Faking it for Christmas

Chapter 2

Dawson

I’ve been shot before.

You’d think that would qualify as the worst part of my year, but no, walking off a plane and back into civilian life for the first time in thirteen years is giving it a run for its money.

The air in Eastbridge International Airport smells like cinnamon, burnt coffee, and too many travelers wearing too much cologne. There is Christmas music playing overhead—some chipper version of Jingle Bells, I believe. People are running around hugging each other like the world isn’t three seconds from chaos at any given moment.

My boots hit the tile floor, and for a moment, I’m weirdly aware of the weight of my duffel slung over my shoulder.

It’s stupid.

I know it is.

I’ve carried twice this amount of weight through far worse places than an airport. But today, it feels like it’s loaded with every unanswered question about what the hell comes next.

“Reese!” Morales elbows me in the ribs as he catches up. “You sure you don’t want to come with me to Nashville? My ma’s been cooking for two days. She’ll feed you ‘til January.”

“Pretty sure.” I adjust my duffel and do my best to smile. “Tell her I appreciate the offer, though.”

That's been hard.

Smiling.

He shakes his head like he can’t believe I’d say no to something as simple as a holiday dinner. That’s Morales, though—his heart is bigger than his brain half the time. Alvarez joins us, slinging his own bag over his shoulder with that practiced ease all of us have after years in the military.

“What am I to you guys, chopped liver? F*ckers just go off and leave me. The nerve,” he says with a smile. “Hey, Reese, my sister throws some wild Christmas parties. You’d forget all your problems. Or remember them with pride. Depends on how much tequila you drink.”

I huff a soft laugh. “Tempting.”

Somehow, I don't think drinking until I pass out somewhere I probably shouldn’t is the best recourse right now.

They both suddenly stop walking just in front of me. I came to a halt just before running into the back of Morales, and they turned to face me. We are now just outside baggage claim, and people are swirling around us—families greeting each other, kids dragging mini suitcases, airport security lurking like bored shadows.

The look on their faces is all I have to see to know what comes next.

“You really going to do this?” Morales asks. “Spend Christmas alone?”

Yup, there it is.

I guess I could lie. Tell them that I have plans. Or just tell them that I want space.

But they would know. Alvarez can smell a lie from a mile away on any of us.

“I’ll figure it out,” I say instead, deciding to just be honest. “I always have.”

It’s not really an answer, but it’s the closest thing I have.

Alvarez clasps my shoulder. “You know we’re just a call away, right?”

“And if you ghost me,” Morales adds, “I swear to God, I’ll track your ass down.”

I don’t tell them they won’t have to. They know me better than that.

“I’ll be fine. Go enjoy yourselves with your families.”

We say our goodbyes—quick, firm, the way men do when they’re trying not to make a moment too emotional—and then they peel off toward the rideshare pickup. Alarez is from Eastbridge, while Morales has to catch another flight in a few hours.

✦

The motel is exactly what I expected when the VA caseworker emailed me the reservation—a little too damp, a little too dim, a little too quiet except for the buzzing ice machine just outside my door.

But it’s four walls and a bed, and it won’t ask me any questions about what I'm going to do next.

I drop my duffel on the chair, and I shrug off my jacket and toss it across the bed as I sit on the edge. I let my shoulders drop, and I scrub my hand down my face as I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. The room hums with a low buzz as the heater kicks on, and for a moment, I just stare at the wall.

Retired.

That word still doesn’t feel real to me yet.

My knuckles ache from the cold, a souvenir from a fracture that never healed quite right. The docs said I got “lucky” with the bullet that ended my career. Funny how luck looks a lot more like losing the only life you ever understood.

It’s hard to be a sniper when you can't even pull the trigger anymore.

A notification buzzes on my phone. Morales again.

Got laid over for the night due to the snow. Alvarez and I are hitting a bar a couple of blocks away. Come join us man. Don’t just sit in that sad little motel.

I shake my head, but a smile tugs at my mouth despite myself.

I looked around the room. Sad is definitely the right way to describe this place. With its fading paint and threadbare comforter, which I would rather not think about. Or the chipped bathroom tiles that look like they haven't seen a drop of bleach in decades.

Fine. Maybe sitting alone in this room isn’t the best first impression to make on returning to civilian life.

Oh, alright, you talked me into it. Where at? I text back.

Morales instantly drops a pin to where they are. It's not that far. Just a couple of blocks over, plenty close enough to be able to walk. I grab my jacket off the bed and tuck my phone in my pocket, and grab the little white key before I step outside.

The cold night air punches me in the lungs—sharp, clean, different from the dry desert heat I’ve lived in for years. Lite snow flurries float softly in the air.

“I guess the snow is here now,” I say to myself as I watch them settle on the ground.

Christmas lights glow all over the street, twinkling over the storefronts and wrapped around the streetpoles in the city's attempt to be festive for the season.

I follow the glow of the streetlights until I finally reach the bar—it’s a squat brick building with a neon sign buzzing halfheartedly like it’s had a long week, too.

As soon as I step inside, warmth and noise hit me all at once. Laughter. Clinking glasses. A pool table cracking in the corner. It’s the kind of place where the floor’s a little sticky, but the beer is cold and nobody cares who you were before you walked in.

Morales spots me first from across the room. He shoots to his feet, arms flung wide like I’m a long-lost brother instead of someone he saw thirty minutes ago.

“There he is. I knew you wouldn't leave us hanging,” he booms across the bar, eliciting a couple of dirty looks from the regulars.

Alvarez just grins from behind his beer. “We were starting to take bets on whether you’d ghost us.” He pulls a twenty from his pocket and slaps it into Morales’s waiting hand.

“I take it he won the bet?” I say as I shrug off my jacket and place it on the back of one of the chairs before sitting down.

A server suddenly appears at my side and drops off a round without asking. Morales must’ve ordered ahead. I nod in thanks and take a drink. The woman smiles and bats her lashes in a clear invitation.

I don't feed into her attempts and just press the beer bottle to my lips. It is crisp and colder than the outside air.

“Not bad,” I admit, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.

Morales leans back, smug. “Eastbridge appears to have its charms.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Alvarez mutters. “My sister lives here and still complains.”

Morales snorts. “Your sister complains because she’s stuck with how many brothers are still living in Eastbridge? I’m surprised the girl has any sort of social life.”

Alvarez lifts his bottle in surrender. “Fair.”

I let the easy banter roll over me. Familiar rhythms. Familiar voices and it feels almost the same as it did in the barracks. And for the first time since landing stateside, that knot in my chest loosens just a little. Not all the way, but enough to where I can breathe a little easier.

I let my guard down. Just for tonight. I can worry about what comes next tomorrow. It's not like I'm pressed for cash or anything like that. With thirteen years in and no one depending on me back home, it was a little easier to save and put that money into things that caused it to multiply.

I lift the bottle of beer to my lips, taking a long drink as I watch Morales miss the winning shot, barely hitting the eight-ball, and the cue going into the pocket instead.

“Sh*t,” he hisses and hangs his head while Alvarez and I laugh.

Just then, the door swings open, the little bell chiming and a burst of cold air enters the bar. I don’t pay all that much attention at first—not until there is a loud scream that rings out through the bar, and I am instantly on alert.

My head whips around on instinct, my eyes scanning the bar looking for the source of the scream and whatever danger caused it.

“Sh*t,” Alvarez hisses under his breath, but his lips tick up at the sides as he makes his way towards the front door.

I turn now and see two women standing just inside the doorway—the first one is tall with dark curls and the kind of confidence that could knock a man flat. She currently has tears streaming down her cheeks as Alvarez steps in front of her.

“Is it really you?” She asks with her bottom lip trembling.

“Yeah, pipsqueak, it's me,” he says, and the girl launches herself into his arms. “I should have known you would ruin the surprise,” he adds, and a grunt soon follows suit.

“Don't be an ass, Gabe,” she says as she wipes her tears away.

I smile and let my gaze drift over to the woman who is standing just a few feet behind the siblings.

She’s small—delicate, almost—in a way that makes the oversized coat wrapped around her look like it’s doing its best to shield her from the world. Her hair falls in loose waves around her face, not styled so much as gently mussed from the wind. A rich brown, the kind that catches gold under the bar’s warm lights.

She’s beautiful, but that isn’t what hits me first.

It’s the gentleness that seems to come from her.

She is like softness in a room that’s full of sharp edges.

There’s warmth in her, a quiet under all that uncertainty that makes me want to lean into that warmth. The way her eyes soften when Alvarez laughs at something that his sister says. The way the twinkling lights above the bar catch in her eyes, and they appear to dance.

Her laugh is soft—barely audible over the hum of conversation and clinking glasses—but it’s enough to make me shift in my seat. Not because it’s loud. Because it’s real. Like it slipped out before she could catch it, like joy surprised her.

Her smile makes my chest tighten. Not in the way it used to, when adrenaline surged and instincts flared. This is quieter. Slower. Like the first breath after holding it too long.

Her gaze finds mine across the noisy room, and her cheeks flush a bright pink.

I should look away.

And yet… I can’t bring myself to.