Healing A Hero (The Camerons of Tide’s Way #4) (20 page)

Chapter 37

May 2015

Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

PHILIP COLLECTED THE scattered green balls in a bucket and headed back to the other side of the tennis court. He set the bucket down and fished out one of the balls. He adjusted the racquet in his right hand, paused, then lofted the ball and swung the racquet. He smiled in satisfaction as the ball zipped over the net and tagged the very back corner of the court, right where he’d intended it to go. He grabbed two more balls and repeated the serve again. And again. His accuracy had improved enormously since his first outing with the borrowed tennis racquet. Maybe he wouldn’t put Julie to shame after all.

“Julie, Julie,” he muttered as thoughts of his newfound daughter led to thoughts about Elena. His last day in rehab had seemed so full of contrary vibes. Steering clear of any discussion about Julie or their fight had gotten him through the first two weeks after the monumental blowout, but it had been past time to apologize for his appalling behavior. It had taken him the entire hour to work up the courage.

And she’d said nothing.

Unable to let the uncomfortable silence stretch, he’d jumped into talking about Julie. Afterward, it seemed like he’d just issued a bunch of ultimatums. He was going to spend time with Julie. He was going to play tennis with her. He was going to introduce her to his parents. Had he given Elena any say in it?
Or was it all just about me
?

He’d tried to make sure she knew she was included in the visit to Tide’s Way, and he’d kissed her. But she’d just stood there with her arms wrapped about herself, giving him no clue to how she felt about him now.
I fucked it up! No wonder she wants nothing to do with me.

Angry with himself, he turned toward the high wooden wall erected for solo practice and slammed the ball hard, making himself work to return each lobby. His backhand was still pretty rusty. He gritted his teeth and wielded the racquet with frustrated resolve.

“You angry about something?”

Philip whirled around. Mark Dickey watched him through the fence.

Philip looked at his right hand, then back at Mark. He shrugged and gathered up his scattered balls again.

“Looks like your rehab is going pretty good, if you can hit balls like that,” Mark observed as Philip dropped the last ball into his bucket.

“I think my therapist deserves all the credit.”

Mark clung to the mesh of the fence. “She dared you to come down here and smash a bunch of tennis balls around?”

Philip headed for the gate. “That would be my daughter—daring me to hit a few balls, anyway. Elena just got my mangled hand back in the game.”

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” Mark said, turning to face Philip. “Didn’t know you were married.”

“I’m not married.” Philip moved to sit on the first row of bleachers and dug a towel out of his duffle bag to wipe his face.

Mark made his way over to the bleachers with far greater ease than he’d moved the last time Philip been with him. He swung himself down onto the bench and propped his cane against his thigh. “But you’ve got a kid?”

Philip couldn’t stop the grin that came to his face. His chest swelled with unfamiliar pride. “I do.” He reached for his wallet and pulled a very recently added photo from it. He held it out for Mark to see.

Mark took the photo almost reverently, studied it for several moments, and then handed it back. His eyes looked suspiciously moist, and Philip suddenly wondered if he should have kept his pride to himself, given Mark’s inability to father children.

“She looks like you,” Mark said. “Except she’s prettier.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Can’t disagree with that.” Philip returned the photo to his wallet and shoved the wallet back into his duffle bag. “Did you just happen by, or were you looking for me?”

“Sergeant Banning said I’d find you here.” Now Mark’s smile grew more pronounced. “I figured you deserved to be the first to know.”

“First to know what?”

“I don’t know what strings you pulled, but I’m grateful. I start training as soon as I get physically cleared. And both my doctor and my therapist say I shouldn’t have any problem with that, considering the specialty I’m training for. ”

This was the man who, so short a time ago, had sat on the porch of a rundown hunting lodge fighting the urge to put a gun to his head. Had it only been a couple of weeks? He looked like an entirely new man. The dark circles were gone from beneath his eyes along with the expression of defeat.

“I’m staying in. I can’t thank you enough for convincing me I still had something the Corps could use, and for helping me out.”

“I don’t need any thanks.” Philip pounded the man’s shoulder. “Congratulations.”

“I got a promotion, too. At least, I’m getting one as soon as the paperwork gets approved.”

“Double congrats then, Sergeant Dickey.” Philip pumped the man’s hand.

Mark lurched to his feet and leaned on his cane. “My turn to spring for the beer. If you’re free.”

“You’re on,” Philip said as he gathered up his belongings. He was definitely free. The ache that had lived in his chest since the day that he and Elena had shouted each other down over who was more at fault swelled to new proportions. If he’d been less angry, if he’d given more thought to the impact of his words, he might have been headed to Elena’s right now.

He’d apologized, but she hadn’t forgiven him.

So, he was more free than he wanted to be.

WHEN PHILIP and Mark walked into their favored hangout, the place was noisy with the laughter of men unwinding from stressful jobs, or marking time at the end of too many days spent in training while waiting for their next deployment.

Philip seated himself at a table by the wall and waited while Mark ordered their beers, and then made his careful way across the floor with his cane tucked under one arm and a beer in each hand. Amazing. The man really had been buckling down on his therapy.

“Hey, Dickey! I heard your name was on the sergeant list,” a man with a pretty young woman hanging on his arm called out from the far side of the bar.

Mark Dickey visibly swelled with pleasure, squared his shoulders, and sucked in his gut. “Going back to school, too. Goin’ ta learn how to keep those monsters running after you’ve done your best to drive ’em into the ground.” Mark set their beers on the table, then turned to accept the shoulder and back-slapping several of his buddies offered in a show of support and congratulations.

It suddenly occurred to Philip that the visible change in this young man was in a small way due to his intervention. It hadn’t started out that way. He’d just stopped to talk to the guy at PT and given him his number, but hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Even when Elena suggested he get more involved, he hadn’t done anything until the afternoon Dickey hit the end of his rope and called the only lifeline he had.

Looking out for my boys.
I’ve been there. I know what combat is like, and I know what being a Marine means to a man.
And that let me help when other people couldn’t.

If only I could get my own life squared away
.

If he got back into the field, the nightmares would fade. They always had. Being actively involved and surrounded by fellow Marines who didn’t spend their days in the safety of a Stateside billet would make him feel like a leader again. Now that he had Elena’s clearance for duty, the chance was within his grasp.

But, for the first time in his life, Philip wasn’t so eager to go. No, make that the second time in his life. He hadn’t wanted to leave Elena fourteen years ago either.

And now he had a daughter to consider. A daughter he wanted to spend as much time getting to know as possible. Times had changed and things like Skype and cell phones made keeping in touch easier. But that wasn’t the same as playing tennis together, or sitting around the same table at dinnertime. And you couldn’t hug your child from halfway around the world.

Julie loved Eli, and Philip understood her allegiance. He was proud of her for her loyalty to a man who had given her so much even when he’d had no reason to give her anything. It still hurt that Julie called Eli Dad, but he was growing fond of the lilt she put into the word Gunny.

He enjoyed her almost nightly phone calls, and listening to the details of her daily life. He’d enjoyed the evenings they had spent hitting tennis balls around a lit court while he got back into the sport. He liked it when she popped up at his quarters without warning, and he loved her intelligent, well-informed mind. For a girl not quite a teenager, she had a remarkable grasp on current events. Besides, she rooted for the same major league teams he did. Everything about her both surprised and pleased him.

“So, tell me about your kid.” Mark sat down and reached for his beer.

“You reading my mind?”

“Huh?” Mark frowned.

“You sure you want to listen to a proud father brag?”
Considering your situation
, Philip almost added.

A cloud passed across Mark’s features, but he put a smile on his face. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“She’s twelve, going on twenty,” Philip began. “And smarter than I ever was.” He proceeded to sketch a picture of Julie, while trying to keep the wistfulness out of his voice. He’d missed so much but Mark would be missing even more.

“What happened to her mother?” Mark asked. He held his hand up to signal the bartender to send more beers. “Did she look elsewhere while you were gone?”

Of course that would be Mark’s assumption, considering how often that happened to men who spent more time out of the country than in it. And considering how easily Sharon had jumped ship when the going got tough.

“Not really,” Philip said after a long pause. “Just a lot of miscommunication.”

“You still see her?”

He’d seen quite a lot of her the week Julie was away. Sensation flooded his groin at the thought of how much of her he’d seen. And touched. And made love to.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered. “I see her, but—”

“But?” Mark prompted.

“We argued and I said some things I shouldn’t have said.”

“So, apologize,” Mark advised with a shake of his head.

“I did.”

“And?”

“It’s complicated. For one thing, she hasn’t forgiven me. But for another, I think she’s afraid if she cares too much, I’ll be gone again and maybe I won’t come back.”

Mark took a swig of his beer while studying Philip, his brow tight over his questioning gaze. “You love her?”

Philip swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. “More than life itself.”

“Easy answer then. Don’t go. You’ve got enough years in and a lot to stay home for. You just gotta decide what means more to you. This lady you say you love, or being a Marine.”

Chapter 38

May 2015

Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

GUNFIRE ERUPTED and everyone hit the dirt. Philip hesitated for a split second. He flashed a glance toward his rifle more than fifteen feet away, then to the half-submerged MRAP with one Marine still inside. The gunner popped up on top of the second vehicle and returned fire with the Browning.

Philip lurched from his prone position and ran for the canal. A stab of pain in his thigh hurt like hell, but it didn’t take him down. He slithered into the water, found the door, and wriggled inside. He pulled the man’s head above water and felt for a pulse.
Alive. Please, God, let him stay that way.

As he cleared the top edge of the canal with his burden, a heavy blow slammed him sideways. He stumbled, but kept to his feet and staggered toward the protection of his squad. Another hit ripped up his forearm. His grip on the man he carried slipped. He cursed. The pain was excruciating. Only a few more feet. Only . . .

“I got him, Gunny.”

He barely heard Anderson’s scream above the sound of the Browning. Something was wrong with his vision. Something was definitely wrong with his hand. He tightened his arm more firmly about the man’s leg.

“Let go, Gunny. I got him,” the young corpsman screamed, his face just inches from Philip’s ear.

His head buzzed.

Whop, whop, whop, whop . . .

A chopper!

Thank you, God
. He closed his eyes.

“Stay with me, Gunny.”

Where would I be going?

“Gunny!” Someone slapped his face.

He forced his eyes open. A pair of concerned brown eyes in a sweating black face wavered in and out of focus.

“I’ve been hit,” he whispered in disbelief. He tried to focus on the corpsman’s face, but the effort seemed impossible. He closed his eyes again.

“It’ll hurt less in a minute,” the corpsman promised as he jabbed Philip in the thigh.

Philip began to recite the twenty-third psalm. “The Lord is my shepherd
 . . . ”

“He might be your shepherd, but I’m in charge here, so listen up. We’re getting you outta here. Just hang in there.”

“I fear no evil . . .”

The corpsman slapped a sticker onto Philip’s helmet and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“You are with me . . .”

“Damned right, I’m with you. Don’t quit on me now.”

Philip jerked bolt upright in bed, breathing hard, drenched in sweat and shaking.

The noise of gunfire and rotor blades faded into the dead quiet of his room. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed, leaned his elbows on his thighs and propped his head in his hands while the echoes of hell faded from his brain. He hadn’t dreamed about his injury in weeks. At least, not in such detail. Why now?

Had he had too much to drink? He’d called a taxi rather than drive home, but still . . .

Mark Dickey’s question popped into his shattered memories.
You gotta decide what means more to you. This lady you say you love or the Marines
.

Death had come calling that day in Afghanistan, and it was only the grace of God and the skill of Corpsman Anderson that saved him from coming home in a box. His parents would have mourned, and his brothers and Kate, but he hadn’t had anyone depending on him. Not even Tommy.

He couldn’t imagine not being a Marine, but things were different now.

I have to make a choice
.