Below the Belt by Jeanette Murray
To those wives who kept me sane during deployments, field ops, TADs and long work hours . . .
You are my heroines. The Corps is a stronger place because of you.
CHAPTER
1
First Lieutenant Bradley Costa tossed his pack on the bed and sank to the mattress beside it. Fucking hell, what had he walked himself into?
The best—and most terrifying—opportunity of his life, that’s what. He stood and shook his hands, a habit he’d yet to break, to release the nerves. He couldn’t let it get to him, or else he’d be screwed before he hit the gym on the first day of training camp.
A knock at his open door jarred him from his self-induced pity party. He turned and saw a guy holding his own ruck, wearing a civilian “uniform” of khakis and a button-down polo shirt that was similar to what he’d worn on his own trip to Camp Lejeune.
“Hey, you Costa?”
“Yeah.” Brad strode over to shake the outstretched hand. “You Higgs?”
“One and the same.” The other man grinned, then squeezed a little in friendly warning before letting go. He was an inch or two shorter than Brad, with a more wiry build. But there was strength in the grip, and Brad didn’t doubt the man could likely run circles around an opponent. Pushing past Brad, Higgs walked in and observed the tiny room, nodding in acceptance. “Seems we’re lucky roomies while we’re here.”
“Seems like.” Brad watched him warily. “I’ve claimed this one. Yours is that way.” What the hell was this guy doing? The small single bedrooms of the Bachelor Officer Quarters were connected by a tiny sitting room and shared bathroom. Obviously, this was his room.
Making himself at home, Higgs tossed his pack next to Brad’s on the bed and sat in the chair. “I like company.”
Oh, good. He got the Chatty Cathy for a roommate. He could wait it out. He went to his own ruck and started unpacking.
“So you think you’ll be here awhile, huh?”
God, he hoped so. He glanced up as he organized the top drawer with his workout gear. “Wouldn’t have made the trip otherwise.”
“I’m not big on unpacking, myself.” Higgs stretched and laced his fingers over his stomach. “I figure I’ll just leave things the way they are for now. See if I like the setup. If not, easier to ditch and go if my shit isn’t spread out from here to kingdom come.”
Brad snorted. “What, like you’re just going to walk away from this if you don’t like how it’s playing out?”
“Why not? Life’s too short to do shit you don’t like.”
Brad’s hands tightened into fists around the top drawer. He’d tried for years, nearly a decade, to get the chance to come to training camp for the Marine Corps boxing team. Had been working for the goal—even just indirectly—since watching his father compete at age six. For the next twenty-three years, the goal had been at the top of his bucket list. And this moron was willing to just walk away from the opportunity?
Fucker.
And yet, if he did, it would be one less f*cker Brad had to step over to make it onto the team. He shut the drawer and shrugged. “Probably right.”
Higgs watched him for a minute, then snorted and stood. Most likely disappointed Brad didn’t invite him to stay to paint their toenails and gossip about boys. As Higgs grabbed his bag, he said, “A bunch of the guys who arrived today are heading down to Back Gate.”
Back Gate, as anyone who had been stationed at Lejeune knew, was a well-known bar frequented by Marines in their off time. Ironically enough, it was accessed the easiest from the main gate. “Okay then.”
“You coming?”
Training day one started at oh-seven hundred tomorrow morning. And these jokers were heading out to get wasted the night before?
“Oh, yeah, I’ll come. I’ll even drive.”
He wouldn’t miss this train wreck for the world.
*
MARIANNE Cook slid into one of the remaining booths at the Back Gate, and wondered why, God, why, had she agreed to meet here for drinks with her mother again?
That’s right, because her mother was boy-crazy. The woman—half her namesake—was nearly sixty, and still got giggly around hot men young enough to be her sons, if she’d had sons. So meeting in a bar where Marines hung out after hours was, quite frankly, Mary Cook’s idea of a perfect night out.
Fortunately, her father was not only aware of Mary’s boy-craziness but found it amusing. And since her mother would never even consider cheating on her father, Marianne found the entire thing amusing as well.
Until she was an unwilling accomplice.
The server stopped by, a little harried and definitely short on patience, and took Marianne’s simple order of a bottle of light beer and an ice water and left. Knowing her mother, she’d be zooming in about twenty minutes late. The water would make the beer last longer. Only one, since she would be driving home.
A shout, a few jeers and a male insult erupted from the bar area. She glanced over for a moment. Nothing much to see. A group of Marines doing that weird man thing where harassment passes off as bonding time. Add in a few beers and it just cranks the volume up. Nothing she hadn’t seen before. Though she’d missed the sight since she moved down to Wilmington for college, then stayed there for her first post-grad job.