Have Yourself a Marine Christmas (Always a Marine) Read online

  “Well, I guess he’ll learn.” Sinking into the chair, he studied the landscape around them. Noel didn’t hesitate, following the sidewalk for the park. Mike’s Place provided nearly everything a recovering veteran could need or want—from physical therapy facilities, to head shrinkers, to apartments for families and the park right in the center—acres of green with sidewalks for walking, running trails for the more fit, and benches placed strategically every twenty yards.

  The best part of it all—no fucking Christmas decorations or music.

  Noel made a mental note to kill Craig later and concentrated on navigating the path into the park. Tina had called her the first day Rebel had shown signs of distress—he’d come in for his physio appointment and left five minutes later without a word to anyone. It had taken one of the orderlies to track him down in the park. He’d found a bench, sat down, and stayed there most of the day. Refusing to attend any of his sessions for the next three days, he’d barricaded himself in his room with a bad temper and hostile attitude.

  Cutting short her trip had upset her mother, but Noel couldn’t in good conscience stay another five days and let Rebel push the others around. He’d had his issues over the last year and alienated more than one of the nurses with his black moods. He was always on her rotation and she didn’t mind his temper, mostly because she didn’t put up with it. The first time he’d raised his voice at her, she’d dumped a pitcher of water over his head. He didn’t do it again.

  Picking out a lovely spot, she angled his chair toward the bench and sat. Crossing one leg over the other, she stared at him expectantly. “Talk to me.”

  A breeze wrapped the chilly air around her, and goose bumps prickled along her arms. She should have brought a jacket, but the sunny spot offered at least the illusion of warmth. Hard to believe she’d worn shorts when she’d stayed at her parents’ house.

  “It’s not a big deal.” The white lines of tension around his mouth deepened. “What went wrong at the wedding?”

  “Why would anything go wrong?” She’d give him some space, but not much. It helped no one when he pushed everyone away.

  “You weren’t due back till Friday. It’s only Tuesday.” So he had paid attention to her schedule when she’d told him about it.

  “Ahhh, well, you want details, you have to give details.”

  His eyes narrowed and she swallowed a grin. If he thought she was a hard-ass, he really should meet her mother, or better, her Nana Rosa. When Nana Rosa wanted to know something, it was easier to tell her because she never forgot and she never let anything go.

  The breeze picked up and she folded her arms, rubbing her palms along her biceps to heat them.

  “You’re cold.” Reb scowled. “Why aren’t you wearing your jacket?”

  “I didn’t notice.” She kept her tone light and glib. When his frown deepened, she couldn’t resist tweaking him further. “And the longer you delay telling me, the more I’m not going to notice it’s so cold my nipples are about to fall off.”

  His mouth snapped shut and his teeth ground together. “You can be a real bitch sometimes.”

  “You know it.” But it didn’t change anything. He’d refused physio three days running and he couldn’t afford to sit around all day. It would increase the swelling in his stumps and cause the issues he had with the prosthetics. Beyond the physical problems, it wasn’t good for him emotionally. She’d hoped he would have at least called his family over Thanksgiving weekend, but his mother had left her a message, too. He hadn’t called.

  He’d dug a trench between his current and former lives. No one had been allowed across it. Enough, however, was enough. She’d had to shake him up before and by God, she would do it again. They had not been through the last twelve months together to let him slip now.

  Clouds drifted across her splash of sunshine and the temperature seemed to plummet. She didn’t have to manufacture a shiver this time; her jeans and polo shirt were hardly effective versus the promise of winter’s kiss.

  “Son of a bitch, Noel. Let’s go inside before you freeze to death.” He blinked first, but she knew him well enough to know she couldn’t accede to his wishes yet even if he really didn’t like her being cold.

  Sucking it up, she held her ground. “Tell me why you skipped physio and I promise to buy us hot sandwiches and coffee for lunch.” Her stomach growled at the suggestion. She’d driven straight through, pausing at her apartment only long enough to shower and change before heading in to see Rebel.

  Banging his fist once on the arm of the chair, he glared. “Fine. They hosed down the entire gym with tinsel and crap.”

  That was why he didn’t go to his therapy? “They decorated…for Christmas.”

  “Yes. Now get your ass off that bench and let’s go back where it’s warm.” The growly order would normally earn him an equally bitten-off retort, but since she was half frozen and a deal was a deal, she rose. He unlocked his wheels and turned the chair without waiting for her.

  “It’s the holidays. We decorated for Thanksgiving, too.”

  He said nothing and Noel chewed the inside of her cheek. A peek toward him showed his face in danger of the scowl wearing a groove into his forehead. She’d done a lot of research about Rebel over the year, mostly unintentional. His mother, Helen Brun, and she were on a first name basis and spoke weekly. His platoon commander, a Lieutenant Brody Essex, had also taken to contacting her at frequent intervals.

  “Hey, I’m on your side.” She lost the combative edge and halted his chair, leaning behind him to whisper so her voice wouldn’t carry. Unable to see his face at that angle, she had to trust he listened to her. “Talk to me.”

  Silence.

  “Reb—Ryan—your mom said you love the holidays. Are you missing your family? You know they’d fly in—” And that turned out to be the wrong tack.

  “No.” Curt. Dismissive. Shut down.

  Damn it.

  Gripping his chair, she headed back toward the wing.

  “Stop.” The word was so low, she almost missed it, but she obeyed the request. “Lunch. You said something about food.”

  “I thought we’d hit Ortho and then eat.”

  “Your stomach is growling; you’re hungry now.” And he didn’t want to go inside. Turning the new puzzle piece over in her head, she considered their options.

  “You up for a prison break?”

  He jerked his shoulders and twisted to look at her. “Seriously?”

  And the ice breaks.

  “Damn straight. My car is right around the corner. There’s a Jason’s Deli about fifteen minutes up the road….”

  “I could kiss you right now.” A grin cut a path across his dour expression and she turned left. If bending the rules got him to open up, she’d batter the damn doors down. Fortunately, her Ford Focus wasn’t far and pushing the chair helped stave off the chill.

  Digging her keys out of her pocket, she unlocked the car and dumped the bags from the front seat into the back. Unfortunately, her car looked like she’d just returned from a road trip. Rebel studied the interior with interest, but didn’t comment. Setting his prosthetics on the rear seat, she swung around to help him get in the car, but he’d already wheeled closer to the door and with two powerful swings landed in the front seat.

  “Nice.”

  “I’ve been practicing.” Light gleamed in his eyes, a first for the day and she gave a mental fist bump. She should have recommended running away earlier. Collapsing the chair took a minute then she hoisted the whole thing into the trunk.

  Five minutes later, she considered turning on the stereo, because instead of talking, Rebel stared out the window. Traffic remained relatively light and she found a spot close to the front doors.

  “Can you park on the side?”

  “He speaks.” She let the engine idle and glanced at him. “And why the side?”

  His attention remained fixed ahead of him. “I’d rather not make a spectacle.”

  “Okay.” Ignoring
the open spots, she pulled around to the side and parked. It only took a few minutes longer to get his chair out, set up, and Rebel in it. He insisted she grab her sweater and she didn’t argue. Inside, they ordered baked potatoes loaded with brisket for him, and another with cheese, bacon and sour cream for her, along with coffee and bottles of water.

  Fortunately, with the deli pretty quiet, they scored an isolated table by the front windows. Rebel split his attention on the staff and the traffic flow on the street outside—anywhere but on her. She waited until they’d eaten a few bites before tapping the table.

  “So, you wanted to know about the wedding.” Capitulating to a tantrum wasn’t in her nature, but whatever bothered the sergeant went far beyond a pissy mood. “Two hundred guests, all people I knew well. Joseph married his high school sweetheart, so it doubled as something of a high school reunion.”

  Rebel’s gaze fixed on her and she crossed her eyes. His mouth inched toward a smile. “The good kind I hope?”

  “Eh. More like the who-can-remember-the-most-embarrassing-thing-about-you kind. Mama, bless her heart, sat me at a table with not one eligible bachelor, but five. Overkill, you think?”

  His humor vanished. “Five?”

  Spooning up some potato before addressing the question, she shrugged. “I’m twenty-nine. Mama wants grandbabies so she’s pulling out the big guns. Fortunately, Joseph’s marriage means she’ll be really focused on him for a while. But he’s my younger brother, you know.”

  “By three minutes.” The clipped tone went chillier.

  Pleasure spasmed in her belly. He’d paid attention. “True, but younger is younger. I should know. I never let him forget who the eldest in the family is.”

  For the barest of seconds, it looked like he might smile again, but he shook his head. “What happened with the guys?”

  “We ate chicken.” She scraped some of the potato away from the skin and then switched to a knife and fork to cut the potato into more digestible chunks. “I think we danced the Macarena and at least three rounds of the chicken dance before they gave up on me and found ladies who were looking to score.”

  Relief slid across his eyes and his shoulders relaxed. “Good. You should have taken a date.”

  “I would have.” She pointed her fork at him. “But that would have caused more problems. Because then everyone in the family would have done the interrogation thing.”

  Rebel grunted. “Still would have saved you being put on display like a piece of meat.”

  “Did I mention I was wearing frills?” That got his attention. “Lace, frills, and a hat the size of Texas?”

  “Why?” Shock drew him further away from the dark cave in which he huddled.

  “Bridesmaid.” Switching her attention to her coffee and washing down her last bite, she pulled out her phone and thumbed through the photos until she could show him the Gone with the Wind-esque monstrosity Joseph’s wife had roped her into wearing.

  “Holy crap, that’s pink.” The corners of his mouth twitched, but he tried to cover it up. When his shoulders started to shake and laughter escaped—she had him.

  Victory.

  “Oh yes, she had this dream of a Steel Magnolia-style wedding, which meant we hosed it all down in Pepto Bismol.”

  “Oh, God.” He didn’t even try to disguise the laughter.

  She didn’t begrudge him the humor; she’d wanted that exact reaction. Returning her phone, he shook his head. He exhaled a hard breath, trying to give her a merry look of apology, but the country music channel the store tuned into switched over to play I’ll Be Home for Christmas and he sobered.

  Damn it.

  Chapter Two

  Kicking himself didn’t seem to serve much purpose, but he wanted to do it all the same. The black clouds of his mood had put a damper on their lunch and, try as he might, he couldn’t seem to drag out from under it. Noel let him get away with it—right up until they pulled into the parking lot. She put the car in gear, but instead of shutting off the engine, she folded her arms.

  Tightening his grip on the oh-shit handle, he fixed his attention on the trees in the distance. Gone was the sunny weather they’d walked out into, the skies having turned lead gray. When the silence continued to stretch out and Noel showed no signs of moving, he sighed. “We should go inside before it rains.”

  “Yes, we should.” The very agreeable tone flashed warning red to his senses.

  Wrenching his attention away from the park, he shifted in the seat to study the stubborn lines of her profile. “Noel?”

  “Yes?” She didn’t look at him.

  “Shit, you’re pissed at me?” Real surprise stampeded through him and flicked a match to the too-short fuse of his temper.

  “Nope.” And if that didn’t take the wind out of his sails.

  “Why do you have on bitch face then?” Bitch face—not a description he would attribute to her normally, but they’d made a joke of it over the months of his recovery—recovery that sometimes earned him bitch face when he wouldn’t do what they wanted.

  She scowled. “I do not have bitch face. This is my thinking face.”

  His mouth twitched and the dregs of his humor began to stir. Maybe he could cajole her out of the bad mood. “Looks a lot like bitch face.”

  “Hmm.” She didn’t bite, however.

  “Hell, you’re going to make me talk about it.” Damn it. He didn’t want to get into this.

  No response.

  “It’s a little childish to hold me hostage in the car.” And she never behaved like a child.

  She leaned her head back against the seat and directed her attention to the landscape beyond the windshield.

  “Fuck.” He punched his fist at the roof of her car then flexed his sore hand. “I skipped physio because they plastered Christmas everywhere. Music. Decorations. Hell, one of the therapists was dressed like an elf.”

  Merry-fucking-shove-it-down-your-throat season! Resentment flash-fired through his system and he barely managed to restrain the urge to punch the roof of her car again. Once made a point, doing it twice meant losing control.

  A Marine didn’t lose control.

  “Okay.” Noel shut the car off and climbed out, leaving him to stare at the empty space where she’d been. It took her a minute to extract his wheelchair and then she arrived at the door. “Let’s go.” The temperature outside had dipped again, flushing icy air into the heated interior.

  Still gaping at her, Rebel didn’t argue as she helped him swing out and into the chair. One pause to grab his prosthetics and then she locked the car with a flick of a button and headed for the main doors.

  “That’s it?” He half-turned to keep an eye on her face.

  “It’s cold. We need to go to Ortho and you still have physio.” She didn’t slow her pace. The automatic doors opened with a swish and the cold wind chased them inside. Instead of heading to the residential wing where his room was located, she turned right to follow the indoor walkway leading to the gymnasium and physical therapy wing.

  Ortho was along the way.

  Clamping his teeth shut on his next words before they could escape, he drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair. Noel always had a comment or, at the very least, a comeback. The silence wore away at him. Ortho took fifteen minutes and the tech promised to refit the sockets and they could swing by to try them on the next day.

  The tension winding in his gut tightened the closer they got to the gym. Even the long walkways hadn’t escaped the glitter of Christmas. Evergreen garlands with red velvet bows hung every six feet. Any second now, he’d have to endure rocking around the Christmas tree when all he wanted was to run the holiday over with a reindeer.

  Further irritated by the musical direction of his thoughts, he almost missed the main doors to the gym as Noel bypassed them.

  “Hey, you missed our stop.”

  “No I didn’t.” She went another hundred feet and bumped the big metallic button on the wall with her hip to open another set of do
ors.

  “Um, this is the officers’ wing.” Officers and enlisted did mingle, but senior staff had their own workout area and he was a non-com—or at least he had been.

  “Really? And since I just started working here yesterday, I guess I missed the memo.” Snappy, insubordinate, and bordering on rude—just the way he liked her.

  Decorated in dark wood tones and lit by high windows, the gym was curiously quiet; no one worked out on the machines and no music piped in over the speakers. Better yet, no pine-scented anything waited to burn his nostrils. The hot ball of knots in his gut loosened.

  Kara Childs strolled up to meet them, dressed in her familiar scrubs and wearing a friendly, if cautious smile. Of all his physical therapists, she definitely ranked among his favorites. “Well, well, well—look what the Noel dragged in.”

  Heat burned the tops of his ears. Like Noel, Kara had been gone for the holiday weekend but, apparently, she’d heard about his mutiny.

  “Great, you got my text.” The welcome in Noel’s voice stroked over his ragged nerves.

  “What text?” When had she had time to text?

  She squeezed his shoulder. “I sent a text to Kara while the ortho looked at your fitting. Told her you needed to make up for some lost time and would prefer the North Pole-free gym.”

  His bad mood did a full one-eighty, and relief radiated down his spine until he nearly sagged in the chair. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” Another comforting squeeze. “When should I come pick him up?”

  Another deal she never argued with him over. She didn’t stay for his physio unless he asked her to. It was a Marine thing. He didn’t want the pretty girl to see him cry like a baby when he fucked up something, and it had happened—at least once. That was one time too many.

  “Let’s call it ninety minutes. We’re going to take advantage of the pool after we get some basic weight work in.” Kara glanced at her watch. “So—two thirty?”

  “Sounds good. Watch the bandages. We’ve got some abrasions and the chlorine would hurt.” Hell, she let him off the hook with that one sentence.