Refuge.
“They want a type and cross-match for emergency surgery,” Joel finished.
Surgery. That’d be a first, too.
And just weeks after he’d given control of his life back to God. He should have told someone. Now they’d all think the change in him was due to this accident.
“Joel, dude. I need to tell you something,” Manny croaked.
Joel taped tubing across Manny’s arm. “Rest now. Talk later.”
“No, I need to—”
“Péna, tell me when we get you stable and in the chopper.” Joel sounded worried. He never sounded worried. And if Manny was being airlifted instead of ground transported, that meant he must be pretty bad off.
He couldn’t die without telling them. Manny reached up and grasped Joel’s collar. “Listen—”
He squeezed Manny’s fist. “We’re going to get you fixed up, bro. Don’t worry.” Joel ripped open supplies, unfurling more tubing. Oxygen? Manny tried to shake his head but his C-collar neck brace wouldn’t allow it.
How long had he been out?
Nolan spread a warm blanket over Manny as Joel stuck an oxygen tube in his nose. It hissed air up the passages, making his eyes water. By the rattled look Nolan passed Joel, he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Sweat beaded Manny’s forehead despite the chilly temperature. He tugged Joel nose to nose. “No. I need to tell you now.”
That got Joel’s attention. He froze and studied Manny. Gaseous fuel vapors pushed through residual antiseptic fumes. A fog of dust wafted from the helicopter landing.
Manny swallowed, but dryness coated his throat. Or maybe it was actual sand. “I made a big decision last week.”
Joel held Manny’s gaze. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, and I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything, buddy.” Joel braced his arm around the back of Manny’s shoulders. “On three.”
Chance cradled Manny’s head. “One. Two. Three.”
Hands everywhere lifted him. Helicopter paramedics slid a hard orange board under him that smelled like melted plastic and floor polish.
The 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.”
