Against the Ropes (27 page)

“Sure, yeah.” Looking unconvinced, but without
anything to back him up, Brad stepped out of the car, opening the back door to grab his bag. “I'll just run in and wait for her. But call me if you need me.”

“Thanks.” The offer meant a great deal to Greg, so he did his best to show Brad a full smile before Brad walked back into the gym to catch Marianne in her work room.

He stared at his phone for a moment, then let his forehead drop to the steering wheel. What the hell was he going to do now?

*   *   *

REAGAN
sat in her car, watching the minutes tick by on the clock at the top right of her laptop computer screen. Sometimes, her eyes would drift to the blinking cursor on the blank document. The document that should be titled “How I'm About to Lose a Boyfriend.”

Or, more likely, “How I Lost My First Big Girl Job.”

Maybe she should go with something more catchy and pithy, like “Mom Was Right: the Reagan Robilard Story.”

Time was winding down before she had to go in and speak to her supervisor. And honestly, she still had no clue what the hell she was going to do about Greg. Her gut knew what was right, but her head—and maybe, if she were being honest, her mother—were shouting she was falling on her sword for nothing.

No, that's not true. Love wasn't nothing when it came to reasons for actions. That was too much her mother and not enough her.

Snapping the laptop closed, she shoved it in her oversized, Target clearance bag and got out of the car. For reasons she didn't want to examine, she felt like there should be somber music playing.

Your fate hasn't been decided yet. He hasn't fired you. Stop acting like he has, and go in with confidence.

She walked into the main building for the Marine Corps athletics and took a sharp left, heading for her direct supervisor's
office. Just as her hand hit the door to knock, the phone in her pocket rang. She slipped her hand inside and hit the silence button right as she heard, “Come in.”

“Mr. Calvant,” she said, setting her bag on one chair and sitting in the other. “Good to see you.”

He grunted, barely looking up from his computer. “What's the solution, Robilard?”

Yes, nice to see you, too. How's the family? Good, great, small talk is wonderful.

“The solution is . . .” She rubbed her forehead. “There is no solution. Yet,” she added hastily when he looked at her, brows furrowed. “But I'm working on it.”

“I warned you there would be repercussions. It's been nothing but babysitting you and your performance since you started. I clearly need someone with more experience.” With a sigh, as if that were the end of it, he turned back to his computer.

Funny . . . in her wildest imagination, Reagan would never have pictured the worst moment of her life being so . . . benign. Almost no ripple at all.

“Sir, you can't fire me.”

“Can.” He hit the space bar hard as punctuation to his words. “Did. See security on your way out to give up your pass for base.”

“No,” she said, feeling her heart start to race. “I'm not going to just take this lying down. There are other options.”

“Other options?” He leaned forward now. “What, exactly, are those? Do you have some sort of information that would make this work to our advantage?”

She immediately flushed, and it was like sending up a flare. He immediately called her on it. “What do you have? Let's run through it together. Maybe we can salvage this.”

“I'm not giving you that information.” When he rolled his eyes, she said, “It's not my information to share. I know you think I'm a huge screwup, but you're wrong. I've done my best.”

“Never have I had this much trouble with a team before.”

“Obviously, that's my fault,” she snapped, realizing she was losing the thin restraint she had on her own temper. “I'm the one who invited some stalker to fixate on the boxing team. I'm the one who asked him to vandalize the place, to steal things, to follow us to another state and ruin our bus. My fault.”

“Your job is to be a liaison. What exactly does that mean? It means,” he went on, ignoring her, “that your job is to make everyone's lives easier. It's not hard. You're just not doing that. And I went on instinct to hire you. You were young, with less than zero experience. But hey,” he said, throwing his hands up, “I told myself, ‘She's got spirit, this one. She's hungry for it. She'll do anything asked of her. She'll be fine.' I was wrong.” He shot her a truly angry look. “I hate being wrong.”

She stood, swallowing back tears. “Then you should know, you're wrong now. I might not have experience, but experience wasn't going to make this vandalism stop. That's the MP's job. I can't be out fighting crime, making hotel arrangements and PR choices. Nobody handed me a cape when I signed my employment papers.” If she didn't leave, she was going to lose it. “You weren't wrong to hire me, but you're wrong to let me go before I find a way to fix this. That's on you.”

With what she considered to be the best parting shot she had in her arsenal—which was pretty low to begin with on verbal banter—she turned and left, ignoring his shouting her last name at her back. She passed the receptionist's desk, asked where she had to turn in her credentials, and got directions to the main MP office building.

Which she managed to get lost finding anyway.

27

G
reg spent his entire break looking for Reagan. It would have been nice if she'd just answered her damn phone and talked to him, but no. It was either on silent, or she was completely ignoring just his calls. Either way, not helpful. When he showed up for evening practice praying she'd be there, he was met with both Brad and Graham shaking their heads. They hadn't seen her, either. He poked his head in to Marianne's training room, asking her to send Reagan straight to him if she came in. Marianne gave him a sad smile.

“Yeah, sure thing.” She paused a moment, studying him. “You wanna sit down and talk? I can tell the coaches I was icing your knuckles or something.”

So Brad had told her. “No.” He needed to be active, needed to burn out the worry against a heavy bag or doing footwork drills. “Just . . . if you see her, send her over, please?”

“Absolutely.”

Greg took his time tying his shoes, knowing he might very well not need any stretching time. At this rate, he might
have already seen his last practice. But if that was what it took, then so be it.

Once everyone was stretching on the mat, he approached Coach Ace. “Hey, Coach . . . can I say a few words to the guys before we start practice?”

He looked annoyed, but Coach nodded. “Keep it brief.”

“Sure thing.” Not a chance. Greg nodded and approached. “Hey, guys, I just needed to say a few things, clear the air a bit.”

He glanced down at Graham and Brad for support, saw their nods of encouragement, and took a breath. “I joined the Marines when I was seventeen, not really because it was a dream of mine or anything, but because I was given the ultimatum from a judge. Military or jail.”

He saw a few guys raise their brows. His gaze clashed with Tressler's, but the young man's face hadn't changed. He just watched in silence, giving nothing away.

“So, uh . . .” Focus, Marine. “You don't need the whole long, drawn-out story—though you can ask me later if you want—but suffice it to say my childhood sucked, I made a series of really stupid choices and landed myself in front of the judge. I would have done probably anything to avoid jail time, so that's how I ended up in the military. But you know,” he added slowly, looking around at the faces of his teammates, “once I was in, I found the family I'd been looking for that whole time. And boxing . . . boxing was that one way to channel my energy productively. The Marines are my family, you guys are becoming like my little nucleus.”

A few guys chuckled at that, including Coach Cartwright.

“I would never do anything to hurt this team. You guys are all awesome, you're great athletes, damn good guys. So if my past makes problems, I'll step aside and we can bring up someone else to take my spot. The last thing I want is to be an issue for anyone I care about.”

“We love you, man,” one of the guys said from the back, causing them all to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah.” Greg smirked and shook his head. “Sappy time is over. I just wanted to get that out of the way. I know we're coming up on some tough shit with whoever is bothering us, targeting our team. I needed you to know that despite the stupid mistakes from when I was a kid, I would do anything to stop the hurt from happening.”

There was silence, and then several heads turned to the right. Greg followed their eye line and found Reagan standing off to the side, leaning against a wall. How had he totally missed her coming in?

Ah, she wasn't wearing heels, so no clacking across the floor. Wait . . . she wasn't wearing heels. That had to mean something.

“Uh . . . let's get to work,” Greg ended with, pretending to shake pom-poms for a little comedic relief. The guys laughed, then stood and started jogging their laps. Greg caught Coach Ace's eye, who motioned for him to go talk to Reagan. He waved and headed over. “Hey. I looked all over for you during break.”

She nodded. “I heard my voice mails.”

“So . . .” He looked down pointedly at the flats she wore. “What's going on?”

“Wasn't in the mood for heels. Grabbed my emergency pair of flats from the trunk.”

The thought made him want to smile. Only his Reagan would consider wearing flats to constitute an emergency situation. “Can we talk after practice? Maybe meet up and grab something at the Exchange food court and—”

“I can't.” Her eyes drifted closed, and her crossed arms said
Don't touch
. Despite that, he wanted to grab her and pull her in. “I lost my security clearance. No tooling around base for me anymore.”

“No,” he breathed. “We can fix this. Maybe if we—”

“You were great.” She smiled, though he saw her lips tremble just a little. “Really. I hope you just did that for you, though.”

He hadn't. But now that she said it, he admitted it felt good to have the air fully cleared. “Not initially. I need you to stay.”

“I needed to do my job. I chose not to. So I have to start looking for something else.” She sighed and rubbed one temple. God, why did they have to be in the gym right now? He needed to hold her. “I have to pack.”

“What? No.” Fuck being at the gym. He leaned closer, bracing one hand on the wall beside her head. She was so short, it felt, without her heels, even though she was still only a few inches shorter than him. Looking down to converse with her felt wrong. Felt like defeat on her end. “Why would you need to pack?”

“Because I don't have a job. I can't afford my apartment without a job. I have to immediately start hunting, and let me tell you,” she added with a huff of unamused laughter, “with only one piece of job experience under my belt—which I was fired from—I'm not optimistic.”

He watched her eyes water, watched her blink the tears back, and felt like bashing his fist through a wall. “Don't give up. You got fired because of me. Let me fix it.”

“That's not how this works.” Her ponytail swished around her shoulders as she shook her head. “I just have to . . .” She raised her hands, let them fall to her sides, bouncing lightly off the wall at her back. “Start fresh, or something. Since I don't know where that will be, I need to be ready to go.”

“Higgs!” Coach Ace boomed behind him. “This isn't Snuggle Hour, it's practice. Get a move on!”

He saw her ready to bolt. Saw she was done. And hated—so much hated—that he'd been a part of that. “We're not done.” He meant it in more ways than one, and by the way her eyes widened, he knew she caught his double meaning.

*   *   *

THIS
is it?

Reagan stared at the contents in the box she'd packed,
and wanted to cry. She'd spent months here, and had about one box of things—minus her furniture, shoes and clothes, of course—to show for it. She hadn't been sightseeing. She hadn't tried local restaurants. Hell, the beach was ten minutes away and she hadn't put one toe in the sand.

Because she'd been working. Her job, this job she'd considered the most important thing, had consumed her.

No, not true.

Gregory Higgs. He'd broken her shell, made her look at what she'd thought her life would be like. Made her want to consider something besides making it on her own. She didn't want to
be
on her own anymore. She wanted Greg with her.

The corner of something caught her eye. She found a book under her couch she'd forgotten and placed it in the still-not-full box.

At the knock on her door, she praised God she wouldn't have to stare at the pathetic contents of her independent adult life another minute. Marianne had promised to bring by a few boxes from deliveries to her training room. Which beat the hell out of buying the boxes out of her now finite funds. She'd need about five just for her shoes alone.

“Thank you, God,” she said, unlocking the last latch and swinging the door open. “I so needed . . . Greg.” She froze, blinking. “Uh, hi.”

“Needed me, huh?” He grinned, then leaned down and kissed her. “That's always good to hear.” Then he skirted by her and into the apartment.

“Come in,” she said with an eye roll and shut the door behind him. After securing the last latch, she leaned her back against the door. “Practice is already over?”

“Had a quick word with Coach Ace and he let me out early.” Greg peered into her one box. “Special circumstance. What's this box for?”

“Packing. Greg, you can't just come in and start distracting me. I have stuff to do.”

“Is this for donation, or what's going on here?” He looked
around, but she knew he was likely wondering exactly what was different. Almost nothing, really. The place had had zero personality this morning, and it still had zero personality, even after removing almost all her personal items.

“It's for me to be ready to go. I have to talk to my landlord in the morning”—
if I can find him
—“but I should be able to be out by the end of the month with no penalty.”

“Good. This place sucks anyway.”

She started to argue, purely as a defense mechanism, but he stopped her by coming over and gripping her shoulders.

“I want you to move into something safer. I want to move my stuff in there with you. I want to spend every single night in the same bed with you, and not have to run back and forth between my bunk and your bed. And I want to know when you're here alone, you're safe.”

“Fantastic. I'll just reach into my bag of magic cash and make that happen.” Hurt, she shook his hands off. “I'm really not in the best mood tonight, so you should probably go.”

“Can't do that. Don't cut me off,” he warned. “I've got important things to say and I really only want to say them once.”

Resigned, and knowing if she just gave in, he could leave faster, she sat on the couch. “Fine. What?”

“First off, you were right.”

She held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. “Yay, me. Right about what?”

“We should get in front of it. It's . . . hard.” Greg swallowed, but this time she wouldn't go to him to make it easier. “But I took the first step today, and I'm ready.”

“Are you?” She waited a beat, but he didn't answer, or look at her. “I thought not. Don't do this because I got fired. Don't do this because you want to save me. I don't want saving. I've got to figure this out myself.”

“I'm not saving you,” he bit back. “I'm . . . I don't know. Every time I go over it in my head, it sounds stupid.”

“Say it anyway. Whatever it is. I'm not going to laugh.”

“Maybe . . .” He sighed. “Maybe I'm saving me. Or the old me. I don't know. It's like . . . this sixteen-year-old version of me is standing on the other side of some glass, wanting to know life turns out okay even though he's had shit up to then. Like, that promise that life is better is gonna keep him from making the bad choices later. And me being honest and putting it out there is my way of telling that kid it gets better.”

Okay, that worked. Reagan pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes to keep from bursting into tears. “Why did I have to find you? I wasn't ready for you.”

She jerked when she felt hands touch her knees, but she didn't look. Couldn't look, or the tears would flow freely.

“I don't think you have to be ready to meet the person you will love. But it happens anyway, and you have to be willing. And I love you.”

She choked on a laugh. It was too much.

“I love that you wear these uptight clothes and those weird bun things in your hair to look all prim and businesslike, but you still wear your sexy heels. I love that you wear those blue slippers Marianne bought you, even when she's not around, because you promised to. I love that you threw your all into your job, and it broke your heart to lose it, because that meant you were all in.”

She felt his fingers push a strand of hair behind her ear. “You believed it wasn't me, even after hearing my past. So I'm guessing, even though you might not like me very much right now, you love me, too.”

“You suck,” she whispered. “I was supposed to say it.”

He gently pried her hands away from her eyes. She probably looked like a red-eyed wreck, but he smiled and pretended not to notice. “I'm all ears.”

“I love you,” she whispered. He kissed her softly, and she said it again, though there was no way he could have heard her. She let her fingers roam up his jawline, across his brows,
through his short hair, back down to the back of his neck to pull him in tighter.

After another minute of nerve-firing kisses, Reagan pulled away. “This is great, but it doesn't solve the problem of me being fired. I mean, knowing you love me is fantastic, but I've gotta have rent money.”

“You and your shoes will have plenty of space, I promise.” Greg sat back on his heels and reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. “I wrote down as much as I could, from my side of things. If you want to go ahead and use this for quotes or whatever you need, feel free. I figured you'd want to make it more newsy though.”

“‘Newsy'?” she said, raising one brow and unfolding the paper.

“Hey, it could be a word.”

She quickly scanned the sheet. “This is all the stuff you told me. The whole . . . oh, Greg.” Her eyes watered. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure. It's good for you, but it's definitely the right thing for me.”

She sighed and refolded it. “I'm not sure this is the right job for me, honestly. Maybe I shouldn't even fight to keep it. I could . . .” She raised a shoulder. “I don't know, get a job as a cashier at the Piggly Wiggly.”

“Reagan Robilard.” His voice had some snap to it, and she looked at him in surprise. “You did not come three thousand miles to be a cashier. Maybe this isn't your dream job after all. Most people don't find it the first time out. But you're not giving up. You're not walking away from this job having been fired. Get your job back, and we can talk about the rest as it comes.” He started to smile, slowly. “Besides, after the season's over, I'm hoping you'll come back with me, anyway.”