Celia put a hand on the nurse’s arm. “Can’t you give the guy something to ease the pain a little?” Manny looked beyond miserable.
The nurse eyed Manny’s door. “I’ve tried. He won’t take it. The friend with him is trying to talk him into it. Go on in, if you like.” She waved Celia in and swished on to another room.
Did Manny even want her in there? She doubted it. He’d sulked the entire time she’d been here earlier. She’d stared at water streaks on the glass and studied cars on the street below, trying to get up the nerve to apologize to him, only to have chickened out in the end.
Cluck. Cluck. Cluck. Suck it up, cupcake. Get in there and humble yourself like you know you should.
Celia’s pep talk bolstered her courage a little. She drew in a breath, squared her shoulders and went for it.
Amber stood at Joel’s side, holding one of Manny’s hands. His eyes were clenched tight and his face looked pinched all over.
“Just a little to knock the edge off,” Joel coaxed.
Manny shook his head emphatically, veins in his forehead and neck popping out. “No, dude. I don’t want any narcotics. You know why I have a thing about taking drugs.” Manny opened his eyes, then clamped them shut.
“His wife OD’d,” Nolan whispered behind Celia. She nearly jumped out of her skin. How could these big, bulky guys move around so silently? Nolan must have read the curiosity in her face and felt the need to explain.
Celia removed her hand from her throat. “Pshew! You startled me. Were you lurking back there in the ugly curtains or what?” she whispered. But Nolan eyed Manny.
“Thanks for airing my dirty laundry, Briggs.” Manny shot Nolan a heated glare then flicked an unfriendly glance Celia’s way. She didn’t know what to make of it. Pain could turn a person into a madman. Or it could simply be that he resented her being here. Maybe even hated her. And rightfully so. Who wouldn’t, with all her shortcomings like a short fuse of a temper and an acid-spewing mouth she couldn’t seem to control no matter how hard she tried? She hated herself, too, sometimes.
That verse about always doing what you don’t want to do and not doing the things you know you should, yeah, that defined her. Where her mouth was concerned anyway. Half her sin would cease if she’d keep it shut.
It amazed her that Manny heard from across the spacious private room. Another thing that enthralled her about these Special Forces dudes. And no matter how hard she tried not to be intrigued, she was. By Manny especially. Maybe because they shared ethnicity. Or could be because those dark and probing eyes didn’t miss a flip. He seemed to see all, hear all, feel all and know all.
By the narrowed assessing gaze crossing Manny’s features now as he zeroed in on her, he sensed all, too. At least her thoughts. Her cheeks heated, and she rarely blushed.
Could he sense only what she wanted him to see?
Or what she desperately didn’t?
Chapter Three
“Narcotics make me have nightmares I can’t wake up from,” Manny whispered to Joel so Celia wouldn’t hear. He couldn’t explain why he cared so much what she thought. He felt vulnerable enough without her seeing him in this state. Yet he’d experienced pleasant surprise that she’d returned to the hospital at all.
Under different circumstances, he’d appreciate her attempt to be humane. But in this much pain, he couldn’t get a hold of himself. He hurt so bad, his personality was uncontrollably altered. His leg felt like an Abrams tank had rolled over it.
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,