Welcome Home, Soldier Read online

  When Clay messaged Daniel a Merry Christmas and asked him if he had family plans, Daniel had said he was flying solo because his son went on a cruise with friends. Then he’d sent a cry-face sticker that broke Clay’s heart. So just after dinner—like an ass—Clay had jumped into his car and headed to Gilead. Why hadn’t he waited until morning?

  “Nobody should be alone for the holidays,” Nick said. “Sadly, it happens more than it should.”

  Ain’t that the truth.

  Clay had spent so many Christmases alone he’d lost count.

  Nick gave him a sideways glance. “Is the mayor an Army buddy?”

  He scrunched up his face. “How did you know I was in the Army?”

  Nick shrugged and stared back into the storm. “The boots. The haircut. Maybe the way you carry yourself.”

  He ran a hand over the back of his head, the bristle of his almost silver hair scratching his palm. He hadn’t worn it longer than a number one clipper in decades. “Yeah, Army. Sergeant in the 197th. Desert Shield. Took fire in Basra.”

  Clay didn’t know why he added that last part. Mentioning the ambush evoked flashes he desperately tried to keep locked away. Memories of a fateful mission that fucked up his head and fucked up any chance of happiness with Daniel. He rolled his shoulder, making the old shrapnel wound—the only injury he’d taken that day—twinge and itch. He scratched at the scar, now thankfully covered by both cliché and meaningful ink.

  “Thank you for your service, soldier,” Nick said solemnly.

  Clay nodded.

  It all felt so long ago, but like yesterday too. He could still hear the bombings, smell the oil burning, hear the cries of his friends as they died….

  Only Daniel had made it all bearable.

  Sadly their romance had been doomed before the first kiss. Back then “fags” weren’t allowed in the military, and Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell had been a real thing. And gay marriage? What the hell was that? A joke, that was for sure. No wonder Daniel hadn’t thought Clay was worth facing all that homophobia for.

  Clay supposed he’d deserved that, though.

  A lifetime had passed for both of them, and the world had changed. But how could Clay know if Daniel had? Worst-case scenario, Clay didn’t think Daniel would begrudge him a couch for the night.

  At least he hoped not.

  Chapter Two

  “YOU SURE we’re gonna fit over that bridge?” Clay asked when a rickety-looking bridge appeared up ahead on the edge of the headlights’ range. The one-lane bridge didn’t look wide enough to fit the big vehicle.

  “Oh, I can make it,” Nick assured him.

  A soldier’s sixth sense kept him alive, and it was a trait very few lost. Though Clay trusted Nick knew what he was doing—he was probably a local—Clay held his breath as they squeezed over the old structure, the curved metal support less than a hand’s width away from Clay’s door.

  “Told ya we would make it,” Nick said merrily as they bounced around a bit when the truck was back on the road.

  “I can’t believe your boss has you delivering packages this late on Christmas Eve.”

  “I work for a real stickler,” Nick said, chuckling. “Gotta make sure that everyone in Gilead gets their Christmas present.”

  “You with the post office?” He’d been so anxious to get out of the weather that he hadn’t noticed any badging on the vehicle.

  Nick chuckled again. “Something like that. I always spend Christmas Eve delivering packages. It’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Giving everyone their Christmas miracle?”

  “I could use a Christmas miracle.”

  “Not dying on the side of the road is pretty miraculous.”

  After a begrudging nod, Clay let his vision get lost in the warp speed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Today would be one of his better Christmases. At least Clay wasn’t dead and he would get to see Daniel again.

  With his track record, Clay should hate the holidays, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. Christmas was a joyful time of year, one of hope and miracles. Of course, wanting a perfect holiday and having it always fall short used to throw Clay into a tailspin of depression, drugs, and drinking. It was still the hardest day of his sobriety. Last year he did all right, however. He saw three movies on Christmas Day, one was a good, one was lousy, and he fell asleep during the third. The only places usually open were movie theaters and bars, and Clay had no business in a bar. No sense tempting Fate.

  The soft refrains of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” filled the cab.

  A sudden, sickening sense of dread filled his chest.

  Did he think Daniel would be thrilled to see him after the way Clay ended things? What if Daniel rejected him?

  Then what?

  He had no car, no phone. He glanced at Nick, humming along to the radio. Maybe he would let Clay ride along on his deliveries…. Clay’s stomach dropped and suddenly he was that scared little boy in the church again. Not knowing where he would stay for the night, abandoned and alone. The memory hit him hard, stealing his breath.

  The Christmas lights blinked from the greenery on the pew in front of me. Maybe Mama will get us a tree so Santa can find me this year. Laughter caught my ear, and I turned. The family behind us was leaving. I looked around.

  Everyone was leaving.

  My tummy began to hurt. Mama said she was going potty, but she’s been gone a long time.

  Where is she?

  “You all right?” Nick asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Clay blinked hard and rubbed his chest, forcing the old memory back into the box where he locked away things he couldn’t face.

  With a bitter sniff, he realized that box had been too damn full for too damn long.

  Staring out into the snow steadied his racing heart. He wasn’t that frightened kid anymore, hadn’t been for a long time.

  The song on the radio repeated the refrain about being home, taunting Clay with promises of mistletoe and presents under the tree. And where the lovelight gleams?

  Whatever that meant.

  “There’s the mayor’s place,” Nick announced. “You ready, Clay?”

  He shot the man a look, startled by the serious note in his voice.

  Didn’t have a choice at this point. “Yeah, sure,” Clay managed as Nick turned into a plowed driveway lined by snow-covered trees that faded into the blowing white.

  I could wander off into the night and freeze to death.

  “It’s going to be just fine,” Nick assured him.

  Clay flinched once more.

  Nick wore the expression of someone who knew more than they should or perhaps had seen more than they wished. Or maybe Clay was imagining this entire thing and he was actually dead on the side of the road. He’d learned long ago the mind could create some powerful illusions.

  At the end of the driveway, a gleaming light filled the white expanse, a golden beacon of home to match the song still playing. Clay didn’t know what he expected Daniel’s house to look like, but he should’ve known it would be a log cabin A-frame with a big deck drenched in snow. Daniel had always dreamed of building a log cabin.

  Looks like he got his wish.

  Clay’s heart skipped as the song continued to play, and for an instant, he felt like a soldier coming home for Christmas after a long and weary tour.

  If only in your dreams, Fisher.

  “This is where you get off, soldier,” Nick announced.

  Clearing his throat when the truck stopped, he offered, “Listen, Nick, I don’t know how to repay—”

  Nick raised a hand. “No need. Just go in and make up with your friend.”

  Clay studied the cabin, hunkered in between tall pines on one side and a barn on the other, bundled up against the elements. Smoke spiraled from the stone chimney, quickly captured in the storm and whisked away. Golden light spilled from the large windows and onto the white snow. Even through the storm, Clay could make out the colorful twinkling of a Christmas tree insid
e.

  I don’t know if I can do this.

  He looked at Nick. “Are you sure you shouldn’t come in? I don’t think Daniel would mind. The roads are getting dangerous.” It was ballsy to invite a stranger into Daniel’s house, but basic human decency wouldn’t allow Nick to go back out into the storm, right?

  “No, no,” Nick assured him. “I’ve done this a time or two. I got it all under control.”

  Clay nodded but didn’t move.

  “Go on,” Nick encouraged. “I have more gifts to deliver tonight than just you.”

  Chest aching, Clay let out a weary sigh and zipped his jacket. Then he shook Nick’s hand, engulfing it in both of his own. “Thank you again. And please be safe out there.”

  Nick gave a rumbling, deep-belly laugh. “Oh, ho-ho! I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.”

  Hesitating for another moment, Clay said farewell, then climbed from the truck and shut the door. He waved goodbye and hunched into the weather. Leaving fresh tracks, he hurried toward Daniel’s porch. The wind swallowed the sounds of the truck engine, and when he glanced over his shoulder, Nick had already disappeared into the storm.

  Godspeed, friend, he thought, grateful for his guardian angel tonight.

  He hoped that same good fortune would stay with Nick on his route.

  Clay stared at the ominous green door—Daniel’s favorite color. With a fortifying breath, he pushed the doorbell. When he didn’t hear anything, he knocked on the door with a fist. On the other side, a dog barked.

  His heart gave a pang at the sound. His white German Shepard Lola had died too young, only seven. Damn, I miss her.

  Clay raised his hand to knock again, but the rumble of a man’s voice followed by the switch of a deadbolt stopped him. His heart skipped. This is it.

  The door opened.

  “Clay?” Hazel eyes met Clay’s, wide with shock.

  At least he recognizes me. That’s a start. Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, Clay offered, “Merry Christmas, Daniel.”

  “Wh-what?” Daniel shook his head. “Get in here,” he declared, opening the door and ushering him inside.

  Clay didn’t hesitate to enter, sighing when warmth and the scent of cookies, smoke, and pine surrounded him.

  The scents of home….

  Daniel shut the door, blocking out the howling storm. “What the hell are you doing here, Fisher?”

  A dopey yellow lab pushed between Daniel and Clay, then promptly shoved his nose straight up Clay’s crotch.

  “Well, hello to you too.” Clay laughed, stepping back. He held out a hand to protect himself from more inappropriate sniffing.

  “Get down, George,” Daniel scolded the excited dog as he took hold of his collar. “Sit,” he commanded, and though George obeyed, he was scooting and squirming in his seat. White around the muzzle, the old dog was still playful at heart.

  Standing in the foyer, Clay took a good look around Daniel’s home.

  Straight out of a Christmas story.

  A perfectly decorated spruce littered in gold ribbons and a mismatch of ornaments twinkled beside a stone fireplace that cut straight through the giant A-frame wall of windows, and up to the tall, trussed wooden ceiling. A real fire crackled below three stockings—Dad, Jared, and George—adding a pleasant hint of smokiness to the room. Clay could all but imagine Santa whisking down the chimney and filling the stockings with fruit and baseball cards.

  He smiled at one of his few good holiday memories. His parents had always given him oranges and baseball cards, though Clay wasn’t really a fan of either. But they’d done it out of the only love Clay had known as a child.

  Daniel’s cabin was one giant great room, with a comfy-looking green couch and two chairs circling the fireplace and tall windows. A loft above the U-shaped kitchen had a rustic wooden railing to match the staircase, and just off the kitchen were several doors leading to private areas of the home. The log walls had no hangings, the view outside all the artwork needed. Simple Shaker furniture completed a minimal but masculine look.

  Feeling like a tool for gawking, Clay knelt down, his knee popping. “You’re a friendly guy aren’t you, George?” He gave him a good scratch behind the ear, and George happily licked his face. Clay missed having a dog. They were always so happy to see you when you came home.

  Hopefully Daniel is half as glad to see me as his dog.

  Still ruffling up the dog’s floppy ears, Clay risked a peek upward.

  Twenty-five years had changed Daniel. His thick, sandy-blond hair had grayed at the temples, and his eyebrows were a little unruly. Weather and a tan had aged his skin, laugh lines marking his eyes and cheeks. He’d gained weight too, no longer having that lean soldier’s body Clay had spent hours exploring.

  Nervously, Clay looked down at George, still petting him.

  When he glanced up again, a funny thing happened. Though he hadn’t seen Daniel in ages, it only took a moment for Clay to register his age, and then it was gone. In a blink, Daniel was once more the man Clay had known and never forgot. The same hazel eyes with long lashes stared back at Clay. That cowlick still curled his hairline. Yes, his face was a little rounder, his body a little softer, but he was the same.

  Clay’s beautiful, perfect, wonderful Danny.

  But he’s not yours anymore.

  Awkward yet oh-so-familiar being on his knees in front of Daniel, Clay gave the dog one more pat, then pushed himself to his feet. Daniel stared at him, and Clay hoped Daniel liked how the years had treated him.

  Clay sure liked what he saw.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets again and flashed a grin, hoping to appear casual and calm—two things he was not. “Probably surprised to see me.”

  Still staring, Daniel nodded.

  Forcing himself not to stare awkwardly at his feet, Clay didn’t want to appear nervous. “I felt bad when you told me your son was gone for Christmas. I didn’t have anywhere to be. And since we’re only three hours apart, I thought I’d drive out and surprise you.” He gestured toward the door. “I didn’t expect snowpocalypse to strike.”

  Daniel frowned. “Didn’t you check the forecast?”

  Still so pragmatic and logical. He chuckled. “No, I didn’t check it, Danny.”

  Daniel flinched at the nickname he’d hated when they were younger and his frown disappeared. Daniel never allowed anyone to call him Danny, so naturally Clay had done it all the time.

  Their eyes met, and Clay swore they both recalled all the times Clay had whispered, “Oh, Danny, please…” while they’d writhed, naked and lost to passion.

  Clearing his throat, Daniel turned away and walked into his kitchen. The cabinets and floors were all warm, golden oak, the fixtures brushed nickel. White granite counters broke up all the wood, and recessed lights on a dry-walled ceiling made the space bright. “You’re here,” he said. “Might as well take your jacket off and make yourself at home. I was making cookies.”

  Clay’s heart leapt with delight. When was the last time you had homemade Christmas cookies?

  He didn’t exactly offer you any.

  Wordlessly, Clay took off his jacket, feeling like an intruder.

  He looked around again. The four-foot-tall carving of a black bear with a trout by the door surprised him—but it felt so very Daniel. With the open ceiling and those big windows, he’d bet this place was a bitch to heat, though. The only thing out of place in the tidy cabin was the wrapping paper and dog toys littering the floor by the tree.

  Of course Daniel bought his dog Christmas presents.

  Clay studied Daniel while he moved about the kitchen as if on edge—expected when someone from the past just showed up in the middle of a blizzard. And Clay hadn’t even explained he didn’t have a car or a phone yet. The only things he had were his pajamas and three pairs of underwear in his pocket.

  Shit! He still had on the pajamas over his clothing.

  “Um, I probably look pretty strange,” Clay said, indicating the plaid bottoms. “I
totaled my car a few miles down your road. I was in the car for a while, trying to decide if I should walk back to Gilead or not. Figured I’d layer to keep warm.”

  Best to leave out wearing underwear as a hat.

  Daniel’s brows shot up. “Did you walk here?”

  “No, this nice old guy gave me a lift.”

  “You always were a lucky son of a bitch.”

  Clay chuckled again, some of his tension easing. In that instant, he could almost imagine that not a moment had passed since they’d been apart. Then their eyes met and an entire lifetime passed between them, leaving behind a chasm wider than the Grand Canyon.

  The last Christmas they’d been together played out in Clay’s mind like a lousy ending to a good movie.

  They’d checked into their usual motel outside of Fort Benning. They’d fucked first and fought last. Clay was getting out of the service, and Daniel was stubbornly staying in. Their fight had been nasty, ending when Clay gave Daniel an ultimatum that changed their lives forever.

  Three years of commitment and real love, over in the blink of an eye.

  They hadn’t even opened presents.

  Not for the first time, Clay wondered what Daniel had gotten him. They’d put their gifts in stockings—Clay’s idea—but he’d left them both behind. The Swiss Army knife he got Daniel hadn’t been very original, but creativity had never been Clay’s strong suit.

  Had Daniel even opened his gift? Or had he thrown it away like Clay had thrown away their relationship?

  He cleared his throat, not wanting to dwell on it.

  “There’s a hall tree, and a mat for your boots,” Daniel said, pointing at Clay’s feet. “So the snow doesn’t ruin the floor.”

  When Clay saw the puddle around his boots, he hastily pulled them off and set them on the mat. Then he hung his jacket up. Shivering, he reached for the waistband of his pajama bottoms and slipped them off. The T-shirt came off next, and he placed the clothing on a barstool across from Daniel.

  Once properly dressed, he ran his fingers over his snow-damp hair. Hoping he looked a little better now, he offered, “Do you have something I can clean up this puddle with?”