Have Yourself a Marine Christmas (Always a Marine) (3 page)

“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
.

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 doors.

“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.

“Not a problem, we’ve got that covered…don’t we, Sergeant?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kara took charge of his chair and he managed to get a look over his shoulder at Noel’s retreat. He’d have to do something nice to thank her.

“I’d wipe that smirk off your face,” Kara informed him as she navigated toward a weight-lifting chair.

“I wasn’t smirking.” Had he been?

“Oh, yeah.” She parked the chair and moved around to check the weight ratios. “Let’s get one thing straight, Sergeant. You skipped your physio, which means you slowed down your progress at best, backpedaled it at worst. Today, we’re testing your limits to see what side of the scale you fall on. You skip again—I’m turning your case over to Logan Cavanaugh. Clear?”

Well, at least Noel wasn’t pissed at him. “Crystal.”

She fit the pulley grip into his left hand. “Good man. Give me ten reps. Let’s go.”

An hour later, muscles crying, he was still in a good mood and then Kara dumped his sorry ass in the pool. Fortunately, he could handle the float; it was the laps she demanded that proved his endurance had taken a hit. Refusing to give into the burn, he pushed through the fifth lap.

The cramp caught him off guard and he went under.
Fuck!
Fighting the pain and his own body, he fought his way to the surface and then an arm wrapped around his side and flipped him onto his back.

“Easy,” Kara ordered in a brisk, no-nonsense tone of voice. “Focus and breathe—I have you.”

Frustration lost the battle to the band of muscle seizing along his shoulders. Kara walked toward the edge, guiding him until his hand bumped the wall. He gripped it and pulled free of her hold. Bracing his arms on the side, he bowed his head.

“Breathe,” she repeated and dug her thumbs into the muscles, but made no attempt to help him hang onto the side. When they finally unlocked, he sagged against the cool concrete and panted.

“Okay, so what did we learn from that exercise?” she asked

“Listen to the muscles.” He pushed the answer out past his gritted teeth. “Pushing past the pain is the Marine taking the man too far. The man isn’t ready for that…yet.” But by God, he would be.

“Excellent.” She leaned on the wall next to him.

“So what’s my prognosis, Madame Torturer?” He’d done every damn thing she’d asked of him, pushed his limits. He knew the thigh lifts were lighter than they should have been.

“No better or worse than our last check. So that’s
good
.” The emphasis on the final word told him she wasn’t finished.

“But…?”

“But you have cramps this week and you didn’t last week. Part of your regimen requires regular physical therapy, not only to avoid atrophy, but also to help maintain quality blood flow, reduce the chance for swelling or infection. You are so close to being done, it’s incredible. We’re ready to move on to the next stage—but you aren’t up here.” She tapped the side of her head. “You were, but you’re slipping.”

Here it comes
….

“So, I’ll recommend you talk to one of the therapists, either James or someone else if you’re more comfortable.”

“Recommend?” The details were everything.

“Yep. I’m not writing you up or adding a note to your jacket. I won’t report you—but only if you agree to let Noel make the call for you if she feels it’s necessary.” A sticky offer, but not an unfair one. “She knows you best, and of all your therapists, nurses, and doctors, she’s the one who’s been with you since you got here.”

And apparently, it had been noticed. Flexing his hands on the edge of the concrete, he turned the idea over in his mind. “I want to move on to working full time in the prosthetics.” The day he mastered them one-hundred percent, he’d have his full mobility and he could leave the hospital wing. The decorative nightmare they’d turned it into just gave him more impetus.

“You gotta take care of them if you’re going to,” she agreed. “But do we have a deal?”

A door opened on the far side of the pool area and Rebel’s focus locked on Noel heading in their direction around the Olympic-size area. “She’s smart as hell and doesn’t let me get away with shit.”

“I know.” Kara grinned. “I’m willing to cut you some slack because she won’t.”

“We have a deal. I’ll be here tomorrow—with the prosthetics on.” He hoisted himself up and made it into a sitting position. She followed him out of the pool and tossed him a towel.

“He’s all yours, Noel. I’ll see you two in the morning.” Kara waved and gave him a significant look.

He nodded, message received. Agreeing to the deal had only been the first step. It was up to him to let Noel know.

“You got it—oh, and I saw a sexy Marine waiting for you outside.” His good mood evaporated at Noel’s response. “I believe he mentioned fondue.”

Kara laughed. “Derek’s been dying to try this place down in Addison, and Jazz gave us a gift certificate at the engagement party. I’m out. Tomorrow morning, Sergeant. I’ve got my eye on you.”

Noel crouched next to him, took the towel from his hand, and began to rub his hair dry. “You need a haircut.”

“You really shouldn’t tell another woman her fiancé is sexy.” Where the hell had that come from?

Brows arched, she gave him an assessing look. “Why not? Just because he’s a limited edition doesn’t mean I can’t admire the chrome.”

Catching her wrist, he shook his head. “No admiring the chrome.”

“Hmm. Pity.” She slid her arm around his waist and he wrapped his damp arm along her shoulders.

“Why pity?” He asked once she’d gotten him in his chair. Everything ached, but the stiffness told him he was alive and he appreciated the sensation.