CHAPTER

17

The next afternoon, Marianne met up with Kara for lunch. Her friend had brought over bagged lunches to eat in her training room. Grinning, Marianne hopped up on a table and opened the bag with glee. “You coming over for afternoon yoga with the guys is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Oh, is it?” her friend asked with a laugh, sitting more delicately on the second table and opening her own bag.

“A healthy, hand-delivered lunch, girl talk, and the knowledge that I get to watch a bunch of Marines struggle through yoga poses in a couple hours?” Marianne held the Saran-wrapped sandwich aloft. “Hell yeah!”

“You’re supposed to keep them healthy, not laugh at them.”

“Laughter is good for the soul.”

“I don’t think laughter is what put that happy glow in your soul.” Kara leaned forward. “Something else is up. What is it?”

Thank God they were alone in the building—minus Coach Ace in his office, which was on the opposite side of the gym. “I think I’m in love.”

“Think?” Kara sat back and wrinkled her nose before picking out a baby carrot. “Wouldn’t you know?”

“It’s too soon to say for sure. I’ve known the guy for like two weeks!”

“When you know,” Kara said in a singsongy voice, “you know.”

Marianne sighed. “Fine. I know I’m in love. I just didn’t want to say it in case my mother heard and busted through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man. The woman can smell potential romance in the air like a hound dog chasing after an escaped convict.”

Kara laughed at the imagery. “That’s quite the picture you’ve painted for Mary.”

“Mary is a woman all to her own. And at least here, I know she’s not going to walk in and catch me with my proverbial pants down.” She told her friend about the scattered condoms in her apartment, which sent Kara howling with laughter.

“Oh . . .” Kara wiped tears away with her knuckles. “Oh my . . . I have no words.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘horrified.’” Marianne bit into a carrot with an extra vicious snap. “I have to keep her far away from Brad as long as possible. The instant she hears I’m dating a Marine . . . bam.” She smacked her hands together. “In comes Mary to tell me how to handle it. Wear this outfit, don’t wear that. Sweetie, do you think a stud like that would care for your hair all pulled back like that? How soon do you think you’ll start having gorgeous babies? Your eggs won’t stay fresh forever.”

“You do look nice with your hair down,” Kara conceded, then held up her hands in surrender when Marianne gave her a death stare. “But I understand it’s practical to keep it up at work. No arguments.” She glanced at Marianne’s baggy outfit. “Is this assigned wear, or do you dress all mannish on purpose?”

“I have to wear the shirt. It was the smallest size they had.” A unisex medium, which was more like a medium-large for a woman, swallowed her, especially when she usually wore a women’s small. “The pants are just . . . what I wear. They make it easy to bend and move around without showing off any butt crack. That’s a real deal breaker.”

“I can imagine.” Kara brushed at her own yoga pants, which molded perfectly to her long legs. “And I suppose something tighter—”

“Wouldn’t be appropriate for the training room,” Marianne finished. “If I’m not doing yoga, I shouldn’t be wearing yoga pants. How’s Zach?”

Kara’s eyes clouded. “Another week, another late call from the sperm donor. He’s crushed, and pretending not to be, which is almost as heartbreaking as if he’d just had a good cry on my lap. But he’s ‘too old’ for that now.” She used quote fingers for emphasis. “He’s got Man of the House complex and thinks everything is on him. We had a leaking sink—just a drip. I was going to go out and buy a new washer to replace it, but he was convinced he had to do it himself.”

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. It was still down, flowing beautifully around her shoulders, though Marianne knew she’d tie it up with the hair tie around her wrist once their class started. “Part of me wants to be proud he’s reacting so maturely, and the other half wants to shake him and say, You’re still a kid, so act like it. Get in trouble, get dirty, come home late.”

“Ah, all the things I would have loved to hear as a child.” Marianne sighed wistfully. “He’ll be okay. He’s got you to watch over him. Any word on the egg test?”

“Failed,” Kara said simply, crumpling her lunch bag. Marianne didn’t push. Allergies were rough for her to handle. Not as the mom, because Kara managed to go with the flow on all her son’s dietary restrictions. But Marianne knew, with every failed allergy test, she hurt for her son. The more restricted his diet, the more difficult it was for him to have normal experiences in everything from birthday parties to a simple afternoon snack at a friend’s house.

Reagan Robilard walked by at that moment, did a double take and knocked on the door frame. “Okay if I come in?”

Marianne waved her in. Today, Reagan wore kitten heels, which made Marianne shake her head. But they were paired with simple tan pants and a button-down shirt with more airy cap sleeves. The look was still business-appropriate, without being as stuffy. Definitely more comfortable for the hot, humid gym.

“Good timing.” Marianne introduced Reagan to Kara. “Kara here is leading the guys in some yoga before the afternoon practice.”

“Pilates today, actually.” Kara stretched her legs out on the table. “Coach Ace called yesterday and asked if I could handle the switch. Said he wanted to show the guys some moves so they could work on them at home.”

Reagan rubbed her hands together. “Perfect! I’ll take some photos to have ready. Marines doing yoga and Pilates? Gold mine for good press.” When Kara blinked, Reagan explained, “I’m the team liaison.”

“Oh.” Kara said it simply, though Marianne could tell her friend had no clue what all that encompassed. “Well, if you want to stick around, that’s fine. You could join in, too, if you wanted.”

Reagan looked down, then back up with a smile. “I think I’ll pass this time. Maybe with some extra warning.” She waved and headed out again.

“She’s going to break an ankle,” Kara said.

“Yup.”

“Have you warned her about that?”

“Yup.”

“Given her the ‘High Heels Ruin Feet’ pamphlet?”

“Offered.”

“Guess it’s on her, then.”

“Yup.”

*   *   *

AS Marianne made the rounds at the back of the room, adjusting positions along with Kara’s directions, she passed by Coach Willis. “By my count, we’re down two Marines. What happened?”

“Ambrois went home this afternoon. Tapped out himself.”

“Oh.” She made a mental note to hand his file to Coach Ace after practice so he could include it with the final paperwork. “And Costa?” she asked, praying her voice sounded casual.

If Coach Willis thought it was odd she didn’t know where her own boyfriend was, he didn’t act like it. “Said he had a dental appointment that couldn’t wait. Toothache or something. He’ll be around later.”

“Right, okay. Sure.” Coach Willis moved on without another word, and she breathed a sigh of relief she’d escaped that without any questioning stares.

But why hadn’t Brad texted her to say as much? That’s what people in a relationship did, right? They told each other things like, “Hey, won’t see you later, got a dentist appointment.” Even with something that benign, he had to know she’d wonder.

A Marine torquing his spine in a dangerous position forced her mind back to the present. “Whoa there. That’s not the way.”

She pushed Brad from her mind and focused on the task at hand. She could handle twenty Marines now, and one Marine later.

*   *   *

BRAD stared at the handout on his lap. “Exactly what does a torn meniscus mean?”

“It’s a guess, not an official diagnosis. We’d need an MRI for that, and we can’t do one until the day after tomorrow. But between feeling the click just now and hearing your symptoms . . .” The doctor sat down on his stool to scribble a few notes. “It’s fairly textbook. If it were an ACL tear, I’d be more concerned. But the meniscus might be rehabable without surgery.”

No surgery was a good thing. A great thing. “So what, keep icing and all that?”

“For starters, you’ll need six weeks of rest, no strenuous physical activity. Then we’ve got to deal with physical therapy for a few months, in addition to the rest. We can go from there, monitoring how you feel and—”

“There’s no way,” Brad said firmly. “I work out every day, heavily. I can’t rest. Not now.”

The doctor sighed and rubbed at his forehead, and Brad knew exactly what the older man was seeing. Some arrogant son of a bitch who came in for an opinion and was throwing it back in his face, wasting everyone’s time.

“Look, doc.” Brad stepped down from the exam table gingerly. “I’m in the middle of important tryouts. I don’t have the option of postponing. This isn’t like being a runner, where there’s always another marathon somewhere a month from now. This is it. My only shot. I need something to just get me through. Cortisone shots or whatever.”

“Then . . .” The doctor waved him back and stared at the wall for a moment. “You understand this isn’t my first recommendation. That what I’m about to say is not my first choice in treatment.”

“Yes.” This sounded promising.

“After the MRI, we’ll get you fitted for a knee brace, put you on light exercise and—”

“Light won’t work.”

“If you’re not willing to follow orders, then I’m not entirely sure what I can do for you.” The doctor stood, sending the rolling stool across the room. “Good luck to you.”

Brad leaned against the exam table and let his head fall back. He was in too deep. He couldn’t handle this himself. He had to call Marianne. She’d know what to do, who to send him to so he could get this taken care of.

But then he’d be putting her in the middle of something ugly. Hey, I know we’ve been dating like two weeks, but please straddle this shady line of workplace ethics and keep this secret from your boss for me. Okay, thanks.

Thanks, life, for the impossible choice.

Be honest with her, and ask her to be dishonest at work. Or lie to her, but give her the deniability.

Or the third choice: be honest with her, and let the chips fall where they may.

Was he ready for that yet? Ready to accept that he would willingly be putting this dream of his in her hands?

Maybe. Maybe he was. But he’d still have to think about it.

A cute nurse walked in then, flipping through the clipboard that held the thin sheets of paper that made up his file. “Mister . . . Costa.” She glanced up and gave him a once-over. Despite being in full civilian attire, there was no way she didn’t recognize him as a Marine. She confirmed it when she asked, “I don’t see your insurance information here. We do accept Tricare. We just need your military ID and the name of your primary care manager and we can work that out.”

“Paying cash,” he said shortly, which made her blink. But she didn’t miss more than a beat.

“Then I’ll lead you up to the front office to check out.”

He stopped her with a hand on her arm as she started to walk out. “Where would I go for physical therapy?”

*   *   *

THE couch remembered her.

It was the most ridiculous thought, but it made Marianne smile anyway as she sat down in the same spot on the same couch she’d spent a great deal of her high school years using. Whether she’d been reading, studying, playing around with her laptop or watching a movie with her father, this had been her spot. Just like her father and mother both had their own spots in the family room.

“I think the dent’s still there,” her father said from his position on the recliner. The leg rest was popped up and the back reclined until he was nearly horizontal. Just like always.

She wriggled her butt a little on the cushion. “Feels like it.”

“Oh, stop that,” Mary said as she passed, swatting at her daughter’s arm. Then she handed her a mug of coffee—lightened just how she preferred it—and a small plate of homemade cookies. “Now what made you stop by tonight?”

“She wanted to steal some food and use her dent,” her father filled in. “Don’t you remember us popping in unexpectedly to see your parents when we were hungry and poor?”

“Okay, first off, I’m not poor,” she corrected.

“Mary, take those cookies back. The girl’s not poor.”

Marianne wrapped her arm around the plate balanced on her knee. “My cookies.”

Her father grinned. Her mother just rolled her eyes.

Marianne took a big bite of a cookie. Around the mouthful, she reiterated, “Not poor. But I’ll admit to hungry. Store-bought cookies are no substitute, Mom.”

“So come get them more often, sweetheart.” Mary leaned forward. “How’s work? Meeting anyone?”

Oh, so they were going to play that game. The “I Didn’t Catch You With Condoms” game. Mary liked to consider herself a modern woman, but knew Marianne’s father would hate hearing his little girl was getting some on her own time. “I meet anywhere from ten to twenty someones regularly. I ice them, stretch them, wrap them . . .” When her mother scowled, she blinked innocently. “Not what you meant?”

“I meant anyone to date. With all that delicious eye candy at work, I find it hard to believe you haven’t jumped on the chance to score one of those for yourself.”

She nearly swallowed the second half of the cookie before she’d chewed. It was rather scary how close her mother was to the identity of her condom-user. “‘Score one of those.’” She turned to her father. “Really, Dad? This is the stock I come from?”

“Genetics are a mystery,” he said, and turned the TV on. Marianne hoped that would be the end of that, but he muted the damn thing.

“Ignore him, and keep going.” Mary touched her daughter’s knee lightly to indicate she was listening.

“Work’s really interesting, actually. The coach is down for alternative workouts, like Pilates and yoga. Kara’s been helping me. You remember Kara, right Daddy?”

“Sure do. She’s got a son . . . Dax.”

“Zach, but yes to the rest. She comes in and does yoga with the guys. It’s pretty hilarious, to be honest.”

Mary grinned at that. “All those yummy butts in the air for downward dog? I can imagine it’s more than hilarious.”

“Mom. Dad’s right there.”

“I’m immune,” he said, waving it off with the hand clutching the remote. “They might have yummy butts, but she comes home every night to me.”

Mary reached over and patted her husband’s knee.

Marianne wasn’t sure whether to be encouraged at her parents’ love and affection or to mime gagging, like Zach would. Fine line. “Anyway, I was just feeling a little restless, and it’s too late to head to Kara’s. Zach’s got a strict bedtime.”

“So interesting, that your high school friends are becoming parents now,” Mary said, not at all smoothly.

“Yes, so interesting that one friend from high school—who was two years ahead of me—is a mother.” Marianne rolled her eyes and picked up another cookie.

“Children are such a blessing. And when you get to share those children with a man you love . . .”

“Mmm, so good,” Marianne broke in, moaning loudly. “These cookies are amazing.”

“Marianne.”

“They’re delicious. So yummy.”

“Mari—”

“I’d have a baby with this cookie.”

“Marianne!”

Her father wheezed out a laugh, causing the recliner to heave him forward. Mary shot her an irritated look.

“Sorry, Mom. But come on, you’re coming on a little strong.” Especially when I’m trying to hide from you that I’m in love already. “Just let me do my own thing, like an adult, and stuff will fall into place.”

Maybe it already had.

Then again, maybe not. Brad had shown up just after yoga hour had concluded, given her a quick smile, then went straight into his workout. She hadn’t expected a long, drawn out explanation of where he’d been. She wasn’t his parole officer. But a simple “Sorry, forgot to warn you” or something wouldn’t have been missed. After practice, though, had been the icing on the snub cake. Ignoring her rule of icing in the training room, he’d come in, charmed Nikki out of a bag of ice and left without a word.

That she wouldn’t let fly. If he intended to stop by later for a booty call, she’d just be unavailable. And she’d taken herself out to her parents’ house to ensure that was actually true.

So maybe she was using her parents as an excuse to not deal with the issue. But it was only temporary, and only until she figured out how much she wanted to push Brad for answers.

Why, oh why, had she fallen for one of her athletes?

Bad Marianne.

*   *   *

SHE was nearly home when her phone rang. She hesitated, then, when she hit a red light, pulled her phone from her cup holder to check the readout. Brad.

Two choices. She could ignore it and talk to him tomorrow—he’d blown her off, and she could do the same. Or she could be the bigger person and answer.

Before she’d reached a good stopping place, the phone stopped ringing. She calmly pulled into an Applebee’s parking lot, picked the phone up and made a call.

“Hello?”

“How old are we?”

Kara huffed out a laugh. “Please don’t make me say it. No matter how old we get, you’ll always be younger, anyway. I’ll never win this game.”

“Why does my brain want to revert to middle school tactics?”

“Because at the end of the day, we’re all thirteen forever?”

Marianne groaned.

“Do you want a pep talk, or a suck-it-up talk?”

“The second.”

With the ease of old friendship, Kara said, “Suck it up, buttercup. Whatever it is you’re trying to avoid, get out of doing or give up on, just do it and get it over with.”

She let her forehead fall to the steering wheel. “Life was so much easier when we were thirteen. Nobody expected us to be mature.”

“But we couldn’t have a nice glass of wine to get us through life’s curveballs, either,” Kara pointed out.

“Okay.” With a slow breath, she forced herself back up. “Here we go.”

“Whatever it is, good luck.”

She waited for her phone’s screen to clear, then called Brad. “Hey.”

“Hey. You still awake?”

“Was on my way home, actually.”

He didn’t ask where she’d been. Which made her wonder if it was just a guy thing to not wonder, and not explain. Had she overreacted from the start?

“Want a hot date with a badass Marine?”

That had her smiling. Slowly. “Oh, don’t you know it.”

“How about five badass Marines?”

Her smile turned from sultry to amused. “Sounds like more than I can handle, if you want the truth. But for you and your Bad News Bears, I’ll make an exception. Gym?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“See you there.”