by KL Donn
Dear Killian
A Love Letters short story book 1
KL DONN
Contents
Synopsis
Prologue
1. Killian
2. Jersey
3. Killian
4. Jersey
5. Killian
6. Jersey
7. Killian
8. Jersey
9. Killian
10. Jersey
Epilogue
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by KL DONN
One Chance excerpt
Lost & Found
Copyright © 2017 by KL DONN
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication or any part of this series may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your respect of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. The names of characters, places, brands and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and owners of various products and locations referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
Warning: This book is intended for readers 18 years or older due to bad language, and explicit sex scenes.
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Synopsis
A love that defies time and distance.
Dear Killian,
Those two words start something I wasn't intending - something I wasn't looking for.
Dear Jersey,
When every battlefield leaves me feeling alone, only letters from her give me peace.
Dedication
Kaci
Thank you for embracing the crazy. For loving me on the good days, and the bad. For being your badass self.
Be fearless.
Be you.
Prologue
Jersey
“Miss Gunner?” The middle-aged assistant my father had hired on the Navy base finally called me forward. He called me down here this morning and yet I’ve had to wait more than an hour to see him.
“Jersey!” His voice booms as I enter his office. Military paraphernalia covering every surface, the American flag standing tall and proud in the corner.
“What’s up General?” I can’t remember ever calling him dad, it was always by his title.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” he seemed hesitant to ask, which in turn has me worried.
“Okay.”
“You know of the adopt a soldier program right?” I nod. “Morale is down in some soldiers with no one back home, I’d like if you and maybe a friend or two could write to a few soldiers. Let them know they’re not alone.”
“Pen pals?” I ask after his explanation.
“Yes.”
It’s the oddest request he’s ever asked of me, but writing a letter a few times a month won’t hurt anyone. Especially if it helps a man get through his tour.
“Sure General, I’ll let some of the other teachers at school know about it too.” He smiles in triumph.
“Wonderful Jersey, the men will appreciate it. I’ve got a list of names from this base I’d like you to start with.”
My brows furrow, wasn’t it supposed to be anonymous or something? He hands me the file, and I leave feeling so much more confused than I’ve ever been after a surprise meeting with him.
The drive home from Fort Meade to Odenton is short and quiet as I ponder his odd request and who I could possibly get to write letters to strangers.
I only graduated college with a Bachelors in Child Education in the spring, and with it not even being fall I hadn’t made too many friends at the school I was lucky enough to land a full-time position at since graduation.
The women I work with are either married or older in years. I’m not sure any of them would be interested in doing this.
Parking in the drive of my small house, as I gather all my things from class, papers that had to be graded mostly, and the home projects I’d had the students do, a thought strikes me.
I could have the children write letters too. That way no soldier was forgotten. With that thought in mind I practically skip to my front door.
As soon as it’s open, I drop everything on the side table and slam it shut behind me. Prancing to the table I slap the folder my father gave me on top, remove my coat, kick my shoes off and dive in.
I’m given ranks, base name, station country, ages, gender, and a few small details. I’m disappointed there’s no names.
Getting my grade three kids to connect with people is hard enough, having no names was going to be difficult to say the least.
“I guess I’ll start on my own,” I mutter, biting down on the pen in my hand.
Sifting through the pages I finally close my eyes, spin my hand in circles and grab one.
Gripping it in my hands, I slowly open my eyes and read the information aloud, “Male, Captain of his platoon, from Trenton, New Jersey,” my snort is very unladylike, “go figure. Thirty-seven years old, and no station command. Interesting man you must be Captain.”
Uttering to myself I begin writing my first letter.
Chapter One
Killian
“Mail!” Gunnery Sergeant Wilkes calls as he enters our tent in the middle of no-fucking-where. I don’t bother looking up because I don’t get mail unless it’s from the Navy.
Since they handed me my informal discharge papers last month I’m not expecting anything.
“Captain, there’s a letter here for you,” Wilkes calls, forcing me to look up from the piles of reports I need to finish before our platoon goes on patrol at sun down.
“Thanks Gunny,” I say as he hands it to me.
I flip it side over side, pondering its contents. Wondering if it’s addressed to the wrong person. Finally looking at the addressing on the front, I see my roll-call number and I know immediately it’s a pity letter.
I know some guys like being part of the no soldier forgotten program, I personally don’t. It’s a painful reminder that I have no one waiting. I’ve gotten dozens of letters over the years and I’ve tossed them all.
Just as I’m about to toss this one, I stop. Would it hurt to open it? I’m going home soon, the return address is from Maryland, maybe it’s someone I could connect to once I’m back stateside.
“Shit,” I groan opening the damn thing.
I inspect the paper before I read the words. Pink, frilly, smells nice, and the writing is insanely neat.
Smiling, I begin to read.
Captain,
Hey, hi, umm, so maybe I should have thought this through a bit more or something since I’m obviously unsure of what the heck to write.
Crap.
Well here goes I guess.
I was asked to write a letter, get a few friends to write some letters, yadda yadda. Honestly, it feels like a blind date. You know the kind, you don’t really want to go on it but for some stupi
d reason you do, and before you know it your trapped in some weird thing when really you just want a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and to binge on Netflix?
Wow, that sounds so selfish and bad. I wish I could say I don’t mean that but I’d be lying and I SUCK at lying.
My dad asked me to do this, and then I thought hey! I could make it a class assignment (I’m a teacher) but third graders are weird creatures and barely connect with each other. How am I going to get them interested in talking to someone they don’t even know? Yanno?
Unlikely.
Anyways, I apologize for every word written above. I’m socially awkward and why I thought this was a good idea I’ll never know, but I’ve started so why not finish?
If you don’t write back, I don’t blame you (I mean that) if you choose to, I look forward to it and I’ll try to be less weird, but I make no promises.
Stay safe.
J
Laughter bubbles up from my gut. Hands down, this has to be the worst letter I’ve ever read, and the best all at once. She’s so fucking honest, and awkward and aware. She’s the kind of girl I’d like to know back home.
She’s refreshing.
I’m definitely writing her back after patrol.
“Good letter, Cap?” Wilkes asks. I hadn’t been aware he was watching me as I read it.
“You ever get an anonymous letter Wilkes?” I ask the young man.
“A couple. Mostly from girls my folks know.”
“I just read my first one,” I tell him.
“Your first? No way.” He’s astonished.
“Well, the first I’ve ever opened.”
“Wow,” he mutters walking away.
Wow indeed, I think to myself. Gazing back down at the short letter, anticipation lights my fire for the first time in years. I look forward to getting to know this girl.
Chapter Two
Jersey
“But Miss G,” my student Tommy draws out my name on a huge whine, and I have to fight not to roll my eyes.
“But nothing Tommy. You know better than to be throwing things in my classroom,” I scold the young boy. It’s the worst part of my job really.
“Cassie threw it first,” he defended.
“And she’ll be getting in trouble too. For now, you’ll sit in the office with your school work until your mother gets here.” He visibly quivered at the mention of his parent.
For some reason I couldn’t figure out why he’d been acting out for weeks. I hated punishing him when he obviously needed more than I could give him.
After getting him settled in the quiet room I stopped by the guidance counselor’s office and asked her to have a word with him. Find out if anything was wrong at home.
The rest of the day was uneventful, which for third grade that’s always a good thing. The horror stories I could tell from some of the things these kids did to each other.
Well let’s just say they made me worry for humanity in the future if they didn’t straighten out.
Pulling into my drive, I almost don’t check my mailbox. It’s been three weeks since I mailed the letter to Captain and I still hadn’t heard back. I’ve been strangely disappointed about it too, which is ridiculous.
Figuring one last shot I check the box and see three envelopes mixed in with a bunch of junk. Unlocking the front door, I toss my keys and bags on the side table as I sift through the mail.
Bill.
Bill.
Crappy flyer.
More crappy flyers.
J. Gunner.
Shit. Oh my God! He wrote me back! Tossing everything onto the table, I flop down onto the couch and tear it open. Before I unfold the paper, I hold it close to my face and inhale.
Spicy.
I’m so weird. The poor man has no idea.
Dear J,
So is that really your name? You just go by a letter, or is it a nickname? I have to admit your letter is the first anonymous letter I’ve opened. I’ve gotten several over the years, but I didn’t really have a desire to converse with people I don’t know. Your blind date reference is on point in regards to it.
I have a feeling I’m going to like talking to you though. You’re… refreshing. In just a few words you had me laughing harder than I have in a long time.
Now since we’re doing this blind date thing, maybe you’d like to know a few things about me? My name is Killian St. James, I’m thirty-seven years old, this is my final tour before retirement. I’ll be state side again in six months and I can’t wait to get out of this desert.
I enjoy target shooting, quirky women who don’t know when to shut it ;), and star gazing. Corny as hell I know, but there’s almost nothing better than a clear sky at night with nothing but the stars for light.
Ugh. And I’ve gone all lonely old man on you. Sorry.
You think you’re awkward, come to the desert with these young bucks and you’ll see some straight up weirdness.
I should be heading to bed now, it was a long night of patrol.
Hope to hear from you soon J. Maybe a little more about you too.
Stay weird.
Killian.
My foolish heart melts. My sense of humor perks up. My mind blanks. The fact he wrote back is amazing. That he has a similar sense of weirdness is kind of hot. I wonder what he looks like?
Thirty-seven, he has to be a silver fox.
I shiver thinking of him, and what he looks like in his uniform.
Stashing his letter in a box, I get right to work on writing him back. Telling him only enough not to scare him off.
Smiling as I finish, I wonder if he’ll notice?
Chapter Three
Killian
Five more months. I can handle these privileged little pricks until then. Honestly I’d like to toss their immature asses off base instead. Cursing the idiots under my command, I make my way to my desk with an armful of paper work from their stupid stunt when I see it.
Capt. K. St. James.
I’d recognize that writing anywhere. She must have sent it by courier for it to be here in only a week since I was notified of the one I’d delivered to her.
I feel like some punk teenage boy as excitement bubbles to the surface. I’d read her other letter at least a dozen times since I received it, and every time it made me laugh. Made me crave to actually meet her.
Stuffing it in the top drawer of my desk, I quickly work my way through the stack of paperwork in a better mood then when I’d walked in.
Finally finished by sun down, I go lay on my bunk. Ripping through the envelope, I read.
Captain,
I have to admit that’s less intimidating than Killian. Though I kind of love that name too. It’s so unique. It took soooooo long for your letter to come, I was actually terrified you thought I was too weird to write back. I’m kind of relieved you seem to be every bit as quirky as I am.
J is not my name. It’s not even a nick name really. It’s a boring ol’ letter I give to people until I can size them up and figure out if they’ll make fun of my name or forget.
I can tell you a few things I suppose. I’m twenty-three, I have a penchant for Cookie Dough ice cream, binge watching the corniest movies I can find on Netflix and I’m proud to say I have not turned into some scary cat lady just because I’ve never had a boyfriend.
To be honest I don’t like cats. They’re dirty, and smelly, and they claw everything! What if they got my shoes? I’d cry so hard.
Did I mention I have a shoe fetish? Not in the creepy stalker “I wanna lick your feet” kind of way. More along the lines of “oh my gosh they’re so pretty, I must own them” kind of way. I guess that’s not much better, huh?
I’ve never really paid much attention to the stars, I think I might have to now. You didn’t sound lonely, you sound like a man who knows what he likes. It’s endearing.
I feel like my kids might have you beat in weirdness. Your men would have us beat in stupidity though. I don’t know what it is, men seem to get dumber as they age
(No offense).
Soooooo where’s home for you? Do you have family waiting for you? What do you do over there when you’re not patrolling? Where is there? Are you allowed to tell me?
Wow that was a lot of questions.
J.
P.S. Sorry for the weird.
Christ this woman, two letters and I felt like we’d known each other forever. Her humor is sucking me in like a tornado. I should be worried, but I’m not. I already know what I’m going to do when I get back home.
Reading the letter again, I notice something at her signature I hadn’t before.
Lipstick.
Light pink or red.
She fucking kissed me.
Yeah, this girl, I’m gonna like her.
I settle in with a fresh piece of paper and pen and begin writing again. Ignoring the ruckus coming from outside when the fools should be trying to get some shut eye. Morons.
Chapter Four
Jersey
Sweet J,
I have some names I’ve thought up… Tell me if I get one right will ya?
Janice, Jesse, James, Jiji, Jezebel, Jackie, Jorja, Juniper, Jupiter! That last one just came to me, it’d be pretty cool.
So am I close? Probably not. You’ll tell me. I know you will.
Twenty-three huh? Still a young buck. What do you do for fun? Any boyfriends I should be worried will be jealous we’re talking? I’m partial to corny movies too, no matter how many times you shout “Don’t run up the stairs” they always do. Haha. Can’t say I understand the shoe fetish though. I might have to see this for myself one day.