A Christmas Call of Duty (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Colt

S nowberry Creeks's got that classic small-town kind of vibe. Lights strung between lampposts. Festive window displays. Folks bundled up and smiling while they sip their hot chocolates. It's no wonder Mom and Dad wanted to retire here.

When I turn my rental car onto Main Street, I pass by Murphy's Diner and catch sight of its neon sign. I've never been inside, but it looks like something off a postcard. A smile tugs at my lips when I think about taking Mom there for breakfast one of these days, but the feeling is short-lived.

The sidewalks are packed with people making their way to the festival. I grip the steering wheel tighter, fighting the urge to check my six. It's been a few months since my last deployment, but I'm still not used to being around this many civilians. I guess with eight years in the service, hypervigilance becomes second nature. I wonder how all this will feel in a year from now after my contract ends. And how my family is going to react when I tell them I’m not planning to reenlist.

My breath catches when a group of teenagers dart across the street. I slam on the brakes, heart racing, but they barely glance my way. "Easy, Ralston," I mutter to myself. "You're almost home."

I pull into my parents' driveway, relieved to be away from the bustling town center. It's only my third visit since my return from Afghanistan, and every time it feels like I'm stepping into another world. The first time was the hardest. It was the week after I returned stateside. Everything seemed too loud. Too bright. Too… chaotic. I spent most of that visit holed up in a makeshift dark room in my parents’ basement. I spent days developing pictures I shot overseas and only ventured out for meals. Mom fretted, but Dad understood. He'd been there before.

My second visit, last month for Thanksgiving, was marginally better. I managed to sit through an entire football game with Dad without flinching every time the crowd cheered. But dealing with my older brother Zane and the constant stream of well-meaning neighbors dropping by all week with casseroles and questions left me drained. Maybe this time, I can enjoy being home for the holidays without feeling like I'm navigating a minefield of civilian niceties.

I kill the engine and sit in the quiet car. The twinkling Christmas lights on the porch seem less jarring than they normally do. I just hope, for Mom's sake, Zane lets me get settled before he starts running his mouth like he always does. I pull myself out of the car and grab my duffel from the trunk. As I approach the front door, it swings open before I can knock.

"Colt!" Mom rushes out and pulls me in for a dramatic hug. "Oh, honey, I'm so glad you made it!"

I linger long enough to feel the tension in my shoulders melt. "Me too, Mom."

When Dad appears in the doorway, his face creases in a rare smile. "Welcome home, son." He clasps my shoulder firmly. "Good to have you back."

"Thanks, Dad." I nod, acknowledging his understated affection.

I step inside, and the familiar scent of pine and cinnamon washes over me. Despite our nomadic upbringing as military brats, this smell has become a constant in the Ralston home during the holidays.

"Look who finally decided to show up," Zane's voice cuts through the warmth. He's leaning against the staircase, arms crossed. "Thought you might've gotten lost on the way from base, little brother."

I force a tight smile. "Nice to see you too, Zane."

Mom shoots him a warning look before turning back to me. "Come on, let's get you settled. I've got your room all ready."

I drop my bag on a bed in one of the guest rooms when Dad intercepts. "Got a minute? I finally got that starter in for the General. I was hoping we could crank her up."

"Sure!" I nod eagerly, quickening my pace as I follow him out to the garage.

The General was a project Dad and I started last fall when my transfer to Fort Drum was approved. Unlike Zane, who bonds with Dad over hunting, I always preferred shooting prize elk with a camera rather than a rifle. Fortunately, my mechanical aptitude played to my advantage since Zane never showed interest in turning a wrench. It's probably the only thing Dad and I have that we can bond over, so I'm grateful for it.

As Dad lifts the garage door, the familiar scent of motor oil and metal hits my nose, bringing back memories of countless hours spent tinkering on engines together. "Well, son, let's see how she does for you." He fishes a set of keys from his pocket and tosses them my way.

I catch them in my chest and turn to admire the 1950 Classic Ford F-100 pickup truck. The smooth curves of her body. Her fresh coat of mint green paint. The star-shaped American flag emblem on the door. And the way she gleams under the fluorescent lights. If looks could kill, I'd be dead where I'm standing.

The driver door creaks softly as I pull it open then sink into the tan vinyl bench seat. I slip my key into the ignition, and she roars to life.

"What do you think," Dad calls over the engine.

"Sounds great!"

"You should take her for a spin later. See how she handles. And if you think she's good to go, she's all yours."

"Roger that," I say, feeling a lump form at the back of my throat.

"James! Colt! Can you come inside, please!" Mom's voice carries from the front porch and snaps me out of it.

Dad and I exchange a glance before heading back toward the house, and Mom's practically bouncing on her heels when we enter the kitchen. He always says I must get my sunny disposition from her side of the family. "Colt, honey, I almost forgot to tell you! There's a Christmas Eve Festival happening on Main Street this afternoon. The whole town will be there. We should all go together!"

My stomach drops. Normally, I'd be leaping at the opportunity to celebrate the holidays with the rest of the neighborhood, but the idea of navigating through crowds of strangers sends a chill down my spine. I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I don't know, Mom. I was thinking of just staying in, maybe catching up on some sleep."

Her face falls slightly, but she rallies. "Oh, but it'll be so much fun! There’ll be caroling, and hot chocolate. And they're lighting the big tree in the square. It would mean the world having us all there together."

I feel my pulse race as a cold sweat breaks out on my palms, but before I have a chance to respond, Zane cuts in with his usual arrogance. "What's the matter, little brother? Afraid you'll get your tinsel in a tangle?" He smirks, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Or maybe you're just scared none of the ladies will pay attention to you with your big brother around."

I bristle at his jab. "Not everything revolves around you, Zane."

"Boys," Mom warns, but Zane's already on a roll.

"Come on, Colt. It's just a festival. Unless you think you can't measure up to the rest of us in public." He raises an eyebrow, and I fight the urge not to lay him out right here on the kitchen floor.

"That's enough," Dad interjects, his voice firm.

But it’s too late. I can already feel my chest tighten as I struggle to find a response that won't make me sound weak or pathetic. It's always like this with Zane. He knows exactly which buttons to push to make me feel small. Just as I begin to clench my fist, Jack, Dad's retired military K-9, wanders into the kitchen. His ears perk up as he looks at each of us. It's like he can sense the tension in the room. Then, as if deciding I need the most backup, he makes a beeline for me.

I crouch down and give him a scratch behind his ear. "Hey there, buddy." Jack leans into me, his warm presence instantly bringing me back. It's like he knows exactly what I need.

Dad clears his throat. "You know, Colt, if you're not up for the festival, why don't you stay here with Jack? He could use a good run."

I look up, surprised by the suggestion. Mom starts to protest, but Dad gives her a meaningful look. "I... yeah, that sounds good," I manage, relief washing over me.

I watch as Mom rounds up Dad and Zane, herding them toward the door like a seasoned drill sergeant. She turns back to me, her eyes softening as she cups my cheek. "Christmas caroling won't be the same without you, kiddo. But I understand. It's a lot right now. You sure you'll be okay without us?"

I force a smile that I hope seems convincing. "I'm sure. Jack and I will hold down the fort. "

She nods and smiles. "Alright. We won't be too late. There's leftover pot roast in the fridge if you get hungry."

"Thanks, Mom."

As the door closes behind them, the house falls silent. Jack nudges my hand with his nose, and I rake my hand through his shiny coat. "Just you and me now, buddy. What do you say we go for that run?"

I clip the leash onto his collar and lead him out the back door of the lodge. The crisp winter air nips at my face as we make our way down the hill toward the wooded area behind the property. Jack's excitement is palpable, his tail wagging furiously as he pulls me along. As we start our run, my mind wanders to my last deployment. Afghanistan was a far stretch from the peaceful woods of Snowberry Creek. And instead of Jack by my side, it was Mike.

Staff Sergeant Mike Dawson. My friend. My brother-in-arms. Gone.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memory, but it clings with a vengeance. The sound of the explosion. The acrid smell of smoke and dust. The weight of helplessness when I realized I couldn't save him. It was the kind of loss that makes a man long for change.

Jack whines softly, and I force myself to focus on the present. The crunch of snow under my boots. The rhythm of Jack's breathing. The quiet of the forest around us. As we round a bend in the trail, I make a silent promise to myself. I won't let the ghosts of my past ruin my favorite time of year.

The run is going well until suddenly, Jack lets out a sharp yelp. I turn and see him limping, his left front paw held up off the ground. "Hey there, buddy, what happened?" I crouch down beside him and examine his paw. There's no visible wound, but he whines when I touch it. Looking around, I spot some broken branches poking through the snow. He must have caught his paw.

"Okay, boy. Let's get you some help." I scoop him up with ease and jog back up the hill toward the lodge. In the kitchen, I grab the keys to the General from off the counter. "Hang in there, boy. We're gonna find you a vet."

I carefully load him into the passenger seat, praying I’ll find a clinic open on Christmas Eve. As I turn the key, the engine roars, and I can't help but smile despite the situation. "Alright, General," I pat the dashboard. "Let's see what you can do."