by Skye Taylor
“Won’t you miss your family?” He struggled to get his mind off ideas it had no business exploring.
“Do you miss yours?” she countered.
“Of course I do.”
“But that didn’t stop you from joining the Marines.”
“Touché.”
They talked about her first-year classes and a little about his last few months aboard the Peleliu as they continued down the beach and darkness began to creep in. There was no moon yet, just a faint hint of pink in the western sky, and already the horizon over the ocean was fading from blue to indigo.
Philip glanced at the darkening sky. “I better get you back before your brother comes looking for you.” Before I forget I’m not home on leave to chase after my best friend’s kid sister.
“My brother left an hour ago. I was hoping I could bum a ride off you.”
So much for putting temptation out of my way. . . .
ELENA WAS STILL trying to decide what to wear when she heard the roar of Philip’s motorcycle pull up out front of her brother’s house. In a flurry of haste, she grabbed her favorite shirt and put it on. She dashed a tad of color to her lips and dragged a brush through her hair, took one last look at herself in the mirror then hurried down the stairs and out the door.
Philip waited for her, still seated astride his motorcycle with his booted foot stretched down to balance the big machine. He grinned at her as she dashed down the walkway toward him.
She was still mentally pinching herself, amazed that he’d really asked her to go for a ride with him and that it wasn’t a dream. Just thinking about it made her a little breathless.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had her share of boyfriends and dates. She’d gone steady and even lost her virginity to a boy named Brad while she was still in high school. And there had been Eli during most of her freshman year of college. But Brad and Eli were boys. Philip was a man.
And Philip took her breath away. Just looking at him made her chest feel tight with excitement. He wasn’t ordinary at all. Even in civilian clothing.
He had the carved muscular body of a warrior, shoulders that made even his ratty old T-shirt look sexy, and an air of confidence that set him apart. The kind of man that drew attention just by being there without doing a thing.
He shoved his visor up and smiled. Laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes, adding to the magnetism of his sky blue eyes. “You ready to go?”
She glanced at his jeans and boots, then back to his compelling blue eyes. “Maybe I should have worn something a little more . . . a little—”
“I like you just the way you are.” His gaze traveled slowly down over the sleeveless shirt she’d knotted below her breasts and the white-cuffed shorts that contrasted so nicely with the tan she’d acquired in Southern California. “I promise I’ll drive careful so I won’t scuff up all that perfection. But you do have to wear this.” He leaned back and pulled a second helmet out from under the bungee cords securing it to the rear of the motorcycle’s seat.
Elena took the helmet and tugged it down over her head, shoving wayward wisps of hair inside. Philip reached out to fasten the strap beneath her chin and the touch of his fingers started her heart beating faster. Then he dropped his visor and jerked his head toward the back of the bike. “Hop on.”
Elena climbed on behind him. She’d never ridden on a motorcycle before and wasn’t exactly sure what to hold onto. Before she could decide, Philip grabbed her hands and pulled them around his waist.
“Hold on tight. And don’t be afraid to cuddle up close.” He kicked the engine back to life and pulled away from the curb.
As he turned out of the side street onto Route Seventeen and picked up speed, wind whistled through the helmet and tugged at the hair she’d tried to confine, but she didn’t dare let go to do anything about it. A few minutes later, she didn’t care.
The exhilaration of flying down the road plastered against Philip’s broad warm back was like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life. Just before he leaned into the first curve, he took one hand off the handlebars briefly to secure her arms where they crossed his flat abs.
“Having fun?” he yelled back at her, his words ripping past her ear and getting lost in the rush of air. Unable to do anything else, she just hugged him tighter as delighted laughter bubbled up inside her.
She would have loved nothing better than to just hang on and feel the power of the man and the machine rumble through her forever. But when Philip finally turned off onto a dirt road in the Holly Shelter Game Land and slowed, she realized she was ready for a break. He brought the bike to a stop next to a babbling brook meandering alongside the road.
Reluctantly, Elena let go of Philip’s waist and eased off the bike.
“This a good place to stop for a picnic?” Philip asked as he shoved the kickstand down and pulled his helmet off.
She nodded as she removed her own helmet and surveyed the little clearing. When he’d promised lunch, she’d thought of Joel’s. Or Ethan’s Ribs, but this was so much better. She’d have him all to herself without interruptions from everyone else Philip knew in Tide’s way barging in to offer sympathy or say hi.
He lifted the seat she’d been sitting on and pulled out a blanket, then a soft-sided cooler. In minutes, they were settled cross-legged on the blanket, chowing down on chicken sandwiches and homemade cookies Elena guessed were left over from the post-funeral gathering at Philip’s parents’ house. Their conversation picked up right where it had left off the evening before.
“What’s it like? Being in the Marines?”
“It suits me.”
“But what’s it really like? You hear all about the few, the proud, Semper Fi and all that, but isn’t it hard?”
“Hard is good for building character.” Philip picked up a stone and tossed it into a smooth patch of water. Ripples eddied out to meet the current as Elena waited for him to go on.
When he didn’t, she pushed. “I heard you were in Bosnia or Kosovo or somewhere.”
He shrugged. “Bosnia. And a few other places.”
“And?” She touched Philip’s shoulder, willing him to look at her.
He looked down at the wooly plaid blanket and flicked a bit of cookie off with one finger. Tipping his head up, he glanced at her with his eyebrows lifted and the hint of a dimple creasing one cheek. “And what?”
“What’s war really like?”
The dimple disappeared and his eyes clouded.
Suddenly she wasn’t so eager to hear about that part of his life after all. She’d watched a pushy young demonstrator at USC corner a soldier and boldly ask if the man had ever killed anyone. The look of regret and sorrow sweeping over the young soldier’s face had filled her with disgust at the swaggering picketer’s nastiness. And here she was, behaving no better.
“Forget I asked.” She looked away, not sure how to get the earlier light-hearted mood back.
“Why did you choose to study physical therapy?” he asked, changing the subject.
Chapter 3
January 2015
Camp Lejeune, North Carolina
“YOU WANTED TO become a physical therapist so you could help people like your momma. How did you end up fixing broken soldiers?” Philip asked, trying to ignore the way his heart raced when Elena took his hand in hers to begin her examination.
That’s how things had gotten started between them the first time. Her holding his hand, offering sympathy, and then so much more. And she’d broken his heart before she was done. He wanted to yank his hand back and demand another therapist. But he was a Marine, and Marines did what they were told. He’d been ordered to report to the Lejeune PT department and work to get his hand rehabbed so he could get back to his unit.
“This isn’t where I pictured you ending up.”
She glanced into his face briefly, then went back to examining his hand.
“I interned at one of the Balboa clinics. One of the best hand-wrist guys in the country is out there and I trained under him. He liked my work and got me into graduate school. One thing led to another, I guess you could say.”
“The doctor from Walter Reed was happy to get me assigned close to home because he said Lejeune had just acquired one of the best hand PT specialists. He didn’t mention your name though, so seeing you caught me a little by surprise.” Caught him a lot by surprise. Running into someone you thought you’d gotten over years ago would have been surprise enough. But discovering that particular someone was going to be his therapist set off serious alarms. That, and the fact he was obviously still attracted to her in spite of how things had ended between them.
“I am one of the best,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Can you make a fist?”
He spread his damaged fingers, then tried to make a fist, but there was no strength in it. Elena uncurled his fingers again and examined them, one at a time.
“How did you manage to get so busted up?”
“I lost the fight.” Like he’d lost her. Through no fault of his own. Ah, Elena, how did it happen? I thought we had something special going. Something worth waiting for.
Elena frowned at his answer. “The fight? This doesn’t look much like the kind of damage bombs and bullets, or even fist fights leave behind.” She glanced at the battered hand crisscrossed with the scars of multiple surgeries, then back to his face.
He shook his head and pressed his lips together. “It was a fight with an overturned MRAP. It was sinking in the muck, and it outweighed me.”
She slid her fingertips along the length of each battered digit, then asked him to curl his fingers up toward his palm and not let her straighten them. One at a time, she applied pressure to each fingertip. “What were you doing, wrestling with a—? What is an MRAP, anyway?”
“Trying to save my guys.” He winced. “It’s a Mine-Resistant, Ambush-Protected vehicle. They’ve got armor plating underneath to protect them from mines, but they’re top-heavy and they tip over easy.”
“Sorry,” she apologized.
He wasn’t sure if she was saying she was sorry he’d lost the fight, or was apologizing for the pain she was causing now.
She increased the pressure and the pain. “And did you? Save your guys, I mean?”
Regret lanced through him with an agony that rivaled what she was doing to his hand. “Most of them.”
Her eyes met his and widened as understanding hit. “But not all.” It was a statement, not a question.
He shook his head briefly and closed his eyes before she could notice the dampness that still came so swiftly and unavoidably whenever he remembered struggling to free the young corporal, getting his hand and shoulder crushed in the effort, and then not finding a pulse.
“I’M SO SORRY, Philip. I didn’t know.” None of the pages in his file had included that detail. Only that he’d been awarded a medal for heroism under fire. That he’d saved the lives of four Marines while sustaining wounds of his own. Wounds beyond just this crushed hand.
“You couldn’t know,” he said in a soft southern drawl laced with regret and sorrow. Without lifting his head, he glanced up at her, his eyebrows raised, his eyes suspiciously damp.
She’d been so wrapped up in her own feelings, she hadn’t once thought beyond the injustice of having to work with the man who had turned his back on her years ago to what he might be going through now. That look, filled with pain, regret, and loss cut straight to her heart.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, trying to banish her own callousness.
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” he muttered. The corner of his mouth tipped up in an effort of a smile. “So, what’s the prognosis?” He spread his fingers again.
His eyes had lost the glimmer of tears, and his tough guy façade was back in place.
Just as well. She couldn’t let herself care again. Keeping a healthy distance between them emotionally was the only way she’d get through the next few months.
“The doctor’s report says there’s a fair amount of sensory loss, but he’s hopeful that much, maybe even all of it will return in time.”
“It better come back. I’ve got plans.” He closed his hand and then opened it again. “And I need this hand back to normal. Do you have any idea how hard it is to do everything with your left hand? Even just signing my name is an adventure in frustration.”
“Not hard at all,” she said, making yet another note on his chart—with her left hand.
He shook his head and smiled. “I forgot you were a lefty.”
He’d forgotten a lot of things. Like his promise to stay in touch. Like spending Christmas together and their plans to pick their relationship up right where it left off as soon as his hitch aboard the Peleliu ended. Like the attraction they’d once felt and had been unable to hide either from each other or the world. He’d forgotten so much.
“Elena.” His smile was gone, and his gaze grew sharp. He pulled his hand free of hers. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way we thought they would. I—” He hesitated. “After 9/11, everything went crazy,” he continued, obviously not saying whatever had been in his head a moment before. “The world wasn’t the same. My life in the Marines and my future were altered beyond anything I’d ever imagined.”
“That was a long time ago, Gunny.”
She was not going to revisit the pain he’d left her to endure. That was then. This was now. He was her patient, and it was her job to restore the use of his hand so he could return to the career he’d carved out for himself.
She squared her shoulders and got back to business, asking a few questions and clarifying a few things about his surgeries at Walter Reed. Then, doing her best to put up a wall of professional distance, she reached for his hand again. She tried to ignore the tough calluses that set his touch apart from other men she’d been intimate with, and bracketed his fingers two at a time, asking him to try spreading them apart. He endured the examination without comment.
“Close your eyes,” she ordered briskly.
When he complied, she lightly brushed his fingertips with hers. “Can you feel that?”
He nodded, then shook his head. “Some.”
“This?” She touched his index finger.
He nodded.
“How about this?” The warmth and intimacy of brushing her fingers over his sent a rush of unaccustomed heat pooling into her gut. She dropped his hand and snatched up her clipboard.
Desperate to get her mind back to the task at hand, she scribbled a few hasty notes. “I know you want this hand back one hundred percent, and I hope we can make that happen. But in the meantime, I’m going to give you some exercises to do with your left hand. As you say, signing your name legibly is important. Feeding yourself and God knows—” She broke off and stared closely at his face. “How did you shave?”
He grimaced. “With an electric razor. Otherwise I’d probably have slit my throat.”
Elena had to fight the urge to reach out and run her palm over the lean cheek already showing a glistening forest of blond stubble. How she’d loved the feel of that fast-growing beard against her skin when he kissed her.
She looked quickly back at her notes. “Well, we can work on that, too. Any other everyday tasks you’re having trouble managing with your off hand?”
“Cutting steak. Shifting my car. Putting my uniforms on, especially buttoning my trou—” He stopped talking so abruptly she looked up from her notes. Philip was blushing.
Chapter 4
January 2015
Camp Lejeune, North Carolina
PHILIP’S LONG strides ate up the distance between the rehab center and his new duty post as i
f he were trying to outrun an enemy.
Elena’s sudden reappearance in his life had rattled him to the core. He was over her. Years ago. But now he couldn’t walk fast enough to outdistance the memories.
The last time he’d seen her, he’d been so in love it had taken every ounce of self-discipline not to ask her to elope with him before he had to return to duty. But he’d married in haste when he was barely out of boot camp, a mistake that ended in betrayal and a loss that still haunted him. Haste was a mistake he wasn’t about to repeat.
He’d been certain about his own feelings, and was pretty sure Elena was in love with him, but he didn’t trust it. She’d been so young. Just beginning to think about what she wanted out of life. So he hadn’t asked for a commitment. He’d promised to stay in touch instead and made plans for Christmas together in Tide’s Way.
Then 9/11 had happened. Everyone’s plans had been thrown into turmoil, and he hadn’t been able to return when he’d promised. Thoughts of her had sustained him through those long months of separation and isolation, but when he’d finally returned stateside eager to make up for lost time, it turned out he’d been the one left behind.
It had taken years to get over her. But he had. He was so over her. So over letting his heart get involved. After the cruel trick Holly had played on him, he’d ached even more to be a husband and a father. He’d wanted to be Elena’s husband and for her to bear his children, but she’d crushed that hope forever.
So why did every nerve in my body come to total alert the instant I heard her voice?
The wounds in his thigh ached, but he ignored the pain and increased his speed. Then realized he’d almost walked right past the building he was seeking. He did an about-face and hurried up the walk and into the building.
He started to reach for the doorknob with his right hand and swore. Then he jerked the door open with his left hand and entered the building.
