21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (86 page)

If either of them ringed their relationship with landmines, Eli had, but Rick didn’t load the blame only on him. The man was worth his weight in gold. Rick shared the responsibility. “You know I never thought of it that way.” Eli never gave it much thought. He liked him—one date turned into two, two turned into three, and then weekends, leaves, and time. “We grew our relationship in isolation because of our deployments.” Their leaves hadn’t always coincided; they could go months without seeing each other.

It made every reunion sweeter, and they spent more time in the sack than out of it, but when they had to make do with two days out of every few months, what else could they have done?

“You know I get that. It worked for us and I love what we had.”

“But you want more.” Eli didn’t have to put the words in Rick’s mouth, but Eli wanted him to know he got the message.

“Yeah. I guess I do. You spend more time out of the country than I do. You’re the one who leaves.” Accusation strung between Rick’s words.

“I’m good at what I do.” He wouldn’t defend his choices. “It’s what I know. I save lives. I make operations possible. I can’t do that from here.”

Rick closed the gap between them but didn’t touch him, both too well trained to be openly affectionate in public. “I am not asking you to change. I have never asked you for that. Just like you didn’t ask me to not go to Amman in there, or to volunteer for placement with a Marine unit in Afghanistan. You hated both ideas.”

“You’re a doctor.” Eli didn’t doubt Rick’s courage or his convictions—not for an instant. “I don’t like it. You had close calls in Afghanistan and Amman’s not exactly Club Med.”

“Good thing I’m not a Club Med doctor.” They shared a quick smile. Rick’s quirkiness endeared him. He must have left the hospital right after the last surgery because his five o’clock shadow made him scruffy and altogether kissable.

Moving on from that distraction, Eli gazed around the quiet garden. They were alone, but it never hurt to keep a wary eye out. “No, you’ve never been that, Rick. Doesn’t mean I have to like you putting yourself out there.”

“Pot, meet Kettle.” Rick’s dry humor earned another smile. “Look, Eli. I
miss
you. I let you go before and didn’t push it because I knew you needed to calm down. I overstepped somewhere, but you didn’t let me in far enough to see where that was. You’re back, but I want to know you’re in—hell, you just told me your family doesn’t know. How the fuck did I not know that before?”

“We don’t talk about our families….” What a weak ass excuse.

“Bullshit.” Rick apparently agreed with Eli’s internal assessment. “We talked about your nieces. My dad. Your mom. Your sister. My cousins.”

“We mentioned our families, Rick. We didn’t talk about them. I mentioned my nieces being born, or my sister being pregnant. You talked about going home for the holidays, or when they came to visit. They were moments in conversation—never the subject.”

“That’s a fine splitting of the hairs, Eli.” Rick didn’t approve, but he didn’t argue either. “But I’ll give that to you. We didn’t talk about them specifically.”

He wasn’t trying to be an ass and didn’t quite understand when he got on the wrong side of the argument. “Yeah, sorry. Look, I never told my family because, well, frankly because I didn’t want it out there. I’m a Marine. I went to boot, I serve my country and it’s none of their business.” He ground his teeth. “It’s what I always told myself. And after Mitch…I couldn’t tell them.”

“Who’s Mitch?”

He expected the question. Hell, he needed to answer the question. But his soul resisted ripping off that Band-Aid. He could end the conversation right there and walk away, or he could face the damn music and get it over with.

If Rick hated him after—then so be it.

“Mitch is my brother.”
Is. Was. Always would be
.

Putting out the remains of his cigar, Rick stared at him. “I didn’t know you had a brother. You’ve never mentioned him.”

“He killed himself when I was in boot camp.” He hung the words out there and waited. Rick put a hand on his shoulder, offering quiet strength if Eli needed it. Clearing his throat, Eli met his gaze. “He killed himself because he was gay and he’d been taking hell from some jackasses who found out about it. He felt alone and didn’t think anyone would understand—not his family, not his friends…and who can blame him? I kept my secret and my brother died because I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Eli….”

He shook his head. He didn’t want sympathy or pity or empathy at the moment.

“I made a judgment call and it cost my brother his life. You want to know why I don’t want to take this public? Now you have your answer.” Emotion clogged his throat and he pulled out of Rick’s grasp to drop the spent cigar in the community ashtray station. He needed to get the hell out of there. Rick caught him in a hard embrace. He didn’t say anything…just hugged him.

Eli fought the cracking sensation in his soul. He wanted to push Rick away, but instead pulled him closer.

Rick didn’t say anything.

What the hell could he say?

Rounds dragged and so did Rick. His interns provided him with condition report after report. He chatted with patients, answered questions, dispensed advice, and under the surface of it all, he couldn’t stop thinking about Eli. They hadn’t said much after the hug, but he’d heard the coat of tears in the man’s voice when he said he had to go.

Allowing him to walk away, get in his truck and drive home alone was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But Eli opened up, revealing a dark truth he’d kept hidden away for so many years and he needed the time to himself. It seemed remarkable that he understood that, better than Eli probably did. A natural loner, he fit the psychological profile of a sniper almost too well. He liked distance from his targets, he liked solitude, and he craved privacy. His resistance to opening their relationship up to external scrutiny made a hell of a lot of sense.

Wrapping with the last patient on his rounds, Rick left his interns to do pre-op. He had surgery in thirty minutes, but he wanted coffee. Cup in hand, he found an empty on-call room, locked the door and called Eli.

“Hey,” he murmured, sitting down on the lower bunk when Eli answered.

“Morning.” The wariness in his voice didn’t reject him, but he understood the guarded reaction.

“I wanted to see how you were feeling today.”

Long silence met his statement, but Rick waited.

“Tired. Flight caught up with me.” Emotional jetlag killed.

“Look, I have a hell of a schedule today, and I’m staring at a twelve-hour surgery just to get it started. But are you free tonight?”

“I promised Christina I’d come for dinner. Mom’s in town and the whole family is coming over. I probably won’t get back until late.”
Well, it isn’t a no
. “But I have three days left—think you can swing some down time?”

Hope pumped through his blood. “How much do I need?”

“I made reservations at our cabin.”

His chest tightened.
Our cabin
. Where their last visit ended so poorly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You wanted to finish a conversation. I think I owe it to you—to us—to give that conversation a fair shake.”

Rick didn’t mistake the concession for anything other than it was—a minor miracle. “Pick me up at eight. I’ll be ready.”

“You got it. Take it easy, okay?”

“You, too.”

Staring at his cell phone, Rick concentrated on a regular four-count breath. He needed to pack up his worries and concern about Eli until the surgery was over, but he couldn’t quite bottle the thrill that Eli had asked him to the cabin. They had a hell of a lot of talking to do, and it would be a mistake to think they’d made it past the worst.

But he’s talking to me
….

Small victories. Rick would take them every single time.

“Okay.” Gripping the phone, he turned it off and rose. “Time to save lives.” And find a surgeon to cover his shifts. He’d have to take leave, but he hadn’t for most of the year. He’d stop by his CO’s office on the way to surgery.

Talking about Mitch had proved as hard as he expected, but Rick’s reaction—Rick’s acceptance without censure or criticism surprised him.
It shouldn’t have
. To be fair, his lover was far kinder and more compassionate than Eli. It made him a good doctor—he got people. He treated his patients like people, he operated on them like they were people, and when he lost patients, he mourned them.

In all their years together, Rick never described just his surgeries. He described his patients. When he’d mentioned losing one during dinner, he didn’t bring up any details and Eli hadn’t been sure if he had the right to press for them. Realistically, if they kept protecting each other from themselves, they would rapidly run out of topics of conversation.

So he booked the cabin. Fortunately, their status as regulars saved him a deposit or argument with the owners about double-booking. The owner offered to let them have their regular cabin and moved a reservation to another. It worked out beautifully.

“Hey.” Christina kicked him under the table, and he lifted his brows. “Stop staring off into space. I slaved over the stove for hours to make you this fine dinner.”

He eyed the take-out pasta and bread sticks. “It took hours to unpack Styrofoam containers?”

Her girls burst out laughing and Phil hid his own humor with a quick drink. Christina stuck her tongue at him. “What would you know about take-out? I even sent Phil to the grocery store.”

“For diapers and wine—two things you should never force a man to shop for.”

Her outraged huff amused him.

“Mom!” she complained.

“Be nice to your sister, Elijah,” their mother said without looking up from her meal.

“She kicked me. Maybe she should be nicer to me.”

“Don’t kick your brother, Christina.”

The corner of Eli’s mouth twitched as the nieces dissolved into another fit of the giggles, chorusing. “Eli’s picking on Mommy!”

“Hmm.” He eyed them. “Mommy’s picking on Uncle Eli.”

Christina flung a breadstick at him and he dodged.

That time, Mom looked up. “Christina.”

“What?” His sister glanced at her and Eli launched one of the cubed zucchini at her with a flick of his finger. It pinged perfectly off her cheek.

“Elijah!”

Too late—the food fight escalated and even Eli had to enjoy the relief of laughter.

A couple of hours later, he escaped out onto the porch. He’d cleaned up his share of the mess and helped Phil put up the food while Christina corralled the girls toward their bath.

“Hey, baby.” His mother closed the door quietly as she stepped out onto the shadowy porch.

“Wow, you tore yourself away from the baby without losing a limb.” He held out an arm and she sidled up to him, accepting the hug. He adored the diminutive woman who’d given him life. She was a personal rock in all their lives, holding their family together when a construction accident claimed their father, and again when Mitchell chose to shoot himself.

“I like babies, I will not apologize for that.” She leaned into him. “But I am glad to have my baby home, too.”

“It’s good to be home.”

“You’re sadder this time, though. Did something bad happen while you were overseas?” Mom rarely asked questions. Theresa Masters prayed for him everyday, he knew that. But she didn’t always ask, partially because she worried about him so much.

“Tired mostly.” He wouldn’t add to her worries. “Long days, longer nights. Lots to do and a short time to get it done.”

“Hmm.” The dangerously soft sound said his mother didn’t buy it. “You know I don’t like to pry….”

Since when
? He bit back the retort. She didn’t deserve it. “Yes?”

“Christina told me she tried to fix you up with one of her girlfriends. Maybe if you had someone to come home to….”

“I have lots of someones to come home to, Mom.” The familiar conversation fit as well as his combat boots.

“Uh huh.” She pinched his arm. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Mom….”

“Or you could just come out and bring home a boyfriend to introduce to us, and we would stop feeling the urge to fix you up.” He went completely still. Swallowing, he glanced down at her. She met his gaze with absolute seriousness. “You want to go for a walk and talk to me?”

Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded slowly.

“Good. Go get my jacket for me and we can take a drive down to Old Towne. It’s really lovely this time of year. I’ll buy you some coffee and we can walk by the river.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He did as she asked, letting Phil know they were heading out before returning to his truck and helping his mother inside. Eli wrestled with his internal questions all the way. He could have laughed it off or denied it, but he’d frozen. Deliberately locked up and waited to see what she would do if her suspicions were confirmed.

Maybe I’m ready to go public after all
.

Thirty minutes later, they strolled down the river walk, the gentrified area barely recognizable from his last visit about four years before. Long, shaded paths would provide a great respite from the summer sun, and the rich scents of magnolia and honeysuckle perfumed the warm evening.

“How long have you known?” he asked, unable to restrain the questions any longer.

“Probably before you did. You were never much of a player, darling. Name me one girl you dated in high school.”

He couldn’t. In fact, he’d made a point of only going out in a crowd where there were unattached females so it looked like dating rather than actually dating. His two years at community college included a lot of hours working before and after classes. Boot camp came next and he skipped worrying about appearances altogether after that.

“See, you can’t. I thought you just liked to keep your life private and I respected that. Your sister indulged my need for grandchildren, and I thought—I thought maybe you had someone, too. But you’re sad, baby….”

Drawing her off the path, he gestured to a bench. They sat together and he leaned his elbows on his thighs and turned his head to look at her. “You’re not mad?”