“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.

CHAPTER

27

Greg 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.”