Page 5 of Wyatt the Military Veteran

“You're not working too hard are you?” Ezra, ever the observant and protective older sibling, asks from the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

I'm the baby of the family. It's Soren as the oldest, the twins Ezra and Beckett, Griffen, then me. We all work at Hearthstone Lodge in some capacity, minus Beckett. He decided to break from family tradition and became a firefighter instead, which fits his whole bad boy persona.

At least, that's what my friends say.

“No, I'm fine. If I need help, I’ll let you know.”

I love having a supportive family, but four overprotective brothers is a lot. Maybe it's why I've struggled to date. I've been sheltered for so long that I don't even know how to interact with men outside of my family. And they’re all such strong personalities that I naturally melt into the background, happy to remain quiet while they draw everyone else’s attention.

The other reason for their overprotectiveness is my health issues. After college, I herniated a disc in my spine, which led to the discovery of scoliosis. Stretches and medication help manage the pain, but my brothers always make sure I'm not overexerting myself.

“Something smells good!” Beckett, Soren, and his daughter Sara Beth file through the cabin door, and our group is complete, meaning it’s finally time to eat and stop the inquiry into my life.

Thank god.

Dinner is full of laughter and good food as Beckett shares another wild rescue that his crew was called out for, but my mood quickly nosedives on the quiet drive through town back to my apartment. The silence is such a letdown after a boisterous evening with people who love me.

“I need to get a pet,” I say for the thousandth time as I park in front of the triplex. Maybe a cat or dog or even a freaking fish would alleviate some of this loneliness.

Dropping my keys on the kitchen counter, I shuffle through the mail I ignored yesterday since it looked like a bundle of junk—except when I unfold a flyer about a furniture sale, a cream envelope with my name written on it falls out.

An unfamiliar name is scribbled in block letters across the top left corner while ‘APO’ is listed in the address.Army Post Office. My brow wrinkles. If Chris is injured, would they notify me before his mom? Is that even a snail mail type message versus a phone call or an in-person visit?

Flipping the envelope over, I carefully tear the flap open and pull out a blue-lined sheet of paper. Not very official if it’s bad news.

“Dear Kennedy,” I read aloud, my nerves slowly subsiding as things become clearer. This has nothing to do with Chris, or at least, nothing to do with him being wounded or worse.

Major Wyatt Lincoln delivered my last letter to him, and he saw my impromptu thanks. That's what prompted this unexpected note.

It felt kind of stupid thanking the mail carrier at the time, but now I’m glad I did.

Because it mattered to someone.

Once I reach the end, I immediately reread the letter and contemplate my options. Should I reply? I don't know the man, but if one line on the back of an envelope meant so much to him, how much more would he appreciate a letter?

Biting my lip, I look out the window, enjoying the view of mountains rising on the horizon. Green leaves flutter in the wind as the sun continues to set in an explosion of yellows and oranges.

It’s beautiful and serene, but it doesn’t answer my questions.

Is it wrong to write Wyatt when I'm also writing Chris? It's not like we're exclusive or officially dating. He hasn't even bothered to respond to my letters.

“But he’s reading them…” I realize, connecting the dots between Wyatt’s mention of the wedding I wrote to Chris about. How else would he know about that?

Oh, god…Does Chris share my letters with his friends?

I rub the center of my chest where a tightness forms.Deep breaths, Kennedy. You're alright.The sound of my large inhale fills the room as I try to remain calm.

Those were private letters. Surely, he wouldn't share them. They're relatively inane—it's not like I’m ‘sexting’ him through the mail—but they contained details only meant for Chris.

Suddenly, I have to know.

Grabbing my stationary, I settle at the dining table and begin to write.

***

Dear Wyatt,

I'm glad my note brightened your day, but I have to ask… Does Chris read my letters aloud to your unit? You mentioned a wedding at the lodge, and I wrote about it to Chris in my last letter.

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