Free I'll Be Home For Christmas (A Coming Home Novella) by Jessica Scott

And it’s hard because she wants to know what the war was like. I can’t talk about all of it.” He glanced at her quickly. “Going to war isn’t all PTSD and trauma. It’s just some stuff is hard to talk about.”
    “How did you make it through?” Nicole asked quietly. His words had struck home. She did want to know. She hated not knowing. It hurt her, knowing that Vic wouldn’t talk to her, but David’s words sank in. Maybe he
couldn’t
talk right now.
    “I talk to her when I can. Try to share some things with her. But mostly, she listened when I told her there was some stuff I just couldn’t talk about and I asked her to be patient with me.”
    “Is she?” She admired David. He was a mentor and a friend. It was difficult to picture him as less than a perfect gentleman.
    “She gets frustrated with me. I shut down sometimes. But yeah, she’s there for me.” He reached forward and turned down the air conditioner. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if she hadn’t stuck with me. Even when I was drinking myself stupid every night.”
    “You drink?” This was new information.
    “I quit. Wrapped my car around a tree about six years ago. CID stood by me and supported me while I went through treatment. So did my wife.” He pulled up in front of her house. The outside light shined like a beacon in the darkness. “So I can’t tell you what to do but if you still love him, hold on until he gets home. Give him some time to process everything.”
    Nicole swallowed the sadness blocking her throat and nodded. “Thanks, David.”
    “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’re going through this.”
    She closed the door quietly behind her. It was reassuring that he didn’t pull off until she closed her front door and clicked off the outside light. The Christmas tree stood in the corner, a dark unlit shadow. She hadn’t managed to get the lights on it yet. Every time she started, she just got too sad.
    She turned her phone off vibrate and plugged it in next to the bed. Then she turned on the computer and logged in to Skype, hoping, praying that her husband would call her back.
    She slipped out of her clothes and into one of Vic’s shirts. She tried not to cry as she sprayed his cologne on her wrists, needing the familiarity of his scent even if she was missing the warmth of his body in the bed next to her.
    But when she slipped between the sheets and pulled a pillow to her belly, she let the tears come. Great, wracking silent sobs broke through and she cried until she couldn’t stop.
    “I just want him home.” But it was a plea to the darkness that no one heard.

Chapter Seven
    Iaconelli’s hands weren’t shaking. Carponti watched his new platoon sergeant as he talked with LT Miller just to be sure. Nope, no shaking.
    Which meant one of two things: either Iaconelli’s DTs had finally eased back or he’d gotten his hands on some alcohol.
    Carponti wasn’t a betting man but he was willing to bet Iaconelli had found some booze. Any and all sins were available in Iraq; you just had to know where to look and be willing to pay for them. He supposed it was just like America after all.
    Carponti took a pull off his Dr. Pepper and debated his actions. It had been less than a week since Garrison had gotten sent home and Iaconelli was no more integrated into the platoon than he’d been at the start of this little adventure.
    It didn’t help that two more guys were getting stitched up at the aid station. But they were coming back with a prescription for Motrin and a good night’s sleep. Carponti couldn’t blame Iaconelli directly for them getting hurt but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. He couldn’t keep drinking on the patrols. He didn’t care how much of a functioning alcoholic the man was; his drinking was going to get someone killed.
    It could have been worse. He kept reminding himself of that. He reached his hand into his pocket and felt the little piece of fabric that made up the