Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(76)

“I love how you say that. Move in, like you just have some friends come over one day with a few pickups and haul your stuff a few blocks over.” Like she would be doing.

“He’s got an apartment full of stuff. I’ve got a furnished rental here. It won’t be hard. Leaving here will be,” she added, wrapping an arm around Kara as the guys huddled in tighter. “Leaving Mom and Dad, and you. I’ve always been less than two hours away from home. But just look at him,” she added with a sigh.

It shouldn’t have surprised her, but somehow, the thought of Marianne not being on the east coast, within an hour or so drive, was sad.

“I can’t believe you won’t be nearby. It’s like the end of an era.”

“I know it. But how could I say no to that man?”

“No clue,” Kara said, deciding now was as good a time as any. “Since I couldn’t say no to mine. He asked me to marry him.”

Marianne jerked against her, her hand tightening at Kara’s waist. “Say what? He . . . what? You . . . what?”

“New rule: You can’t say ‘what’ for the rest of the day. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes. Don’t tell your parents though. I don’t want them to accidentally spill the beans to Zach. We want to tell him together, in person, when Graham comes home from here.”

“No, of course not. Wow . . . my best friend is getting married.” She paused. “You’re not going to make me wear an ugly bridesmaid’s dress, are you?”

“What, as opposed to your usual haute couture polo and khakis?” Kara laughed. “No, no bridesmaids. Small. Simple.” She thought for a moment. “Actually, I should probably check with Graham first, shouldn’t I? He might have some ideas of his own for the wedding.”

They both looked at each other for a moment, then together said, “Nah.” And laughed.

“God, I’m going to miss you.” She hugged Marianne once more. “Now, they look like they’re about to get started. Should I grab my seat?”

“First, would you mind doing me a favor? Levi is a no-show today. He’s probably in a corner somewhere listening to depressing music and mourning the loss of Nikki. Again.” She rolled her eyes and dug out a key with a temporary plastic tag. “They gave us a storage closet each for supplies. Could you go in there—third door on the left behind the bleachers—and grab the cardboard box labeled ‘gauze’? It’s pretty small, but they’re breaking the huddle so I need to get started and I’m going to run out of gauze soon. Wiggle and jiggle if it doesn’t automatically open.”

“Sure.” She took the key and put it in her pocket. They both watched as the Marines gathered together, hands all gathered up high in the center. Someone in the middle counted down, and together they let out a booming “Oo-rah!”

Kara rubbed up and down her arms as the hairs stood on end. Graham and Brad wandered by, giving her and Marianne a wave before walking toward the locker room to get changed from their street clothes into their boxing uniforms.

“Okay, that gets me, every time.”

Marianne nodded. “Ditto. Thanks, I’ll see you in a sec. Gotta prep the room!” And her friend was off, jogging away in her bright white athletic shoes, blonde hair bouncing from her tiny ponytail. With a smile, Kara walked over to the storage to get the box of gauze. She counted the third from the left, struggled with the key in the lock a little, then struggled to push the door open—well, Marianne had warned her the doors sucked—then walked in. As she felt for a light switch on the side by the door, she sniffed.

“What . . . is . . .” She spotted the small flame in the corner just as the door slammed shut behind her. She turned, fighting to find the doorknob, but in the dark it was nearly impossible. She took a deep breath to yell, but something covered her mouth. A hand, she thought dimly, as she was pulled away from the door.

“Shut up,” a male voice hissed by her ear. “Just shut the f*ck up. I’ll let you go soon, you just have to shut up and stay here awhile.”

Levi. She was 90 percent sure. Between the slender body being pressed up against her and the voice, she would have bet Zach’s tiny college fund on it. She shook her head, trying to tell him who she was, trying to tell him about the fire, trying to get any words out, but he only squeezed her jaw until it hurt.

“Fucking shut up. God, you’re as bad as them. We’re just going to wait until this pile has burned, then we can go out and you can go on your way.”

He’d started the fire? Deliberately? Inside? What the hell was the matter with him? He had to be crazy. She couldn’t tell what exactly the fire was feeding on, but it grew quickly, growing fast, burning in a blackening cardboard box that was surrounded by nothing else on the concrete ground. She was no Smokey the Bear, but even she knew this wasn’t a fail-safe way to contain the flames. Crazy Pants apparently didn’t know that. Or maybe didn’t care . . .

And it was getting hotter. Perspiration beaded her forehead. Behind his smothering hand, it was harder to catch a breath. “Please,” she moaned, though the word was garbled, nearly inaudible.

“Please? Please what? Let you go? Did the Marines let my brother go when he wanted to get out? No, they recalled him. They killed him. They murdered my brother. Why would I let you go?” His voice was low, and as she twisted just a little, she could see him staring intently at the fire, as if needing to see every last bit turn to ash.