Below the Belt(39)

If he told her about the injury now, she’d insist on examining him further, and he had no doubt that would end badly. He’d be removed from the roster and head back home. He’d be pissed, and it would effectively kill any chance they had of more.

If he kept it from her, she might eventually find out and be even more pissed off than if he’d told her.

Or, option three, he mused as he watched her help the Marine with the pulled groin off the table. She never found out his knee hurt worse than he let on, he got it taken care of outside, away from base, and it was never an issue.

It involved deception on several fronts, but he couldn’t keep doing this every day to his knee. He knew deep down that something was going wrong with it. To wait and see a year from now would be stupid. But the idea of voluntarily walking away from his first—and most likely his only—shot at the boxing team . . . that hurt deeper than any grinding knee pain.

He kept his eyes on her as she moved around the training room, from Marine to Marine, like a bee moving from flower to flower. And hoped, when she caught his eyes again, she would read the apology in them.


*

THE wounded bear stalks back into the cave to lick his sore paw.

Marianne made a note on her clipboard about the pulled groin she’d just worked on, but her eyes kept darting over the top of the board to watch Brad. He tested the knee, bending it and making it move with slow, measured motions. She focused on his face and saw the lines of tension there.

Much as her pride hated how he’d spoken to her, she understood. By the time they’d wrapped up the yoga session, she’d already moved past hurt and pissed to annoyed and resigned. She understood pride—probably had a bit too much of it herself—and knew what it did to a strong man when he couldn’t control what his body was doing with force of will alone. Understood that weakness was not only frowned upon, but not acceptable, and that he must have been raging at himself when she’d walked up.

He could have handled it better, no doubt. But she could have given him the chance to recover more privately. They’d both made a mistake there.

Slowly, Marines filtered through the icing cycles. She’d started making them stay, rather than taking their ice bags and dashing off like thieves in the night. Though there had been some grumbling, they’d done it. Partly, she did it so she could assess injuries.

But the other part of her just loved a full training room. Not due to injuries, of course, but the company. Being around guys who laughed a little too loudly, joked a little too crudely, cursed a little too much . . . was heaven to her. She fit in, and she adored them. It was like being inside the family fold, with two dozen big brothers. Even working in a high school, she’d bonded with what she’d then thought of as her little brothers and sisters. She could put the smack down when she had to, but she liked just hearing about their days and their lives in and outside of the gym and keeping tabs on them.

Levi had scoffed at the new rule, and she was no idiot. The reason why was flitting around the room like a stripper in a room full of men with dollars. Nikki adored the attention anyone paid her, even if it was completely platonic or professional.

And Marianne had to admit, it seemed like all the Marines—even the ones that were right at her age—treated Nikki just as politely as they did her. Maybe more so. As if they knew giving her a side hug wouldn’t be misunderstood, but had subconsciously realized early on not to give Nikki the same opening.

Smart men. Using those survival instincts outside the ropes, too.

Nikki tapped Brad’s shoulder to indicate his twenty were up, and he stood stiffly to bend his knee. With great care, he made his way to the industrial sink to dump his ice bag out and toss the plastic away. When Marianne expected him to leave without a word, he surprised her by walking to her and sitting on the empty table.

Only a few Marines remained, and Nikki and Levi were handling them. She decided she could break for a minute. She finished her note, then put the clipboard down. “How’s the knee?”

“Still attached.”

She watched him for a moment, then opened her mouth to apologize.

“I’m sorry.”

Her mouth snapped shut again in surprise. “Did you just apologize? Without prompting?”

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “Maybe I’m an evolved version of the male species.”

“No such thing,” she contradicted quickly. When another Marine got up and left, she made a note on the clipboard by her side. “I’m sorry, too. Let’s forget it and move on.”

“Sold.” He used the toe of his shoe to nudge her calf gently. “I need a favor.”

“Hmm?” Watching Nikki and the remaining Marine from the corner of her eye, she looked back to him. “What’s that?” Then her mind clicked back into working order. Finally! Here was the opening she’d been hoping for. He was going to ask about his knee.

With the soulful eyes of a lost puppy, he said, “I’ve been abandoned. Can I have a ride back to the BOQ?”

“Oh.” Not what she’d expected.

“You need a ride?” Toby Chalfant, the redheaded cutie with a face full of freckles and smiles, walked up. “I’ll take you back, sir.”

“It’s Brad or Costa, not sir,” he growled. “And I was just—”

“No, that’s great.” She cut him off before he could get going. “Chalfant, did you need something?”