Healing A Hero (The Camerons of Tide’s Way #4) (9 page)

Chapter 16

August 2001

Tide’s Way, North Carolina

“DON’T CRY, ELENA. I promise—” Philip leaned forward to kiss her, then pulled a small scrap of paper from his pocket, along with the stubby red pencil he’d kept their score with at the miniature golf course. He printed his name, Philip Cameron. Then his email address. “Write to me here, and I promise I’ll write back.”

Elena brushed the tears from her face and took the paper and pencil from him. She tore the bottom half of the scrap of paper off and perched it on her bent knee, then printed her own email address.

“Juliegirl? Why Juliegirl?” he asked with a puzzled frown.

“Julie was my dad’s choice when my parents were considering baby names, but Mom won. So Dad used to call me Juliegirl, like a nickname.”

“Well,” he replied kissing her again. “I love both names.” He tucked his half of the slip of paper into his pocket along with the pencil.

Elena pulled her knees to her chest and gazed out at the ocean. If only Philip would tell her he loved her instead of just promising to write. This was their last night together. Her last chance to tell him what was in her heart, but she didn’t want to blurt it all out if he didn’t feel the same way.

“I got you something.” Philip bumped her shoulder with his and held out a small box.

Elena held her breath as she took the box from him. The box was too big for a ring.

“Aren’t you going to even peek?”

She lifted the lid to reveal a sparkling bit of crystal in the shape of an anchor.

“The Marine Corps’ emblem.” She touched the delicate little anchor with her fingertip.

“That would be a fouled anchor,” he said with a little snort. “I was thinking of the big anchor at the end of the path to this beach. We’ve walked by it so often I thought this would remind you of all the great times we spent here. Maybe bring you good luck.”

“It’s perfect.” Not a ring. And not a declaration either. But their relationship was still so new, and the little anchor was a thoughtful reminder of everything they’d shared these past crazy, passion-filled weeks.

She touched the anchor where it lay nestled in its bed of tissue, then held the box toward him. “You too. Just in case it really does bring good luck.”

He solemnly tapped the top of the little anchor, then leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. It was a chaste kiss, but still it filled her with the feeling of being cared for and protected.

“I have something for you, too.”

“I don’t need anything,” he whispered as he pressed his lips to her forehead again, and then claimed her mouth in a kiss that very quickly turned hot and arousing. Elena turned into his embrace and gave herself up to the swirling sense of excitement. Her fingers curled about the little box as her body awakened to the all-consuming passion only Philip had ever evoked in her. But after a few moments, she pulled away, drawing in a shaky breath.

She eased onto one hip and dug in her pocket for the little velveteen bag. “To keep you safe,” she said as she pressed the bag into his hand.

Philip tugged the top of the bag open. Then he dumped the contents into his palm. He grinned at her, his teeth gleaming white in the dusky evening light. “My father has one just like this.”

“It’s a cross,” she told him, unnecessarily.

Philip fished beneath the collar of his polo shirt and pulled the chain with his dog tags over his head. He unhooked the link and slipped the cross onto the chain. “My dad never takes his off and neither will I.” With the tags and cross still clutched in his hand, he touched her cheek and drew her close to kiss her. “Thank you.” He put the chain back around his neck, and dropped it beneath his shirt again.

Over the last euphoric week, she’d managed to ignore what Philip was and what that could mean. “I’m going to pray every day to keep you safe.”

“Prayer doesn’t always keep soldiers safe, Elena.” Philip rolled back onto the blanket and took her with him. “But having someone to come home to helps keep a guy focused on not taking risks he doesn’t have to take.”

Elena nestled her head into the hollow of his shoulder. She placed her hand on his chest and outlined the cross and dog tags with the tip of her finger. “Well, now you have me to come home to, so you better be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” he murmured as his fingers went to work untying the knot holding the tails of her favorite shirt together beneath her breasts.

He shifted her head to the blanket and rolled up onto one elbow. “You are so incredibly beautiful.” His voice turned husky as he gazed down at her. His eyes glimmered in the shadowed hollows of his face, and Elena’s heart swelled with emotions that threatened to explode. How was it possible to love a man this much in so short a time?

Philip combed his fingers through her hair, and then, with his hand cupping the back of her head, he brought his mouth to hers. She touched his cheeks, letting her fingers skim over the sharp line of his jaw as she returned his kiss. Her heightened senses wanted to imprint every dip and curve of his face so she would remember them when he’d gone.

He caressed her breasts then bent his head to kiss her through the lacy fabric of her bra. Her nipples tightened, swelling and aching for more. He circled one nipple with his tongue, dampening the delicate material. Heat surged into her, and she gasped, holding his head with trembling hands.

He ran his hand down her side to her hip, then to her thigh and on down to her knee before returning to push his way under the cuff of her shorts. By the time his fingers slipped beneath the elastic of her panties, she was thoroughly wet with desire.

With a murmur of approval, he unsnapped her shorts and pushed them down her legs and off, panties and all.

She tugged at the strap of her bra, eager to get all her clothes off.

“Let me,” he said, pushing her hands away. “I love undressing you.” He had her bra off with as much practiced ease as he’d removed her shorts. He kissed her belly button, then leaned away to gaze down at her while his hand skimmed over her eager flesh.

Desire crested into a fierce and powerful need. “Oh, Philip,” she groaned, reaching out to touch him.

He stopped her, pressing her hands back to the blanket. For several long hungry moments, he gazed at her naked body without touching her. “This is how I want to remember you.”

“I want to remember you inside me,” she pleaded. She trembled with the force of her need. “Please?”

“You’re a horny little witch.” He chuckled as he pulled his shirt over his head and wriggled out of his shorts. “Gotta admit I’m a little eager myself.” He rolled on a condom then knelt between her thighs, all traces of humor gone from his face. His eyes burned with desire as he stared down at her.

And then, with a groan of pleasure, he thrust himself home.

She rose up to meet him, but he pressed her down, pinning her against the blanket and holding himself unnaturally still. Supporting himself on his elbows, he framed her face with his hands and kissed her, first on her forehead, then her eyes, and finally her mouth. He lifted his head and gazed down at her. “Inside you like this?” he rasped, his voice husky with the effort for self-control.

“Just like this,” she echoed, meeting his intense gaze. She trailed her fingers down his back to his muscled butt. His flesh trembled under her touch, but still he did not move. She stared up into his passion-darkened eyes, relishing that instant of being on the very edge of the precipice, knowing what was coming, wishing the intense sensation could last forever.

“Philip,” she whispered, so wanting to say,
I love you,
but forcing herself not to.

“Elena,” he murmured, his breath fanning her face. Slowly, he withdrew and plunged again. “Making love to you is going to be the best memory of all.” He quickened the pace, no longer in control.

She clung to him as her world began to explode. And then he followed her into the vortex.

Chapter 17

February 2015

Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

PHILIP HIKED HIMSELF up onto Elena’s PT bench, psyching himself up for another painful round of exercises. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve got places to go tonight.” Like the bar to take the edge off the pain minus the drugs and maybe find a couple of hours of sleep without nightmares.

Elena studied the pad of paper as carefully as if he’d written a thesis.

“Earth to Elena?” He curbed his impatience, and spoke in a joking tone to get her attention without making her think he was about to have another meltdown.

When she finally glanced up, her expression was unfocused.

“Are you okay?”
Maybe I’m not the only one having a bad day?

Her gaze traveled down his bare torso, then jerked back to his face. “You’re still wearing the cross?”

He stared at her for a moment before the meaning of her question sank in. He touched the battered and scuffed cross that he’d recently returned to the chain with his dog tags.

“Yeah. I never take it off. Well, almost never.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She reached toward him, but then drew her hand back. Her eyes looked suspiciously bright. His pulse began to race.

“I thought you forgot about me.” The words were said so softly he almost didn’t hear them. But he had heard them and now he felt a little breathless, too.

Forget about her? Is she kidding?
That cross and his memories were all he’d had to hang on to for a very long time. He forced a lightness into his voice that he didn’t feel. “You are a very memorable woman, Elena. Besides,” he lifted the cross away from his chest, “I see it every morning when I shave. It’s been a reminder of some of the best weeks of my life.”

He’d never admit how many times he’d fallen asleep with her cross clutched in his hand like a little kid with a teddy bear. He’d never tell her how he always kissed it before going outside the wire, either. Someone else had removed it somewhere between Afghanistan and Bethesda, but he’d never removed it, even after he’d lost her.

“Why—” Elena began, then stopped as tears slipped down her face.

Philip reached for her, his efforts to remain indifferent forgotten. Her distress tore him up inside. He folded her into his arms, comforting her in spite of his own aching sense of loss and betrayal.

She rested her forehead against his chest, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself. Her tears were warm and wet on his bare skin, but she didn’t make a sound. Tears didn’t scare him, but not knowing why she was crying bothered him big time.

Then Elena shoved herself free of his embrace so abruptly he almost lost his balance. She grabbed a small towel and scrubbed the evidence of her weeping from her face, then tossed it back on the bench.

“I’m sorry.” She turned away for a moment, then back. “I guess it’s kind of an emotional day for both of us. But we’ve got work to do, so let’s get to it.”

Without giving him a chance to ask questions or spend any time trying to figure out what had just happened, she got busy. She was brisk and efficient, putting him through a workout every bit as excruciating as trying to write with crayons had been. Occasionally, she asked about his pain level, but she had put a thousand miles of distance between them emotionally. He was no closer to understanding her emotional reaction to seeing her cross still hanging around his neck when he left a half hour later.

He stepped out into the early evening dusk and headed for the bus stop, his mind and heart still reeling and confused. It had been her choice to move on after he’d gone back to the
Peleliu
, not his. She would not have expected him to carry a torch for her after she married another man.

Of course, he had more or less carried that torch. He hadn’t been a monk over all these years, but he’d never gotten serious about another woman either. He couldn’t have—his heart still belonged to Elena. And that would have been the case, cross or no.

But somehow, his continuing to wear it had gotten to her. Why?

A hiccoughing sob penetrated the tangled web of memory and confusion.

His head jerked up and he did a rapid perimeter check. Another muffled sob. He stopped walking to listen more carefully and something struck him from behind.

He spun around, instantly on guard. His heart raced like a Kentucky Derby contender.

“I’m s-sorry.” A small, fair-haired woman clutched a cell phone in one hand while she dashed tears from her cheeks with the other. She teetered, trying to catch her balance.

He grabbed an elbow to steady her. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“I’m—” She sucked in a surprised breath, and a furrow appeared between her brows. “You’re him.”

He swallowed, forcing himself to relax. “Him who?” He’d never met her before, but she seemed to recognize him.

“You saved my husband’s life.”

“I—Do I know you?” Philip struggled to place her.

She shook her head slightly. “I’m Linda Diaz.”

“Rico?” Philip’s breath caught in his throat, and his heart fell. The last time he’d seen Rico Diaz, he’d been sitting in a wheelchair making jokes about his latest prognosis. Had something gone wrong since then? “Is he—how is he doing?”

Linda’s pretty mouth turned up in a brief smile. “He’s doing good. Really good. Thanks to you and a lot of others.”

“Not thanks to me, ma’am. I—”

“You’re our family hero.” She cut him off.

“I’m no hero,” he muttered uncomfortably. It didn’t matter what her family thought. It didn’t matter what his citation said he’d done. He hadn’t done enough.

She put her hand out, palm toward him like a crossing guard.

“If it wasn’t for you, Rico would not be here at all. That makes you a hero as far as I’m concerned.”

“I was just doing my job. I wish I’d done it better.” Discomfort had him tugging at his collar, wishing he could divert the conversation.

She placed her hand on his forearm, her slender fingers strong and warm through the fabric of his uniform. “It’s not your fault, you know. The doctor told us Rico broke his neck when the truck got blown into the air, not when you pulled him out of it.” She squeezed his arm, then patted it before taking her hand back. “We’re going to be okay. It’ll take a while, but we’re going to be okay.”

“But you were—” She’d been crying when she ran into him.

She held up her cell phone. “I just got some bad news . . . about my aunt.”

“Is there . . . anything I can do to help?”

Another brief shake of her head as her eyes clouded with sadness. Then she nodded her head to the side and back. “Well, maybe when Rico gets down here, you’ll come by to visit. He’d like that, I know.”

“He’s coming here?” Rico had mentioned being stuck at Walter Reed for months.

“Next month. I’m here to make some of the arrangements. The ones the Marine Corps doesn’t take care of.”

Philip lifted her phone from her fingers, woke it up, then tapped in his name and phone number. “Call me as soon as he gets here. Call me sooner if there’s anything I can do to help out.” He handed her back the phone. “I mean it. Anything. Any time.”

Linda Diaz suddenly flung her arms about his neck and pulled him down to her level in a tight, hard hug. Then she kissed him on the cheek and set him free. “I can’t wait to tell Rico who I just happened to run in to.” She started to hurry past him, then stopped and turned back. “I’m glad I got to meet you finally.”

“The pleasure is mine, ma’am.”

And you are a very special lady. Rico is lucky to have you.
He watched her until she disappeared behind panel van in the parking lot, knowing without doubt that tonight he’d be reliving the nightmare that had put Rico in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, no matter how many beers he downed.

ELENA STARED UP at the ceiling, wishing she could forget the cozy little scene she’d run into as she left work. The petite blond woman in a cherry-red coat with her arms wrapped about Philip’s neck. And he’d been hugging her back. With both arms.

The cute little lieutenant from his office? She hadn’t been in uniform, but she’d been cute. And little. And hugging Philip. It wasn’t hard to imagine her tying his tie for him and patting it into place with easy familiarity as she tipped her face up to be kissed.

It did no good to remind herself that he had every right to have a woman in his life. Or that she had no business being jealous. But she was.

It didn’t help to remind herself that she couldn’t get involved with him even if he was interested. It would be a breach of professional ethics. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything beyond empathy for the men and women she worked with. She had to stay emotionally removed so she could give Philip the care he needed and deserved.

But every time he sat on her table, apparently unmoved by her touch, she’d been just the opposite. Touching him kept bringing back old memories and inciting new desires. After every hard workout, as she massaged the knots out of his muscles, the scent of him curled about her, making her want to bury her face in his neck and inhale deeply.

She ached to turn back the clock and tell him she loved him so that he could have taken that fact with him along with the cross. Maybe if she had, he’d have come back to her.

She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Her mind drifted away from the woman in red to the words in Philip’s citation for gallantry in action.

“Although grievously wounded, Gunnery Sergeant Philip B. Cameron continued to expose himself to enemy fire until he had brought all of his men to safety . . . his remarkable courage inspired the Marines around him . . .”

Philip’s utter allegiance to the men he served with, the boys he felt responsible for, had almost gotten him killed. He had been hurt so badly it had taken him out of the action. Initially, it seemed that his anger today was simply that. He’d gotten left behind while his unit redeployed. She hadn’t understood the pain lurking in his eyes and under his words. She probably still didn’t get it. Not really.

But now that she’d read the full citation, she realized that his sense of responsibility to be there and make sure his “boys” made it home next time, was what had driven his outburst. More than just frustration with his injuries and more than just being left “ashore” as he put it.

And she was beginning to understand why he’d never come home for Christmas like he’d promised. Terrorists had attacked on American soil, and while it had been a tragedy to her and everyone else, it had been so much more to him and everything he stood for. He was a warrior, and he’d needed to be there alongside the men he called brothers to answer the insult.

She flopped onto her back and glanced at the cool blue numbers of her alarm clock. She was going to be exhausted tomorrow if she didn’t shut down her busy mind, stop thinking about Philip, and get some sleep.

Laying her forearm across her aching eyes, she tried to stop thinking. Stop feeling. But then, against the inside of her eyelids, she saw the cross, scarred and scuffed, nestled among the scattering of curling blond hair with his dog tags. The tears she hadn’t been able to control in his presence began again.