A Soldier's Family. Cheryl Wyatt

pressure on his hind end caused his breath to catch.

      He exhaled slowly. “There’s a stack of letters in my pack. I need you to find it and see they get mailed.” Manny shuffled the words out quickly because it hurt like crazy to talk.

      Joel shook his head and stared Manny down. “No. No. You get better and mail them yourself, Péna, and that’s an order.”

      Manny realized by the stubborn jut to Joel’s jaw and the glitter in his eyes that he probably thought these were the kind of letters a soldier writes to family when the soldier sensed he wasn’t coming home.

      Joel’s nontypical emotional reaction stunned and touched him to the core. Manny no longer cared if everyone heard. They’d eventually find out anyway because when Manny made a decision of commitment, it was for real and for keeps.

      God spared his life. No way could Manny be ashamed of Him.

      And Joel had been a huge part of that, his open devotion to Jesus a huge catalyst for Manny’s own hidden faith.

      “I had a change of heart, Joel. All that praying you did musta worked on me.”

      Joel cut Manny’s uniform top down the middle, starting below his neck brace. “How so?”

      “I gave God control of my life last month.”

      Joel’s cutting stuttered, then resumed as he flicked Manny a surprised look. “Seriously?”

      “I wrote the letters in days following. I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”

      Joel shrugged. “We all have.” A relieved grin peeked out both corners of his mouth, though.

      Manny dropped his tone. “Most of those letters are to ladies I’ve, well, you know…”

      “I Roger that.” Joel leaned aside as a paramedic attached a cardiac monitor lead to Manny’s chest.

      “The top letter I wrote last. I didn’t have the right address, or she refused it. It’s to Celia. I know she’s still mad that I propositioned her at your wedding. I don’t blame her. Joel, I was so drunk, I don’t even remember disrespecting her.”

      Joel actually laughed. “You have a nice scar on your lip as a monument to your indiscretion. You did proposition her, Péna. She clocked you good for it, too. Amber and I thought you two were going to throw down and brawl to the death right there on the reception-room floor.”

      Acute embarrassment hit Manny though Joel’s kind smile never waned.

      “And I haven’t taken a drink since.” Nor did he plan to.

      Nolan leaned over Manny’s face. “Joel’s right. We’re not letting you off that easy. You’re gonna get better and apologize to Miss Hot Tamale, as you so called her, in person.”

      Hot Tamale? Oh, boy. For sure he needed to never drink again.

      Manny understood what they were trying to do. He squeezed Joel’s hand while being carried to the waiting chopper where they stood now, preparing to load him. Why couldn’t he feel his feet? Did paralysis begin like that? He loved tamales. Had he really called her that? Probably that and more. He felt terrible for nearly ruining his best friend’s wedding.

      God, don’t let me be paralyzed.

      He should call his family. Talk to his mom.

      What if he never skydived again? What if he never saw his team again? No. They’d never abandon him. Not as a friend. Ever.

      Not even if that homicidal wind had ripped him from the arms of his team today.

      He didn’t want this to be happening. Didn’t know at six this morning that by nine he could be a total goner. Doubt assailed him that if he did live to tell about this, Celia would ever speak to him, much less accept his apology and forgive his indiscreet actions. He hoped for the chance to tell her he really was sorry.

      “Thanks, Joel.” Manny knew he would see that Celia and the other women received their letters if Manny ended up unable to mail them himself.

      “I’m not going anywhere.” Joel released Manny’s hand to hop in the helicopter and help lift him inside.

      “I know, just…thanks.”

      Joel reached across Manny to tap Nolan Briggs on the shoulder. “You’re in charge in my absence. Find the pack he kicked off. Bring it to me at Refuge Memorial.”

      Nolan nodded. Joel peered past Nolan’s shoulder. “Brock, sit the rucksack search out and get that swollen ankle X-rayed when you guys come to the hospital.”

      Brockton Drake nodded from the opening, then limped aside while Vince Reardon, Ben Dillinger and Chance Garrison pressed in. Vince grasped Manny’s hand, bringing it tight to his chest before relinquishing it slowly as Joel and the paramedic pulled Manny on in. Nolan swallowed when his gaze skittered across Manny’s legs as they slid past.

      Manny didn’t miss the wince on Chance’s face, either. He hadn’t learned to control his facial reactions like the rest. From their expressions, he must have a compound fracture or two.

      Manny wished he didn’t have any medical knowledge to compound his fear. He focused on his team, looking in at him through the side hatch.

      Maybe not such a good idea.

      Faces didn’t strain or squirm like that unless things were critical. His team could hide how bad things were, but the other skydivers approaching in waves behind them couldn’t.

      “What happened to Brockton’s ankle?” Manny asked Joel.

      “Hard landing.” Joel grinned. “Though not as hard as yours.”

      “My fault. He probably got distracted watching me bite the dust.”

      “Actually, he held his cool pretty good. He hurt his ankle because his legs took off running after you in midair before his feet ever hit the ground. Once he landed, he was the first one to you, sprained ankle and all. He didn’t even take time to click off his parachute, just dragged it behind him as he sprinted to where you’d crash landed.”

      The image Joel’s vivid words created caused Manny to chuckle. “Ouch.”

      Maybe laughing wasn’t such a good idea, either.

      The hatch closed. Five noses and ten hands pressed against the outside of the glass, peering in at him.

      Looking as if they feared they’d never see him again.

      Manny lifted his hand, pressing his palm to the inside of the glass. Each teammate pressed their hand to his a moment before letting the next guy have a turn. Each mouthed something, most of which Manny couldn’t make out because the threat of tears over feeling thoroughly loved and cared for clouded his vision.

      The helicopter lifted. Dust swirled. Hands fell and faces faded away. Images entered the oblique.

      Sounds muted. Wind from spinning rotor blades ceased to roar through his ears. Sleep overtook him again. He figured someone stuck a sedative in his IV. Joel? Joel remained right beside him.

      He would. Manny felt his prayers, his presence.

      How could he even think for a blink that he’d be left alone or abandoned? Risking their lives together day in and day out had formed a brotherly bond stronger than Kevlar. He hadn’t realized how deep it ran until today.

      Thank You. I’ll never take them for granted. Ever.

      His pain eased. So did the anxiety. If he died today, he’d leave loved and he’d be okay. For all that, he was beyond glad.

      Still—

      My times are in Your hands, but I’d sure like the chance to live out my recovered faith. I’d also still love to be a PJ if You’d care to swing that in my favor.

      Manny didn’t want to ponder all the things that could snatch the dream