Page 35 of Snowed in with the Grump

He looks puzzled.

I take a deep breath. “I wrote to you while you were on deployment.”

Carter's brow furrows. “I don't remember getting any letters.”

I look down, cheeks burning. “That's because I never sent them. I only sent you an email. Why didn't you write back?”

Carter nods before taking a shuddering breath.

“I wanted to, but every time I tried, the words got stuck. How could I tell you about my life when it was so dark? You're so full of light, and I'm–not the same man.”

Slowly, I reach for his hand and intertwine our fingers.

“Do you think I couldn’t handle it?” I ask gently. “Sharing the load could have made it easier for you.”

Carter closes his eyes, pained. “Maybe,” he whispers. “Probably.”

When he opens them again, the anguish there nearly breaks me. “I was a coward. I'm so sorry, Ava.”

I touch his face, guiding his gaze back to me. “You are one of the bravest people I know. We all have darkness inside us. The brave part is letting someone else see it.”

A few seconds tick by, each one stretching like an hour. “Why didn’t you send the letters?”

The irony of admitting my weakness in the same breath as Carter’s courage isn’t lost on me.

“Too chicken. They were silly letters from a stupid girl.”

“You should’ve. There were nights, days, whatever. Time had no meaning over there. But everything around me was dust and noise and the kind of tired you can't shake. If I’d had your letters, I would’ve read them.”

I finally look at him, and his eyes are glistening.“There wasn’t much to cling to. I talked about the seasons changing, my science projects, and funny things my friends would say.”

“Reading your letters would have lessened the loneliness, but I understand,” he reflects. “You didn’t know what challenges I was facing.”

My eyes burn. If I’d known, I would’ve been braver. “I’ve wondered how different things would have been if we'd stayed connected while you were gone.”

Carter nods slowly. “Maybe so. But we're here now, together. That's what matters to me most.”

The following silence is heavy but not suffocating, giving space for the words to sink in and settle into the crevices of our shared understanding.

“Nightmares. They always come back around the holidays. I can’t shake them,” he rasps.

My heart aches. I tighten my arms around him, offering what little comfort I can.

Carter lets out a shaky breath. “In my dream, I was back there the night our convoy hit an IED. I couldn't breathe from the smoke. Everything was chaos, fire, and blood—”

He breaks off, swallowing hard.

The nightmares and guilt must be so hard to bear alone. I wish I could take away the pain, but I listen and try to understand.

“Good men and women. I can still hear their voices.”His voice cracks.

“Hey,” I say gently, reaching for his hand and rubbing the calloused pads of his fingertips. “Thank you for trusting me. I love you, and I’m here for you.”

Carter takes a steadying breath before continuing haltingly. “Surviving makes me feel weak because so many people will never see their loved ones again. Yet I return to a nice house and pretend nothing ever happened.”

I brush the hair from his forehead. “It’s not your fault.”

Carter meets my gaze, his eyes pooling with pain. “Maybe, but nothing feels right. I don't deserve to be happy.”

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