Page 4 of Come Back to Me

A smile kicks up at the corner of my mouth. She’s…

The smile dies.

Any desire to draw the nurse into bed does too.

A part of me thought that when I got back on home ground, I’d hit T up. See if the strange chemistry we have in our letters would translate to real life. I’ve lived all over the world, so what’s New York City? It’s not like I couldn’t get a green card if I needed to.

I stare at my arm. Then glower at my busted leg.

Would she share Pops’s opinion too?

She only started writing to me because I’m in the Forces and there was a program to send letters to the troops.

What use am I to her if I’m not a fighter pilot anymore?

The thought shudders through me.

I don’t think she’d feel that way, but fuck, I don’t know.

Insecurities are something I’m good at compartmentalizing usually, but that’s my goddamn point—NOTHING IS USUAL.

Everything is different.

I’m not the man I was the last time I wrote to her. Hell, according to my father, I’m not even half a man.

Days of stewing in a hospital bed, Pops’s frequent visits, pain and distress and the prospect of more to come wear on my last nerve.

Depression has been trying to settle in for days, despondency with it. Served with a dose of real talk from my bastard of a father, I find myself caving into it because sparing T from this broken shell of a man is the least I can do for her.

“Gen?”

The nurse smiles at me as she breaks off from checking the machines still beeping around me. “What’s up, Cody?”

I cover my eyes with my forearm. “Can you help me write something?”

Dear John

T,

Firstly, I want to apologize for how long it’s been since I last wrote to you.

Shit’s been kind of heavy around here, and I think you’ve passed the time where all my previous letters have been delivered. This will probably get to you quickly because I’m back in the country.

Three years of friendship…

I hope you know how much they mattered to me. How much YOU matter to me. I never told you that I instigated the retirement process and I’m due to leave the Forces, but it’s a decision you helped me reach.

This means I’ll no longer be an active member of the RCAF.

A part of me knows that this is the end of our time talking to one another too. The support you offered me throughout these past few yearsis something I can’t quantify. You’ve gotten me through some real tough times, my Calamity Jane, and I’m honored to have known you.

Thank you for bringing a taste of home to a man who’d lost faith in the service, who didn’t realize yet that it was time to say goodbye to the Forces.

Wishing you health and happiness,

Yours,

Butch Cassidy

---