A Soldier's Family

The metal side rail creaked as Joel leaned on it. “What’s up with the scowl, Péna? You two have another altercation?”

Manny cast a sour look at the door Celia blew through as though one more second in the room with him would inflict her with the plague. “She ignored me the entire time.”

But that wasn’t exactly true. She’d been praying with her hand on his shoulder when he’d awakened. He was sure of it.

She’d acted startled, embarrassed even. Snatched her hand away as though his skin had erupted in boils. Then she’d clammed up and closed herself off.

But she hadn’t been fast enough. He’d glimpsed all he needed to. Beneath that tough, street-smart exterior lived a human with feelings. Feelings he wanted to know. What kept that tempest brewing in her dark and alluring eyes?

Call him crazy, but Manny wanted to know her, everything about her. First he had to find a crack in her mortar, then figure out his mode of attack.

He may as well begin with prayer, because it would require the big guns to break that impenetrable shell and to convince her that, by God’s continued grace, he was not the same man who’d blatantly and tactlessly disrespected her at the Montgomery wedding.

“She’ll eventually cool off and warm up to you,” Joel said. “I asked her to put you on the prayer list at church and be in charge of updating it.”

If Manny could snicker painlessly, he would.

“She may put a notation of praise in the bulletin.”

Joel gave his head a firm shake. “No. Celia’s got a temper but she’d never celebrate an accident of this magnitude.” An unmistakable smirk saddled Joel’s mouth. “Even if he did proposition her at her best friend’s Christian wedding.”

Embarrassment assaulted Manny but he felt too sleepy from medications to defend himself. Joel knew Manny’s remorse or he wouldn’t tease. Manny had already apologized to Joel and Amber that he and others had drunk heavily before their worship-oriented wedding. The Montgomery couple had shown only grace toward the team in the aftermath. Manny was the only one as far as he knew who’d acted shamefully toward attending ladies, though. He only remembered waking up with a guilty conscience, a sore lip, a nasty hangover and severely wounded pride.

A horrible thought struck him. What if Celia didn’t forgive him? How would that adversely affect her faith? “I don’t know, Joel. She still seems pretty mad.”

Joel’s expression deadpanned. “Maybe. But a young widow like Celia would never take even microscopic pleasure in another person nearly losing their life.” Joel grinned. “Even if she did order you to drop dead at the punch fountain. Pun fully intended.”

Chapter Two

“Serves him right.” Celia Munez planted freshly manicured hands on her hips, careful not to disturb her damp red nail polish.

“Celia!” Amber Montgomery’s face jutted out and her mouth popped open.

Guilt sucker-punched Celia. She flapped her arms and put resolve in her voice. “Well, fine! Okay. I’m glad he didn’t die. Otherwise, his dented rear bumper would be on fire right now in the devil’s place. Still, what a waste of a perfectly good pine tree.” Not that she meant any of the last part, but it amused her to watch Amber’s eyes bug out.

In addition, she had to put up a front of irritation and indifference toward Manny because she didn’t need anyone knowing she’d been stricken with feeling something totally opposite.

Or how her heart had tugged for intense, emotional moments watching him writhe in the hospital bed this morning. Seeing his body bruised and scraped from head to toe had rattled her then and still haunted her now.

The last person she’d seen in that sort of shape had been her husband in his casket. That day’s images branded her memory. She could still hear gut-wrenching sobs from a younger Javier as he’d clawed and clutched at his father’s police uniform.

Wake up. Please, Dad. Mom and I are so sad. Please, please wake up, get up and come back home with us.

Her son had grieved with open abandon for his father, begging words everyone else in the room only had courage to scream from their minds. Despite soulful pleading, Joseph had lain there cold and still. Four hours after the close of the graveside service, they’d had to literally drag a sobbing Javier away from his father for the last time.

Celia closed her eyes in a vain attempt to shut out images. A blue-silk pillow cradling the head of her soul mate. Funeral home walls obliterated by an onslaught of ornate flower arrangements. The cold of his hand. The unseeing eyes. No warmth. No response. All she’d wanted to do was to throw herself over that expensive box and wail for him like her son.

She shivered at the memories.

They’d assaulted her earlier at Manny’s bedside, and they took her mind hostage now.

Please let Manny be okay. Don’t make his team go through losing one of their own.

Prayers had bubbled out of her for Manny at the hospital, too. She couldn’t help touching his skin, reassuring herself the warmth of life still resided in him despite how bad he appeared.

Wake up. She’d whispered Javier’s words to Manny and begged God to make it so.

Then he had.

Embarrassment had caused her to act feisty toward him. Regret for harsh words seemed the story of her life. As hard as she wished to take it back, life didn’t provide do-overs.

“Actually, Celia—” Amber started then stopped when Celia jerked back to attention.

“Joel mentioned Manny gave his life to God a few weeks ago.” Amber pulled Psych the cat into her lap, and studied Celia.

Too carefully.

It alerted Celia that Amber may be on to her. Amber didn’t keep secrets from her, and she shouldn’t keep them from Amber. Guilt waylaid Celia. Still, she wasn’t ready to reveal what she couldn’t even explain to herself yet.

Better to keep up the front while she could until she managed to figure out these confusing emotions.

“Ha.” The music to the oldies song, “That’ll Be the Day,” played in Celia’s head. She wrestled the temptation to hum it out loud to elicit a reaction from Amber. She hated her immediate tendency to doubt another person’s faith. It wasn’t for her to judge whether Manny was for real or not. Then why did she?

She knew why.

Her hypocrite father, the deacon who’d lived one way at church and another at home. She’d lost count of her mother’s bruises to prove it. Celia shook her head to rid herself of pity. She’d tried and tried to help her mother get away.

Amber dropped her arms. “You don’t believe Manny?”

That’s not why Celia shook her head, but now that Amber mentioned it, Manny’s brazen actions at the reception zipped into sharp focus.

Fat chance he’d changed his tune all that much in so little time. Character took years to build, even with God at the helm. Right? Look how many years she’d been asking Him to help her control her tongue. Yet Celia’s verbal assaults had only gotten marginally better over the years.

This so-called conversion could be a ploy.

She’d seen Manny’s type before. And heard. And smelt. And felt. In the violent words, angry fists and abusive face of her father who reeked like a brewery gone bad. Except on Sunday when he smiled and smelled sickly sweet of Heaven’s Glory cologne. A yearly gift from the congregation who adored him and had no idea the man he was at home.

How Celia abhorred that smell.

“Celia?” Amber set the cat down, brushing fur off her pants.

Celia lifted her chin. “How should I know his motives? Besides that, why should I care?” Or give him the benefit of the doubt? “This doesn’t concern me whatsoever.” Never mind that his half-sedated grin upon waking had thrown her pulse for a roller-coaster loop.

“We invited him to stay with us while he’s recovering from surgery.” Amber tickled Psych under his collar with her toe. “Refuge has one of the top rehabilitation centers in the nation. Manny is considering the doctor’s suggestion that he recover here. They’re looking at six months due to the reconstructive surgery his injuries require.”

Six months? Would the nightmare of Manny never end?

Celia’s arms flailed around again. “Whatever. I can’t stand that guy and he can’t stand me. It’s a mutual dislike.”

But she could hardly steer clear of Amber’s home due to the fact they were deep in the throes of several large projects, including care packages for soldiers overseas and community programs. Amber’s house was where all the supplies were mailed and stored. Celia would just have to find a way to steer clear of him. That, or perfect the art of ignoring.

“At least pray for him.” Amber sighed. “He should be out of surgery by now, but Joel hasn’t called. I’m concerned. I can’t get any of the guys on their cells, and the nurse couldn’t give an update over the phone. I’d like to ride back to the hospital to check on him but it’s almost time for school to get out.” Amber’s voice cracked. She eyed her phone, then the wall clock.

Celia chewed her lip. “You should be there for Joel in case things aren’t going well.”

Amber ran a hand through her hair. “But I need to get Bradley off the bus.”

Pings of remorse hit Celia. She should offer to go with Amber back to the hospital. Right now, she was still too embarrassed by what Manny had said to her brazenly in front of a room full of their friends. Not only that, he’d flirted with her all night before making it vocally clear how he’d like his evening to end. Guys like that she needed to steer clear of. She refused to be a cheap conquest in that PJ’s bullet belt.

Not to mention shame had draped her like negligee-sheer curtains, giving away her secret attraction toward Manny. Drawn from the first day she’d met him year before last at the school, clad in camouflage. He’d stood behind Amber as Joel parachuted to the lawn to honor ill Bradley’s wish. Celia flushed at the memory of the interested glances Manny’d tossed her way. Like two people playing ball on a tennis court, he’d tossed some doozies to her, then watched to see if she’d throw the flirt ball back.

She hadn’t.

Hoo-boy, how she’d wanted to.

But she hadn’t. He wasn’t the kind of guy to get involved with. He radiated danger in every way. To her faith. To her wild past. To her heart. To her promise to herself never to fall for guys packing heat again.

She needed a man with a desk job. One who brandished a protractor or a calculator or even a ruler. Not powerful guns and wicked-looking knives strapped to their person. Yeah. Bring on the geeky guys.

How boring.

She hadn’t been prepared for how bad she’d feel facing Manny for the first time after the reception. Nor how seeing the battered scar on his lip would remind her how she’d lost control and acted hideously by striking him.

Just like her dad. The one person she’d sworn never to be like. To top it off, Javier had sauntered into the reception hall that moment, witnessing her slap Manny. Javier had been as angry as Manny. They’d both stalked out opposite doors. For the first time, Javier stayed gone all night.

Recalling the violated look and red splotch on Manny’s face at the hospital this morning had spurred remorse and she’d rested her guilty hand on his arm. Celia’s thoughts had zipped back to the present when Manny decided at that precise moment to awaken.

She’d never felt so uncomfortable in the presence of another human being as she did while Amber and Joel grabbed a bite to eat at the hospital cafeteria, leaving her alone with Manny. And her errant thoughts.

Better to avoid him completely. Never mind that inner voice nudging her to apologize. That scepter of conscience jabbed her to lay down her pride and forego the right to be offended by Manny’s actions. Consider it an opportunity to extend grace. Fine. She still didn’t have to be around the guy. Celia cringed at the memory of the horrible smacking sound and the sting of flesh against her hand the second it made contact with his face. How humiliating that must have been for Manny.

She grinned.

Conviction, sharp and pointed, speared her deep in that sensible place fighting for stable footing in her heart.

She put a sustaining hand on Amber’s shoulder. “Tell you what, how about I stay here and get Bradley off the bus? Javier has detention after school again today. So after I pick him up the three of us will come to the hospital to support Joel.” But not Manny. Other than her prayers, the creep was on his own.

Amber pulled her coat on. “I’m sorry, Celia. Is Javier still acting up?”

Celia straightened Amber’s collar, getting whiffs of Amber’s peach shampoo. “Sí. Smoking behind the high school. It’s always something. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” Celia raised her shoulders. “But listen, you have better things to do than hear sob stories about my wayward teen. Go. Be with your husband and I’ll wait here for Bradley.” Celia heaved a breath and braced both hands on Amber’s shoulders. “And…I’ll pray for Manny. And Joel.”

After receiving the call this morning, she and Amber had obtained emergency subs, and met Joel and his pararescue team at the hospital. Every one of the guys’ forlorn faces slumped, relaying fear they were on the brink of losing the best friend they ever had. They obviously loved Manny, and he them. Maybe there was something to the guy she didn’t see.

She’d be wise to keep it that way.

Amber smiled and hugged her. “I appreciate this, Celia. I’ll call you when I know something. I’m praying for you and Javier.”

“Gracias.” Celia walked Amber out of the house, then watched her pull away before heading to the corner of Haven Street to the bus stop. She glanced down at herself and groaned.

Paint splatters covered her clothes. Not only that, she sported a shiner from rolling her lawnmower down an embankment at midnight last night. She’d had a difficult time explaining that one to Amber as they’d painted her living room. Rather than go back to school or hang at the hospital, they’d returned here to combat Amber’s worry by tackling household projects.

Celia swiped fingers through her curls, brushing them over to the side so she wouldn’t appear so unkempt. Not that it would matter to the jovial school-bus driver or the special-needs students aboard.

She usually wouldn’t be caught dead out of the house unless immaculately groomed, but this kind of emergency called for a hobo day. She just hoped anyone who saw her realized she didn’t usually go out looking so sloppy.

After meeting Bradley at his bus, the two walked back to get in Celia’s car.

“Where’s Mom?” Bradley tossed his backpack on the seat beside him and buckled himself in the booster Celia borrowed from Amber.

“Sweetie, she’s with your dad. He’s having a pretty rough day.” Celia pulled away from the curb.

Pudgy fingers pushed thick glasses up his freckled nose. “Whatsa matter?”

Celia drew in a quiet breath. How could she say this so Bradley wouldn’t worry about Joel jumping from now on? “Well, it seems Manny sort of ran into a tree today while skydiving.”

Bradley’s head jerked back. “Whoa, dude. Is the tree all right?”

She smiled. Bradley was the bravest person she knew. “The tree didn’t fare all that well, and it looks like Manny may have broken a limb or two.”

Bradley pulled a lunch box out of his backpack and opened it. Scents of juice, aged bananas and peanut butter swirled around the car. “Will Manny still get to be a PJ?”

Bradley’s words jarred her to the point her foot went lax on the gas. For the first time Celia held a glimpse of what Manny might be facing. According to Joel, being a PJ was Manny’s whole life. It would crush him if he couldn’t skydive again or rescue people.

She offered a tender response to Bradley, feeling the angst. “I don’t know, sweetie. Tell you what, that would be a really good thing to pray about. Shall we?”

Lunch box set aside, he nodded and bowed his head. “I’ll dial and you can hang up,” he said, then started the prayer for Manny.

When it was Celia’s turn, she could barely speak or see the road for her tears. His simple but heartfelt prayer had elicited something in her. Bradley didn’t see Manny in the same light she did. To Bradley, all the PJs were heroes. To her son, too.

Celia ended the prayer feeling even worse for hitting Manny. Maybe God had brought Manny into her life to show him grace. Why did she always make life about her?

In the school lot, a sulking Javier slouched on the curb.

“I hate detention.” Javier huffed out a dramatic breath and slid into the seat.

“Then stop misbehaving, Javier. Buckle up.”

“Don’t want to. It’s a dumb rule.”

Gravel protested beneath her tires as they stopped. “It’s not about rules. It’s about keeping your teeth out of the windshield. Buckle that seat belt and that mouth.”

A scowl darkened his eyes as he darted looks out the side window where a clump of kids huddled near the curb. “Wearing seat belts isn’t cool. I’ll buckle down the road.”

“You’ll buckle up now, hijo, or the car’s not moving.” Javier’s father would somersault in his grave if he heard the tone Javier used with her. Celia bit back an emotional lump.

Why did Joseph have to die young and leave me alone to raise a troubled son who won’t talk to me? At what point did Javier and I lose touch, Lord? Where did I slip up?

Maybe it’s because she’d loosened up on discipline for several months after Javier’s father had been shot while on duty during a DEA drug sting. At the time, it had taken everything she’d had just to pull herself out of bed each day. She’d thought it best to go easy on Javier since he was grieving, as well. Then Javier resented her erecting those boundaries and enforcing discipline again. What could she do besides pray he’d eventually come around instead of continue his descent off the deep end?

Despite her inner turmoil, Celia put on her best “Mommy-Look” and stared Javier down through the rearview mirror.

His brows knit, but he finally shoved the metal into the clasp. He then jammed fingers through his long hair, flipping it off his forehead, revealing the only eyes she knew capable of sullen scowls comparable to her own.

Stringy strands fell back over his forehead.

Her fingers itched as she pulled into traffic. How badly she wanted to get hold of that mess with a pair of scissors. But she needed to pick her battles, and unruly hair ranked low on the totem pole these days.

“Where we going?” Javier asked, munching a bite of granola bar that Bradley had offered him.

“The hospital. Manny had a skydiving accident this morning and—”

The stricken look climbing Javier’s face caused Celia to clench tight the steering wheel.

For a brief instant she saw the vulnerable little boy he used to be. Though his skin was a darker shade of brown than hers, he paled several degrees. Celia realized he waited for her to finish. Apprehension glittered in his eyes.

Choosing her words carefully she said, “He’s alive, Javier. But he’s busted up pretty good. A few hours ago, he was coherent and talking.”

Just not to me.

“He’s having major hip surgery. We’re going by to see if there’s anything we can do, and to support Joel and the team.”

Javier stared at her. Uncertainty replaced apprehension. For a second, she felt a connection when he held her gaze and searched her eyes for reassurance. Just like he had the day she’d had to sit him down and tell him his father wasn’t coming home. Why, Mom? Why do these terrible things have to happen?

The same question hovered in Javier’s eyes now before he averted his gaze to the window, uneaten granola bar abandoned in his lap. The gangly teen with the monstrous appetite was gobbling her out of house and home. If he wasn’t eating, this news had really rattled him. Celia’s heart swelled with love, then compassion for her son. She hoped he’d be okay when he saw the kind of shape Manny was in.

The untouched granola bar rested in the same position on his lap fifteen minutes later when she pulled into the visitor parking at Refuge Memorial Hospital.

They stopped at the nurses’ station to have their temperatures checked. Most of the staff recognized Bradley since he’d been there so often prior to his bone-marrow transplant for leukemia, which had thankfully gone into remission.

Once at Manny’s doorway and peeking through a crack in the ugly cantaloupe curtains, Celia tried not to bite her lip. It tore at her heart to see anyone suffer.

The nurse escorted Bradley and Javier to a waiting room, and then returned to the hall outside Manny’s door.

Though Celia knew doctors rarely gave recovering alcoholics narcotics, she knew from talking to Amber that Manny was only a social drinker. His team had assured her that his behavior at the wedding reception was highly unusual and out of character for Manny. Celia didn’t know whether to buy that. Regardless, she couldn’t stand to see the big oaf hurting.

Celia put a hand on the nurse’s arm. “Can’t you give the guy something to ease the pain a little?” Manny looked beyond miserable.

The nurse eyed Manny’s door. “I’ve tried. He won’t take it. The friend with him is trying to talk him into it. Go on in, if you like.” She waved Celia in and swished on to another room.

Did Manny even want her in there? She doubted it. He’d sulked the entire time she’d been here earlier. She’d stared at water streaks on the glass and studied cars on the street below, trying to get up the nerve to apologize to him, only to have chickened out in the end.

Cluck. Cluck. Cluck. Suck it up, cupcake. Get in there and humble yourself like you know you should.

Celia’s pep talk bolstered her courage a little. She drew in a breath, squared her shoulders and went for it.

Amber stood at Joel’s side, holding one of Manny’s hands. His eyes were clenched tight and his face looked pinched all over.

“Just a little to knock the edge off,” Joel coaxed.

Manny shook his head emphatically, veins in his forehead and neck popping out. “No, dude. I don’t want any narcotics. You know why I have a thing about taking drugs.” Manny opened his eyes, then clamped them shut.

“His wife OD’d,” Nolan whispered behind Celia. She nearly jumped out of her skin. How could these big, bulky guys move around so silently? Nolan must have read the curiosity in her face and felt the need to explain.

Celia removed her hand from her throat. “Pshew! You startled me. Were you lurking back there in the ugly curtains or what?” she whispered. But Nolan eyed Manny.

“Thanks for airing my dirty laundry, Briggs.” Manny shot Nolan a heated glare then flicked an unfriendly glance Celia’s way. She didn’t know what to make of it. Pain could turn a person into a madman. Or it could simply be that he resented her being here. Maybe even hated her. And rightfully so. Who wouldn’t, with all her shortcomings like a short fuse of a temper and an acid-spewing mouth she couldn’t seem to control no matter how hard she tried? She hated herself, too, sometimes.

That verse about always doing what you don’t want to do and not doing the things you know you should, yeah, that defined her. Where her mouth was concerned anyway. Half her sin would cease if she’d keep it shut.

It amazed her that Manny heard from across the spacious private room. Another thing that enthralled her about these Special Forces dudes. And no matter how hard she tried not to be intrigued, she was. By Manny especially. Maybe because they shared ethnicity. Or could be because those dark and probing eyes didn’t miss a flip. He seemed to see all, hear all, feel all and know all.

By the narrowed assessing gaze crossing Manny’s features now as he zeroed in on her, he sensed all, too. At least her thoughts. Her cheeks heated, and she rarely blushed.

Could he sense only what she wanted him to see?

Or what she desperately didn’t?

Chapter Three

“Narcotics make me have nightmares I can’t wake up from,” Manny whispered to Joel so Celia wouldn’t hear. He couldn’t explain why he cared so much what she thought. He felt vulnerable enough without her seeing him in this state. Yet he’d experienced pleasant surprise that she’d returned to the hospital at all.