He walked with stiff joints toward the coach’s office. As he passed Reagan, he saw her reach out, just a fraction of an inch, then pull back.

Probably for the best. He wasn’t in a good place to be coddled or soothed. He needed to burn the anger right out of him.

He stood, in parade rest, facing Coach Ace’s empty desk, waiting his punishment. Would he get thrown off the team? Sent back with a black mark for his service record?

A month ago, he would have shrugged and not given a hot damn. He was there for fun, not because he had anything to prove. If he got cut, so be it. If he made the team, so be it.

That was a month ago. Now he knew his leaving would put the team in jeopardy. He’d miss his friends. He’d miss the competition, the new way of pushing his body, the camaraderie that came from a different type of family outside of his company back at home base.

He’d miss Reagan.

God, that struck the hardest. His impulsive, stupid actions could have cost him the chance to stay and be with her as long as possible. The longer he boxed, the more time he had with her.

Even if they kept him, she might have seen more than enough of his behavior to be done with him. Couldn’t blame her if she was. In those moments, he’d ceased being a human, a man, a Marine, and become something more base. An animal whose pride and position had been challenged.

More like a freaking whiny bear with a thorn in his paw. So the idiot kid made a few sexual jokes, who cared? He should have shrugged it off. He should have been the bigger person about it.

Instead, he’d shown his true nature. His upbringing.

Nature or nurture, he was screwed either way.

He heard the door swing open all the way behind him, though he didn’t look. Coach Ace walked into view, slammed his massive, muscular body into his desk chair and gripped the edge of the desk to keep from rolling away. “God damn it, Higgs.”

He waited quietly, eyes faced straight ahead.

“What the hell are you doing pulling shit like that in my gym? You’re old enough to know better. You’ve been around longer. He’s just a damn kid.” After a moment, he added, “Answer.”

“Yes, sir. I apologize for my lack of temper and control, sir.”

“Coach.”

“Coach. I apologize. I let some comments get into my head and it affected me more than it should. I apologize for disrespecting your gym and the team, sir. Coach.”

He watched as Coach ran a large hand down his face, scrubbing hard before settling back in the rickety chair. “You put me in a shitty position. What the hell did he say to you to make you go off like that?”

Greg debated a moment. This was what they called a no-win situation. “Personal insults, nothing more. I should have ignored them, Coach.”

“You should have. But you didn’t, and now we’re here.” At the soft knock, which Greg didn’t turn around for, Coach Ace waved an arm. “Come on in, Ms. Robilard.”

Greg’s entire body tightened until his neck hurt from the strain. He waited while she brushed by him to take a seat. The soft push of her breasts against his shoulder nearly had him groaning. He wanted to look at her, study her face, see exactly what was going on in that beautiful mind of hers. Was she as horrified at him as she’d looked out there? Disgusted? Scared?

Please, God, don’t be scared of me.

“Ms. Robilard, is there a policy in place for fighting amongst the team members?”

“Not that I know of,” she said quietly. “I believe this is at your discretion on how to handle it. But before you do,” she said quickly, rushing on when it looked like Coach Ace was about to speak, “you should know that Gregory and I are seeing each other. I’ve already submitted the paperwork to my supervisor, but was going to tell you today after practice.”

He had to bite back a sigh of relief. She wouldn’t have confided that if she’d been ready to dump him, would she? Probably not.

“Lovebirds,” Coach Ace groaned, his dark face contorting into agony. He let his head hit the desk. “I’m surrounded by lovebirds. What did I do in a previous life to deserve this?”

“Just lucky, I suppose,” Reagan said, and this time Greg bit his cheek to keep from grinning. God love his smart-ass woman. “It has nothing to do with the situation, but I needed to disclose it anyway and hadn’t gotten around to doing so yet. So . . . disclosed.”

“You have a way with timing.” After raising his head again, Coach glanced between them. “You’re still capable of doing the duties assigned to you.”

“I am,” she said confidently. He wanted to give her a quick kiss for sounding so calm and smooth, with her deeper business voice.

“And you’re going to keep yourself from pounding every little shit who says something about your mama or God knows what else Tressler insulted, got it? You show that kind of temper in the ring and an opponent is gonna wipe the mat with your impulsive ass.”

“Yes, Coach.” He squeezed his fists tight, praying this was the end.

“You’ll be spending the rest of practice . . . nah, rest of the day, with Coach Willis, doing some conditioning exercises.” His grim smile creased the coach’s dark face. “You’ve clearly got enough energy for it, so let’s burn some off.”

“Yes, sir.” He waited for the coach’s nod of dismissal, and left without looking Reagan’s way. It killed him to leave her there, but he did it.

And while he was puking two hours later, after having run more than he could remember running in his life, he still thanked God he was there rather than on a plane heading home, away from her.

*   *   *

“I didn’t want to say anything while he was here,” Coach Ace said as soon as the door closed behind Greg, “but some stuff’s missing.”

Reagan blinked, focusing her rioting mind back on the moment. “What kind of stuff?”

“Pads, other equipment. It was all locked in the cage in the storage room, but it’s gone now.”

She thought for a few seconds. “Well, maybe the maintenance staff moved it to clean the cage? Or another coach came and borrowed it. There are a dozen explanations for that which have nothing to do with our vandal.”

“I’ve spoken to maintenance, and they’ve got nothing. Same with the other coaches I know, nobody took it. I guess there are a few other options but . . .” He sighed and let his ham-sized fists hit the desk hard enough to make her jump. “This is getting damn old, pardon the language.”

“Yes, it is.” She thought for a moment, then decided to go for it. “Security cameras would solve a majority of our problems.”

He looked amused, as if catching on to her act. “I’m sure your supervisor already told you the reason why that’s not going to happen. No budget.” He said the last sentence as if it were a curse. “We’re lucky they didn’t stop hosting teams, period. The entire Corps—entire military—is cutting back. And if we keep making a nuisance of ourselves with vandalism and crime, we’re very likely going to be next. We already have a target on our backs thanks to the violence of the sport.”

It was the exact thing Reagan feared. “That’s not going to happen,” she said through stiff lips. “I won’t let it happen.”

“Good luck then.” With a weary sigh, Coach Ace nodded and dismissed her.

“Stubborn group of Marines.” She walked out to the practice area, and noticed most of the team attempting to give her a sidelong glance. Tressler, Greg’s opponent in their ill-advised bare-knuckles brawl, was nowhere to be seen. Probably in the weight room, then. But she noticed Greg almost immediately. He was running laps around the catwalk. His gray shirt was soaked through, and his face was screwed up in intense concentration.

She hustled to Marianne’s training room to avoid catching his eye. She didn’t want to cause even a moment’s distraction. Walking in, she stopped when she found Marianne giving an impromptu lesson on something at her laptop. The two interns were hunched over her shoulders, watching. Taking a moment, she got herself a cup of water and sat. Being off her feet felt good, but in general, just being away from the gym was good for her. The tension was triple its normal level, and she knew it was due to the scuffle Tressler and Greg had had . . . though she still had no clue what it had been about.