Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(53)

I never expected Captain Mathis to respond to my note. I pulled his email address off a card he gave Baba. I don’t even know if it made it to him and wouldn’t blame him if he deleted it on sight. Imagine my surprise when I receive a letter from him a few weeks after sending the email that my therapist told me was a pretty bad idea.

The envelope is thick, and I open it in the privacy of my room with some apprehension, not wanting to guess what he has to say. His handwriting is neat and small, covering both sides of four pages of plain, lined paper.

My hands are trembling already. I bared my soul to him in my letter, whether or not I should’ve sent it. I felt like I owed it to him to say what’s inside me to his face. Or at least as directly as possible, given our locations.

Sinking onto my couch, I start to read.



Katya,

I read your letter all the way through a few times. It took a lot of courage for you to write what you did, which I respect. It means I need to respond.



“That doesn’t sound good.” My stomach is churning already.



I don’t know exactly where I should start, so I’ll start at the beginning.



I devour the first two pages, not expecting him to tell me his life story. From being born to a druggie mother who died when he was two and never knowing his father, to leaving a foster family to live on the streets when he was twelve, to meeting the Marine who helped him leave a gang when he was sixteen and finish high school and college. Sawyer explains his life in a way that reminds me of how my father communicates. Both have a knack for understating the importance of the information they’re conveying. It leaves me stressed out, because I tend to do the opposite: put my emotions first then the story second. If I have to fill in the emotional blanks, I usually overreact.

He writes much like he speaks – with brevity and a general lack of emotion. I’m uncannily fascinated by his history, because I’ve always been curious about the side of him he hides, what made him the way he is, even if I don’t want anything to do with him.

Mikael and Petr respect and admire him. I want to see him the way they do, the way I’ve never been able to, because of Mikael’s death.

Page three makes me stop reading. At camp, he tried to tell me what happened the night Mikael died, and I wasn’t able to hear it.

In writing, I guess he assumes I can’t stop him. He tells me what happened and then goes on to talk about the four men whose lives were lost.

I set the letter aside a few times, because I can’t read through my tears. I don’t know how he can write this horrible event the way he does – with even less emotion than the first two pages.

When I finally make it through, I turn over the fourth page, expecting more of the same storytelling. Instead, there’s only one paragraph more.



Katya, your letter destroyed me. It served its purpose in a way, because I started counseling the day after I received it. There have been so many times I wanted to reach out to you, but I chose not to. It doesn’t mean that I don’t feel what you do or that I don’t think about your brother’s death every day. If I could take Mikael’s place that night and spare you your pain, I would gladly do it. If I could make your pain go away, I would. But I can’t. All I can say is that I’m sorry and I hope you one day find peace. It won’t happen with me in your life, so I’ll wish you well and will remove myself from your life.



Take care,

Sawyer



I set the letter down and stare at the blue sky visible out my bay window. I’m crushed and frozen and so confused by the emotions, I don’t know how to react.

Sawyer Mathis wants nothing to do with me. I expected that, but to see it written … to know I hurt him enough to drive him off …

I do that to so many people. I didn’t realize until now that I didn’t want him to be one of them.

As usual, I’ve reacted without thinking about the consequences. His farewell cuts so deep, I can’t cry. I don’t know why it hurts, not when I’ve been alternating between wanting to hate him and hoping he comes to the Christmas party. Before I left camp, we were on the verge of something I instinctively know could only have one of two outcomes: ecstasy or devastation.

There can be nothing in-between, not with how deep we both dive into one another. Is this how whatever it is between us ends?

Definitely not ecstasy.

I fold the letter carefully and replace it in its envelope then put it in my desk. The jewelry box with the Ruptured Duck is on top of my desk, and I pick it up once more. I’ve debated sending it to him every day since I got it.

It doesn’t matter now.

“You’re stuck with me, duck,” I whisper.

I stare into space for a moment before shaking my head. I put it in the same drawer and slide my feet into flip-flops for a trip out back.

Whenever I feel like this, I go out back to talk to Mikael.

The October weather is a mix of warm and cool. The trees hedging our property are starting to turn, and I breathe in the fresh air deeply. When I open the gate to the peaceful space, I’m surprised to see Petr there, standing in front of Mikael’s grave.

He glances up at my approach and smiles. There’s sadness in his strong features. When I’m close enough, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his solid frame. He has no idea how much I need the hug right now.