21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (139 page)

Pausing, she pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, at least you’re being honest about it. So do you not want to tell me because it’s a guy thing, a pride thing, or a Marine thing?”

Humor spiked, and an involuntary twitch in his cheek had him curving his lips. Noel rated stubbornness on an odd scale: guy, pride, or Marine. If he pulled the Marine card, she would retreat to rethink her approach. He’d learned it had a trumping effect—and he didn’t like it when she withdrew. So he made sure to use the card sparingly. “None of those, actually.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes. “Really? Now I am intrigued. Okay, these could look worse. We’ll take your prosthetics with us and stop by Ortho to see if they can refit the socket for more comfort.”

It took her less than a minute to return with a wheelchair—she had to have stashed it right outside the door. That also meant she’d known about his refusal to go to physio before she arrived for her shift. A thrill skated up his spine easing his bad mood—Noel had checked on him.

Angling the chair next to the bed, she slid her arm around his waist and Reb grasped her shoulder. He loved the way she fit right against him, and the firmness of her touch. A lot of people got tentative, as though he might break, but not Noel. “Ready?” she murmured, the faint hints of peppermint and coffee on her breath teasing him.

“Ready.” He followed her motion and swung from the bed into the chair like an expert. Settling into place, he adjusted his thighs so they stretched comfortably. Noel picked up his prosthetics and wrapped them. He never had to ask her, she knew he didn’t like advertising it.

Setting the faux limbs across his lap, she rubbed his shoulder—a half pat, half caress. “Here we go.”

Riding the high of her nearness, he’d nearly forgotten the hellish, tinsel-decorated gauntlet they had to pass through to exit their wing of Mike’s Place. The vibrant music of Mariah Carey rocking out to what she wanted for Christmas slapped him. Flexing his fingers around the prosthetics, he fixed his gaze on the distant double doors he and Noel had to pass through on their way outside. Wreaths decorated every door and nearly every room boasted garland, and—

Noel stopped abruptly and Reb swung a glance over his shoulder in time to see Craig Salter kiss her while holding mistletoe over her head. It wasn’t more than a few seconds, but they dragged by abominably as the Marine lingered.

“I’m putting these up everywhere.” Craig winked before including Reb in the joke with a friendly laugh. “Oh, here….”

Before he could stop him, Craig thrust the mistletoe over Reb’s head. Still laughing, Noel leaned down and brushed her lips over his. Electricity sizzled through him, flaying a layer of flesh off his bad mood.

“Now, shoo.” Still chuckling, Noel straightened and gave Craig a little shove. “You have work to do.”

“I’m planning an ambush—all the pretty ladies will have to give me a kiss!” He declared his intentions with a jaunty wave and took off down the hall. A woman’s squeal and more laughter echoed after them.

“Crazy man. He’s going to get himself killed.” Noel got them moving again.

It took until they were outside where the cool December air made a mockery of the sunshine before he fumbled a response. “How’s that?”

“Mrs. Dexter and Lauren Kincaid are scheduling an event in our wing later today, which means Craig’s going to be trying to steal kisses from them.” Her humor should have triggered his, but he only shrugged.

“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.