Damned if he couldn’t handle his own place. Her grateful smile punched him in the heart.
“Nice.” She sighed and wrapped her hands around the cup. A second sigh followed the first after she took a sip. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Glad you like it.” He savored her reaction even more than the black brew in his cup.
“Hmm.”
To his amusement, she ignored him, nibbled her way through the toast and drank her coffee. It wasn’t until she was halfway through another cup that she finally focused on him again. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything.” He’d managed a full slice of toast, but he really wasn’t hungry.
“You’re staring at me.”
“You’re not a morning person.” Surprised didn’t begin to cover it. She’d always been so upbeat with him from the moment she first breezed through the recovery room doors and took charge of his case. Brisk and straightforward, she treated him with respect and no small amount of teasing. It was the lightheartedness of her attitude, the way she’d call him on his crap, and her open cheer—all elements he’d looked forward to every day.
“Never have been.” Noel shrugged.
“I had no idea.” What else didn’t he know?
“I’m usually on cup number three by the time you see me. Coffee and I? We’ve had an ongoing affair for years now.”
A knock at the door interrupted before he could respond. Instead of leaping up to get it, though, she looked at him.
Oh. Hell. My place. My door….
Ridiculously happy at the idea of not having someone fetch him anything, he wheeled away from the table and headed over to answer. Pleasure and pride twined along his spine. His good mood faded when he opened the door to a four-foot decorated pine tree and a young woman carrying a basket over one arm.
“Happy holidays, Sergeant Brun and welcome to the residential—”
Rebel slammed the door and rolled his chair backward.
“Reb!” Noel shot out of her chair and across the room. “What the hell are you doing?”
He steered back to the table and his coffee. Why the hell would they interrupt what had been a great morning with more holiday crap? Hadn’t he managed to escape it with the apartment? But all he said was, “I don’t want a tree.”
“That didn’t give you an excuse to be rude.” She growled the last word and jerked open the door. “Hey, Margie….”
Rebel ignored her conversation with the young woman and picked up his piece of toast. Eating it methodically gave him something to do. The sound of the door closing was his only warning before a large basket was deposited on the table in front of him. He narrowly caught his coffee cup before it tipped over from the bounce.
Silence.
Refusing to look up was childish, but he tilted his head to look around her first. No sign of the tree. Good. Only then did he glance at her. Noel watched him, arms folded, her expression dangerously neutral.
“You were rude,” she said the moment their gazes clashed. “Unacceptably rude. That’s not like you. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” He didn’t want to discuss this. “I didn’t want a tree.”
“So you say thank you, but no thanks. You do not close a door in someone’s face.” Exasperation stretched through her tone, but she sat down and put her hand on the table as though reaching out to him. “Talk to me. You were upset about Christmas music yesterday, and I saw your face when Craig held up the mistletoe—and now this thing about the tree. You love Christmas….”
“Says who?” He tossed the half-eaten piece of toast on the plate. His appetite vanished. The urge to punch Salter rippled through him. He did not need the reminder of the other man kissing Noel. “When is my appointment for the fitting? I’ve got to meet Kara in an hour.”
“Ryan.” Her voice softened. She never called him Ryan.
“Noel—I’m kind of tired and I still need to check out the shower before my workout with Kara.” He retreated from the table and down the hall.
He took a long time in the shower, concentrating on the details like where the shampoo was, and then once he was out, drying off and dressing himself. These were all hollow accomplishments, however, because he’d long since mastered the skills necessary to compensate for his loss.
Adding ointment to his stumps and rewrapping them bought him a few more minutes—he could have called her to help, but he didn’t want to face her questions. Questions she had a right to ask, but he didn’t want to answer. Shaving earned him a further reprieve. By the time he re-emerged, the basket on the table still awaited him, but the breakfast dishes had been cleared away.
Bouncing to her feet, Noel pulled on her jacket. “We can go get your prosthetics right now. If all goes well, you can walk yourself to physio.” That gave him pause. Was she dumping him because he wouldn’t answer the question? “No, I’m not skipping out on you. I’ll go with; I just meant you could walk there on your own.” Damn, she could read him like a book.
He scowled, but Noel crossed her eyes and he laughed. “So they’re ready for me?”
“No, we’re going to hang out and twiddle our thumbs because we have nothing better to do.” Instead of offering to push him, though, she tossed him his jacket and opened the door. It took a minute to pull his coat on and maneuver out. She locked up and passed him the key before they set off.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, when she fell into step next to his chair.
“For what?”
“I’m being an ass and for being rude….”
“You weren’t rude to me,” Noel stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, and dipped her chin as a particularly bracing gust of wind cut across them. It was not even pretending to be warm today.
“No, but I was an ass.”
She hit the automatic door opener with her elbow when they arrived at the building and gave him a grin. The tension between them evaporated and Rebel relaxed. He made it all the way to Ortho with his mood inching closer to normal before the blasting music rocking around the tree inside it decimated him all over again.
An hour later, it took everything in Rebel not to run out the door. The fitting went well and he rose comfortably on the prosthetics. It took so much concentration he could almost block the music out. Noel remained curiously quiet throughout the whole procedure. She walked sideways down the hall, her intent gaze so focused on his progress that he had to grab her arm to keep her from running right into the door—
“Watch it.” He scowled at the man who nearly hit her when he pushed out into the hallway.
“Sorry!” Salter turned around and Rebel had to swallow an internal groan when the other man’s eyes lit up seeing Noel. He held out the mistletoe with an expectant look.
“No problem.” Noel circled Rebel to walk on his other side. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She so blatantly ignored the mistletoe, it helped soothe the seething fury under Rebel’s skin and he slowly unclenched his fists.
“Hey,” Salter complained playfully. “What about my kiss?”
“You’re not under the mistletoe, now, shoo. We’ve got work to do.” She waved him off.
Reb picked up his pace, too eager to leave Salter and his damn weed behind.
“Thank you for that,” she told him in a quiet tone.
“You’re welcome.” He cupped her elbow and steered to the side to avoid another open door. “It might help if you watched where you were going.”
“You go right ahead, I’m impressed with your balance. How do they feel?” She waved impatiently at the hallway, continuing along in her sideways walk to watch him.
“They feel fine.” Better than fine, actually. Previously, the rubbing had only reached bearable after his stumps went numb. Between the wraps and the new fit, this set seemed to be a real extension. Though his thighs complained about the fractional increase in weight.
Outside the officer’ gym, Noel paused and tipped her head back. “You’re looking good—and very tall.”
>
His natural height had been a shade over six foot. He towered over her diminutive frame. It was easy to forget how tiny she was, not that five foot two was tiny, but compared to him—they’d have to be creative when it came to sexual positions.
Taut heat roused in his blood at the cascade of images coming to mind and he cleared his throat. “Something wrong with tall?”
“Nope.” Her lips curved into a soft smile. “It looks good on you. Okay—report for PT. I’ll catch up with you after.” Pulling away, she made it halfway down the hall before it hit him.
“Hey.” His gut clenched. “The apartment—the new fittings—you’re not going to disappear on me, now, are you?” Rebel couldn’t possibly be her only patient, though he knew she spent a lot of time with him. He’d craved independence, worked toward it, kept his spirits focused on that prize—but it seemed a little hollow if it meant Noel went away.
“Disappear?” She paused and gave him a quizzical look. Pursing her lips, she paced toward him. “A, I work here. B, I’m still your case nurse and I will be until the day you no longer come in for anything. C, and most importantly, I’m your friend.”
The knot in his gut loosened. “Good.”
“Stop delaying and get in there—”
He went to push the door and paused again. “Crap.”
“What now?” Despite the annoyed tone, amusement gleamed in her eyes.
“One sec—don’t leave.” He pushed the door to the gym open and glanced inside. Kara looked up from the workout bench she was setting up. “I need five minutes?” Tacking the verbal question mark on the end of the statement, he paused and waited for Kara’s nod.
“Five minutes,” she called. “And I’m counting.”
‘Thank you.” Stepping out, he let the door close and focused on Noel. “I was supposed to talk to you about this last night, and before I go in there and tell Kara I didn’t mention it and get my ass handed to me, I figured I should just spit it out.”
“Okay, I’m listening.” She folded her arms and leaned on the wall.
“Since I went AWOL from PT while you were gone….” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth. “I know, I got it. I was a dumbass, I interfered with my own recovery—suck it up. I’m on board with that part.” And he absolutely was.
After her accepting smile, he continued. “But I went AWOL, and Kara felt that it may have caused me to backslide some. She recommended I talk to one of the therapists.” He let that sink in. “But it’s a recommendation only, she isn’t going to write me up or report me.”
“I’m surprised.” Concern glimmered in Noel’s eyes. “She’s pretty much a straight shooter.”
“Yes she is, but she only gave me that consideration provided I agreed to let you make the call if you think it’s necessary.” And he hoped like hell she didn’t. “So—if you want me to reach out to James or one of the other therapists, I will.”
“Just like that?” Skepticism rifled through the words.
“I trust you.” It cost him nothing to admit it, and the words felt right. He did trust her, maybe more than he’d trusted anyone since waking up in the hospital to the news his legs were gone.
“Okay.” Her expression softened. “Then I’ll trust you to tell me if you need help.”
Relief turned his muscles to butter, and he flattened a hand on the wall. “Thank you.”
“But….” Dammit, there was always a but. “I have my eye on you.”
He laughed. “Good deal. Okay, my five minutes are up. I’ll see you after?”
“I’ll be here. I promise.”
***
Noel gave him a week. Time to pick out some personalized items for his apartment, settle in to his new living arrangements, and to adjust to his new routine. According to Lieutenant Essex, Rebel was the worst Christmas prankster of his unit. His mother said much the same thing. She’d sent down two full boxes of hoax gifts and decorations, but Noel hadn’t delivered them.
Rebel’s anti-holiday stance had only gotten worse. She’d arrived early one morning for a planned coffee to find him ripping a Christmas wreath off his door. He’d put the crossed flags into place, but the ribbon and ornament bedecked pine ended up stuffed in a black trash sack that he walked out to a dumpster. Remaining out of sight, she studied the emptiness in his expression as he returned to his apartment.
When he failed to even mention the event, she knew it was time to take the bull by the horns. Because something was wrong….
Very wrong.
Late afternoon and only two weeks from Christmas, she staged her intervention, choosing a different route to walk to his apartment. Temperatures had plummeted from balmy fifty-five degrees at midday. The icy air burning her nostrils suggested that the sunset would bring even chillier weather.
“Where are we going?” He ran his fingers through his lengthening hair.
“Hmm, just a walk.” She dug her hands into her pockets and wished she’d brought gloves.
“To where?” Rebel’s pace slowed, but more because he studied their route than from any obvious physical distress. The alterations to the sockets on his prosthetics had been worth the effort. Despite a normal amount of expected fatigue following a workout, he was more comfortable, and it showed.
“Around.” She kept right on walking even when he stopped. Apprehension threatened to turn her knees to jelly, but he followed after a couple of steps and she let out a relieved breath.
“What’s up, Noel?” The words were husky and demanding in the quiet. He was alone with her but, being a Friday, most people probably headed to dinner or the mall, or out with friends—most, but not all. Still more worked their regimens, received their treatments, and focused on recovery.
“Debating how to approach a topic with you.” Sometimes it was better to lead with the truth. She’d wrestled with it all week long, but after the incident with the wreath—a decoration similar to so many others cropping up on the apartment doors, along with tinsel and twinkle lights—she couldn’t keep putting it off.
“Ask.” He bumped her arm lightly, almost playful. The nervous flutter in her belly picked up speed.
“You’re right, I should simply ask. But asking might light a match and I guess I’m wary of the explosion.”
“Well, when you put it that way, you should still just ask me.”
She could almost hear the verbal eye roll in his words, and she didn’t fight the smile curving her lips. “Okay.” Pausing, she turned to face him. “Why don’t you like Christmas anymore?”
Rebel sobered—withdrew. All traces of playfulness vanished, his expression barren of anything friendly. “Is that really what you wanted to ask me?”
“Yes.” She shivered and not from the wind. “Everyone told me how much you love this season, how much you played, and all the jokes you used to do. Did you really put a singing Tweety Bird in your drill sergeant’s room during basic?”
“It was a long time ago.” He turned away and resumed walking, and she had to hurry to keep up with him.
“One year, you set up an elaborate tree, presents, everything—and you nailed it all to the ceiling.” No reaction. Nothing. “What about all the personal letters from Santa you sent to the kids of the men in your unit—and to the guys in your unit about their kids? You went out of your way to do something really special.”
Rebel shrugged. “What about it?”
“How do you go from that kind of love for Christmas to hating the sound of the music and wanting to be as far away from it as you can? You don’t even have a sprig of holly in that apartment. Nothing. It’s two weeks until Christmas, Rebel, and shutting it down like this…it’s not healthy.”
“Not feeling the urge to get caught up in the soppy, ridiculously over-commercialized sentimentality of the so-called season doesn’t make me unhealthy.” The cold, angry words were so unlike the man she’d gotten to know.
“I didn’t deserve that.” She understood the need to lash out when someone pressed too close to
an injury, as she was obviously doing in this moment, but that didn’t make it okay.
Stopping with a sigh, Rebel scrubbed a hand over his face. “I was injured in mid-November last year.” For a long moment, she thought he wouldn’t say anything more, but then he turned and faced her. “I don’t remember much from those first surgeries or the flight out—what I do remember is the music—Christmas music. Every time I woke up—it was all I could hear.”
Disliking seasonal music made a certain amount of sense.
“I had a choice to make—I had to get better, I had to be able to walk again. But I couldn’t stand hearing those songs—seeing the decorations, listening to the laughter. Christmas is a myth, it’s a great myth—we sell it to kids and we make them believe. I needed to believe in something, so I believed in me. And now I’m walking again.” He gave her a tight smile. “But pranks—letters from a Santa who doesn’t exist? Empty, meaningless gestures? No. I can’t do that and get better, too. So no, I don’t really want to play make believe. Not anymore. I don’t want to decorate with holly or faux trees or lights.”
The silence stretched out, taut and fragile. What impressed Noel wasn’t his anger, because he’d been almost calm in his rationalizing away the holiday. Empty. Exhausted. It was the way he faced her, his chin up and he didn’t hide this piece away—even though the muscle ticking in his jaw, and the stiffness of his shoulders declared he didn’t want to talk about it.
Okay. James said if he would answer, that’s a good first step. Don’t push, give him some space, and reward the openness. I can do that. “Okay.” She said it out loud, because he needed to hear it. “I get it.” And she did, recovery took different forms in different people.
Closing the distance between them, Noel held out her hand. The wind numbed her fingertips, but Rebel took the proverbial olive branch.
“You’re freezing,” he said.
Have Yourself a Marine Christmas (Always a Marine) Page 4