(Matteo's PoV)

I couldn't think straight. My head throbbed and my chest grew tight. And I was pretty sure I had somehow managed to get less sleep than my first few nights at Basic Training.

"How are you doing?" Will asked. He still seemed shaky too after the whole bombing news.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

He sat down next to me. "It's only been three days..."

"And mail's slow," I finished. "What I don't get is why the military or government or whoever people can send Sgt. Blake some emergency message saying Nebraska's been bombed, but they can't give any details." I slammed my fist down on my bed. "I mean who does it benefit? What good comes out of keeping secrets from us." I struggled to take deep breaths. "And what if the worst has happened to Emmy? And I end up like Sgt. Blake, not knowing for weeks." I gasped for air as a realization hit me. "And oh my god, what if that's what losing your girlfriend does to you?"

"If it helps, I don't think you'll ever end up like Sgt. Blake," he tried.

"I'm just scared." I wanted to punch myself for tearing up, but then I remembered I couldn't punch very hard.

This whole time she had been worrying about me being in danger and while I had been worried about her too, it was no longer just me imagining scenarios in my mind. I had been given news that she could've gotten severely hurt--or worse.

I put my head in my hands. The waiting was too much. "I miss her," I mumbled. I missed hanging out with her all day at swim meets. I missed staying up way too late texting her and not even caring when I ended up falling asleep in History class the next day. I missed the way she would loosen up--even just a little bit--every time I hugged her.

"I just hope she's all right," I mustered out. The two week wait for letters continued to feel like an eternity.

(Holly's PoV)

There had been no responses yet. It had to have been over a week since the actual bombing, and we hadn't heard anything aside from the original "we regret to inform you that Eastern Nebraska has been bombed" telegram. That was literally all it said. I should've known better than to believe we'd actually get any relevant information from our government.

I heard a knock on the wall and turned to see Landon peering into my room. "Still no word?"

I shook my head. "I told Blake that I should send a telegram back demanding information from them, but he seemed to think I wouldn't be assertive or persuasive enough."

Landon gave a small laugh. "Yeah, cuz you totally take no for an answer."

I did about the message. And about the dress. And about the fighting. But it was best to keep that stuff secret from the guys.

"But a lot of the guys are really scared," he went on.

"You seem pretty level-headed," I observed.

He shrugged. "Someone's gotta be."

It was hard to keep my eyes off his hands. While I did try my best not to consort with the guys, for some reason I saw Landon a lot and I hadn't noticed his scar until a couple weeks ago. (The fact that I wasn't able to notice injuries was a telling factor that I should be anything but a nurse, but that was beside the point).

"Landon, are you sure you're okay about that scar?" I asked.

He put his hand behind his back. "Oh yeah, it happened so long ago. It doesn't even hurt anymore."

"That's not what I meant," I clarified. "You seemed worked up when you were telling me about it."

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I mean, it's embarrassing." After a moment of silence, he blurted, "but no more than that."

"Landon, I know how you act when you're embarrassed," I reminded him. "You start blushing and kick Tristan under the table. Occasionally you'll stutter, but you've never seemed like you were out of breath."

He had brought his hand back out and gazed at the palm. After being in a trance-like state for a few seconds, he shook his head. "No really, it's fine. It's not like they were intending to hurt me."

"Do they ever?" I questioned.

"Holly," he stopped me. "It's okay. We've got bigger things to worry about: The bombing. We need to know exactly what places got hit, so we know which guys will need the most help calming down."

"But-"

He cut me off. "Just let me know when you have information on something that matters."

I sighed, going back to my desk. "Will do."

He gave a small nod and left. Figures. The only time he refused to talk was when I wasn't telling him to shut up.

(Tristan's PoV)

Lt. Jason barely made it through the doorway before we could ambush him with questions.

"What's with the package?"

"Who's it from?"

"Nevermind that--who's it for?"

He spun the package upside down to read the label. "It looks like it's for Ned."

The short, self-absorbed, freckled boy pushed his way through the crowd. I wanted to tell him off for touching me, but I distracted myself with the thought that we were finally gonna get some information.

Ned grabbed the package and gave it a small shake. "Oh good, I've been waiting for this for a while."

Gavin nudged me. "Why do you think it needed to be in a package?" he whispered.

I shrugged. By now our entire platoon was crowded around Ned, anxiously watching him rip the tape off of the cardboard box. As the packing tape came off in one smooth motion, my stomach lurched. To calm my nerves, I said a quick prayer.

Hey, Heavenly Father. It's me, Tristan. Listen, I know it's already happened, but could you make it so Fremont wasn't one of the places that got hit. I want all of my friends and family to be safe. Not that I want anyone to be a victim, but if you could just keep a special eye over Fremont, that would be super chill. Stay holy and stuff.

So it wasn't a typical Mormon prayer, but I was under a lot of pressure.

Ned stuck his hand into the box and pulled out a bag of cookies.

Landon furrowed his eyebrows in speculation. "Could those be like...'I'm sorry' gifts?"

"Possibly," I replied. Although it was awfully odd of Ned to be smiling if that was the case.

He held a bag of Mike and Ike's close to his chest. "Finally, it's here!"

"Wait," I said slowly, coming to a horrible realization. "This is what you've been waiting 'a while' for?"

He gave a small laugh. "Yeah." The pause in his speech seemed to indicate that he expected all of us to know the importance of this. "It's my 13th birthday present." He opened the candy wrapper before adding, "And my birthday was actually on Monday, so I had to wait two whole days for this."

While most of the other guys groaned in annoyance, I could feel my temperature rising, as if my blood was literally boiling.

"Oh, God forbid you have to wait two days to get your Oreos and chocolate bars while the rest of us have to wait for who knows how long to find out if our family and friends are even alive!"

Ned scoffed. "Well since you're all being rude to me, I'm not gonna share any of my birthday snacks."

Gavin sneered. "You probably weren't gonna share them with us anyway."

"Yeah, but I might have at least considered it," Ned retorted. "But now I'm not even gonna do that." He picked up his package (which covered his entire head when carried), and took it to his bed.

The rest of us started to disperse, though my fists were still clenched.

Landon tapped my shoulder. "To be fair, that gift was probably sent before the bombing even occurred," he pointed out.

"I know," I grumbled. "I'm not so much mad at him as I am just mad in general." We had been given a small amount of hope only to find out the waiting would still continue.

The only thing worse than no hope was false hope.

(Will's PoV)

Jean-Paul was the first one of us to get any sort of meaningful information. We all crowded around him, completely silent. I wish I could say it was out of respect, but it was mostly due to tension. We watched his gaze shift down the letter. He sighed and folded the note back up.

"So...what happened?" Clayton prompted, but Daniel shot him a 'shut up' look.

Jean-Paul's lip quivered a little and he let out a deep breath before replying. "Ma cousine..."

"I bet that means cousin," Marcus interjected.

Jean-Paul forced a smile. "It does." He paused for several seconds. "She was killed in ze bombing."

All the color left Marcus' face. "Oh, dude, I'm-" but he stopped himself. "Je suis dé-so-lé."

This time, Jean-Paul's smile was more genuine. "You've been practicing."

Marcus nodded. "Oui."

Jean-Paul looked down at the letter in his hand. "She only 'ad eighteen years. She was at a University visit. You know, ze University in Lincoln." He shook his head. "Which would explain why zis 'appened. Even zough ze bombs were not nuclear, zat city got ze worst of it."

Matteo lost his footing as he gasped. I rushed over to him, feeling grateful that everyone else saw this as a good time to go back to our own areas. I tried to place a hand on his shoulder. "You don't know anything for sure yet," I reminded him.

"But he said--"

"Lincoln is a big city," I reasoned. Well not really when compared to other states, but I figured that technicality wouldn't be helpful right now. "Do you even live that close to UNL?"

He shook his head. "Not terribly. Maybe like 15...20 minutes away." He choked on his breath. "But we still dont know for sure how bad the explosion was. And bombing could refer to more than one." He couldn't stop shaking. It hurt to see his eyes start to well up. "My God, what if something happened to Emmy," his voice was barely audible by the end of the sentence.

My tongue felt heavy with guilt. I wanted to talk, but I was horrible at it. But he needed it. Not just topic changes, small talk, and one word replies.

I helped him sit on his bed. "I can't even imagine how scary this must be."

He wiped his eyes. "I just hate not knowing."

"You'll get some news soon enough." It was right around the average time it took for letters to reach China. Although it would be stupid of me to believe that a response would cause Matteo's anxiety and uncertainty to disappear. His emotions staying stagnant would be a best case scenario. I hated to think what they might be replaced with if the news wasn't good.

(Matteo's PoV)

"Matteo," Lt. Jason called, immediately causing my body to shoot upright. I nearly tripped while running across the room to him. My mind chastised me. Don't get your hopes up, idiot. He is probably only here to tell you Sgt. Blake is mad at you for something.

But in his hand was an envelope. He nodded and my heart seemed to pound harder.

My name was scribbled in tiny, rushed letters on the front. I let out a sigh.

She was alive.

I took out her note.

Dear Matteo,

Now before you jump to any conclusions (cuz I know we both do that a lot). I'm okay. And so are your brothers. And the rest of your family. And everyone else you talk to. And none of them were hurt. Except for me--but like I said earlier, I'm okay. Or at least I will be soon. You're probably wondering what happened, so I should just get on with it and tell you.

So during the bombing, I was hiding in the basement for protection and one of the bookshelves was knocked over and it fell on my leg. It's broken, but it's gonna be fine. The doctor said I would make a full recovery. I just have to wear a leg brace and use crutches for a month, then everything will go back to normal. I really wish this could've gotten to you sooner. You've probably been worried sick. But please try not to worry too much about me. I'm already a nervous wreck about you. I hope you're doing all right. Take care and please write back soon.

Love,

Emmy

"Well," Will asked.

"She has a broken leg," I replied. "It'll heal, but she has to be on crutches for a month or so first."

Will grimaced. "Is she in pain?"

"Didn't say," I answered. "But I would guess so." Bookshelves were heavy and Emmy barely broke five feet tall.

But in the next moment, I looked over to the other side of the room where Jean-Paul was teaching Marcus how to say "Alan est très égoïste," and I reminded myself that with Emmy's and my luck combined, things could have turned out a lot worse.