A Soldier's Family

Twice.

His entire body burned as though an RPG sheared the skin right off his bones.

As if sensing his self-consciousness, she stepped out. Funny thing. He felt her absence immediately.

And didn’t like it.

Celia was the kind of girl who changed the room when she walked in. Or, rather, bounced in. Always upbeat, feet moving, face nearly always grinning, bright teeth, big smile, just the kind he liked. Thick curls dancing around her overly expressive, ever-laughing face. Everything about her blared drama, and he usually loved it. Any day but today.

He wished they could bury the hatchet and become friends. He needed the cheering up that the sound of her laugh could accomplish.

Like at the rehearsal dinner the night before Joel and Amber’s wedding. He’d been the best man and Celia the maid of honor. He’d shown up in a horrid mood because he hated weddings since his own marriage had failed. Within minutes she’d had him laughing until tears rolled down his cheeks. Her sarcasm. Her cheeky humor. Her spit-fire comments and street-smart wit. As though she’d sensed his struggle to be happy for Joel more than sad for himself. The icing on the cake had been getting to know Javier, who’d hovered like his shadow. He really liked that kid.

Manny was happy for Joel, he really was—he just wished he had a relationship like that. God had entrusted him with one family and he’d dropped the ball in a big way. No matter how hard he ached for another family, he didn’t deserve it.

He hadn’t taken care of the first one.

Only with God’s help could he ever forgive himself. Or deal with this outlandish pain that challenged his control and his sanity and his hospitality to visitors and his…everything—just everything.

God, it hurts. I can’t do this by myself. Not another minute. The urge to screech out like a jungle animal bit at him, clawed at his mind. He seethed wet air through his teeth instead. Changing positions did. Not. Help.

How could something possibly hurt this bad?

Seven hours of torturous pain with not one second of relief and now he teetered on the brink of insanity. He should take the pain meds. No. He’d rather hurl off the edge of a mental cliff than have the nightmares. His team seeing him in this shape didn’t bother him so much, but pretty Celia? His male ego hated it. He didn’t expect her to understand, didn’t want her to know what a failure he’d been in his life, the horrible things he was responsible for. No one except his team knew how his past haunted him. For years they’d tried to convince him to run clear and free of cumbersome guilt.

He couldn’t.

Why should he? His mistake had cut his son’s life short. Manny should suffer.

Usually he could wake himself from the dreams. The one time he couldn’t was the last time he’d taken something for pain after a botched root canal. Images from the drug-induced dreams had stayed with him and refused to fade.

Even now. Images of his toddler son floating face up, eyes frozen in death and fear. Mouth open from screams that had pulled water into his lungs instead of alerting his mom and dad for help.

All unnoticed by the two people who should have been watching over him instead of arguing. Oblivious that on the other side of the glass, mere feet away, the child they’d made in happier days had found a way outside and was drowning in the family pool.

Once they’d noticed Seth wasn’t in his toddler bed, they scoured the house and yard and found him. Manny had performed CPR but it had been too late. He’d wanted them to pull together to get through it but their marriage had melted under the heat of bitter, burning accusations. It hadn’t made a difference in Theresa’s mind that Manny had just come off a several-month-long mission and had no way of knowing the yard gate had broken or that Seth knew how to unlock a dead bolt.

Then his wife had died shortly after divorcing him the same year. Authorities had never determined whether her overdose had been intentional or accidental. Regardless, it haunted Manny to this day that he hadn’t prevented it.

He’d failed—as a father, as a Christian. As a husband.

This morning he’d failed as a PJ. He hadn’t gauged the wind right when he’d flared his canopy. The jump before, Manny had a tandem diver strapped to him. The person could have died, leaving Manny responsible for yet another person’s death.

At the hospital, he’d failed Joel as a friend by not trying harder to get along with his wife’s best friend. Everyone sensed the tension. Joel and Amber should be spending their time delirious in love, not playing referee between him and Celia. They should at least try to be civil.

Seemed every time they came in contact with one another, it was like a match strike to gasoline-soaked flint. Anger flared. It had to stop. Surely they could learn to be mature about this for Joel and Amber, because like it or not, he and Celia would be in each other’s lives from now on.

He was willing to try. Was Celia? Would he get a second chance to forge a friendship? Or at the very least, put on a pretense of tolerating one another for their friends’ sake? Maybe with God’s help and his newfound faith, he and Celia could truly get past their personality issues.

Please don’t let me fail again.

Whether she responded maturely or repelled his efforts was up to her. He’d throw the ball. What she did with it, he couldn’t be responsible for. For Joel and Amber’s sakes, he hoped she’d play like a good sport.

Celia paced the hall outside Manny’s door, breathing in the antiseptic smells. What should she do? Go wait with Javier and Bradley? Take them home? She certainly couldn’t go back inside that room, knowing how much she’d obviously added to Manny’s discomfort.

No one wanted to be hovered over or seen at their worst. She of all people knew that.

She regretted traipsing in there in the first place.

Then Nolan, oh, man, she could just shake him. How could he betray Manny’s confidence like that? Okay, so she’d give the guy a break. Obviously it had just been nervous chatter. She’d picked up that Nolan was the tenderhearted one on the team. He’d been worried close to physically sick about Manny. He obviously wasn’t thinking clearly when he’d mindlessly blabbed.

“Miss Munez?” A nurse stepped from the room, followed by Joel and Amber.

Celia whirled, noting immediately the peculiar expressions coating Amber and Joel’s faces. Celia cleared her throat and faced the nurse. “Yes?”

“Mr. Péna would like a word with you.”

“Excuse me?” Celia craned her neck at the woman and pushed curls behind her ear. She couldn’t possibly have heard right.

“Mr. Péna?” The nurse hiked a thumb at his door. “Would like. To speak. With you.” She pointed a finger at Celia as if Celia didn’t know who or what “you” meant.

Celia scowled and fought the urge to mimic the nurse’s slowly enunciated speech pattern. Like she couldn’t understand English or something. The kind of technique she and Amber used when teaching letter blends and phonics to students. Celia had a masters in English, for crying out loud.

Though it practically killed her to be humble, Celia nodded and folded her hands in a gesture of gratitude. “Gracias.” Okay, so she still had a little mean streak.

Headed for Manny’s door, Celia slanted her eyes at two newlywed grins on smug faces as she passed by on her way to—what?

World War Three?

Or a peace talk?

Doom music sounded in Celia’s mind while she shuffled one foot in front of the other, as if headed for the guillotine. She drew in a fortifying breath, hopefully not her last, and pushed open Manny’s door.

Ready or not, here it comes.

“Hey.” He shot her a sheepish grin above covers that went nearly to his scraped chin.

“Hay? That’s the first stage of horse poop,” she countered.

By the confusion sifting across his face, Celia wondered if he’d taken a pain shot, after all. Then his expression righted itself. An uncomfortable tension drew the walls too close together, causing the air to get stuffy. She guessed the guy wasn’t one for jokes.

Her shoulders stiffened under his scrutiny. “So…”

“So. Why don’t you have a seat?” Manny gestured to the chair. Not the farthest chair from him, but not the closest, either. Okay. This was progress, right?

Meeting in the middle. Coming to a compromise.

Mechanical creaks sounded as he raised the head of his bed by pushing a button on the rail before looking back at her. “I wrote you a letter. I must not have got the right address because it came back to me.”