Dear Desmond_a Christmas Love Letter Read online

  Dear Desmond

  a Christmas Love Letter 4

  KL DONN

  Edited by

  KA Matthews

  Illustrated by

  Sensual Graphic Designs

  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.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Blurb

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  1. North

  2. Desmond

  3. North

  4. Desmond

  5. North

  6. Desmond

  7. North

  8. Desmond

  9. North

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Next in the Love Letters

  Also by KL DONN

  About the Author

  Running from Disaster by Aubrey Parr

  Midnight Kisses by Deliaria Davis

  Molly: Part One by Tracy Lorraine

  Stitched Up Heart by Tarina Deaton

  Blurb

  Love by accident…

  Dear North,

  I don’t know what I expected.

  This wasn’t it.

  You weren’t it.

  And yet, you’re everything.

  Dear Desmond,

  I was so alone, until your letter.

  Your compassion gave me life.

  Your love is my everything.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to everyone who keeps asking for more of this series. Thank you for loving these sweet reads as much as I love writing them.

  For you.

  Loneliness is what happens when you put your life on hold. When you choose to be something bigger than yourself.

  Loneliness is what happens when you watch your friends, your commanders, find the girl of their dreams.

  Loneliness is not knowing if you’ll make it home, and if you do, will someone be waiting for you.

  As of right now, I have no one. Nothing.

  An empty condo on the fifth floor of a small downtown block in Kitsap, Washington. Growing up in Seattle, it wasn’t a stretch for me to join the Navy. With no family and few friends, the decision had been easy.

  Now, ten years later, I wish I’d taken the time to form some type of relationship with other people outside of Navy life. Witnessing Maverick—one of my best friends—find the love of his life, preceded by our former Captain and Lieutenant, I can admit I’m jealous of their luck.

  Mav suggested getting my own pen pal.

  So I have.

  The person’s name is North Williams. He or she—we don’t get told gender—is nineteen and part of a rehab program in Everett that matches troubled youth with a good influence.

  Yeah, I laughed at that one too.

  Growing up in foster care, I wasn’t the best role model. Thankfully, I managed to do something with my life before I became another statistic.

  I look forward to helping someone redirect their attention. It’ll pass the time until I find my special girl.

  This is a joke. It has to be.

  There’s no way this can be my life.

  My father, a county judge, decided that because I crashed my car four months ago, I needed help. I was a wayward youth in his words. I wasn’t drunk; I don’t do drugs. For god’s sake, I was trying to miss hitting a stray cat! Wound up in a ditch on the wrong side of the road, and because I had one too many energy drinks after a full night of studying, my pupils were kind of dilated.

  Cops automatically assumed drugs or alcohol.

  My father—mister-know-it-fucking-all—didn’t bother to do a blood test like I begged. He just popped me in front of the bench, all official-like, and demanded I attend rehab.

  Dumb, right?

  This facility is for kids—the under eighteen kind. The ones who need help. Some of these children are six ways to Sunday fucked up and could use the attention I’m getting because I’m my father’s daughter.

  “Miss Williams!” The head counselor, Jamie, calls as she walks into the group therapy room. “You have a letter.” Her grin scares me. She’s too damn happy for this somber place.

  “Uh, thanks?” I don’t have anyone who would write to me. Email or text, sure, but not put words to paper.

  Accepting the envelope from the woman, I go sit in the corner, scowling when I see they’ve already opened it. Likely to make sure there’s no contraband or anything else incriminating. Annoyed, I read.

  Dear North,

  I realize this might be weird to you, receiving a letter from a stranger. My name is Officer Desmond Rowe of the United States Navy. I’ve signed on to write letters to at-risk youth and was given your name.

  I don’t know anything about you other than your name and age, so I thought I’d tell you a bit about me first off.

  I’m 28 years old, from Seattle, Washington, and I live in Kitsap now. I’ve been in the Navy since the day I turned 18. I grew up in foster care, bouncing from home to home because I had a bad temper and nasty attitude. (So says my shitty social worker.)

  I travel all over the world for the military and am currently stationed at a Naval base in Spain as overwatch to another base before I’m sent home again.

  When I am home, I tend to train more. I don’t have much of a life; at least not many people I care to spend a decent amount of time with. I run a lot, fish, hike when I have the time.

  Not sure what else to tell you. I’m a pretty open book if you do want to know anything.

  Sincerely,

  Des

  I say again… How is this my life?

  Letters from soldiers now?

  I’m not really complaining. He sounds like a decent guy. A little bored maybe. But why would he write some snot-nosed kid with a bad attitude? His time is precious. These punks don’t deserve it to be wasted on them.

  Hell, neither do I.

  Des,

  You sound like a rock star with that name.

  Tell me something. I respect your position, the job that you do, but why are you wasting precious time on punk-ass kids with no value for life?

  These assholes have no idea what they’re doing with their lives and thrive on making everyone around here miserable.

  The hissy fits! The throwdowns over stupid shit like TV time or rec time is ridiculous. I ain’t perfect, never claimed to be, but some of the people here put my worst days to shame.

  No lie, one guy thought beat
ing his mom because she took away his Xbox was a good idea. The laughable judge who thought this place was where he belonged should be disbarred.

  Fishing—gag!

  Hiking—next, please!

  Running sounds like a lot of work, too.

  Guess I sound like one of these spoiled little pricks, too, huh?

  My fault was trying to miss hitting a cat and swerving into a ditch after having one too many energy drinks. In hindsight, I did sound desperate when I begged my father—the asshole judge who decided I needed to be punished—to do a drug test. I wanted to prove he was wrong.

  He never believes me, which kind of sucks, ‘cause I used to admire everything about him. He was righteous but had dignity. Now, he’s fat and old and lost his power for the cause.

  Reading this over, I guess I just might be one of these bitter assholes after all, who knew?

  Peace,

  North

  I don’t know whether to laugh or scratch my head. I was hoping I’d have some idea of whether North is a guy or a girl; I don’t. The swearing says guy, the printing could go either way, but the admiration for their father could be girl.

  Christ, who knew this was going to turn into some sort of algebraic equation? It doesn’t really matter, I guess. But it might help me with figuring out the best way to help this kid.

  I always thought that when I joined the Navy, I’d be on a ship. Out at sea, but as overwatch from my position in Spain, I help cover landfall for imported goods in a small middle eastern country barely on the map, but highly volatile when it comes to outsider help.

  I wonder if telling North about my travels with the Navy, would possibly inspire them to do something good with their life. Become more than another lonely kid looking for attention?

  North,

  I don’t know what it is you like to do. Obviously, anything too strenuous is out of the question. And so, I thought you might like to hear about some of my travels, at least?

  After I finished training and qualifications, I was assigned to my first unit and sent to Malaysia nearly eight years ago. I enjoyed it. The peacekeeping work we did was interesting. Experiencing how a lesser advantaged country lives was a humbling experience.

  I didn’t see a lot of war and fighting back then. It was mostly helping with relief efforts after a typhoon worked its way through the island. There was a smaller landmass close to it that was left untouched—Christmas Island.

  Sounds unreal, right?

  It is.

  It’s mostly a tourist thing with its national park covering the majority of it. I was told there was great snorkeling on the reef, as well.

  If I could go anywhere in my life, I think it’d be there.

  I’ve been to nearly every continent in the world now for one reason or another. I enjoy it, but I’d like to be a training officer even better. Helping men and women prepare for battle is nearly as hard as the battle itself.

  I don’t think I’m wasting my time with you. Right now, I’ve got nothing but time. Have you travelled? Anywhere you’d like to go?

  Thanksgiving is coming up next week, are you allowed to go home, or do you guys have to suffer without family?

  Talk soon,

  Des

  This guy sounds pretty genuine. Like he actually cares about people. He can’t possibly be real, could he? Men like that don’t exist. Not in my world.

  A place called Christmas Island? I’m going to have to look it up because it seems ridiculous. Especially in Malaysia. Isn’t it too warm for Santa down there?

  Thanksgiving…

  Christmas…

  Holidays…

  Home?

  No thanks. Not anymore. Mom left when I was little and Dad…? Well, I think he hates me now. I was no blessing as a child, and when I didn’t get accepted to the college he wanted me going to…? I haven’t mattered much to him unless I get into trouble.

  So, really, what’s the point of even acknowledging the holidays when all they do is bring me down?

  I kind of understand why there is so much crime this time of year now. People wanting attention, greed, or shelter. I get it now.

  Sadly.

  Sometimes my work is tedious, boring. Seemingly inconsequential. Until I get that one sighting. Notice something others shouldn’t. Rebels coming upon a shipped container of vaccines. Whether they plan to steal or destroy remains to be seen.

  I don’t give them a chance, however.

  “Overwatch to Base, come in,” I call into the CB mic sitting alongside me.

  “Overwatch, this is Base. Go ahead,” the base commander reports back.

  Static crackles the line as I answer. “Two trucks with eight heat sources coming your way hot and heavy.”

  “How long?” The man never screws around.

  “Ten minutes max. Not looking heavily armed. Watch your six.”

  “Roger that, Overwatch.”

  Like I said, seemingly inconsequential. But that two-minute call is about to save dozens of lives. Fascinated, I watch through my satellite feed as both vehicles stop and begin shooting. Snipers from the base have them taken out before they can even approach the premises, and I know by morning, the vaccines and other supplies will be gone. Hidden from further attack like they were never there.

  “Got it covered, Overwatch,” crackles through the line again, full of triumph.

  “Nice work, Base.”

  The rest of my night is quiet, and I find myself thinking of North. If he or she is stuck in that shithole center over the long weekend or not.

  I don’t know what it is, but I feel like we’ve connected in some way. Even though we’ve only exchanged a couple of letters, they’ve been deeply personal in many ways.

  “Hey, Des!” the base mail carrier calls out. “Got a letter!” He tosses it on my desk and walks away, hollering more names as he goes.

  It doesn’t take me long to rip open the envelope, knowing who it’s from.

  Dear Des,

  I looked up your Christmas Island; it looks tight. Misleading as hell but cool. How long are your tours typically? I tried to look it up online, but the answer varied, which makes sense but also kind of sucks.

  What I like to do? Well, I enjoy painting. Oil, watercolor, pastels. I recently tried out hot wax as a paint, and it came out interesting enough. I’d like to explore it a bit more, I think.

  Don’t you have family at home missing you? Girlfriend? Kids? Friends? How do you handle it? I know the movies and TV say all this military stuff—you grow bonds, your comrades become your brothers and sisters. But it must get lonely.

  It sounds like it does.

  I’ve always been a loner, but I like being around people. Whether it’s watching or sometimes interacting doesn’t matter too much. It’s the noise I like. The movement.

  I used to sit in the food court at the mall while doing homework and catching up on overdue assignments and observe for hours. Not one person was ever the same.

  Being here? Locked up like some common criminal? It’s horrible. I can honestly say, for the first time ever, I think I hate my dad.

  I hate him for pushing my mom away.

  I hate him for treating me like a burden.

  I hate him for never seeing me as more than some little girl with pigtails.

  I hate him.

  I hate him.

  I hate him.

  Except…

  I don’t.

  I should. And he would deserve it. I don’t deserve to be here. I’m not some irresponsible, spoiled little girl looking to make my way in life off of Daddy’s dime. I have goals and dreams, and he ruined them.

  I should hate him.

  I wish I could.

  Sorry for being melodramatic. It’s been a dreadful day. I didn’t go home for Thanksgiving. I hadn’t planned to but then changed my mind at the last minute and called him. I asked if I could.

  He refused. Told me I was an embarrassment to his name. That I’d ruined his legacy. I didn’t deserve to come hom
e when I was so troubled.

  I should hate him, Desmond…

  So why can’t I?

  ……

  North

  Fuck. She’s breaking my heart. I can practically feel her pain washing off the pages with each word I read. Her heartbreak is magnified, showcasing her feelings of unwant and rejection by her father.

  I’d like to punch the dickhead in the face at the moment. Making her feel anything less than cherished is unacceptable. He doesn’t deserve her.

  Crumpling the envelope that North’s letter came in, I stop when I feel a slight resistance. Opening it, I see a small square of photo paper. Words on the back read: this is me, real, raw, unrelenting.

  I flip it over, and it’s a punch to gut. Dark hair falls to one side of a perfectly round face with plump, full lips. Her eyes are a perfect almond shape projecting a rich green hue. And sadness. I can see her tears clear as day in the photo. She looks like someone kicked her puppy down the drain.

  The most shocking revelation is the immediate attraction I feel towards her. To her words. Now I understand why I’ve been feeling so connected to her.

  She’s meant to be mine.

  Biting my nails, I ask Jamie again, “You’re sure I’m free to go? I don’t have to stay any longer?”

  “Sweetheart, the order was very clear, North Williams is free to go. No criminal record has been established since you were never formally charged. The keys are for an apartment in downtown Kitsap. Cash is in the envelope.” I hated how much Jamie had smiled when we first met, I truly did. Now, it feels like sunshine on this horribly rainy day.