I'll Be Home For Christmas (A Coming Home Novella) (7 page)

Iaconelli looked shocked that a junior ranking sergeant would be so openly defiant but then again, Carponti didn’t actually give a shit. Maybe someday his mouth would get him in trouble but right then, with the guys still reeling from losing Garrison, the last thing he was going to let the new guy do was become another LT Randall. Fuck that.

“You’ll do things the way I say we’ll do things. This is the army, not a democracy.”

Carponti smiled coolly. “Were you potty trained at gunpoint?” He held open his arms. “Come here, big guy, let me give you a hug.”

“If you fucking touch me…” Iaconelli stuck his finger in Carponti’s face and Carponti seriously considered planting a kiss on the tip of it. He wondered if Iaconelli would punch him and how much it would hurt. Considering Iaconelli was a fucking giant who spent way too much time in the gym, Carponti would probably lose a couple of teeth before it was all said and done. “Fix the goddamned optics,” Iaconelli snapped.

Carponti offered a mock salute. “Roger that, imperial overlord.”

“Carponti…” Iaconelli’s word was a growled warning. Carponti couldn’t have cared less as Iaconelli stomped off.

He turned back to the platoon, who looked somewhere between amused and slightly horrified. “You heard him, ladies. Let’s fix the optics so Uncle Ike doesn’t have a reason to yell.”

Carponti set the guys to work taping down their optics and went back to work on his own project. He wanted to take a few minutes to go see if Jackson would let him call home but lately, the network had been sucking and Jackson had been too busy to let Carponti steal a few minutes.

He hoped Nicole would understand. Goddamn he missed her.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh goody, you’re back.” Carponti looked up into Iaconelli’s face and kept his own expression as innocent as he could. It was an expression Carponti had perfected at the age of six. “I’m sewing; what’s it look like?”

“You’re sewing?” Iaconelli’s hands shook as he folded them across his chest.

“Yep.” Carponti could have screwed with him about his hands shaking. He could have asked when was the last time the mean son of a bitch had had a drink.

But he did none of those things. Iaconelli had come on board yesterday, two days after Garrison had gotten sent back to Germany. Carponti had finally gotten the most useless status update ever from Captain Davila: They had no flipping idea how long Garrison was going to be there before he’d get shipped back to the States.

So Iaconelli, the poster boy for interpersonal hostility, was in charge. And to say that Carponti and Iaconelli had differing opinions on things… well, there was a better chance of peace in the Middle East than Iaconelli and Carponti getting along.

He hadn’t meant to get into a pissing contest with Iaconelli right off the bat but well, things just kind of happened that way. Until the incident a few minutes ago, Carponti had bitten his tongue because he hadn’t felt like being the leader of the insurgency. But he drew a line when someone screwed with his men.

He had other things to worry about. He sat there and sewed the little strip of fabric. It centered him. Reminded him that there was still something good out in the world—his wife.

He hadn’t called home in a few days. Every time he thought about it, he felt empty. Cold. He wanted to hear Nicole’s voice but he didn’t want to talk.

He didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing. Maybe he’d still get out of there in time to make it back to Texas for Christmas. He tried to ignore the shadow of Iaconelli standing over him. He wasn’t sure he could leave the guys alone with him right now. Carponti didn’t trust him and as badly as he needed to be home with Nicole for her first Christmas without her dad, he wasn’t sure he could live with himself if something happened to the guys while he was gone.

He couldn’t tell her that, though. She’d loved him through choosing the army so many times, this was the one time she needed him to choose her. He needed to be there for her this Christmas. Less than two weeks away. He could see her soon.

He was holding on to that hope like a lifeline.

“Yes, I’m sewing. Everyone has a hobby. Take Jax over there. He’s playing World of Warcraft with a girl in Scandinavia. At least that what ‘she’ told him. I suspect it’s some bored fat slob on another base somewhere here in Iraq but you can’t tell him that. He swears they’re getting married.”

Iaconelli’s face flushed and Carponti could see him trying really hard not to lose his temper. “You’re sewing,” Iaconelli repeated.

Carponti lifted both eyebrows. “You seem to be hung up on this fact but the simple fact is that yes, I am sewing.”

It was almost comical watching the myriad of emotions flash across Iaconelli’s face as he tried to find some kind of cogent response. “Have you been to the shrink lately?”

“Clean bill of health after my last explosion.”

“Obviously someone missed something if you’re sewing,” Iaconelli snarled. “Okay smart-ass, I give up. Why are you sewing?”

“It’s for my wife.” Carponti grinned in pure innocence. He didn’t need to tell Iaconelli what he was sewing. “So she’ll send me a dirty video.”

Iaconelli’s expression twisted into some form of modified horror. For a man who had been on the initial run to Baghdad, that was saying a lot. Carponti smiled and blinked.

Iaconelli held up one hand when Carponti opened his mouth to speak. “Just. Stop.”

“What?”

“Not another word. Put the goddamned cross stitch away and get ready to go to a mission brief.”

“Do I have time to go call my wife? It’s almost Christmas and I want to see if I can get her to talk dirty to me.” Iaconelli thought he was kidding. Carponti didn’t need to correct him. He was enjoying Iaconelli’s horrified reaction a lot. It had probably been a long time since someone didn’t cower at the big platoon sergeant’s feet.

Iaconelli started to argue but relented. “I don’t give a shit but if I find you whacking off anywhere near my bunk, I’m cutting your dick off.”

Carponti smiled. “I love you, too, Sarn’t Ike.”

“Carponti, I’m not fucking kidding.” He looked ready to blow a gasket. Or maybe have a heart attack; Carponti wasn’t really sure.

Iaconelli choked and turned a slightly different shade of purple. Which was really hard considering his skin was already darker from being in the constant sunshine. It might be almost Christmas but it was still hot as balls and sunny as hell during the day. The nights?

The nights, he froze his ass off. He’d tried to crawl into Iaconelli’s bunk the other night—with his sleeping bag—and Iaconelli had threatened to kill him. There was nothing wrong with grown men snuggling to keep warm but apparently Iaconelli would rather freeze than partake of body heat. About five of them had piled into the middle of the bay to keep warm because they hadn’t been given enough fuel and well, when the gas ran out, so did the generators that powered the heat in their bay.

So they’d frozen together. And Iaconelli, being the charming SOB that he was, had stayed in his own cot, missing out on a prime bonding moment with his new platoon.

Sarn’t Iaconelli had not seen the humor in the situation.

Carponti continued to sew. There was something about the repetition of the needle. He could see why women did this sort of thing. Not that he was going to take up fashion design or anything. He glanced up at Iaconelli. “Did the LT find you?”

Iaconelli sighed heavily. The fact that Lieutenant Jason Randall was a raging asshat was the single point of agreement between the two of them. And neither one of them was about to admit it. “No. I’m avoiding him. That little fuckweasel can kiss my ass.” He zeroed in on Carponti’s sewing. “And you need to put that shit away.” Carponti could have sworn he heard Iaconelli mutter
It’s creeping me out
but that couldn’t be right.

Silence hung on between them for a long moment. Carponti didn’t like Iaconelli because he wasn’t Garrison. Iaconelli didn’t like Carponti because he wasn’t properly respectful. Carponti thought it wise not to mention that he’d failed basic customs and courtesies in infantry school. Things could be worse.

They could have Randall as the platoon leader. It was bad enough trying to ignore him as the executive officer. For the life of him, Carponti couldn’t figure out why Trent hadn’t fired Randall’s sorry ass yet but that was officer business and Carponti tried to stay far, far away from that stuff. So things weren’t as bad as they could be. It could be worse but Carponti wasn’t in the mood to test the fates.

“Yeah, well, if you don’t go find him, then the rest of us are going to have to suffer through him coming in here and honestly? LT Randall smells funny.” He looked up at Iaconelli with his best innocent expression. “So would you please go find out what he’s complaining about so we don’t have to smell him?”

Iaconelli growled and stomped out of the tent, mumbling something about missing his old platoon and whiny little bastards. Carponti grinned and tucked the little stitch of cloth in his pocket. He headed across the FOB to the commo shelter and hopefully a call to his wife, then figured he’d stop by the company ops and check on Trent on his way.

The closer Christmas came, the more depressing the sad little decorations looked. Someone had decorated the counter in the company ops now and there was quiet Christmas music playing as Carponti stepped into the dusty office.

Carponti froze in the doorway.

Lieutenant Randall stood far too close to the only female in the company, PFC Adorno.

Carponti cleared his throat and strolled in, noting the way Randall jumped back. “I thought you worked in the motor pool,” he said to Adorno.

She flushed and tucked her cropped dirty blond hair back behind one ear. “I did. I’ve been pulled up to work in the company.”

Carponti frowned, watching Randall attempt to slink away. Oh, wasn’t that interesting. Relationships between officers and enlisted were forbidden but Randall was attempting to sleep with one of his direct reports? Interesting, indeed.

He looked at the LT. “Sarn’t Iaconelli is looking for you.”

Randall sniffed. “He knows where I work.”

“God, you are one charming bastard, you know that, LT?”

“Sergeant—”

Trent wasn’t in the company so Carponti left before the LT could launch into another diatribe about Carponti’s military bearing and disrespect. Couldn’t have witnesses around when he told the LT to kiss his ass, now could he?

* * *

He dreaded her answering the phone. As much as he wanted to hear her voice, a tiny, selfish part of him didn’t want her to pick up.

He didn’t have the energy to find a way to make her laugh. He was tired. Bone tired. The kind of tired that made him want to sleep for a week. Maybe then things would be okay.

Maybe then he’d find his missing sense of humor.

“Hey.” Her voice slid over his skin, a balm over all the ragged exposed wounds.

“You awake?”

Nicole’s voice was tired. “I’m working.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her smile was soft and sexy. “It’s that case I can’t really tell you much about. I’m with my partner and we’re on the way back from Waco.”

“He’s keeping his hands to himself, right? I don’t have to come home and, like, unleash my PTSD on him, do I?”

She laughed quietly. “No, honey. David isn’t going to violate your precious.”

He smiled, wishing they were alone so he could tell her how much he missed her. But they weren’t. So small talk it was. “So did you decorate the house for Christmas yet?”

“I started but… it’s hard without you. Have you heard anything else about R&R? Are you still trying to get home?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m on the list for next week. If the fates align, the planets are all in conjunction and Sarn’t Ike doesn’t have his period, it’ll work out.” He paused, unable to tell her that he was thinking about pulling his leave until things settled down. It felt wrong to think about leaving his platoon over the holidays. But instead he said, “I really want to be there for you. I know this Christmas is going to be hard.”

“Yeah.” A rustle of fabric. “I want you home, honey.”

“I know. Trust me, I’m having a blast on my vacation over here in the desert. It’s so much fun getting blown up every day.”

“Not funny.” She sniffed. “Is it that bad?”

He shrugged even though she couldn’t see it and leaned forward, cupping his face in his hands. “It’s not that bad. It could be worse.”

“How?”

“We could be getting attacked multiple times a day.”

“Not funny.”

He smiled. “It’s a little funny.”

“No, it’s not.” She was serious. Shit. He hadn’t actually meant to freak her out.

“Hey, so I made something for you.”

“Made something? What, do you have arts and crafts hour between patrols?” The laughter was back in her voice but there was an edge. Something sharp and wary. A barrier he didn’t want between them but a barrier he couldn’t scale nonetheless. Not then. Not at all.

Because his rucksack was just too full of bad news for him to force any sarcasm through.

“Yeah. I’ll give you two guesses.”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Really? Think back to the night I left.”

She sighed and he heard the exasperation in her voice. Shit, he wasn’t usually this inept with her. “Man dress.”

She laughed. But it wasn’t the same. Probably because dickwad David was in the car. He shouldn’t hate the man but Carponti was tired and feeling slightly peevish. David could have been Mother Theresa’s great nephew twice removed but at that moment, he was taking time from Carponti and his wife.

He rubbed his thumb between his eyes, needing to tell her all the bad shit. Wishing he could unload some of it and she could tell him something good to replace the bad.

Maybe he should have told her about Garrison but if she knew he was hurt, she’d worry. And she needed to focus on her job right now, not worry about what her husband was going through downrange.

So he kept quiet and the silence grew on the line. Finally, his patience snapped. “Look, I know you can’t talk much right now. I’ll try to call again soon?”

“Yeah. Hon?”