The pictures came in on his emails -- desert and sand, explosions, scarred earth. Soldiers in battle gear. Soldiers in the hospital. Kids with scared eyes and gaunt faces. It had started with long letters about how things were, about how much Kelly missed him, missed Nashville.
Then the long letters shortened to, “miss you, man.”
Sometimes it was just a date, a location.
Sometimes not even that.
Garrett wasn’t sure how Kelly bore it, day after day.
Christmas eve came, and he was sitting in his momma’s kitchen, bored out of his mind while everyone wandered and cooked and shit.
An email popped up on his phone, a picture of a tiny tree, a handful of lights. A note. “Need you like breathing.”
He sighed. This was utter bullshit.
He just emailed back. “Then come home to me.”
Garrett and Kelly are from the Roughstock novella, Shutter Speed. They want another book where they get their permanent happy ending.
You know the drill. Comment away. I'll announce winners Friday.
Much love, y'all.