Masters at Arms (19 page)

Marc realized he hadn’t started to live in
the first place until he’d joined the Navy and then been assigned
to the Marines. If he was discharged, would that end? The thought
of what lay ahead scared him. He’d changed since enlisting. He
wanted his life to stand for something. He definitely had no plans
to work at the family’s ski resort. No, he was going to make a
difference in some way.

Damned straight.

But doing what?

* * *

Two months later, January 2005, Ramstein Air
Force Base, Ramstein, Germany

“
Take cover!”

Grenade. Move. Damn it, move! Damián slammed
his body against his buddies, trying to push them away before the
damned thing went off. The world exploded. Blood. Pain. So damned
much pain. Grant and Wilson standing over him. Damián tried to get
up. What had fallen on him? Dizzy. Sarge. Where was Sarge? Damián
opened his eyes and saw his sergeant’s bloody brains spilled over
his chest.

“
Madre de Dios! No! No! No!”

Damián jolted awake from a dead sleep, his
screams reverberating through his ears. Sweat trickled into his
eyes. His heart pounded like a sledgehammer, igniting a responsive
throbbing in his right foot. The lingering effects of his nightmare
receded by slow degrees, but the pain in his foot persisted. He sat
up, shoving the sheet aside, and reached down to massage away the
ache.

Thin air. He stared at the bandaged stump
above where his foot should be.

Fuck.

He closed his eyes and slumped back against
the pillow and sheet, both of them cold and wet from his sweat. How
many times would it take before he stopped reaching for something
that wasn’t there? He’d left the damned thing behind in Fallujah.
But the phantom continued to haunt and taunt him every time he fell
asleep.

Damián stared up at the ceiling. What in the
hell was he going to do when they sent him home? They’d told him
he’d be taking rehab in San Diego for a few months. But what were
they rehabilitating him for?

Would he ever be able to ride his Harley
again? Hold down a job?

Carry Savannah to their Laguna cave?

Well, he didn’t have to worry about that one.
He’d had dreams of returning home to her as a man, finding her, and
convincing her she belonged with him. He wanted to take care of
her, slay whatever dragons pursued her, and love her the way she
should be loved….

But he wouldn’t be carrying her anywhere ever
again. He wouldn’t saddle her with a cripple, even if he could find
her. She deserved a whole man—nothing less to match her perfection.
He tucked away the memories of their one idyllic day at the beach.
Those images would have to last him the rest of his life.

He should have just fallen on the grenade and
been done with it. Why hadn’t he? A hero would have done that.
They’d pinned a god-damned Purple Heart on his chest a few days
ago, but he’d stowed it away in his seabag. All he’d done was get
wounded—and let a man die. Why did he need a fucking reminder medal
for that?

If he’d been a true hero, he’d have saved
Sarge’s life. The man had a wife and three kids back home.
Fuck
. Just months from returning home and he’d been killed
by a fucking hand grenade. So damned senseless.

Dios, you took the wrong Marine home.

Damián heard a squeaking wheel and looked up.
“Doc? What are you doing here?” The corpsman wore a hospital robe
that barely fit across his shoulders. He wheeled an IV pole that
kept veering away from him. Each time, he’d pull it back in
line.

Damián had heard what the man had done to
save him from further injury. Doc had taken the very shrapnel in
his chest that might have finished the job for Damián. Another
wasted opportunity. Another man became a casualty because of
him.

“Just got here this morning. Took me a little
longer to get out of Fallujah than you.” Damián watched as Doc’s
gaze roamed over him, head to foot…and stub. His gaze stopped to
linger there a little longer, then returned to Damián’s face.
“Wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Can’t complain.”
Not out loud, at
least
. “How about you?”

“Coming around. Should be headed home in a
week or so if the infection doesn’t come back.” Doc took a series
of shallow breaths as if the exertion of walking and talking had
taken a toll on him.

“Take a load off, Doc.”

“Thanks.” He pulled the chair closer to the
bed. “How about you? Any news on when you’ll head home?”

Home. He had no home to go to anymore. He’d
always dreamed about having a home with Savannah. But that dream
had faded one November day on a rooftop in Fallujah.

“Nah. They say I’m headed eventually to the
Naval Medical Center near Pendleton for rehab.”

The two remained silent for a moment. Doc
broke the solitude and asked, “Then what?”

Stunned by the question, Damián just sat
there and stared back at him. He really had no fucking clue what
he’d do after that. He didn’t even see himself finishing rehab.
What would be the point? Damián shrugged.

“Don’t you have a girl waiting for you?”

Damián looked away. “No. There was one once,
but she was out of my league.”

“You’re a Marine now. You’re going to find
you’re in a league of your own. You’ll have women falling at your
feet.”

Damián met Doc’s gaze and said, “Foot, you
mean.” He pointed at the stub.

“Nobody’s perfect. You have a lot more going
for you than looks and a body. The right woman will overlook shit
like that if she really loves you.” Doc ended his speech by sucking
several more breaths into his lungs.

Damián wished the man wouldn’t get so riled
up. No way would he change his mind. First chance he had, he’d put
an end to this miserable life. When Doc caught his breath, he
asked, “Does she even know what’s happened?”

“No. We haven’t kept in touch.”

“Maybe if she knew…”

“I don’t even fucking know where she is!”
Damián regretted his tone as soon as the words came out. “Sorry,
Doc. It was nothing more than a day of hot sex with a Latino on the
beach. Let’s just drop it.”

“Orlando, you have more integrity, courage,
and honor than anyone she’ll ever meet again.”

Those words burned in his craw more than any
others. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t
do anything courageous. Sarge is dead. You got wounded trying to
save my sorry ass. You guys are the heroes, not me.”

Damián’s chest hurt now, too. He put his
forearm over his eyes to hide the embarrassing tears that sprang
from nowhere. “I’d like to get some sleep now.” He knew his voice
sounded ungrateful, but didn’t care.

“I’ll see you later.”

Madre de Dios. I wish everyone would fucking
leave me alone to just rot and die.

Courage? Integrity? Honor? No fucking way. He
was nothing but a lousy Chicano scared shitless. What the hell was
he going to do now?

* * *

Marc slowly made his way back to his room.
Sweat broke out on his forehead and his legs shook at the effort.
Just this short excursion left him feeling as weak as a
runt-of-the-litter
gattino
refused its mama’s tit. When
would he experience the simple pleasure of filling his lungs with
air again?

His talk with Orlando haunted him. The kid
was fucking wrong if he thought women would never want him again.
Maybe that one girl had broken up with him, but that was before
he’d become a Marine. Women loved Marines. Especially heroes like
Orlando.

Right now, Orlando’s feelings of hopelessness
worried Marc the most. He needed to get through to him before the
kid was shipped back to San Diego. Chances of seeing him again
after that were slim.

He’d talk with the nurses to be sure they
stayed on top of the man’s depression. He knew they were monitoring
him already. Depression was common for an amputee. But Orlando
meant a lot to him. They’d trained together to be recon Marines.
They’d even played hard together. He remembered the redhead at the
L.A. fetish club. Orlando didn’t need a foot to please a woman.

Dio
, he didn’t want the kid to become
another suicide casualty.

Marc entered his room and saw his bed ahead
of him, hoping he’d get there before his legs gave out. So fucking
weak. So close…

“Marco!”

Mama?
Marc turned slowly to find both
of his parents standing in the doorway.

Shit
.

“Mama? Papa? What are you doing here?” They
had a business to run. This was the height of the skiing season.
His mother came toward him.
Dio
.

“When we heard you were injured…” Were those
tears in her eyes? She reached up and stroked his cheek, and he
just marveled at what looked like real tears streaming down Mama’s
plump face. For him?

“We’ve been waiting for you here in
Germany….” Her voice cracked and she wiped her tears with the back
of her hand.

“Waiting for you to get out of the hospital
in Iraq,” Papa finished.

Marc noticed the dark circles under both
their eyes. Their clothes looked as if they’d slept in them. How
long had they been waiting here? Why hadn’t they booked a hotel
room?

“I’m fine. You didn’t have to come all this
way.”

“They said you almost died,” Mama said.

Who told her that? He hadn’t been that bad
off.

“They said you saved a man’s life,” she said,
then smiled, her mouth quivering.

Marc turned away. He sure as hell wasn’t a
hero. The heroes were people like Miller and Orlando. Like
Gino.

“I was just doing my job, Mama.”

“Well,” said Papa, “we want you to know we’re
proud of you, son. The whole family is so proud of you.”

Marc looked from one to the other. While
having them be proud of him wasn’t his goal or even anything he
cared about, for some strange reason, the words made him feel
better. Then Mama wrapped her arms around him. She hadn’t done that
since he was a little boy. He’d always been in trouble, and was
more likely than his brothers to be punished. Marc put his arms
around her shoulders and hugged her in return.

“I hated that you joined the military, Marco.
But that was just because of Gino…. I didn’t want you to…”

Marc pulled away to look down into her eyes.
Tears streamed down her face and she did nothing to wipe them away
this time. Papa wrapped an arm around her, too, obviously as
stunned by her emotional state as Marc was.

“Mama, you won’t believe this, but I’m
actually serving with Gino’s unit. With his master sergeant
even.”

“No!”

When Mama looked as though she’d collapse, he
and Papa grabbed her by either side and guided her to the only
chair in the room. Marc was careful not to dislodge his IV. He
hadn’t told her before because he didn’t want to remind her, but
needed to tell them what he’d learned.

“Master Sergeant Montague told me about Gino.
Mama, Papa, Gino was a real hero, a brave Marine. He saved a man’s
life.”

His mother rocked herself. Seeing her
exhibiting such maternal emotions shook Marc to the core. She’d
hardly cried when she’d heard about Gino, at least not in front of
him. Something inside his chest broke, as loud as if his rib had
cracked. He’d never thought of her as being vulnerable. Of course,
Gino was special to her. His brother always had been her favorite
one. For good reason. He’d never given Mama any trouble.

Easier to love.

Marc hunkered down beside her chair, but his
legs began to shake and his lungs grew tighter and tighter. He
wanted to comfort his mother, but his head grew light. When he
gasped for a breath, Mama looked up, “Marco, you must get into
bed!” She motioned for Papa to help her get him to the bed. They
guided him to the bed. Marc collapsed against the pillows, trying
to catch his breath. Damn. He hated feeling so fucking weak and
helpless.

“Go get the nurse, Papa,” Mama said, lifting
his feet into the bed and pulling the sheet up over him.

Between his gasps for air, Marc said: “No
nurse, Mama…I’m fine…Just moved too fast…Hard to catch my breath
still.”

But Papa had already left for the nurse’s
station. Marc could have pointed out that there was a call button,
but instead focused on catching a decent breath. When would he be
able to breathe normally again?

“Here, take a sip of this.” Mama held a straw
to his lips and he sucked down the ice-cold water. Even something
as simple as that left him shaky.

“What’s up, Doc?”

The blonde nurse who had checked him onto the
floor bounced in and quickly checked his pulse.

“Just a little dizzy and short of breath.
Moved too fast.”

“Well, hon, you’d better stay in bed a while
and save those moves for later.” She wiggled her eyebrows and he
smiled. She’d been flirting with him since he’d arrived this
morning.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Your parents have been camped out all night
waiting for your flight to get in. You got away from them while
they were out to get a bite of breakfast.”

Marc’s chest squeezed tight. “Yeah, we were
just…catching up now.”

Her smile faded as she helped him to sit up
in the bed and pressed her stethoscope against the middle of his
back. “Take as deep a breath as you can for me without hurting
yourself.”

He did the best he could, although it was
anything but deep, then he felt the familiar hitch in his side.

“Good enough for now. I’m going to torture
you with the spirometer later, though, so you’d better rest up.
Don’t want you catching pneumonia on top of that hemothorax.” She
helped him lie back down against the pillow. He grunted from the
exertion.

“Maybe we should leave and let you get some
rest,” Papa said.

“I want to stay,” Mama said to him, then
looked down at Marc. “If you don’t mind, Marco. I promise not to
upset you again.”