Below the Belt(50)

“Let me toss my water jugs in the bed of your truck before you take off. We’ve got to pack up some supplies to bring, and then we’ll follow. I can lock up if—”

“No, Cartwright is going to stay here. He’ll be talking to the MPs and the supervisor about that mess upstairs. Goddamn kids, they say,” he muttered. “Kids don’t pull shit like that.” He looked up then, his dark eyes blazing with fury. “That’s a problem. I hate problems. I don’t accept problems. So they better not try to act like it’s no big f*cking deal again. Pardon the language.”

“It’s fine.” She nodded once. “Okay, I’ll have my guys toss the jugs in your truck, and then we’ll follow.” She left him to his mutterings and file shuffling and walked back to find two very confused, slightly intimidated interns bouncing on the balls of their feet.

“So, what’s up?” Levi asked, hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts.

Nikki clapped, more excited than her counterpart. “Are we going somewhere?”

Marianne nodded. “Prepare the fanny packs, kids. We’re going on a field trip.”


*

BRAD’S left leg ached for compensating, and his right knee was crying. It had long ago left behind screaming in pain. It now just whimpered in agony, as if it knew there would be no respite anytime soon and there was no point in wasting energy.

The running sucked. But it was the stairs that did him in.

Two hours into their conditioning, Brad was ready to rip the head off whatever f*cker had spray painted their catwalk. And he had a feeling almost any one of his potential teammates would hold the bastard down to give him the opportunity. They were all a hot mess. Dripping with sweat, shirts long-ago abandoned on various parts of the stadium steps and baking in the sun. They were all drooping. Shoulders were slumped and chests were heaving in an effort to keep up. “Drooping” was the only word for it.

Marianne and her interns had their hands full. They hydrated, they took temperatures and they stretched. Every time he caught sight of her in his peripheral vision, she was on the ground pulling some guy’s arms up, or hovering over a guy pushing his leg to his chest, or standing over some prone guy, massaging his calf.

What he wouldn’t give to feel those hands on his legs right now . . .

His lungs were still going strong. His mind was ready to do another lap.

But his legs . . . His legs told him if he ran one more flight of stairs, they were going to give up and let him roll back down to the bottom, headfirst.

“Water break!” Coach Ace bellowed from the base of the stadium steps. They all moaned in relief. Brad let a few pass him by in order to give his leg a few extra minutes to get down without sobbing.

It worked. Barely.

He had to get it taken care of. Maybe, just maybe, he could ask Marianne to help him out quietly. If she thought it was in his best interest, and that it would keep them together—because getting cut meant he would be heading back to Twentynine Palms—then maybe she’d be willing to work with him outside the gym.

Even as he thought it, he rejected the idea. It was playing her emotions against her career. It was a shit move, and he knew it.

He’d just have to work this out on his own, without her. He couldn’t ignore the pain any longer. So he’d figure out another way.

They gathered near Coach Ace, who was on his cell phone, ignoring them. Tibbs stood next to him, practically hyperventilating, his dark face a fast-moving river of sweat.

“I don’t think,” he gasped out, “my conditioning is working, sir.”

“Costa,” Brad corrected. “And it’s been one day. You can’t build conditioning in one day, Tibbs. That’s absurd.”

“How the hell are you not breathing hard?” Tibbs squeaked out in one quick sentence before sucking in another breath.

“You keep doing that, you’re going to pass out,” he said mildly. “And I’ve always been good with distances. I’m not fast, but I can keep going.”

“Do your girlfriends all call you the Energizer Bunny?” Tressler asked from behind.

“Your mom did last night,” he shot back, causing several Marines to make the “ooooh, burned” noise.

Tressler glared at him, but kept his mouth shut.

Coach Ace finished his call and put his phone back in his pocket. “Marines, listen up.”

Automatically, they all moved to parade rest.

“That was Coach Cartwright. The MPs are coming over to chat with you about anything you might have seen in the last week or so with regards to the vandalism today, and with the training room earlier. Cooperate, don’t give them any reason to hate you and we can move on. We’ll break here for lunch, and meet back at the gym at three.”

The news of the extra-long break had most of them sighing in relief. Brad’s eyes tracked to Marianne, but she wasn’t focused on him. She was in the small stretch of shade the bleachers had to offer. She was crouching beside a Marine who was on the ground, a washcloth draped over his forehead, his eyes closed. She was taking his pulse, and though he couldn’t hear what she said, he could see she was on her phone speaking to someone.

She was in her element. Damn, she even made that huge black fanny pack look cute.

Kind of. Okay, not really. Nobody could pull that ugly thing off; not even her.