21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (85 page)

Dinner at Kobe’s? Made reservations for eight. In surgery till seven. Will probably be a few minutes late. Phone off. See you there
.

What a shit.

Opening a beer, he couldn’t help the grudging smile curving his lips. Rick didn’t like the word no and he didn’t like to have his plans changed. So the invitation left Eli boxed in—he could send back a message that the surgeon wouldn’t get and leave him hanging at the restaurant, or he could just suck it up and meet him.

Turning the television on, he let the sports report fill the silence. The apartment seemed far too empty without Rick in it. Which made no damn sense since they had never lived together. They vacationed together, they had overnights—but their lives were separate.

Their spaces were separate.

Except the previous day, Rick invaded Eli’s space. He took the perimeter, slid inside, and set up camp. He made sandwiches and coffee. He’d ordered pizza for dinner. They watched the game together.

It had been…
nice
. No, that was too tame a word for what it had been. The familiarity comforted. Rick didn’t push—a first for him—he’d hung out, taken a couple of calls from the hospital and when Eli wanted to crash, he’d sprawled on the sofa and gone to sleep.

The sports news switched to videos from fans and Eli sighed. The clock showed nearly six-thirty. If he planned to meet Rick, he needed to put on his damn shoes and get on the road.

He stared at the television, weighing his desire to see Rick against the fact that if he didn’t want to encourage him, he shouldn’t go.

“Son of a bitch.” Disposing the half-empty bottle in the kitchen trash, he went in search of his shoes. Five minutes later, he headed out into latter half of rush hour traffic. The Japanese steakhouse was a personal favorite and it had been months since he had real steak or shrimp. It had nothing to do with the fact that he wouldn’t let Rick sit there waiting for him even if Eli hadn’t agreed to his plan.

And less to do with wanting to see the man—especially if all they did was fight.

He repeated it like a mantra until sick of his own thoughts, cranked up the stereo and drove.

Thirty minutes late for dinner, Rick glared at the car in front of him, and the one to his left going ten miles below the speed limit—cruising along as if they had all the time in the world. Exhaling a hard breath between his teeth, he focused on calm. He needed his wits and cool about him if Eli waited at the other end of the dark and twisty yellow brick road he drove down.

If only it were a simple matter of clicking his heels together and turning back the clock. He didn’t regret bringing up or pursuing the subject but did regret Eli’s need for absolute privacy. He respected the man’s right until it took twelve months, three weeks, two days, and some fourteen hours before he even had a chance to hear his voice again.

He regretted the year of silence. No emails. No phone calls. No sweet seconds of knowing he was still alive out there somewhere. Some people might say estranged was better than dead and they had a point. But estranged hurt. The day’s steady decline grew worse the longer it took him to get to the restaurant.

He’d arranged for an intern to cover his patients for the night. Half-expecting Eli to blow him off, he refused to turn on his phone. Grateful to see the restaurant ahead, he turned right into the parking lot. Eli’s truck sat one row back from the doors. Rick grinned, relief flooding through his system.

He came. Okay. He’s here. Game on
. Blowing out a breath, he parked and focused on keeping his cool. His gambit gave him what he wanted, the opportunity for dinner, drinks, and a chance to talk. The key would be to survive without pushing or demanding the answers he desired. Inside, the waiter led him to the private room he’d reserved, where Eli waited.

“You’re late.” Eli greeted him with a dry smile. The man looked better than the day before, if that were possible.

“Sorry, surgery ran longer than I expected.” He took the chair next to him rather than the one opposite. “A beer, please.” The waiter took his order and left them alone. The best part of the restaurant was the availability of private party rooms where diners could enjoy a meal and not have to share their table with a family of strangers.

“I figured.” Eli gestured to the sushi. “They just delivered it. Your favorites.”

The gesture struck him with its kindness and compassion. Eli didn’t have a favorite kind of sushi, he didn’t particularly care for it. He only ate it when they were together because Rick enjoyed it. “Thanks.”

Unwrapping his chopsticks, he tucked into the Philadelphia rolls with salmon, cucumber and cream cheese. He’d spent nearly ten hours in the operating room. A light day by his usual standards, but he hadn’t had time to eat since breakfast that morning.

“What happened?” The quiet question drew him back to the moment.

“Just a long day.”

The waiter brought his beer and they both ordered. Steak and shrimp for Eli. Chicken and fish for Rick. Fried rice for Eli, while Rick chose white. They both wanted extra veggies and Eli added an order of shrimp tempura for himself.

So many little differences, from food choices to the teams they liked. Rick loved the Mets while Eli was a dyed-in-the-wool Yankees fan. He exhaled a humorless laugh and looked sideways at the Marine. “Red meat, fried rice, and fried food—you going for the early heart attack?”

“My first real red meat in a year and the last time I ate fried food, it came from McDonald’s drive-thru on the way to the airport. I think I’ll survive. Besides, I lived on rations more often than I care to count—if that doesn’t kill me, this sure as hell won’t.” Eli saluted him with the beer. “What happened in surgery?”

The man possessed homing radar, always knowing what bothered him. Weird how he seemed an open book while Eli remained a mystery unless he chose to share. “Lost a patient. Complications.” Acid churned in his stomach. “Kid didn’t report some medication he’d been on. Too many bleeders, not enough blood. It happens.”

“Sorry.” No platitudes, no coaxing comfort, just a plain and simple word that encompassed so much more.

“Me, too. Anyway, how’s Christina?”

“She’s good. Recovering. Kid’s cute—well—not really, he’s ugly as sin, but then most babies have that smooshed look, so I figure he’ll grow out of it. Healthy.” Eli rubbed the back of his neck like he wanted to say more, but their chef arrived, along with the waitress. She delivered the kitchen-prepared appetizers including Eli’s tempura. They ate in silence and watched the food preparation show.

“You have your new orders yet?” Small talk gave them both an out.

Eli shrugged. “Marine Barracks next Monday. Fitness assessment and debrief. Probably get them while I’m there.”

“You apply for anything?” Eli’s rank and credentials could open a lot of doors.

Shaking his head, he speared a piece of meat with his fork. “I thought about it, but I don’t want a desk job. Colonel Spears asked me to consider a teaching position either at Parris Island or OCS at Quantico.”

A position at either base would keep Eli in-country—Quantico would keep him in the region. Rick swallowed back the urge to give him any advice. “Nice.”

“Maybe. What about you? Running your department yet?”

“No.” Department head was the last thing he wanted. “I didn’t want to play those politics. I like my patients. I like training interns and I like having something of a life outside the hospital. Department Chief doesn’t give me much time for any of that. I am going to Amman in a few weeks, but it’s a three-week clinic to train some of the locals at the hospital.”

“Huh.” The bland grunt didn’t reveal as much as the tightness flexing Eli’s jaw. He didn’t like it.

“I like keeping my hand in and they need a cardiothoracic specialist. Too many of their cases have to leave the country, they’ve got some good candidates signed up for the training, and the top two will return here for another six months of training that I’ll supervise.”

“You ever think we’d be teachers?” Eli finished all the meat on his plate. He didn’t like mixing his foods. He ate methodically, one dish after the other.

“Not as a life goal, no. But it makes sense. See one, do one, teach one. Learned that in medical school.” The educational method described most of his internship, fellowship and his current residency. He could have his pick of civilian hospitals, but preferred his military service. Two years as a medic to a forward unit during the initial incursions into Afghanistan taught him more than all his years at a hospital combined.

“Christina tried to set me up with another date.”

The unexpected bit of news sent a shock through Rick. He chewed a piece of chicken thoroughly as he tried to digest the information.
I can handle this
. “Yeah? Anyone I know?”

“One of her girlfriends from college—thrice married. Apparently she thinks my prospects are limited and wants to fix me up with my first divorce.” If Eli tried to be funny, the humor was lost on him.

“She doesn’t know.” The revelation stunned him. Rick’s family knew about him, his mother more comfortable with the information than his father, but both accepted it. Eli’s family didn’t?

“Nope.”

Why hasn’t he told them?
The thought burned through him, igniting a dozen other questions. He clamped a lid on it. In a decade together, Eli never indicated he kept his sexual preference a secret from his family. He mentioned them in passing, kept it light, but never more than surface details. Rick half-thought the emotional distance came from Eli’s constant assignments, those took a toll on personal relationships. But if they didn’t know, could that be the problem? He mulled that thought over and over, eating to try and cover his silence.

Two beers and half the meal later, Rick turned sideways in the chair. Bit by bit Eli relaxed while they ate. Maybe it was the company, the day’s loss or the alcohol—or some combination of the three, but he wanted their cards on the table. He wanted Eli back.

“I miss you Eli. I want us back. What do we need to do make that happen?”

They went for a walk after dinner, pausing at Eli’s truck for some cigars. Rick had let him off the hook for the obvious delaying tactic. The area around the restaurant had certainly grown over the last several months. Once upon at time, it stood alone on its patch of highway. Construction added townhouses, a mall, several gas stations, and more. Fortunately, the Japanese steakhouse boasted its own gardens.

Walking slowly along a pathway illuminated only by paper lanterns, Eli considered Rick’s proposition. His lover had gone above and beyond trying to reach out. “I miss you, too.” He relented, giving some ground on his hard ass position, but keeping his gaze fixed on the darkness. “We have issues that go deeper than just…mutual longing.” The words sounded even more pathetic out loud than they had in his head.

“Yeah, I’m not saying we don’t. But not talking about it doesn’t fix it. Neither does ignoring it. And frankly, being apart hasn’t managed to do anything either.” Passionate conviction colored the words. “Has it for you?”

“No.” Trained to compartmentalize, Eli had the ability to pack away his feelings and shut them up for the duration of a deployment. He focused on the job in front of him and left everything else behind. It kept him alive throughout his career.

Lonely, but alive.

“Okay, can you tell me why you don’t want to say anything to anyone? Why you want to keep it quiet?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I like my private life, private? That I don’t want to advertise or put it out there for others? Our relationship is ours—no one else’s.” He didn’t want to unpack more of the muddy past than necessary.

“No, but our private life doesn’t just belong to you.” Honest and direct, Rick didn’t spare his feelings on the subject. “The key phrase there is ‘ours.’ But you wouldn’t even discuss it. I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to—I never wanted that. But I do want to understand. I want to have the talk. Tell me how you feel. Explain it to me. Hear what I have to say.”

Sounded easy in principle, but talking about it meant revealing an ugly part of his past. Ugly and painful.

“If it’s about trust….”

Eli stopped and pivoted to face him. “It’s never been about trust.” If Rick got nothing else from this night, Eli wanted him to know that. “I trust you.”

“Then trust me to listen.”

Pacing away, Eli frowned. “Why don’t I start with the listening? Why is it important to you?” Maybe if he could wrap his mind and his heart around it for Rick, it wouldn’t hurt so much to rip open the old wounds.

“I tried to tell you this once before.” Hurt slid under the words and Eli grimaced.

“Yeah, I know and I was an ass who walked away. Tell me now.” They kept their distance, smoked their cigars, and stared at each other like some warped version of a showdown in an old Western—only they were armed with their wants, their needs, and their fears.

He needed Rick to blink first.

“I never liked being a secret.” Thank God for him, because he did. The physician exhaled a long stream of smoke and fixed his gaze on the cigar in his hand. “You’re the only guy I know who can get me to indulge bad habits and shut up my internal doctor. You’re the only guy I know who I like just hanging out with—even if you watch the wrong teams.”

Eli laughed, a friendly if short sound. They really didn’t agree on sports—and it made playoff games when their teams were in opposition a hell of a lot of fun.

“But I never liked the secret. I accepted it—because we had to. You have your career to think about and I have mine. The burden—hell, that’s the wrong damn word—it’s not a burden. We had to do it. But we don’t now. No one can judge us and if they do, fuck them. It won’t cost us our careers. I assumed…” Rick blew out a breath and frowned, as though searching for the right words. “I assumed that was the only reason we kept it quiet. Maybe ultimately that was our problem—we never discussed any of this. We just did it. We buried it, put up a perimeter, laced the area with landmines and kept everyone else away.”