21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (3 page)

“Rebecca.”

“Why are you here, Luke?” She turned then, the full force of her gaze striking him. Nothing prepared him for her, the woman, poised, self-possessed and prettier than a runway model. Her head tilted to the side, she stared at him openly. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Once upon a time, he could boast no secrets existed between them because her shining face echoed every thought, every emotion. But that book was closed to him. He couldn’t tell what feelings raced through her, whether happy, sad, or terrifyingly indifferent to seeing him.

“I came home.”

Surprise skittered across her face, cracking the indifferent veneer. Another stone slid away from his heart. Maybe she hadn’t realized it yet, but she was happy to see him. And a little upset. But he could work with both.

“Not to Rockwall, I would have heard if you’d moved home.” No artifice existed in those words. They’d grown up in Rockwall’s bedroom community long before the superhighways extended their reach and the franchises moved in. Their tight neighborhood and Lowell still sent out a newsletter to graduates every year.

He relied on those dribs and drabs of information to keep up with her. She’d graduated from the University of North Texas with a 4.0 and offers from multi-billion dollar corporations. She hosted movie stars at her parties in Texas and around the world. The glamorous graduate never released any information about her personal life, just her success. But is she in love or happy?

“No, not to Rockwall,” he agreed easily, shifting until he set a foot on the bottom of her stool, caging her away from the rest of the bar. The smoky jazz, the hushed atmosphere, even the bartender chatting up some regulars faded away. She passed the wine glass from her left hand to her right and set it down.

His gaze zeroed in on the left hand.

No ring.

No line where a ring might have been
.

A third rock tumbled away, unearthing his heart from the tomb he’d locked it away in.

“No, not Rockwall. Allen. I had a house built there. I’m opening a rehabilitation center not far from the Village at Allen, specializing in psychiatric and physical disorders for veterans.” The longest string of words he’d managed since seeing her in the bar, but he could talk about Mike’s Place all day.

“Mike’s Place. You’re opening Mike’s Place?” Interest surged in Rebecca’s voice.

“You’ve heard of it?” They’d netted a fair piece of media attention, but the doors weren’t open yet.

“I’m planning the opening gala in three weeks.”

“We have a company hosting that gala. You work for Intimate Introductions?”

“I own it.”

And just like that, the blocks of information tumbled into place. The company’s representatives had taken a huge interest in Mike’s Place, including a prospective fundraiser for the physical therapy wing. The promised funds allowed him to put more of his resources into other areas. James Westwood from his unit had already put him in touch with more than a dozen solid therapists, all with military backgrounds, who’d leapt eagerly at the chance to work with their own, even those who’d be picking up sticks and moving cross country to set up shop in Allen, Texas.

His Rebecca owned Intimate Introductions.

He owed the lady at 1Night Stand a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates.

“I had no idea you were involved with Mike’s Place.” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, setting off the warning bells in his head. He jerked his attention back to her as she slid off the stool, away from him. “I’m sorry. I’ll have my assistant manage the onsite coordination. You won’t have to see me.”

Won’t have to see her….

“I’m glad things are going well for you, Luke. It was good to see you again.” A tight smile betrayed anything but and then she walked away, her too-tall heels clicking against the floor like nails being driven into the coffin he’d just busted out of.

The hell she’s walking away.

He tossed a couple of bills on the bar and strode after her. He caught up to her at the curb and handed a hundred to the girl she gave her claim check to. “My car, not hers.”

“Excuse me?” Rebecca wheeled around, but not before he saw her wiping away glittering tears from her eyes.

“My car. Not yours.” His heart constricted. He’d made her cry and that made him the lowest form of life. He’d have to take himself out back to get the shit kicked out of him for that. He knew a couple of guys who’d help him out.

Later.

“You can’t just order me around, Luke.” The wash of tears thickening her voice evaporated in a blast of anger.

“I didn’t order you around. I ordered her.” He nodded toward the valet who’d already disappeared with his money. Rebecca’s sweet mouth rounded into a silent O and he grinned. That was his girl, emotions running riot across the smooth, pristine face. Anger, irritation, sadness and yes, lust, all paraded through her expression. As if aware of his delight, she faced away, her shoulders stiff and jerky.

“That’s semantics.”

“No, that’s fact. I’ve never given you an order.”

“No, you just took the choice out of my hands.” She folded her arms across her chest, a shiver trembling through her tight frame. Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he draped it around her, closing his hands on her shoulders when she would have pulled away.

“You’re cold. It’s a jacket. It won’t bite.” He carefully measured the words, savoring the feeling of her under his hands although touching her had been a mistake. He didn’t want to stop.

The valet pulled his F450 into the slip in front of the Sybarite Club. The engine idled as she stepped out. He circled Rebecca, keeping one hand on her shoulder in case she tried to dart away again. He opened the passenger door and dared a look at her.

The pain and confusion shimmering in her eyes strangled him. I really do need to have my ass kicked.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to come with me and I want to apologize.” Honest, straightforward and not shying away from the problem. He could take the well-deserved lumps, but she didn’t deserve them. He’d done her a huge disservice. Time to put that right.

Long past time.

“Will you come with me?” Careful not to give her an order, not to push too hard, not to force a retreat.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t leave you behind this time….” I won’t leave you behind ever again.

She hesitated. “My car is here.”

“When you want to come back, I’ll bring you back.”

White teeth pulled at her lower lip, clearly conflicted.

“Becca, I don’t deserve the chance, but I need one. Just one. Please.”

She dropped her gaze. Luke held his breath. He wasn’t above begging. Not for her.

“Okay.”

He barely heard her too-quiet reply, and remained uncertain he heard the answer correctly until she took a step toward the truck. “I’ll go.”

He handed her up into the truck, careful to watch that she didn’t turn an ankle in the insane stilettos, no matter how great they made her legs look. Shutting the door behind her, he caught the doorman’s bemused expression. The man nodded his head, mouthing good luck.

Luke nodded in return, taking it.

He needed all the luck he managed to bank over the years and then some. He’d left her once, but this Marine didn’t make the same mistake twice. And he knew where to go. Leaving Dallas on I-30, he headed for Rockwall.

The vents blasted a blanket of warmth into the silence, but the heat couldn’t quite touch the icy core solidifying in her chest. She sat next to a stranger. No, she sat next to Luke, far
worse
than a stranger. She didn’t know what to say. Her tongue seemed thick against the back of her teeth.

Two glasses of wine left her mildly tipsy. The only explanation for why she got into the truck with the man eleven years after he walked away and never looked back.
Stupid, stupid, childish mistake. You’re not seventeen anymore, Becca
.

At twenty-eight, she had no excuses for bad choices.

“Better?”

“What?” She pulled away from her internal monologue to stare across the shadowy gulf to the man driving.

“Are you warmer?” His voice gentled and she wished he’d stop doing that. Stop sounding like the boy who used to carry her over muddy spots rather than risk her slipping, or the guy who listened intently to every critique she gave him on his homework, or the sweet boyfriend who grinned like an idiot when she raced up to hug him.

She’d
missed
that boy for years.

“I’m fine.” She licked her lips.
This is a bad idea. Why now
?
Why tonight
? Why had Delilah cajoled her into changing her schedule so that she would spend the winter in Dallas rather than Dubai, to plan an event for Mike’s Place rather than an oil tycoon?
Did she know
?
I told her about Luke, but did she realize they were the same man before she set this up
?

“Why Mike’s Place?”

If the question surprised him, he didn’t show it. In fact, he looked very relaxed leaning back in the seat, his right hand resting on the steering wheel. Sliding her heels off, she shifted to tuck one leg over the other. The damn shoes cost a fortune and pinched her toes.

“I’ve seen what back to back wars do to the men and women who serve, and their families. Mothers who don’t see their kids for years. Fathers who return, a wad of stress and out of sorts. Soldiers who can’t reintegrate because their personal worlds moved on without them, and the injured who are struggling to figure out who they are now without an arm, a leg or the ability to walk. It’s a bitch and we don’t leave people behind, especially when they come home. Mike’s Place will provide the lodestone for a lot of lives.”

Tears misted across her vision. She’d poured over the literature for Mike’s Place, the thirty-acre complex providing physical therapy centers, mental health pavilions, free clinic services and a childcare facility. Donations requested, but not required, covered the near non-existent cost to patients. Out-of-state visitors would be provided with access to onsite apartments for both patient and family.

“It’s a beautiful idea.” She whispered the words and it was. Thoughtful, generous and compassionate. Just like the boy she’d loved. He had been Lowell High’s best football player. Even the year he’d left the team to enter the military, he’d been nominated for MVP. Not for being best player on the field, but rather because Luke took the concept of, no I in team, to the extreme.

Oh, I’ve missed him so much.

Missed him, past tense, not present. She tugged her gaze away from his profile lest the naked need running rampant through her shine on her face. Every man she’d dared to date had to live up to the ghost of his estimation.

None had passed.

“Thanks.” A note of shyness slipped into his deep voice. “It’s good work. It needs to be done.”

Rebecca rubbed two fingers carefully under one eye, sweeping away the tears that kept trying to slip free. “Who’s Mike?”

It was Luke’s turn to sigh. The poignant note pulled her gaze back. The highway’s interspersed lights strobed across his profile, revealing a raw emotion that had her hand reaching out to rest on his arm. He covered her slender hand with his own, trapping her there, but she didn’t care. Pain echoed through him and he needed her.

“Mike Nowiski went through basic with me. Two years older than me, he’d dropped out of college to enlist. He grew up in New Jersey. His parents owned a pizza joint, and he married his high school sweetheart for love. They had a baby girl, just a year old when Mike enlisted. He was a good guy, never shut up about his kid. He joked that the Marines would give him all the know-how he needed to cap any punk who wanted to date her. I met his wife, twice. Shari was a sweetheart. They had that real thing, crazy in love, but supportive as hell. She was amazing, we spent four years in Afghanistan, and Mike never had leave to go home except for one seventy-two hour furlough. Shari flew to meet him halfway in Germany.”

Dread curled around Rebecca’s heart. So many of Luke’s words were past tense, not present. But she squeezed his arm, the heat of his bicep melting the ice chips on her soul.

“Three years ago, Mike got injured. We were in Iraq, monitoring a school rebuild. Insurgents tossed a few grenades, brought down most of the unfinished building. Mike took shrapnel in the leg helping the workers get out. It was bad. They airlifted him to Germany, and he spent ten weeks getting pins in his leg to rebuild it. Then they sent him home.”

Fear squeezing her heart, she waited. A muscle ticked in his jaw and they were gliding down the exit ramp. He took a left at the light and blended in with the evening traffic. Lights from the strip malls illuminated the truck, reflecting off his angry, tortured visage.

“What happened, Luke?” She couldn’t stand the silence.

“Three weeks after he got home, he shot Shari and then himself. The reports said he suffered from severe PTSD. Shari had spoken to a chaplain about his violent mood swings and nightmares, but the day before the chaplain’s scheduled visit, something in Mike snapped. He was a good man, he loved his wife. What happened to him overseas, the war, the injury, changed him and he didn’t get the support services he needed. I know he shot himself because he killed Shari, but it doesn’t change the fact that his little girl is now an orphan. She’s barely eleven and she has no one, no family. Mike’s Place can’t save everyone, but kids like Amy Nowiski shouldn’t have to bury their parents, and guys like Mike should have a place to go to get better while women like Shari have the support they need to be there for their spouse.”

Her tears fell freely at his words.
What a horrible story
. “You should tell people Mike’s story,” she sniffled. Damn it, she’d always been a crier and the flow of damp grief stung her eyes. “You should tell them Shari’s story and Amy’s story. It’s terrible, but it makes it more real for those who can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“Aww, hell, Becca, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His grief stricken expression dissolved in self-recrimination. He shifted to put his left hand on the wheel, his right capturing hers and lifting it to his lips. The tender brush of a kiss across her knuckles damn near brought her to sobbing.