Honor Courage Commitment

by Jordan Danzig

  He wriggled underneath her. She stopped teasing him, but he continued to squirm.

  “Ow, shit!”

  Startled, Amanda sat back. “Have you got a muscle cramp or something?”

  Angel fumbled around with his hand underneath him and pulled out a small, plastic unicorn. He laughed. “Noa Lana must have brought it with her when she came to say hello this morning.”

  She took the unicorn from him, kissed it on the nose, then tossed it flippantly over her shoulder. “Now, where were we?” She reached for the bedside lamp, intending to switch it off but Angel blocked the move by kissing her palm and then flicking his tongue in tiny circles over the pulse point in her wrist.

  Amanda moaned and buried her face in his chest, rubbing her head up and down like a cat. “God, you smell good.”

  He grabbed her hair in both hands, caressing it between his fingers like a piece of delicate material.

  She licked the jaguar. “You taste good too.”

  That was it for Angel. Holding her tight, he rolled over so she was underneath him again. She placed her hands up behind his neck and dug her nails in. She looked into his green-brown eyes.

  Oh good, the green is back.

  “OK?” he asked.

  “Mmmmmmmm,” was all Amanda could manage. She giggled.

  “What?” he asked, laughing with her. “You don’t like that?”

  The blood pounded in her head. “Oh, heavens, yes . . . yes. Don’t stop!” She arched her back and gasped at what he was doing with his thumb and a finger. She writhed under his hand, mewling and groaning as she climaxed.

  Angel lifted her thighs and she wrapped her legs behind him locking her ankles together. Omigod! He’s not finished. This is insane! She began moving with him in a slow rhythm. His eyes were open, watching her; gauging her reaction, changing his timing to keep her on the edge but not push her over it.

  For the first time, she dared to keep her own eyes open too, staring at his sweat-sheened body. She pulled his head closer to her own so she could kiss him, taste him. Breathless, she asked, “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Just keep going like that . . . without . . . you know.” She flushed even deeper than she already was; shocked that she could even think of the question, let alone ask it.

  “What I should do is control my breathing like when I’m lining up to take a . . . shot, but I always forget.” He grinned. “So I’ve been field stripping an M4 for the last five minutes wearing a blindfold.”

  “What was the gun doing wearing a blindfold?”

  He kissed her on the mouth, adjusting his body position and as he got going again, Amanda knew it was for the last time. He moved faster and faster until she toppled over the edge of the cliff in a back-arching, heart-stopping, mind-numbing, fist-clenching, toe-curling descent into paradise.

  They were both panting as though they’d run the Olympic 100 meter final. Angel wrapped his arms around her as he turned over onto his back. Amanda snuggled down into his protective embrace.

  The same way he did with Noa Lana that day I first met her. “Where is Noa Lana?” she mumbled into his chest.

  A soft snore was all that answered her.

  I hope she’s staying with Galena. Amanda moved to get a better view of Angel as he slept. She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. He was the oldest person she’d ever dated. At thirty-three, he was so much more mature, not just in numbers, but in his body and his mind. The last boyfriend she slept with had been the same age as her at the time, twenty-four. Does age make the difference? No, of course not. The difference is fifteen years in the USMC. He had the body of what, a god? Hardly, gods weren’t usually covered in all the nicks and scars that he was. She traced one under his left collarbone. Where did you get that? In battle? A childhood injury maybe? She snuggled back into a comfortable position next to him. Never mind, I’ll find out all about your little ‘distinguishing features’ as we go exploring. Her last waking thought was about his eyes. Maybe they change color with his mood.

  * * *

  Angel dropped Amanda off at work—and picked her up again in the evening. Having checked that his daughter was sound asleep in her own room, he returned to the master bedroom where he and Amanda enjoyed another intense session of love-making. Lying in the afterglow with her head on his chest, she chuckled to herself. Zanna was right about all these new positions.

  She woke to an urgent shake from Angel. Her first thought was she was late for work and her gaze went straight to the alarm clock. No wait, it’s Sunday. Day off.

  “Put this on quick,” he said, handing her one of his t-shirts while at the same time hopping around trying to don a pair of shorts. Once clothed, he jumped back into bed.

  Amanda slipped on the shirt and was about to ask what kinky activity Angel was planning when the reason for the clothing burst through the door and launched herself at the bed.

  Noa Lana exchanged greetings with her father in Spanish and then asked Amanda in English, “Were you scared in the night?”

  Did she hear something? Was I making that much noise? Angel had shushed her a couple of times. “No,” she replied, tentatively. “Why?”

  “Papá lets me sleep with him at night if I get scared.”

  Angel buried his face in the pillow to hide his laughter.

  How on earth do I get out of this?

  His cell phone buzzed on the side table.

  Hallelujah!

  He asked Noa Lana to hand it to him. She squealed, jiggling the phone up and down. “It’s tío Dingo. Can I answer it, Papá? Can I?”

  “Claro,” Angel replied.

  Noa Lana held an excited conversation in Spanish with tío Dingo. Lowering the phone and switching back to English, she said, “He’s having a barbecue.”

  Angel raised his eyebrows at Amanda.

  “Who’s tío Dingo?”

  He smiled. “It’s what she calls Rivera, Uncle Dingo. She couldn’t say Domingo when she was little. It stuck, but she’s the only one allowed to call him that.”

  Her first thought was to say no to the invitation, but Rivera was a friend, a very good friend of Angel’s. And Noa Lana seemed eager to see him. She nodded her assent.

  “Let me speak to him, honey.” Angel switched to Spanish and held a short conversation that involved a lot of laughter and glances at Amanda.

  She punched him on the arm when he hung up. “Were you talking about me?”

  “I asked if he was OK with you coming too. He wanted to know what you were doing at my house before zero eight hundred on a Sunday morning.” He winked. “So I told him.”

  “You did not!” Is that what they do; discuss what they get up to? Compare notes?

  He shook his head. “He knew anyway. My gorgeous Noa Lanita had already told him you were in my bed.” He tickled Noa Lana. “C’mon you, up. I wanna go for a run before breakfast.”

  “Can I come?” she asked.

  “Not this time, mija. Papá’s gotta start getting fit now.”

  * * *

  The further they drove up into the hills of Temecula, the more expensive the real estate appeared. The homes sat increasingly further back from the road, then disappeared from view altogether. All one could see now were the occasional security gates guarding the driveways.

  Angel turned into one of these driveways and stopped. He dialed a number into his phone and moments later the ornate metal gates swung open. He waved at a bush as they drove in, which prompted a fit of giggles from Noa Lana in the back seat.

  Amanda stared at him, waiting for his explanation.

  In a serious voice, he said, “Please don’t talk about what you see here. He doesn’t like people to know.”

  “Know what?”

  He sighed. “About all this.” He gestured at the surrounding lush property.

  In silence, she took in the avocado and olive groves casually landscaped across the terrain. Rounding a bend, her mouth fell open at the sight of an im
posing mansion, reminiscent of a chateau from the Loire Valley. Set into the hillside, it commanded an impressive view of the vineyards below it.

  Amanda pointed to the chateau. “Are you telling me Rivera lives there?”

  Angel ran his hands around the steering wheel. “He’s not really some poor Chicano from the barrios in East LA.”

  Her eyes widened.

  He gave a rueful nod. “No, his father owns an emerald mine in Mexico. Rivera is just killing time in the Marines until he’s thirty-five and can gain access to his inheritance.”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  About three hundred yards from the house, Angel turned down a narrow side road and pulled up outside a small cinnamon-colored, adobe cottage. He killed the engine.

  “What are we doing here?” Amanda asked.

  Angel mimicked a GPS voice. “We have reached our destination.”

  “You mean he— ?” Amanda paddled Angel with both hands. “I hate you. I hate you!”

  Noa Lana clapped her hands and burst out laughing. “Your face!”

  They all got out of the car and Amanda paused, closed her eyes, and inhaled the heady aromas carried on the light breeze. “Oh, Angel, this is beautiful.” Zanna would absolutely love it here.

  “Yeah, I like to visit, but I couldn’t live here. It’s too quiet for me. We’re both from the same part of LA, yet he prefers to unplug and unwind up here. I like the ocean.”

  “How on earth did he find this place?”

  “A mutual friend arranged it.”

  “¡Tio Dingo!” Noa Lana ran toward Rivera, her arms wide. He scooped her up, smothered her in kisses, then came to shake Angel’s hand.

  “¿Qué onda?” Rivera asked.

  “Echándole ganas,” Angel replied, shaking his head and looking at the ground.

  Rivera wrapped his arm around Angel’s head. “You’ll get through it, ’mano.” He stuck out his hand to Amanda. “Hey,” he said. She grasped it, and he pulled her to him and kissed her on the cheek.

  That was unexpected! “Hi, Ding . . . O.” She put a hand to her mouth. “Oops, sorry, couldn’t resist it, but I’m not sure what to call you. Domingo? Rivera? Gunnery Sergeant?”

  He shook his head. “Rivera’s fine.” He led the way around to the raised terrace.

  Amanda gasped at the view. Wow, no wonder he likes it here. The back of the cottage faced out onto the vineyards and beyond them to the Santa Rosa range and the Pacific Ocean. A refreshingly cool breeze wafted inland from the water, giving the air a crisper feel than at Angel’s lowland home. Rivera had already lit the BBQ. He went to check it, took a handful of wet wood chips out of a bucket and scattered them over the coals.

  The odor of smoked hickory wafted over. It’s such a shame Zanna can’t be here to enjoy this.

  While the steaks cooked, the men had Amanda in fits of laughter, telling tales about antics, foul-ups, and day-to-day life in the Marine Corps. After the meal, they relaxed on the deck, digesting one of the best Sunday lunches Amanda had ever eaten. Noa Lana got up, went to the cooler, and picked out two bottles of beer. She handed one to Angel and one to her tío Dingo. She took Amanda by the hand, and pulling her to her feet said, “We have to go for a walk now.”

  Angel regarded his daughter with a puzzled look.

  “We do?” Amanda didn’t mind the idea of exploring, but she would have liked Angel to come too.

  “Yes,” said Noa Lana in a grave voice. “Papá and tío Dingo will drink beer and talk . . . and Papá will cry. Tía Galena and I go for a walk while they do that.”

  Angel swallowed hard, and he and Rivera exchanged glances.

  Angel held out his hands to Noa Lana. “That’s OK, mija. Papá’s not gonna cry today.”

  Amanda was not so certain—she was having a little trouble herself.

  “Do you want to go play video games instead today?”

  Noa Lana’s face lit up, so Angel swept her up in his arms and took her inside.

  “What was that about?” Amanda asked Rivera.

  Rivera motioned that Amanda follow him. Leaning his forearms on the terrace rail, he said, “Angel came up here a lot after his wife died. Galena would take Noa Lana for a walk while we talked—or while he ranted and I listened. He was devastated by Estela’s death. It wasn’t like she was ill. She’d just dropped Noa Lana off at pre-school and got T-boned at an intersection when a truck ran a red light. We were on base at the time, but she was dead by the time we got to the hospital.”

  Rivera’s subdued telling of the story had Amanda fighting back the tears.

  “You’re the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time, ” he said. “He was MIA for a while there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Missing in Action. In combat, it refers to a Marine with whom you’ve lost contact and whose whereabouts are not known, but they’re not confirmed dead. Pretty much sums up the state he was in.”

  On the spur of the moment, Amanda did what Zanna had never felt able to do; she hugged Rivera. He returned it.

  “Thank you, Amanda,” he said, “for bringing him back.”

  Amanda had always had her misgivings about Rivera. Now she understood just what Zanna saw in this man.

  32

  “OK, Nate, let’s give it a go,” Zanna said.

  An infection had caused complications, necessitating further surgery to realign the bones in Bailey’s leg. The circle fixator had been replaced with a double-rod type for extra stability. With the infection cleared and the bones knitting well, Zanna was given the go-ahead to proceed with Bailey’s rehab. He stood at the end of the parallel bars but showed no sign of moving.

  She exhorted again. “C’mon, Nate. I know your ankle’s stiff, but give it a go. Use the bars to support your weight, that’s what they’re for.” She smiled encouragement at him. “Slide your hands along the bars a little way, then take a small step.” She walked along the side of the bars to stand next to him and placed her hand over his. “I know it’s going to hurt like hell, Nate, but we’ve got to get you moving again.”

  Bailey took a wavering breath.

  He sounds scared. She slid his hand a few inches along the bar. “That’s as big a step as I want you to take. Start with your injured leg.”

  He positioned his other hand opposite the one Zanna had moved.

  “Rest as much weight as you want on your hands,” she said. “And take your time. We have as long as you need.”

  He tentatively stepped forward on his damaged left leg, but then shifted his position to take more weight through his arms. He followed through with his good leg.

  She rubbed his forearm. “There you go. That’s your first step. Now, let’s take another.”

  Bailey gritted his teeth and took another step—and another.

  “Now we’re getting there.” Zanna crept alongside the bar with him. “When you place the weight on your left leg, I want you to think of growing taller as you do it, OK.” She smiled at him. “You’re doing the opposite, trying to drop the weight away . . . not good. You cause all sorts of negative repercussions through the rest of your body when you do that.” You’re so different from him. How would he have coped with your struggle? But then again, how would you have coped with his? Just because Rivera made his recovery look easy didn’t mean that it was. Amazing thing, hindsight.