The Marine's Holiday Harbor Page 2

  Before I can lift my arm, I feel like a giant picks me up and slams me to the ground. I choke and struggle to stand. My ears ring and I hear people screaming, but it sounds miles away. “Doc!” My radio comes alive, and I can see shadows moving through the black smoke. As my ears clear a little, I recognize the staccato blast of M-4s responding to AK-47s.

  “Doc!” The voice isn’t over the radio, and close.

  Snapping out of the shock of the blast, I call back, “Location, Marine!”

  Instead of an answer, my sleeve is grabbed and Lance Corporal Garwin practically drags me to a wounded Private Christianson. Christianson’s leg is bleeding; a piece of shrapnel protrudes from his knee. “How bad is it, Doc?”

  I start administering Tactical Combat Casualty Care. The world seems to combust after the initial IED, and I hook my arms under his armpits and drag him behind rubble. Retrieving a tourniquet, I place it around his thigh and tighten. I hold his gaze and nod, hoping to reassure him as he groans in pain. “You’ll keep it, Christianson. You’ll be chasing that little girl of yours in no time.”

  Taking out my radio, I call in, “Bravo 2, this is Echo 1, 9 Line MEDEVAC!”

  “Doc!”

  I turn to Garwin. “Watch him!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I bend over keeping my head down as I run to the next casualty. I step behind the house used for cover, and I feel like another blast knocked me off my feet. The ringing returns to my ears, and even though I’m walking toward him, it’s like quicksand keeps me rooted.

  I crash to my knees by Caleb’s side. Blood is spurting from his shoulder. I examine further and find a gaping hole and his blood loss is critical. There are other wounds, but I focus on his shoulder. My hands shake as I take out wads of gauze and padding. Get it the fuck together, Reilly! I chastise myself. Caleb needs his corpsman, not his girlfriend. I secure the padding around the wound and add pressure. Lifting my radio, I call again. “Bravo 2 this is Echo 1, cancel MEDEVAC, CASEVAC urgent need. Repeat, urgent-surgical. Request CASEVAC at new coordinates…” Caleb moans and I rattle off the coordinates.

  “Caleb, hold on. You will not die on my watch. You will not, Marine, and that’s a fucking order.”

  He blinks and then his ice-blue eyes collide with mine. “Angel. I love you.”

  The sand lifts next to us and I scan for the source. I can’t move him like I did Christianson or he might lose more blood than the gallons it seems he’s already losing. I put more pressure on the wound, his blood covering my hands.

  I lift one hand for a second, and wave Corporal Myers over. “Put your hands on this and apply pressure, Marine.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Pressing the button on my radio, I bellow, “Where is the fucking CASEVAC?” NATO requires those calling in MEDEVACS to always remain calm, but right now NATO can fuck me. He’s going to lose his arm at the least, his life at most.

  “Echo 1, Bravo 2, no safe LZ within coordinates…”

  “Get me a fucking Marine aviator with balls!”

  “Echo 1, Victor 5, Marine with balls inbound!”

  “Roger, Marine.”

  “Doc!”

  I could scream, and I do. “Myers!” The young Marine lifts his head. “You keep your hands on that and apply pressure, and don’t you fucking move it!”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  I hesitate, something a corpsman should never do, staring at Caleb’s face.

  “Doc!”

  Shoring up every ounce of training I’ve had and leaving my heart with him, I bend at the waist and fire rounds to protect the wounded Afghani soldier. He shakes off my help continuing to fight until I tear open the pant leg of his trousers. I administer antiseptic and secure the wound. “We need to move you!” I shout over his rifle as he continues to stay in the fight.

  I stand and wrap my arms around his waist, helping him up. He waves me away, and as much as it must hurt his pride, he follows a woman.

  When we get back to the house, I fall to my knees next to Caleb and press two fingers to his pulse. It’s dangerously faint. I lift my gaze to the sky, almost collapsing in relief when the silhouette of an MV-22 soars closer.

  “Keep holding.”

  “Ma’am.”

  I take off once more, and with the help of Garwin, I get Christianson over to the LZ.

  “Echo 1, Victor 5, It’s too hot for landing.”

  “Victor 5, Echo 1, bring that bird in or I will shoot it down.”

  “Roger that, Echo 1.”

  I take over applying pressure to Caleb’s wound and Myers takes over the squad, leading fire away from us.

  The sand whirls and the other wounded men cover their faces as I cover Caleb’s, taking the opportunity while hidden to brush a kiss on his forehead. The Marines who step off the Osprey aren’t medics, they simply answered the call of a fellow Marine in trouble. They race from the Osprey and start loading the men. I keep one hand on his wound and lace our hands together with the other. I run alongside his stretcher to the door, hesitating to let him go. His hand squeezes mine, and then his fingers slip from my fingers.

  “We’ve got ’em, Ma’am.”

  Nodding, I run back to the men who still might need me as the firefight continues, blaming the sand the Osprey kicks up for my tears.

  Two hours later, and what seems like an eternity, what’s left of our squad is evacuated. The Marines make a hole and let me hop out of the Blackhawk first. Without dropping any of my gear off or cleaning up, I barrel for the field hospital. Tugging off my helmet as I step inside, I scan the beds.

  “You need something, Corpsman?”

  “Staff Sergeant Caleb Quinlin, he came in two hours ago.”

  “Patched up as much as we could and shipped to Kabul,” the surgeon tosses over his shoulder as he heads to the wounded he can help.

  Gone. I can still feel his hand in mine and hear his declaration of love.

  After stepping out of the hospital and out of the way, I walk to my barrack. I have three more days on this deployment…three days, that’s all Caleb had too. We both have scars from previous deployments and I’ve dealt with bullets and shrapnel wounds as he’s called for a corpsman—well, Caleb never called for a corpsman, one of his Marines would. But it’s never been this serious, and I’ve always been with him during his recovery. And he will recover from this, or he’ll deal with me.

  Brynn

  Bethesda Medical Center, Bethesda, Maryland

  Longest week of my life, but I was able to secure permission to fly direct to Bethesda instead of back to Lejeune. Now riding up this elevator feels like torture. After taking off my coat, I hook it over one arm. I tug down the red sweater I chose especially because Caleb thinks red is sexy on me.

  When the elevator door opens, a case of butterflies hits my stomach. I frown and keep walking. I have never in my life been nervous to see Caleb. Then again, Caleb has never been as close to death as he was the last time I was with him.

  Stepping into his room, I huff a laugh. No need for nerves, Staff Sergeant Quinlin is fast asleep. Laying my coat on the back of a chair, I lean over the railing to the bed and rest my palm on his forehead. He is alive.

  I swipe at the fresh tears and step back so I don’t bawl all over him. Once the tears start, the days of waiting and worrying catch up and I can’t stop crying.

  “Angel?”

  I startle at his voice and lean over the rail again. “Caleb?”

  “Angel! No!”

  I scan his face. His scowl is deep and pained and he starts twisting. “Angel!”

  Pressing the button for the nurse, I try to calm him. “Caleb, I’m here. I’m fine.”

  My voice doesn’t seem to help, and I step aside when the nurse comes running in. She injects something into his IV, then smiles at me. “Sedative. He’s been progressing well overall, but the nightmares are rough. Are you his wife?”

  It’s the question that always stings because I always want to say, yes. “Girlfriend.
And corpsman.” I shrug. “It’s complicated.”

  She chuckles. “Sounds like it. So are you Angel?”

  I feel the heat touch my cheek. “Affirmative.”

  She starts walking out of the room. “Unfortunately, he probably won’t be awake today. But feel free to stay until visiting hours are over.”

  “Thank you.”

  After a few minutes, he’s completely settled. I lace my fingers with his. “I love you, Caleb.”

  “Love, Brynn,” he mumbles.

  I step into his room and smile—he’s awake like he was the day before. His blue eyes are bright and lucid, and when he sees me telltale sparks are there in the depths. My gaze drops to his arm and upper chest as I walk closer.

  “I’ve got doctors for that, Brynn. Focus on me.”

  I lift my gaze to his. “You can at least tell me what they said.”

  “I’ll keep my arm, thanks to your quick action. I’ll have a hell of a scar, and my shoulder and chest will tell me when the weather is changing, but I’ll be good to go.”

  “Outstanding.” I sidle next to his bed and link my hand with his. I lean forward and seal my mouth to his. With his other hand he cups my neck and deepens the kiss. He strokes my tongue with his and I swallow the low rumble of his groan.

  When I break the kiss, I rest my forehead to his. After a few seconds, I press my lips to his again and fall into a sweet, slow caress. We’re both breathing hard when I step back. “Have you heard from your parents?”

  “Ouch, Angel, you were doing good up until then.”

  “Sorry.”

  He squeezes my hand. “I don’t expect to hear anything from my father. Mom has called a couple times, but she just gives excuses on why she can’t come, but it’s because he won’t let her. Mark and I video chatted a few times; the kids wanted to see me. He offered to come down, but he’s got the bar exam.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed. “I’ll stay as long as I can.”

  “But you need to finish your transitioning process.”

  “We’ll finish together.”

  “Brynn, I’m not transitioning out yet. I’ve reupped.”

  I wait for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, it’s a feeling second only to seeing him bleeding out on a battlefield. “You promised. That was the deal. Ten years and then we start a life together. You promised.”

  “Brynn, I’m staying. I’ve got orders to the 3/7 onboard Twentynine Palms just as soon as I’m good to go. Maine is your dream. You need to go back and settle into life without me.”

  I narrow my gaze. “What do you mean without you?”

  “Just that.”

  “I thought you were never letting me go.”

  “I’m not, Angel, I can’t ever truly let you go. But who knows what the future holds. I might stay in until they kick me out. I found a family.”

  “We’re family! We were supposed to be a family, have children.”

  “I can’t leave. I don’t know if I ever will.”

  “So, I’m supposed to just go on and start my life without you? You can just end us?”

  “I hope this isn’t the end, but for the first time in our lives we’re headed in different directions and I’m not doing long distance with you.”

  I want to punch him, so I lobby a verbal blow. “What if I find someone else?”

  “Then you’ll know we weren’t as meant to be as we thought.”

  “You’re being an asshole.” I don’t want to cry, but the tears rebel and fall anyway. “Just because I’m transitioning you’re turning into a dick.”

  He swipes at my tears with his thumb and I remember his hand cupping my neck, him telling me he’d never let me go. Before that, I remember us in a tent camping in Acadia National Park and promising we’d serve ten years, then marry and settle down. “Don’t cry, Brynn, please. I’m not saying forever. I just think for now we try it on our own.”

  I stand and his hand falls from me. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to us. So, no phone calls, or texts, or anything?”

  “You need me, you contact me however you want.”

  “But I do need you, Caleb, I need you to be mine like you promised. You promised.”

  “I can’t do it now. I’m so fucking sorry, but I can’t.”

  “Why are you doing this now when you’re here alone and you know it will break me to leave you?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to care for me for days, or weeks, and take advantage. But you should go. I’ll be fine.”

  I feel like my insides are being yanked from my body and my chest is empty. Looking up to the ceiling, I swipe at the torrid of tears. “I can’t do this, Caleb. I can’t let you go—you are a part of every memory I have, every beat of my heart. How can I just walk out that door and live?”

  He grabs my hand and I try to focus on his face through the blur of moisture. My soul rips open anew at the tears on his face. “You are the strongest person I know, Brynn, not woman, but person, and you are my best friend, the woman I love. But we have been inseparable since birth and now we find ourselves at a crossroads. Whose path are we going to follow? We both need time without the other pushing. This hurts worse than any weapon man has created, but it’s what we need to do.”

  I yank my hand from his and grab my coat. “It’s what you want. I need you. Happy New Year, Caleb, I hope you find what you need on your own.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Brynn

  Two Years Later

  A shiver walks my spine as a gust of wind howls so loud I can feel the icy chill sweep through me even though I’m inside. The back door rattles with the force and I get another chill at how much it sounds like someone, or something trying to get in the house.

  With a huffed laugh, I turn on my stove and set a kettle on for tea. Living in a lighthouse keeper’s house on an island with no one else was supposed to be peaceful in its seclusion. Instead, I’m learning why some lighthouse keepers went insane.

  “Aunt Brynn?” A voice reminds me I’m not alone.

  Renewed warmth lights within me. Turning, I find Ella, four-year-old going on thirty, standing in nothing but her Disney princess nightgown and holding tight to her favorite stuffed bulldog. The one stuffed animal in her endless collection that reminds me of the day I thought I lost my heart, until I came home and spent time with Ella and her seven-year-old brother, Michael. Then my heart was wrenched open again.

  After stepping forward, I sit on my heels in front of her. Her blue eyes, just like her father’s and her uncle’s, widen as a ferocious howl cuts by the window. Caressing her cheek with the back of a finger, I bring her attention back to me. “I think this night calls for hot chocolate before bed, don’t you?”

  Her tiny shoulders sag and her mouth curves in a big grin. “Yeah.”

  I drop a kiss on the top of her head and stand. “I’ll start heating the milk, you go get your brother.”

  “He’s in bed sleeping. He’s not scared.”

  “He might not be scared, but I can almost guarantee he’s not sleeping. Go get him.”

  Her forehead creases and she tips her head to the side as if she doesn’t believe me. After a few seconds, she shrugs and walks to the bottom of the staircase just outside the kitchen. “Michael, Aunt Brynn says come down!”

  I roll my eyes and exhale my exasperation. “Go up the stairs and get your brother, Ella. Don’t yell for him.”

  She starts up the stairs, pounding her little feet on each stair to show her contempt. Turning, I know I shouldn’t let her get away with the display of drama, but tonight I’m feeling a little defeated in the single parenthood category, so I let it go.

  After setting the milk on to heat, I walk to the sink and lean forward to look out the window. I stretch to see the light from the tower shine over the choppy waves and high swells of the ocean. Until 1972, a guardian would tend to the light that now shines without aid. The lighthouse keepers on Curtis Island, being so near Camden, weren’t quite as secluded as some, but t
heir job was just as dangerous. Today, the Coast Guard, and specifically my brother, tends to the light.

  The light from Curtis Island’s lantern is a rare green. Staring at the beacon’s light, I watch four seconds of green followed by a second of darkness. In the blink when the green occults again a boat appears in the tumultuous waters. Darkness. The light again, but no boat. This Nor’easter blasted into Penobscot Bay with no warning. I can’t imagine the terror someone sailing on the previously calm waters would be experiencing.

  I stretch and watch the light bounce off waves. Nothing appears but the snow and whitecaps cresting the tops of the wild waves.

  “Ella said we were having hot chocolate.”

  I startle and pivot from the window. Once my heart returns to a normal rhythm, I smile. Michael pushes up his glasses on his nose. The black frames seem to almost swallow him, his face is so small, but nothing hides his familial ice-blue eyes. At seven, he’s trying to be the man he thinks he needs to be while in his heart, thankfully, he remains a boy. He squares his shoulders and I see a weight still attached to him. He won’t share anything about how he’s feeling, or any memories of his parents, and I wish something in my medical kit could cure whatever plagues his young mind.

  Ruffling his thick, dark hair, I wink. “She’s right. I might even throw in marshmallows.”

  His eyes light up and he can’t hide his enthusiasm. He and Ella speak in unison. “Yes, please.”

  Going back to the milk, I nod to the pantry. “Go grab them. They’ll be better in hot chocolate than on your nana’s sweet potatoes.”

  We both shudder and I laugh at Michael’s aversion to my mother’s determination to make sweet potatoes every Thanksgiving. No matter that my father’s the only one who eats them and that’s because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings—nothing dissuades her from tradition. Sometimes I wish something would so she wouldn’t feel obligated to ask Audrey and Hal Quinlin to Thanksgiving and the New Year’s party. Audrey is sweet, but Caleb’s father is a toad. The ice touching my spine this time is remembering last year’s New Year’s Eve party.

  I force my thoughts away from the jackass and back to the children. “Take a seat, Ella.” The little girl crawls onto the chair, her pink tongue sticking out as she struggles with the height. Michael sits and drops the bag of marshmallows on the table. I pour the hot milk over the rich cocoa powder.