CHAPTER

14

The instant Brad hit the parking lot of the BOQ, his phone beeped with a text.

Mom stopped by. Surprised me. She’s taking me shopping. Feel bad for me. I should be home by six.

So there went his plans to take a quick nap and head right back over to her place. With a sigh, he put the phone in his pocket and headed inside.

He passed by Higgs on his way into his room. The man’s laundry basket was filled to the brim.

“Heading to the Laundromat. Wanna grab a load and come with?”

Brad shook his head. “I’m doing it tonight.”

“Better with company to keep you from going nuts sitting there.”

He debated a minute, then held up a finger. He changed quickly from the clothes he’d worn to the late-night workout into cargo shorts, a polo and running shoes, then grabbed his sunglasses and met Higgs at the door. “I’ll keep you company.”

“Just bring your laundry, man. If you’re going to be sitting there, then you might as well be productive.”

“I’m doing it tonight,” Brad repeated, and closed the door to their joined rooms behind him. This was as good a time as any to try out the whole disclosure thing. “I’m doing them over at Marianne’s place.”

“Marianne’s place, huh?” Higgs’ voice took on a speculative, teasing tone. “So it’s like that.”

“It is.” He waited for Higgs to load the basket in the back of his car and get behind the wheel. “And it’s not just sex. We’re . . . dating,” he decided on. It sounded a bit high school, but what else could he call it? “So we’re not sneaking around.”

“Anymore. You forgot that important word. You’re not sneaking around . . . anymore.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, much to his roommate’s delight. “I wasn’t sure how to handle it. But we’re just going to be upfront and go from there.”

“Mature,” Higgs said with a nod as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Not as much fun, though. There’s something about sneaking around, even if you don’t really have to, technically. Adds to the excitement, you know? It’s like, pseudo role-playing.”

“I don’t need to know about your role-playing.” Brad held up his hands in an effort to make it stop. “Really, I don’t.”

“Ah, you don’t know what you’re missing. But anyway, she’s cool. And you could probably be cool, if you let yourself. She must see some redeeming qualities in you, so hey.” He shrugged his shoulder and grinned. “Mazel tov.”

“Gee, thanks. Your blessing means the world,” Brad said dryly.

“This doesn’t explain the real question, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Why are you coming with me to the Laundromat when you could be spending an entire Sunday with the hot trainer?”

“She’s out with her mom.” Unfortunately. Otherwise, his plans would have been just that.

“So I’m second place in the company department.”

Brad scoffed. “To Marianne? Hell yeah.”

Higgs laughed. “Beat out by a pair of breasts. The world has become a sad place.”

“Higgs, the day a pair of breasts don’t beat you out, the world has taken a turn for the worse.”

*   *   *

MARIANNE set her bag down in her office and watched as the Marines stretched on the mats. She’d been at her supervisor’s office early that morning to explain her relationship with Brad, and had prayed that meant she wasn’t about to get canned.

On the contrary, her supervisor had been welcoming, and said as long as she treated him the same as the others, there wouldn’t be a problem. He thanked her for the honesty up front, and that was all.

For something she had been dreading for two days, the process had been relatively painless.

Now she had to handle the real problem: introducing the poor guy to her parents.

That, however, could wait. At least until they were more settled, and probably not until the tryouts of this team had concluded.

What if he doesn’t make it?

The small voice had a chill running down her spine. If he was cut, he’d head straight back home to his home base. That was across the country. How the hell would they get to know each other from across the country?

Borrowing trouble. That’s all she was doing. There was no point in wishing for or worrying about things that would work themselves out later.

She unlocked the door to her training office and flipped on the lights. The sound of pounding feet outside, along with the coach’s shouted instructions, told her they were off on a quick warm-up jog.

Since it seemed as though both Nikki and Levi were running behind, she started getting the water jugs ready to take upstairs herself. Just as she had the first one full and placed on the rolling cart, the two students walked in. Nikki was chattering up a storm, and Levi just looked dazzled by her presence.

She resisted rolling her eyes. Barely. “Hey, guys. Someone needs to take this upstairs.”

Nikki pounced on the opportunity. Now Marianne did roll her eyes. But who was she to care? She didn’t have to lug the thing up there. The beauty of minions.

“I thought I’d study for a bit, if that’s okay,” Levi said quietly, holding up a textbook. “I’m struggling a little in anatomy and we’ve got midterms coming up.”

“Sure thing. Long as you’re prepared to toss the book aside if I need you.” She walked out to the front door of her office and saw the group of Marines heading up toward one of the stairwells, which told her they’d be doing up-and-downs as part of their warm-up.

Coach Ace wandered over toward her, his large arms crossed over his chest. “Morning, Cook.”

“Good morning, Coach Ace. Have a nice day off?”

“I did. You?”

She debated saying something now about her relationship with Brad, but hesitated. Maybe Brad would want to be the one to do it. They had to tell him, though it probably wouldn’t make much of a difference. She’d wait and check with Brad first.

“Not too bad. Headed down to Wilmington and . . .” She trailed off as she heard what sounded like several pairs of running shoes squeaking on concrete above and some curses. She wandered out onto the gym floor so she could look up at the catwalk. But the overhang kept her from seeing anything. Coach Ace followed.

“Is there a problem up there, men?” he called out. His voice was so deep it echoed and sounded like the voice of God in the huge gym.

“Yeah,” one of the Marines said, peering over the rail. “Coach, you should come see this.”

With a glance at her—Marianne shrugged and indicated she’d follow him up—Coach Ace headed for the nearest stairs. The man, for all his weight and age, was quicker than he looked, and she had to jog to keep up with him. When she walked up onto the catwalk, she immediately saw the problem.

Across one wall, near where their conditioning equipment sat, were the words “Eat Shit And Die, Jarheads,” spray painted in deep red. The paint had been done so heavy-handedly, it dripped from the edges of the letters, like a bloody warning written on a mirror in a horror movie.

Tressler approached slowly, reaching out to touch it.

“Don’t touch,” Coach Ace barked.

Tressler shook his head as he took a few steps back. “It’s dry. You can’t smell the paint at all. Wasn’t done recently.”

“It wasn’t here Saturday,” Chalfant said, then flushed when people turned to look at him. “Well, it wasn’t.”

“Back downstairs. Now. Wait for me there.” Coach Ace waited until the Marines had jogged back down the stairs they’d come up, then leaned over the railing. “Willis, need you up here.”

“What do you need me to do?” Marianne asked quietly.

“Nothing. Willis will handle it.” With one more dark look at the ugly words, he headed back down, Marianne trailing behind him.

She met Nikki and Levi at the bottom of the stairs.

“What’s going on up there?” Nikki asked. She kicked at the full jug. “I got halfway up lugging this big-ass thing, and saw everyone heading back down. Should I take it up there still?”

“No, nobody goes upstairs.” She had no clue what the MPs would make of this, but it chilled her bones a little, remembering the words written as they had been, dripping red like blood splatters. Would they chalk this up to annoying teenagers, too? Or would they see it as more of a threat? “Wait in the room. I’ll be back.” She wandered over to where the coach stood. Her eyes couldn’t help but find Brad in the mix of Marines. He stood out to her, more so than anyone else. That was probably her heart talking, though.

“We’ll head over to the track by CEB. Conditioning day.” When a few Marines groaned, Coach Ace’s mouth split into a wide smile. “I’d save your breath, men. You’re going to need it. Grab a ride if you didn’t drive. I’ll see you over there in fifteen.”

“I’ve never been over to the track before.” Marianne walked alongside Coach Ace as he went to his small office on the opposite side of the gym from her training room.

“Do you know where the combat engineer battalion is?”

“Vaguely.”

“Then head that direction. You can’t miss the track.”

“Should I bring anything special?”

“Your usual should be fine. Do you need a ride?”

“I’ll drive my interns over with me. Thanks, though.” She hesitated a second. “Actually, you drive a truck, right?”

He nodded absently as he bent down to open a file cabinet and grab out a folder marked, simply, “Hell.” She had a feeling the Marines were in for quite the treat with their conditioning.

“Let me toss my water jugs in the bed of your truck before you take off. We’ve got to pack up some supplies to bring, and then we’ll follow. I can lock up if—”

“No, Cartwright is going to stay here. He’ll be talking to the MPs and the supervisor about that mess upstairs. Goddamn kids, they say,” he muttered. “Kids don’t pull shit like that.” He looked up then, his dark eyes blazing with fury. “That’s a problem. I hate problems. I don’t accept problems. So they better not try to act like it’s no big fucking deal again. Pardon the language.”

“It’s fine.” She nodded once. “Okay, I’ll have my guys toss the jugs in your truck, and then we’ll follow.” She left him to his mutterings and file shuffling and walked back to find two very confused, slightly intimidated interns bouncing on the balls of their feet.

“So, what’s up?” Levi asked, hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts.

Nikki clapped, more excited than her counterpart. “Are we going somewhere?”

Marianne nodded. “Prepare the fanny packs, kids. We’re going on a field trip.”

*   *   *

BRAD’S left leg ached for compensating, and his right knee was crying. It had long ago left behind screaming in pain. It now just whimpered in agony, as if it knew there would be no respite anytime soon and there was no point in wasting energy.

The running sucked. But it was the stairs that did him in.

Two hours into their conditioning, Brad was ready to rip the head off whatever fucker had spray painted their catwalk. And he had a feeling almost any one of his potential teammates would hold the bastard down to give him the opportunity. They were all a hot mess. Dripping with sweat, shirts long-ago abandoned on various parts of the stadium steps and baking in the sun. They were all drooping. Shoulders were slumped and chests were heaving in an effort to keep up. “Drooping” was the only word for it.

Marianne and her interns had their hands full. They hydrated, they took temperatures and they stretched. Every time he caught sight of her in his peripheral vision, she was on the ground pulling some guy’s arms up, or hovering over a guy pushing his leg to his chest, or standing over some prone guy, massaging his calf.

What he wouldn’t give to feel those hands on his legs right now . . .

His lungs were still going strong. His mind was ready to do another lap.

But his legs . . . His legs told him if he ran one more flight of stairs, they were going to give up and let him roll back down to the bottom, headfirst.

“Water break!” Coach Ace bellowed from the base of the stadium steps. They all moaned in relief. Brad let a few pass him by in order to give his leg a few extra minutes to get down without sobbing.

It worked. Barely.

He had to get it taken care of. Maybe, just maybe, he could ask Marianne to help him out quietly. If she thought it was in his best interest, and that it would keep them together—because getting cut meant he would be heading back to Twentynine Palms—then maybe she’d be willing to work with him outside the gym.

Even as he thought it, he rejected the idea. It was playing her emotions against her career. It was a shit move, and he knew it.

He’d just have to work this out on his own, without her. He couldn’t ignore the pain any longer. So he’d figure out another way.

They gathered near Coach Ace, who was on his cell phone, ignoring them. Tibbs stood next to him, practically hyperventilating, his dark face a fast-moving river of sweat.

“I don’t think,” he gasped out, “my conditioning is working, sir.”

“Costa,” Brad corrected. “And it’s been one day. You can’t build conditioning in one day, Tibbs. That’s absurd.”

“How the hell are you not breathing hard?” Tibbs squeaked out in one quick sentence before sucking in another breath.

“You keep doing that, you’re going to pass out,” he said mildly. “And I’ve always been good with distances. I’m not fast, but I can keep going.”

“Do your girlfriends all call you the Energizer Bunny?” Tressler asked from behind.

“Your mom did last night,” he shot back, causing several Marines to make the “ooooh, burned” noise.

Tressler glared at him, but kept his mouth shut.

Coach Ace finished his call and put his phone back in his pocket. “Marines, listen up.”

Automatically, they all moved to parade rest.

“That was Coach Cartwright. The MPs are coming over to chat with you about anything you might have seen in the last week or so with regards to the vandalism today, and with the training room earlier. Cooperate, don’t give them any reason to hate you and we can move on. We’ll break here for lunch, and meet back at the gym at three.”

The news of the extra-long break had most of them sighing in relief. Brad’s eyes tracked to Marianne, but she wasn’t focused on him. She was in the small stretch of shade the bleachers had to offer. She was crouching beside a Marine who was on the ground, a washcloth draped over his forehead, his eyes closed. She was taking his pulse, and though he couldn’t hear what she said, he could see she was on her phone speaking to someone.

She was in her element. Damn, she even made that huge black fanny pack look cute.

Kind of. Okay, not really. Nobody could pull that ugly thing off; not even her.

“What the hell do you think the problem is?” Higgs asked as they walked over to get their bags. He glanced around and sighed. “Shit. Where did I leave my shirt?”

The female training intern waved her hand. “I draped them all over the fence there, so they’d dry.” She batted her eyelashes. “But if you just want to keep it off, you know, for ventilation purposes, that would probably be best.”

Higgs smiled absently, then walked with Brad to get their shirts. “Is it a bad sign that she makes me feel old? It’s like jailbait or something.”

“Technically, I doubt she’s jailbait. She’s gotta be at least twenty, but I know what you mean.” Brad grabbed his shirt, but didn’t put it on. The thing was still wet. All draping it over the fence had done was to make it wet and hot. He grimaced as he balled it up and tossed it in his bag. He was definitely going to need another laundry night sooner than later.

Of course, with the way he and Marianne had used the washing machine when it hit the spin cycle the night before . . . laundry was hardly a burden. He grinned at the thought.

“Wanna grab some tacos?” Higgs asked as they walked to the stadium benches. The MPs were there already, speaking to the first two Marines. “This shouldn’t take long. I was hoping to eat at least seven of those, then take a good two-hour nap.”

“The nap sounds good. Tacos, though, sound revolting.” He gagged as Higgs made a sound of deliciousness and rubbed his stomach. “Seriously, we just ran like nine miles, and you’re going to throw taco meat in that gut?”

“Tacos are a gift from God. Don’t judge.” Higgs let his bag drop to the ground. “I’m about to lose another one.” He nodded toward the Marine by Marianne, who was now draped with several more washcloths, over his shoulders and neck. She was speaking to the male intern, who nodded rapidly and sprinted for the gate.

“One of yours, then?”

“Yup. He wasn’t going to make it either way. His attitude sucked and he cut corners. But that doesn’t look good.”

Even as they watched, the Marine slumped farther until Marianne called Nikki over to help lay him flat out. The stadium bleachers grew quiet as they watched Marianne dunk a full towel into one of the tubs of ice water—which had been refilled at least once by the interns—and drape it over the Marine. Another quiet minute passed while she repeatedly dunked washcloths into the icy water, then placed them under his armpits and around his neck, even stuffing a few down the guy’s shorts.

He heard the distant ambulance wail, and he wondered how they’d gotten there so quickly. The hospital was at least ten minutes away—maybe six or seven minutes with no traffic and traveling with their lights running. Then he realized she must have called them before just now. She knew what she was doing. She’d seen the heatstroke coming before it hit.

The entire group, coaches included, watched while the medics hopped out, loaded the Marine onto the stretcher, and took him. Marianne sent Levi on with them, shouting a few instructions before watching them leave, hands on her hips.

He could see, even from behind, that her posture spoke of anger. He wasn’t sure who she was angry at, though.

“Damn,” Higgs whispered. “Hope he’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Brad murmured, but he acknowledged even then, he was hoping just as much for Marianne’s sake as he was for the Marine’s.