What Part of Marine Don't You Understand? (The Challenge Series)

by Long, Heather

  “No.” Doc shook his head. “Because we get better and I can help you.”

  Chapter Two

  “Naomi, call for you.” The shout from downstairs intruded through the fifteenth audition tape she tried to review. Grateful for the interruption, she hit the spacebar on the laptop and bounced off the bed. Her roommates wouldn’t have interrupted if it wasn’t someone important.

  She glanced at the caller ID on the cordless and laughed. “Hello, Congressman Pain in the Ass, how is Washington today?”

  Her eldest brother graduated Annapolis, served three tours in Iraq, returned home a wounded veteran with one leg, and threw himself into public service. His recent election to the House of Representatives added another kudo in a long line of damn-isn’t-my-brother-awesomeness.

  “Good morning to you, Sassy Sparks.” He would never let her forget her obsession with the Spice Girls.

  “I’m busy, government stooge, what do you want?” But she grinned and stretched onto the bed. Checking her list of songs, she sighed. A dozen more to review and none thrilled her. She really wanted her first album to touch people and not be the same tired tropes rehashed over and over again.

  “I need a favor, brat. So stop staring at your computer or plucking on your guitar, and listen to me.”

  “Of course you do and I do not pluck on my guitar. I play it.” But she rolled onto her back obediently and stopped staring at the song list. It made her crazy anyway. “Whatcha need?”

  “You remember Luke Dexter?”

  The name sounded familiar.

  “Nope.”

  “Captain. Marine. Tall.”

  She snorted. “Brent, you do realize that most of the Marines I know are taller than I am, right? You included?” Four brothers, her father, three uncles, two cousins, and all of her grandfathers were Marines. She couldn’t turn around without tripping over one.

  “Luke Dexter, the guy who started Mike’s Place in Dallas? You went with us to the grand opening ceremony.”

  “Okay. I remember Mike’s Place.” The facility sat on a gorgeous campus that mingled military and civilian in a seamless blending. The swanky party to celebrate its opening for veterans and their families had been pretty fun, too.

  “Great. They’re planning some fundraising events over the next few months, and I am scheduled to attend, but….”

  “You can’t?” It was a guess.

  “Unfortunately, it’s just a matter of bad timing.”

  “You know they have golf courses in Texas.” He’d never cancel if he could help it, but she liked teasing him.

  “Actually Ryleigh might be ovulating and….”

  “Oh. Stop!” She let out a squeal. “Too much information.”

  He laughed and she scrubbed a hand over her face, the idea permanently burned into her brain. She would need bleach to get it out. “I will go. I promise. Just never mention why you can’t again.”

  “You are the best. I’ll have my office book your tickets and make all the arrangements.”

  “No problem. Really happy to help.” They chatted for a few minutes more and then he had to go to a meeting. Sitting up, she tossed the handset onto the bed and looked at the song list again. Her producer sent a wide variety of songs and themes available. But none of them touched her. Hitting play on the next one, she grimaced.

  Yeah, she definitely needed to find something different for this album.

  ***

  Trailing after the dozen others touring the facility, Naomi absorbed the information the guide provided. She admired the fact that despite the escort, they didn’t intrude on any of the group therapy sessions. A scarred veteran named Logan Cavanaugh led the physical therapy tour—she wrote the name down on the pad of notes she compiled for Brent. A position paper she planned to write in trochaic tetrameter, it would drive her brother nuts and fulfill her promise at the same time.

  A win-win in her book.

  If the idea of Mike’s Place impressed her during the opening ceremonies, her current visit left her floored.

  “Miss Sparks?” A woman beckoned her away from the group. “I’m Rebecca—”

  “Ranier, I remember.” They shook hands and Naomi smiled. “Sorry, I was a little caught up in the guide’s story. He’s got a great voice.”

  “Who, Damon? He can tell stories all day, but it can’t compare with his cooking. If you’ll come with me?” She motioned to a side hallway. “Luke sends his apologies, but we’ve had some issues with the new construction across the highway and he had to discuss it with the foreman.”

  “Not a problem. I actually think the tour was a great idea. I’m sure Brent will be sorry he missed it.” Naomi followed her into a well-appointed office.

  Decorated in dark woods, the room screamed masculinity. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooking an atrium offered a tremendous amount of light. Rebecca bypassed the desk and led her back to a comfortable sitting area.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you. We had coffee down in the mess and a chance to talk to some of the veterans. You have an amazing facility here.” Naomi crossed one leg over the other.

  “Thank you, I don’t do much more than handle our publicity and fundraise, the credit goes to Luke and his men. They work tirelessly to make this place better every day. They know what to do and how to help—and when they don’t, they know who to bring in.”

  “I’ve never been one to beat around the bush, Ms. Ranier—”

  “Rebecca, please.”

  “Only if you call me Naomi.”

  They shared another fast smile. “Done.”

  “What can Congressman Sparks do for you?”

  “You come from a family of Marines, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re all born and bred. I grew up on Marine bases around the world. My brothers are all in service, or just out like Brent—Congressman Sparks. So I have nothing but the utmost respect for those who serve and want to, you know, push my sleeves up and get involved. Tell me what he can do, and I’ll do my best to push it through.” Brent could have sent an aide to do the tour, but he’d asked her.

  This is personal.

  He wanted her take on it.

  “House Resolution 2663 will be introduced during the next session. It calls for a reduction in funds for discretionary spending. One of the areas earmarked is veteran’s services.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “A new study was released that found the efficacy of veteran’s services at federally funded hospitals to be significantly less when compared to private hospitals. Because of attrition to our armed forces, they want to reallocate money to keep more people in the service, but they have to find the money somewhere.”

  “So they’re targeting veteran’s services.” The thought made her feel vaguely ill. “It won’t pass.”

  “We hope it won’t. I know Congressman Sparks is not on the Armed Forces subcommittee—but he could….”

  “Talk to people who are. Okay, I will mention it to him. What else can we do?”

  Her easy acceptance of the task seemed to surprise Rebecca and the woman laughed. “We’re going to increase our own fundraising activities, we need to get the word out and bring in prominent veterans to endorse Mike’s Place….”

  “Done.” Brent wouldn’t hesitate. She could talk to her father, as well.

  “I’d also like a pony.” Rebecca grinned.

  “I can’t do anything about the pony, but maybe there’s something you could do for me.” The idea began as a bit of an itch in the back of her mind, but the longer she spent on the property the clearer it became.

  “Name it.”

  “Would you mind if I spent a few days here at Mike’s Place? Really have a chance to get to know the people….”

  “To roll up your sleeves and get involved?”

  “Yes.”

  Rebecca didn’t answer immediately, but finally nodded. “I think that will be fine. Do you mind if I run this by L
uke first?”

  “Not at all. Out of idle curiosity, how did you two meet?” Her brothers described her as pathological in her ability to ask pointed questions, but Naomi was genuinely curious.

  “That’s a long story.”

  “Well how about I buy you lunch and you can tell me as much as you’re comfortable with?”

  “I’d like that.” Rebecca rose. “But only if you let me treat.”

  “I never say no to a free lunch.”

  ***

  “That’s pretty much it,” Naomi said into the phone while hefting the guitar case onto the table. She flipped the locks open. Checking the Gibson after every trip was mandatory. She’d saved up every dime she earned over three summers to afford her beauty.

  “You really like the place, don’t you?” Brent must have shut himself away in a quiet office, because the background noise faded.

  “Yeah, I really do. It’s—they’re doing some amazing work here. I asked if they would let me hang out for a few days, really get to know the staff and some of the patients—you know those who are willing.”

  She would need to retune the guitar since she always loosened the strings before she flew. Satisfied, she set it aside and pulled out her laptop to set it up.

  “Aren’t you on some kind of deadline for the album you wanted to record?” Score one for big brothers who actually paid attention when she spoke.

  “I’m still looking for the right songs and we don’t have our studio time booked until the end of next month.” She’d written two pieces, but neither was that powerful—they didn’t capture the soul, and she wanted something big. With just six weeks to put together the songs she wanted, she couldn’t afford downtime. “I have samples to review, but I can do that here and you will get a very thorough report.”

  Brent chuckled. “Just not in Dr. Seuss rhymes? One Marine, Two Marine, Red Marine, Blue Marine was enough.”

  “That will teach you to fail to read what I send you before you walk into a meeting.” She’d almost forgotten she’d done that when she’d gone with their father to tour the Green Zone in Baghdad. “But I promise, I will not plagiarize Dr. Seuss this time.” Not when she could use rhyming meter from another century.

  “Uh huh. Thanks for doing this, kiddo.”

  “Anytime, Mr. Congressman. Now go earn a paycheck, us little people have real work to do.” He laughed and said goodbye. Accessing the Wi-Fi, she started her search for the 1Night Stand service.

  Who knew such a thing existed?

  Chapter Three

  Matt ran the trail with Jethro bounding along next to him. In the previous two weeks, he felt like he’d made more progress than in the whole two years he’d bounced in and out of Mike’s Place. He didn’t break into the long mile runs he indulged in against advice during his first stay, but followed orders to manage a steady pace. At the mile marker, he slowed to a walk. Gulping oxygen, he walked off the burn. The nausea in his stomach ebbed. Breathing exercises helped, but nothing replaced the heat of feeling his muscles flex. He missed workouts that pushed him to his limit.

  The therapist insisted on a walk-run-walk regimen. Impatience curled through him, but he fought the urge to ignore her and run again. Retired sergeant Candy Jefferson might look like someone’s grandmother, but she cowed the most belligerent of her patients with a stern eye. He didn’t feel like testing her to see if she could back up her attitude.

  She probably could.

  “Hey, man,” Damon rounded the curve ahead of him, walking in the opposite direction. Sweat soaked through his gray-green sweatshirt.

  “Hey. I thought you were in Los Angeles.” He and his girlfriend were a firm item, though rumor had it Damon had asked her to marry him and she’d said no.

  Twice.

  That had to sting.

  “Next week. Helena’s court case moved up the docket. So she’ll be tied up for the next couple of days.” Damon pivoted, falling into step with him. “You want to get a beer tonight?”

  It sounded good, but that meant hitting a bar. He wanted to avoid those triggers, particularly since he’d been doing so well. “I’m good. Maybe we can hang out when you get back later? Catch a game here?”

  “Sure.” Restaurant owner, chef, Marine and regular volunteer at Mike’s Place, Damon was also one of his best buds. “You okay?”

  Matt winced at the absolute caution hovering in the question. Tired of being the quirky, difficult friend, he needed to get his shit together. You can’t get upset at the questions. They ask them because they care. The mantra helped, but only a little.

  “I’m actually pretty good.” Discuss your healing process. It’s natural and nothing to feel ashamed of. “Up to a full mile on the run, getting out more because I’m not holing up in the apartment when I can be outdoors. Still not so good with large crowds of people.”

  He waited for awkward discomfort to stilt the conversation.

  “Cool.” Damon rolled his head from side to side and extended his arm behind his head, gripping the elbow for another stretch. “Glad to hear it. If crowds are the issue, how about I swing by with a six-pack this weekend and we just watch the game?”

  The knot of tension in his shoulder blades loosened. “Sounds good.”

  “I gotta jet. I’m on opening today and I want to get the kitchen set up.” Damon gripped Matt’s shoulder. “Keep fighting the fight, man. We got your back.” He gave Jethro a pat and turned to jog toward the parking lots.

  The easy acceptance stunned him, a solid kick in the ass to his confidence. “That wasn’t so bad.” He glanced down at the Labrador and laughed at the dog’s tongue-lolling grin. “Not bad at all.”

  ***

  “So what makes this week so different?” Doc sat forward, his notepad resting untouched on the thick, upholstered arm of the chair. Their once weekly sessions had turned daily for the past three weeks.

  “I’m actually looking forward to our sessions.” He counted them off on his fingers. “I’m sleeping better. I’m running again. My balance is improving—it’s not perfect. It may never be perfect and….” He hesitated, uncertain of how to phrase it. “And I’m okay with that.”

  “That’s better than okay. That’s great.” Encouragement and acceptance were readily available in James’ office. “How about crowds? How are you doing getting off campus?”

  He grimaced. “Still not my favorite thing. But…I hung out around one of the tour groups yesterday. You know the ones Rebecca is bringing in as part of the fundraising? About a dozen people, lots of noisy shoes.” He’d sweat right through shirt and thought his heart would explode in his chest, but he didn’t lose it and when it was over, he experienced relief and something more.

  Satisfaction.

  “I’m familiar. She’s doing some excellent work getting the message out there. We’ve had several inquiries about openings over the last few weeks. How did you feel about the tour?”

  “It was a tour, bunch of people listening so they weren’t that noisy. You know the crazy thing is, Jethro helps.” The dog always seemed to know when he was about to have a nutty and distracted him. It helped that he genuinely liked Jethro, an uncomplicated companion whose only demands included taking him for regular walks and scratching between his ears.

  “How did you feel about it?” Apparently he wouldn’t let Matt evade a direct response.

  “I didn’t like it. I kept hearing boots on the ground running, but I didn’t—I didn’t taste it in my mouth as much. Bitter, but not sickening. It seemed easier to remind myself it wasn’t real.”

  James nodded slowly. “Tell me what happened in Iraq.”

  “Again?” Didn't James ever get tired of asking the same questions over and over?

  “Yes, again. It will get easier.”

  “Soon?” Or was that too much to ask?

  “Eventually.” James didn’t sugar coat it and as unwelcome as the news might be, Matt preferred the truth.

  Acrid bile coated his throat and Matt swallowed. “It was th
e middle of the night and I was in my bunk….”

  Naomi chewed the end of the pencil and stared at the blank sheet music in front of her. Her producer had called three times that week and she abandoned the cell phone in her borrowed apartment to escape outside with her guitar and her thoughts. None of the songs he sent her were right. Phil accused her of being a diva, and he might be right, but she wanted her debut album to be special—the first songs anyone would hear and they would either discover her or change the station.

  Not that people really seemed to listen to radio stations anymore, but they did have Pandora and Spotify and a number of other ways to get music. Her chances of getting attention without a truly outstanding track were slim to none. She would rather miss her studio time entirely than record some half-assed piece of music that sounded like everything else out there.

  Doing it well meant doing it right. She didn’t need to wait around for inspiration. Mike’s Place overflowed with powerful, compelling stories beckoning to be told. Sliding the pencil behind her ear, she unlocked the guitar case and set the Gibson in her lap. It took only a few moments to tune it. Stroking her fingertips across the chords, she concentrated on emptying her mind and played.

  The music came slowly and she relaxed into it. The sun warmed her face and a light breeze tugged at her hair. Losing herself in the moment was a skill perfected over a lifetime of moves from Marine base to Marine base across the country and around the world. Being alone in her own head provided the sanity check frequent relocations and new situations demanded.

  Maybe that’s why she liked Mike’s Place so much—it reminded her of all the bases she’d grown up on, but without reveille and troops of men working out.

  Although there is definitely something to be said about a unit working out…. Humor flooded through her. Her father caught her staring at a particularly green batch doing pushups one day and forbade her to go anywhere near the training fields after that. He didn’t buy that her very healthy interest in members of the opposite sex was natural or that having four older brothers discouraged potential suitors.