her about the IEDs and the injuries but what was the point? He’d learned on his first deployment that telling her all the bad only made her worry. So he focused on making her smile, on calling enough to make sure she knew he was okay and not rocking in a corner somewhere crying. Sometimes, though, he just wished he could tell her how pointless it all felt. How he thought about coming home and never leaving again. But his boys needed him and he hoped, he prayed, that she could continue to understand that. “I’m good. Blowing shit up, just like always. How’s the job?”

  “I’m good. We’re on a new case. I can’t tell you too much about it but it’s really crazy the things soldiers will do for a very small amount of money.”

  She was waking up now. Her eyes were bright and he felt like she was actually looking at him now. His heart swelled and a little bit of the bad in his rucksack emptied out, and was replaced with something good from thousands of miles away: his wife’s smile.

  “Oh, you have no idea. I just paid the commo kid twenty bucks to give me some private time in his shelter while I talk to you.”

  Nicole grinned, covering her mouth with a yawn. “That’s just so wrong.”

  “But so right.” He shifted in the seat, leaning a little closer to the screen, wishing he could crawl into it and end up in their bed. “So I got your last letter.”

  The first time he’d deployed had been just this side of hell but his wife had figured out how to make it better. He’d been in a big fight in Najaf and had been damn near dead on his feet when the mail had come. And in it had been the first dirty letter she’d ever written him. For a moment, just a few, the war had fallen away as he’d slipped into the fantasy she’d written him. He’d slept like a baby that night and dreamt about his wife and her touch instead of the chaos and smoke of the war.

  So it had become a deployment ritual for them. A way to stay connected through the distance and the silence that often came with deployments.

  Her smile warmed. “Yeah? Did you like it?”

  “Oh yes. It was inspiring.” Carponti shifted to ease the tension in his pants.

  I want to feel your lips on my sweet, swollen…

  He sucked in a deep breath. His cock stiffened.

  “Yeah?” Her hand drifted down her throat, sliding slowly off camera. “Which part did you like the best?”

  Carponti cleared his throat, wishing he could see where her fingers went. Wishing they were his instead. “The part where you pulled my underwear off with your teeth.”

  She laughed but he kept thinking about the hand that had disappeared, wishing he could see where it had gone. The way her chest moved as her breath quickened. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  “Touching myself.” Her voice was thick, sultry.

  Carponti stopped breathing as all the blood rushed to his cock and it strained against his uniform pants. “Holy crap, warn a guy, will you?”

  Her laugh was throaty. Sensual and sleepy mixed together. “Want to know where?”

  He cleared his throat again. “Where?”

  “Say it,” she whispered. “I want to hear you ask me.”

  “Where are you touching yourself?” He flicked open his uniform pants, freeing his cock, and thanked the powers that be that Jackson kept paper towels and hand sanitizer in his shelter. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic setting in the world, but he’d take whatever time with his wife he could get. God but he missed her.

  He closed his eyes as he fisted his cock, waiting for her answer. “Between my legs. I’m wet. Thinking about you gets me so wet, Vic.”

  He swallowed, his throat dry as he slid his hand over his erection, wishing it was her hand, her touch.

  “Tell me what to do?”

  “Slide a finger inside yourself,” he whispered when he could remember how to talk.

  They didn’t get to do this often enough. Hell, he’d do it every night if he could but he didn’t like waking her up. Right then, though, with her words wrapping around him, he could almost close his eyes and pretend he was home.

  “I want you inside me, Vic.” Her voice was a whimper. A plea in the middle of the night that spanned the gulf between them and brought him home, just for a moment. “I want you here.”

  Her voice broke but she covered it quickly. “I want you here, I want you filling me, deep. Fast.” She gasped. “Hard.”

  “Finish,” he whispered, urging his wife to her own climax before he reached his own. “Stroke yourself. Pretend it’s my lips sucking on you.”

  She whimpered again, and her back arched off the bed. She shivered and bit her bottom lip, a smile spreading across her face as she came. He gripped his cock tight as his orgasm ripped through him, tearing out a piece of his heart as he came hard and deep.

  “I needed that,” she whispered. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.” He licked his top lip, not wanting to get off the computer but knowing she needed to sleep. He smiled at her as he cleaned himself up. “I love it when you do that for me,” he said quietly.

  She shifted and he could see the swell of her breasts against the tank top she slept in. “It makes me miss you more,” she said.

  He swallowed, the glow from his orgasm fading as reality crept back in. “I miss you,” he said suddenly. He felt the creeping presence of the clock, ticking down, reminding him that he had to go before he got caught. He needed these moments with Nicole more than she knew. “Stay safe at work?”

  “I will. I have a new partner and a new case. I’ve been working out of Waco a lot.”

  Carponti frowned. “What’s in Waco?”

  “Can’t tell you over a nonsecure line but it’s an interesting case, that’s for sure.”

  “Be careful? You’re not allowed to get shot or anything. I can’t promise I won’t end up in jail without you in my life.”

  “It’s not like that.” She grinned and covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned. “Have you heard anything more about whether you get to come home in a couple weeks?”

  Carponti swallowed hard. “I’m trying. Christmas is a hard time to try and get out of theater.”

  He wished he didn’t see the disappointment flicker over her face. “I know you are.”

  She’d lost her father last year and while her dad had n
ever really liked Carponti, his loss had really done a number on Nicole. Her mom? Her mom was traveling the world and drowning her sorrows in the life of a luxury travel agent to the stars, which meant Nicole would be alone.

  Christmas was important to her and Carponti had missed more than he’d been there for. He needed to be there for her this year. If the damn war would cooperate.

  “I’ll talk to Garrison about it again. See where I am on the list. I’ll e-mail you what I find out.”

  She smiled and it warmed her eyes. Damn it, he wished he was home, curled around her body. Feeling her breathe. He missed her so badly it hurt.

  His watch beeped as the timer when off. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Call me again when you can?” she asked.

  “I will. I love you,” he said.

  “I love you. Be safe, okay?”

  He grinned. “Of course. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the video promise. I’m still waiting.”

  Across the miles, she flushed. “I’m working up the courage.”

  “Work harder. At this rate the war will be over before you send me that video. It’ll be the highlight of my tour.”

  She laughed and he wanted to kiss her. He loved making her laugh. God but he missed her. “I’ll call soon, okay?”

  She nodded. “I love you.”

  “You too, babe.”

  He sat in the silence after the connection died, putting all the happiness from a few moments alone with his wife back in its place, a place the war couldn’t touch. He loved her, more than he could ever tell her.

  Because when he stepped out of that commo shelter, the war would be back to the top of the list of shit he was focused on.

  Chapter Four

  Nicole walked into Target and felt the festive cheer of the holidays. Beside her, Laura scolded her son for running off for the seventeenth time. Ethan—who looked like a miniature Trent—was completely contrite for all of about six seconds before he was lured away by the festive Christmas decorations on yet another end cap. Bright red sales signs advertised Christmas specials and silver tinsel lined the shelves. Of course, it wasn’t really Christmas without snow in Nicole’s opinion, but they’d lived in Texas for a couple of years now and somehow, she’d gotten used to southern Christmases.