by Cheryl Wyatt
“You sure he’s supposed to be doing that much?” Celia eyed the therapist with contempt.
“We’ll let pain be his guide.” The woman added another bar. “Five more?”
Manny mopped sweat from his forehead and did five more.
She upped the weights. “Again.”
She’s trying to flat out kill me. “No problem.” Manny pressed with all his might, hating the telltale quiver in his thigh muscle. On five, he stood, hoping to bypass more of these. “What next?”
The machine clinked as the therapist added weight. “You’re doing so well with these, let’s try ten more.”
Let’s? Seemed to Manny he was the only one sweating in agony here. He waited for Celia to look away before jabbing his therapist with an evil look. He lowered himself back onto the stool, dreading this. He swallowed, wondering if it would be vain to pray. He didn’t honestly think his leg would hold up for one more much less ten. But Celia was watching. He’d rather split a muscle than fail in front of her. Please help me do the weights.
Ten reps later, Manny’s entire leg twitched. Standing, his breath caught. He could hardly bear weight on it as the therapist motioned him to the recumbent bike. He loped over. Celia eyed him with grave concern. He tried his best to lessen the limp. She climbed onto the bike beside his.
“Uh, that’s just for patients,” the therapist told her.
“So, I’m his labor coach. You got, like, twelve of these things in here and only four patients. What’s the big deal?”
The therapist shrugged. “None, I guess. I’m just a rule follower.”
“Look, miss, if you’re gonna get in trouble, she can go to the waiting room.” Manny slid Celia a firm look.
She stopped pedaling. “How can she get in trouble?” She eyeballed the woman. “Your boss here?”
The therapist shook her head and winked at Celia. “I am the boss. At least for this shift. Since he seems to do better with you here, we’ll let ya stay.”
Manny and Celia cycled twenty minutes before transferring to treadmills. Even at an incline, Celia’s constant chatter distracted him from how bad his hip hurt. His therapist turned up the heat on the treadmill’s resistance. Either to punish him for Celia’s mouth, or because he’d gotten the Queen Masochist for therapy today.
After doing several other exercise machines, the Dungeon Master led Manny into a smaller room off the main, big one.
Celia sat in the chair beside him. “What’s that gizmo?”
Manny positioned himself on the small table. “A TENS unit. It provides small jolts of electricity to my injury, which releases endorphins to help fight pain, and promote circulation and healing.”
Scrapes raked the floor as she scooted back a safe distance. “What if you electrocute yourself?”
“I won’t. She will.” Manny grinned at the therapist. Three seconds later, he blushed when she slipped the stimulation pad beneath his waistband and attached it to his hip. Celia averted her gaze, suddenly finding the Monet picture enthralling.
Could this get any more awkward?
“I’ll be back to unhook you in ten minutes. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” The therapist waggled her eyebrows at them, lowered the room lighting and shut the door, leaving embarrassed silence in her wake. For the first time, Manny realized how cramped the room was.
“You’re doing well, Airman Péna.” Celia tugged students’ folders from her satchel.
Manny laughed out loud, causing her to halt and stare.
“What?” Her hand, brandishing a red pen, froze midair.
“You nervous or what?”
“Who says I’m nervous?” She scowled at him but eyed the machine with penitent respect.
“I do. I think you’re embarrassed to be alone with me.” With every vibrating pulse, his surgical site numbed. Relaxed, he folded his arms behind his head. If Celia wasn’t here, he’d probably doze.
Plastic crinkled as she ripped open a pack of stickers, he assumed to affix to the papers.
“What, no comment?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I’m thinking.”
“I like it better when you call me Manny. It’s more intimate.” His ears heated. “Not that I mean intimate as far as intimate, just, I mean, wow, I’m doomed no matter what I say here, huh?”
“Nah. Even if you meant the other, I’m closer to the switch.”
Manny eyed the machine and laughed. No doubt if he tried anything, which he wouldn’t, that she would crank that thing up and zap a hefty measure of good sense into him.
At least they’d gotten to a point they could joke about what happened at the reception.
Thank You, Lord.
“Still feel like conquering the grocery aisles?” Celia asked while headed to the car after his rehab session.
“Actually, let’s wait until another day.” He grinned. “I confess, I’m beat today.”
She smiled and pulled out of the lot. “Do you always push yourself past the max, or was it just ’cause I was there?”
He eyed her. “You kidding me?”
“No. I really want to know.”
He swallowed. “If you hadn’t been there, I probably could have grocery shopped until the cows come home.”
She grinned. “I knew it. Trying to impress me, huh?” She extended a finger to poke his bicep. He flexed before she made contact so it would feel firmer to touch. He didn’t answer and hoped she wouldn’t press for one. He wasn’t sure either of them wanted to hear the truth on that one.
They pulled into Joel’s driveway.
Amber met them at the car. “Celia, why don’t you stay? I ordered pizza.” She eyed them with a hopeful expression.
Celia dug around her bag. “Let me call Javier. If he finds out I had pizza without him, I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Javier’s already here,” Amber said. “He’s helping Bradley with homework, then they’re playing video games.”
A click sounded as Celia shut her phone. “Hope you ordered an extra pizza.”
Amber laughed then shut the door. Manny followed both women inside, heading straight for the medicine cabinet.
The price men paid to impress a gal. Mama mia, his leg hurt.
Hopefully all this effort would be worth it in the end.
On both counts.
Chapter Fifteen
Time was running out. Celia could see it in Manny’s eyes at rehab. Every day he pushed himself harder than the day before.
“Airman Péna, give me twenty more. I’ll be right back.” The therapist stood from where she’d been applying resistance to Manny’s straight-leg raises. She returned moments later with a sandbag and the physician in charge of overseeing Manny’s rehab.
The physician secured the sandbag on Manny’s thigh. “Give us five.”
Manny did ten.
The physician made notes on the chart then placed ankle weights on Manny’s leg in addition to the sandbag. “Ten more?”
With a bit of sweat and stifled grunts, Manny did fifteen.
Celia’s heart sank and soared all at the same time.
The therapist and doctor exchanged a look. Then the physician sat on the padded table and pressed his hand on Manny’s ankle, offering substantial resistance. “How ’bout five more?”
“How ’bout twenty more?” Manny challenged with a determined glint in his eyes. By repetition number eight the twitch to Manny’s jaw and his wrinkled forehead told Celia extreme agony consumed him. The guy wasn’t giving up for nothing.
Please help him. He’s worked so hard and wants this so badly. Celia bit her lip against the sting of tears.
Manny’s breathing labored. Sweat rivulets streamed down his forehead. With his kind of stamina, obviously pain rather than exertion pushed the sweat from his hairline. Even muscles near his eye twitched.
Around rep fifteen Manny’s leg quivered and a look of impending defeat came across his features. He did two more then tried for a third but his leg collapsed. So did Manny
’s countenance.
Just two more. You can do it. Celia prayed silently.
Despite intense straining, his leg barely left the table. He averted his gaze from her. Tears pricked her eyes. She pretended to study her magazine both to save his dignity and her composure. Seconds later, Manny drew in two deep, determined breaths, grit his teeth and raised his leg twice more. On the third try his leg clunked to the table.
The doctor removed his hand. “That’s enough for today.”
“No, Doc, I can do it. Just gimme a sec.” The apprehension and stubbornness closing in on Manny’s face caused Celia to abandon Vogue and reach for his hand. She couldn’t help it.
In one week there would be his rehab evaluation, which would determine his standing with the military.
And with the team.
Her heart shredded in that moment. To pray Manny would be able to return to duty was to pray him right out of her heart and life.
But she couldn’t be selfish. Manny wanted to be a PJ with everything in him, and his team needed him. So would the future people out there in dire need of a life-saving rescue by a bulldog-determined PJ.
The doctor stood, placing a hand on Manny’s shoulder. “Airman Péna, you’ve not failed. If you push yourself too hard, you’ll destroy the bone graft and defeat the purpose. You’ve already exceeded the goals we’ve set for you.”
Manny looked up from the floor. His countenance brightened. “I have?”
“From day one. Unless you do something goofy like ice skate into a snowplow or step out in front of a moving car, I think you have an excellent shot at getting a medical release to return to work soon.”
Soon.
The word and Manny’s whoop of victory caused more tears to spring forth in Celia’s eyes. She wiped at them madly. What was the deal? She never cried. Maybe her hormones were out of whack.
Manny sprang to his feet sans crutch but balanced most of his weight on his good leg. The next moment he had her pulled tight against him and was squeezing the stuffing out of her. Unshed tears glimmered in his eyes. “Soon,” he whispered in her hair.
Unable to help it, or to stop this siege of emotion, she squeezed back. Elation and relief washed from him to her in powerful gales.
But when his mouth closed over hers the next instant, her insides turned to mush. Her toes curled inside her shoes and she forgot for a moment where she even was. Taken by surprise and a blast of traitorous emotion, she gave herself fully to both the volcanic embrace and the emotional kiss.
Moments later he pulled back with a surprised look on his face, like he had no idea how that had happened. The grinning therapist sat with her head dipped, feigning interest in her clipboard, but her eyes kept darting upward. The doctor had, at some point, slipped away.
As it sank in further what just happened, and as the look of shock sharpened in Manny’s expression, Celia flung her arms out. “What? I didn’t kiss you, you kissed me!”
As though in a daze, he brushed fingers across his lip. “But…I’m pretty sure you kissed me back.”
She guessed she had. “Well, it was an emotional moment. I’m happy for you, Manny.” Sad for myself, but happy for you.
He grasped the traction bar above her head, leaning close enough for her to catch a whiff of the sweat of a man using every ounce of his allotted strength to walk the destiny God set before him. “But?”
She refused to dampen this moment for him. She and the Good Lord would work this out later. “No buts. Let’s go home and celebrate.”
Home. At the word, they both stopped. Everything in her heart streamed unabashed from her mouth no matter how hard she wanted to keep her feelings in check. But why’d she gone and said that? Judging by the way his brows drew in concentration, he’d heard the connotation.
Admit it. At least to yourself. You want there to be freedom from this fear. You want to make a life with him as his wife. Celia swallowed at the thought and stepped back from him.
Why bother to explain? It would only open up a can of worms that she wasn’t ready to contend with yet.
The doctor met them at the reception desk and handed Manny papers. “Over the next couple weeks, start bearing more weight on the leg, see how you do. Progress to one crutch then to a cane. Let pain, or lack thereof, be your guide.”
Manny’s ears turned red and he avoided the doctor’s face.
Two salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose above the doctor’s glasses. When Manny didn’t say anything, the doctor eyed Celia.
“Uh, he’s already progressed to one crutch. He only uses two when he comes here,” Celia said. She didn’t want Manny to push himself so hard he ruined his chance of rejoining the team.
Manny shot her a traitorous look. “Tattletale.”
The doctor scratched his chin. “As long as he’s tolerating that, it’s probably fine.”
Celia stared at the bespectacled man. Now who was the traitor? Everyone at this rehab had helped Manny get better by leaps and bounds. But so had Celia. By challenging and pushing, and by her very presence. Celia knew her being here had made him want to work harder, even if it had been ego-driven.
The therapist released Manny and went to attend her next patient. Celia pulled her purse strap over her shoulder. She could tell by his limp that he was in severe pain and in no shape to trek store floors. How to spare his dignity? “I don’t feel up for grocery shopping today. It’s drizzling rain and yucky out. How ’bout we push it to tomorrow?”
He dipped his head, but not before she saw both relief and discouragement waltz across his features. “Sure. Tomorrow’s probably better for me, too.”
The next day Celia pushed the grocery cart behind Manny. He turned, tossed her a grin over his shoulder and pointed the end of his crutch at a package of pork chops.
She plunked them on a piece of newspaper in the bottom. “You enjoy ordering me around way too much.” Celia matched his grin, not unaware of the chaos it erupted in her stomach.
“Grab another, will ya? That big family-size one.”
She pulled a second package of meat from the freezer bin. Farther on, he aimed his elbow at a humongous roll of hamburger meat. “You can make some of your great enchilada pie with that.”
She set the ground beef beside the pork. “Think so, huh?” It thrilled Celia that Manny had been eating most meals with her and Javier.
It was no secret to anyone now about the growing attraction and feelings between them. But the question hovering like military choppers in everyone’s mind, even hers, was what to do about it. She didn’t think he had irresolvable hang-ups. Just her. Could she set fear aside and give herself fully to the idea of making a future with him?
Would her fear overpower her and make their lives miserable? Time, and Manny reserving his place in the team, would tell.
“Come on, slowpoke,” he said from near the checkout. “I’ve got rehab in a half hour and you know how they like to torture me when I’m late.”
She laughed but picked up the pace. They’d have just enough time to unload groceries and get him to his appointment.
She knew Manny had hated it the last time she’d suggested he wait in the car while she toted groceries in. So she propped the screen door open to allow him to get through. He passed with two sacks in each hand, grasping both plastic baggy handles against the crutch rungs. She fought the urge to help. The guy wouldn’t put his ego’s need to impress her above safe parameters for healing. In her heart of hearts she felt he’d be able to return to his team, which meant diving headfirst into the thick of the worst kind of danger.
And she’d be faced with what to do with the guard over her heart that his charm had worn dangerously down.
The doctor’s word filtered through her mind.
Soon.
Chapter Sixteen
“’Lo?” A groggy female voice answered Manny on Sunday morning. He held the phone away from his chin and chuckled.
“Wha’s funny?” A long sniff, then a rustling sounded.
&nb
sp; Manny blinked away cozy images of Celia snuggled in a cushy warm comforter. “Did I wake you?”
“Sort of. I’m being lazy today.”
“Well, get up and get ready.”
“What?”
“I’m picking you up in fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen—you’ve lost your mind. Where are we going?”
“Not telling.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you?”
“I’m not going to put the moves on you, if that’s what you think.” Manny laughed.
Celia snorted. “Your history says otherwise.”
“Ouch. Low blow. Javier home?”
“Yeah, but he’s comatose. He was up most nights this week with a migraine. Finally took medicine last night. It barely kicked in. He’s like you, too stubborn to take anything. He hasn’t had much sleep.”
“Then I’ll let him off the hook today. Have you slept?”
“Some.”
“Then you’re still fair game. I’ll be there in twelve minutes.”
Ten minutes later Manny stood on her doorstep. Before he could knock, the door swung open.
Celia, armed with an industrial-size mascara brush in one hand and hairbrush in the other, looked him up and down. Suspicion drizzled from her eyes.
“I don’t want to take you to bed, Celia. I want to take you to church.”
Her chin dropped at his blunt words.
He cracked a smile. “Finish getting ready. We leave in three minutes.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.” He eyed his watch. “Two and a half minutes, and counting.”
“You really found Jesus,” she breathed.
He laughed and leaned against the doorjamb. “Not really. Jesus wasn’t lost. I, on the other hand…”
She started to shut the door.
He stuck his foot in the crack. “Please don’t make me go by my—”
Tears in her eyes stalled his voice. Hair brushed her shoulders in soft waves as she shook her head. “Manny, I’m sorry. I can’t go to church with you.”
“You gonna let me in, or should I stand here and freeze to death?” He shivered for good measure.