CHAPTER

20

Twenty minutes later, Marianne emerged from the kitchen, wiping sweat from her brow with her forearm. Brad and Tressler stood up from where they’d been sitting in stony silence on her couch.

“Broken nose for sure. His limbs seem fine, and he doesn’t say anything else hurts. My guess is, based on how you say he landed, there’s no internal bleeding, though I can never be one hundred percent without testing. The concussion is more concerning to me than anything.” It worried her a great deal. “I’m sorry, guys, but he’s got to go to the hospital.”

Tressler stood, hands fisted at his side, his face a white sheet of pure anger. “You promised you’d handle it.”

“I promised I’d help. And making sure he gets the right treatment is helping.” The young man vibrated with frustration, and she could understand. But there was a responsibility to the man still propped up against her kitchen cabinets, moaning quietly, that overrode his friend’s loyalty. “I’m sorry, but a concussion is not something to mess around with. Plus, there’s no way to check for additional internal injuries. He’s probably fine,” she said quickly when Tressler’s eyes widened in concern. “Probably okay. But it’s better to play it safe.”

Brad stayed suspiciously quiet the entire time.

Tressler folded his arms over his chest, his body positioning still defiant. “We can drive him there ourselves, can’t we? Just take him over to the hospital, get him checked out and take him back home? We don’t need an ambulance or anything?”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to just drive him over and walk him into the ER. They’ll be able to do a CT and maybe some X-rays, just to rule out everything.” After a moment’s hesitation, she left it at that. There was no point in telling him they’d likely admit Tibbs overnight for observation with what was, to her, a clear and undeniable concussion.

Brad exchanged a look with Tressler. “Naval hospital is closer, by far.”

“Closer is better. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so we’re off.” With a relaxed breath, the young man sighed and let his arms drop. “Okay, can he walk downstairs?”

“Half walk, half drag is more likely.” She went back to kneel by Tibbs’ side. “Tibbs.” When he didn’t open his eyes right away, she snapped her fingers in front of his nose. His eyelids shot open. “Tibbs, where are you?”

“Hell,” he muttered, then blinked rapidly and gave her a loopy grin. “Hey, it’s the trainer. And it’s my group leader,” he added when Brad crouched beside her. “Did that pussy Chalfant knock me out?”

Brad gave her a look that clearly asked, Is that normal? She gave a short shake of her head and then smiled gently at Tibbs. “C’mon, big boy. Up and at ’em. Let’s walk down to the car.”

He grumbled, but stood when Tressler and Brad wedged their shoulders beneath his armpits and rose. The man outweighed both of them, but they bore up under the weight well enough.

“Let’s go, buddy.” Tressler helped guide him through her living room and out the door. She followed, after grabbing her purse and locking her own door. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she ran back inside and threw a sweatshirt on over her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra again, but the loose, thick fabric of the hoodie concealed it well enough. Plus, it wasn’t like she was trying to make a fashion statement.

They’d reached the bottom of the stairs when she arrived, and they got him into Tressler’s backseat without much problem. She pointed to her own car. “I’ll follow. You keep him talking, even if it doesn’t make much sense, okay? Keep him talking.” Brad gave her a curt nod, then sat in the passenger seat while Tressler took the driver’s position.

She followed them on base and to the hospital, considering herself lucky they hit very little traffic due to the hour. Parking her car, she raced to the front just as they eased Tibbs into a wheelchair at the ER’s front doors. A woman in mint-green scrubs smiled at her. She probably looked like hell, with her hair in a now-falling-down ponytail and a sweatshirt she had grabbed from the dirty laundry pile over the top of her faded pajama bottoms.

“Are you with this guy?” the nurse asked.

“Sort of. Friend,” she clarified when the nurse arched a brunette brow. “He’s got a broken nose and I’m about ninety-seven percent sure he’s got a concussion.”

Tibbs took that moment to roll his head back and look up at the nurse upside down. He grinned, and leered, as much as a guy with bloody gauze and a half-swollen-shut eye could leer. “Heeeeeeey, pretty lady. Did you come to watch me box?”

The nurse muffled a laugh, then winked at Marianne. “I think your ninety-seven percent was conservative. Let’s go,” she added to Tibbs as she competently wheeled him through the doors. “There are plenty of pretty ladies in here for you to charm.”

Though he was probably double her weight, she had no problems wheeling the chair with ease. Tressler tossed Brad the keys to his SUV and followed, giving the nurse the description of the crash.

Marianne started to walk in after them, but Brad caught her arm.

“Are you going to ruin this for him?”

“Ruin what, his CT scan? I don’t think that’s possible.” She watched as frustration rolled over his features. “Oh, I see. You mean, am I going to play tattletale and call the coaches this instant about this? No, I’m not.”

His relief was palpable as he let go of a long breath.

“I’m waiting until Monday. Brad,” she said, cutting him off when he got ready to argue. “You can’t possibly think I’d let a Marine who just had a concussion step into a boxing ring, do you? I’m not bound by the ‘first do no harm’ oath like a doctor, but I’m still a decent person. That’s insanity.”

“Don’t you have patient confidentiality?” he argued. “What about Tibbs’ right to privacy?”

“Much like I don’t have a Hippocratic oath to worry about, I also don’t have patient-client confidentiality. My job is to keep everyone healthy. That includes knowing when they’ve gone too far, and pulling the plug when they do!” Her temper was boiling now. How dare he try to tell her how to do her job?

“What about his dreams?” Brad shot back. “Do they mean nothing?”

“I’m pretty sure Tibbs is a rational guy, and would rather choose a life without permanent brain damage.” And if he wasn’t, then she’d work it so he didn’t have the choice. “This is my job. If you don’t like it, tough tits.”

At that, Brad’s mouth quirked, but he firmed it again quickly. “I don’t like it.”

“Then I’m glad you’re not the one who gets to pick my career. I would never forgive myself if I let him get back in the ring Monday morning, whether everything turned out okay or not. It’s my job to tell the coaches the truth about their athletes. End of story. I care about all of you guys.” She poked his chest, and he grabbed her finger. “Even you, when you’re acting like a jerk.”

“You care about me, huh?” When she scoffed, his lips lifted in a ghost of a smile. “Even when I’m acting like a jerk.”

“Apparently,” she muttered. He pulled her close. She squirmed, but didn’t break his hold.

“But do you like me more than just one of the Marines you watch over?”

“Well, I didn’t let anyone else in my pants yet,” she said sweetly, and grinned when he growled. “You know I do. God knows why, but I do.” I love you. You just don’t know it.

“So we’re just at an impasse on this.”

“You like him.” She shook her head when he would have spoken. “You’ll deny it, but I know you like all the guys in your group. Even Tressler.”

He groaned.

“But as much as you identify with their dream to be on the team, I also know you’d be devastated if something did happen to them. So while you’re all hot under the collar about it now, I’m guessing when you’ve had a day to cool off, you’ll see I’m right.”

*   *   *

BRAD let Marianne go home and waited on a bench outside the entrance to the ER. He could have gone back with her, left Tressler to handle it. But he was the group leader, and he’d be damned if he gave up his responsibilities to someone else. He just wasn’t ready to go in there yet. Not when he knew he was going to be facing a man whose dream had just ended.

Not when he knew it would be like looking at his own future.

He let his head fall back to the rough brick, closed his eyes, and fought for a little rest. It was fitful, at best, with cars pulling in to pick up patients, people walking by for visits or the occasional drop-off with a mild emergency. But he managed to squeeze some sleep out of it. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he felt something settle beside him. He cracked one eye open and found Tressler, hands covering his face, elbows on his knees, beside him.

“Tibbs?”

“Making the nurses all want to run away with him.” His voice was muffled by his hands. Tressler sighed, his back moving with the heavy sound. “He’s awake, and alert, and knows the president’s name. He’s shaky on details from the fall, but they said that’s not uncommon. Past that . . .” He lifted one shoulder without changing positions.

Brad took a chance and patted Tressler’s back a few times, then let his arm fall to his side. “Did he call you first? I never asked why you were there before me.”

“I already was. That was my friend whose bike he got on. We were hanging out and he got the brilliant idea. I should have stopped him.”

The last came out on a torn, harsh breath. Brad knew if he didn’t get it under control, he’d be a mess in a minute.

“Cut that shit out, right now,” he said, using his best platoon commander voice. Tressler’s back stiffened and his shoulders lifted a little from their hunched-over position. “Tibbs shouldn’t have gotten on the bike. You shouldn’t have egged him on. Oh, like I didn’t put two and two together,” he added when the younger man looked at him warily from the corner of his eye. “The choice was his, and he made a shitty one. Now he will end up living with that choice.”

“He’s going to be okay.” Voice firmer, Tressler sat back and stared off into the dark. “He’s going to be fine. He’s not going to look any prettier . . .”

Brad snorted at that.

“But he’ll be okay. So, he wears a face guard for a few weeks at practice and—”

“He’s not going to be at practice.”

The other man watched him for a moment, then his mouth dropped open. “You’re not kidding. You’re going to pull him? That’s such bullshit and you know it.”

“It’s not my call, it’s Marianne’s. Cook’s,” he corrected when the other man’s eyebrow winged up. “And I’m not going to ask her to make a different choice. That’s her job on the line.”

Letting loose a heavy breath, Tressler slumped a little again. “Damn.”

“I know.” He waited a moment. “Starting to get it now?”

Without missing a beat, Tressler picked up where the conversation had flowed. “Be a team player, don’t be a show-off, yadda yadda.”

“Yadda yadda,” Brad muttered, but nudged Tressler with his elbow. “Close enough. It took someone else reminding me I joined a team, despite the individual way the sport plays out. So you needed a reminder, too. We all do, from time to time. Just don’t be a jackass about it.”

“Same goes,” the younger man quipped, then danced out of range when Brad took a half-joking swing at him. “Old man, you couldn’t catch me if you had a net and a head start.”

“Drive me home, punk. I forgot to take my nightly prune juice.”

The entire way home, he debated, he bargained, and he fought against the need to tell Marianne about his knee. But he saw exactly what she did for Tibbs in his very near future. If he could just get through tryouts and claim an official spot on the team . . . maybe then. Maybe. They wouldn’t be so inclined to turn and burn the Marines who were officially on the team. They’d let him practice with the brace, get through the All Military games, and then see about more intense therapies from there.

So he was still stuck with another week of subterfuge. There was a reason he wasn’t special ops . . . this secretive crap was over his head. He didn’t like it. It gave him pre-ulcers just thinking about it. Were pre-ulcers even a thing? Hell, he couldn’t even ask Marianne something stupid like that.

Forget the pre. Thinking about lying—by omission—to the woman he loved was going to give him real-deal ulcers.

He had to tell her. He couldn’t wait any longer. It was bullshit otherwise, to keep holding back.

“Hey, Grandpa. We’re here.” Tressler nudged him on the shoulder. “Did you fall asleep on the way back to the nursing home?”

Brad swatted at the badgering hand. “Stop that. I’m up, I’m going.” He raised up and watched as Tressler checked the clock on the dash. The first hints of watery dawn light were creeping in through the trees, over the BOQ roof line, in any stray crack it could find before it muscled its way into official daylight. “Thinking of going back to the hospital?”

“I, uh . . .” Tressler’s ears reddened, as if he realized he’d been caught caring about a teammate. A very non-loner thing to do. But he caught himself, scoffed and blew that off. “Nah. He can harass nurses all by himself. I’m more of a naughty teacher kinda guy, myself.”

“Uh-huh.” He climbed down from the Compensation-Mobile and started to close the door. Just before it shut, he added, “Tell Tibbs I’ll see him later today.”

“Roger.” Then Tressler scowled. “Damn you.”

“Go be with your teammate, Marine. Not an order, just a suggestion.” He closed the door, then watched the younger man peel out of the parking space and head out to the main road, slowing down enough for traffic laws. Brad grinned when he saw that Tressler turned left to head to the hospital, instead of right for the barracks.

Some guys were easier to read than others. If only women were so transparent.

He’d take one more day. One Sunday to be with her, absorb her and—hopefully—crawl just a little more permanently under her skin, so when he fessed up, she’d have a harder time pushing him away.

As plans went . . . it sucked.

*   *   *

THEY had developed quite the routine, Marianne mused as she rested her feet on a pillow in Brad’s lap. Her laptop, sitting on her lapboard, obstructed most of her view of him while he watched a UFC fight. He was only visible from the nose up. But even that small sliver of him gave her so much insight. He watched the fight with true intensity, not missing a single kick, a single punch. But she knew he was cataloguing every single move for future use.

He wore one of his olive green undershirts and a pair of red mesh workout shorts. And she, feeling comfortable enough to have given up caring, wore a pair of bikini bottoms with a flimsy tank top. She’d given about seven seconds of thought toward wearing a bra, then had decided against it.

It had been like this for most of their Sunday off. The last Sunday before the final team was announced. Despite the fact that she could feel the low-level vibration of stress and worry hum through him, he’d kept it light. Even knowing that if he didn’t make the cut, they’d be separated almost immediately by an entire country, he’d managed to wake her up in a good mood.

The reminder of exactly how he’d woken her up—from behind, with a gentle sliding into her—made her smile a little before resuming her work. There was something to be said for sleeping naked, like he preferred. It wasn’t her first choice, but it was definitely becoming a new favorite.

A long finger tapped on top of her screen. “What’s that secret smile about?”

“Oh, nothing. Just remembering something about waking up this morning.” She glanced up, and found heated eyes watching her carefully. “You know, when you played alarm clock and got me up way before I was ready.”

“I was already up.”

She chuckled at the sexual innuendo. “I know. That’s why I didn’t complain.” She poked him playfully in the ribs with a toe. “Watch your fight. I’m working here.”

“What pamphlet is it this time?”

“What makes you think it’s a pamphlet? I could be writing an email, or buying shoes.” She smiled wickedly. “Or sexy lingerie.”

He eyed her with an Is that a joke? face.

She grinned. He knew her too well. “Well, for your information, smarty-pants, it’s not a pamphlet.”

His brows rose in surprise, but his eyes didn’t leave the TV screen.

“It’s a brochure.”

He snorted and settled her feet more comfortably in his lap. One hand ran light fingertips up and down her shins. Just to her knee and back; nothing sexual at all. He probably didn’t even sense he was doing it. But the touch charged her more than it probably should have.

“A brochure for what?”

“It’s for Kara, actually. She’s a blogging queen and can change out the skin of her website in ten minutes flat, but never gets the proportions or margins right on promo items.” She spun the laptop on the board and showed him. He spared it a three-second glance—generous, given his interest in the fight—before turning back to the screen.

“She needs to get some new yoga and Pilates clients. I’m helping her gear this one toward potential military clientele. Adding in some key phrases that might attract a jarhead’s attention.”

“‘Yut’?” he asked in a primal, caveman voice, and she laughed.

“Exactly.” A few more clicks, then she saved the presentation and emailed it to Kara for first-round approval. Closing her computer with a quiet snap, she set it on the coffee table and picked up the pad with her list on it. She realized, with a flash of embarrassment, she’d never torn off the doodle-hearts page. Before he had a chance to glance her way, she ripped it off, crumpled it up and stuffed it down the couch cushion behind her.

He didn’t even blink.

As she made out her to-do list for the next day, she asked, “Are you still mad at me about Tibbs?”

He was quiet for a while, then a commercial came on. He muted the TV and turned to her with her feet still in his lap.

“I’m sad. I’m sad for him, and for our group, because he’s the first to go. But I get it. And I’m not going to stand in the way of your job. Me telling you how to be an athletic trainer would be about as useless as you telling me how to be a Marine.”

She smiled a little at that. When he kept watching her, she raised a brow. “What?”

“Everything good?”

She nodded, then sucked in a breath. Time to try again. Be bold. “Brad?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He blinked, and for a second, she wondered if he actually heard her wrong. But then he set her feet down gently, covered her body on the couch and kissed her. He kissed her with such passion, she knew he’d heard her this time.

It didn’t occur to her until later, when they were tucked in bed and he was breathing deeply beside her, that he hadn’t responded in kind.