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.”
A few guys chuckled at that, including Coach Cartwright.
“I would never do anything to hurt this team. You guys are all awesome, you’re great athletes, damn good guys. So if my past makes problems, I’ll step aside and we can bring up someone else to take my spot. The last thing I want is to be an issue for anyone I care about.”
“We love you, man,” one of the guys said from the back, causing them all to laugh.
“Yeah, yeah.” Greg smirked and shook his head. “Sappy time is over. I just wanted to get that out of the way. I know we’re coming up on some tough shit with whoever is bothering us, targeting our team. I needed you to know that despite the stupid mistakes from when I was a kid, I would do anything to stop the hurt from happening.”
There was silence, and then several heads turned to the right. Greg followed their eye line and found Reagan standing off to the side, leaning against a wall. How had he totally missed her coming in?
Ah, she wasn’t wearing heels, so no clacking across the floor. Wait . . . she wasn’t wearing heels. That had to mean something.
“Uh . . . let’s get to work,” Greg ended with, pretending to shake pom-poms for a little comedic relief. The guys laughed, then stood and started jogging their laps. Greg caught Coach Ace’s eye, who motioned for him to go talk to Reagan. He waved and headed over. “Hey. I looked all over for you during break.”
She nodded. “I heard my voice mails.”
“So . . .” He looked down pointedly at the flats she wore. “What’s going on?”
“Wasn’t in the mood for heels. Grabbed my emergency pair of flats from the trunk.”
The thought made him want to smile. Only his Reagan would consider wearing flats to constitute an emergency situation. “Can we talk after practice? Maybe meet up and grab something at the Exchange food court and—”
“I can’t.” Her eyes drifted closed, and her crossed arms said Don’t touch. Despite that, he wanted to grab her and pull her in. “I lost my security clearance. No tooling around base for me anymore.”
“No,” he breathed. “We can fix this. Maybe if we—”
“You were great.” She smiled, though he saw her lips tremble just a little. “Really. I hope you just did that for you, though.”
He hadn’t. But now that she said it, he admitted it felt good to have the air fully cleared. “Not initially. I need you to stay.”
“I needed to do my job. I chose not to. So I have to start looking for something else.” She sighed and rubbed one temple. God, why did they have to be in the gym right now? He needed to hold her. “I have to pack.”
“What? No.” Fuck being at the gym. He leaned closer, bracing one hand on the wall beside her head. She was so short, it felt, without her heels, even though she was still only a few inches shorter than him. Looking down to converse with her felt wrong. Felt like defeat on her end. “Why would you need to pack?”
“Because I don’t have a job. I can’t afford my apartment without a job. I have to immediately start hunting, and let me tell you,” she added with a huff of unamused laughter, “with only one piece of job experience under my belt—which I was fired from—I’m not optimistic.”
He watched her eyes water, watched her blink the tears back, and felt like bashing his fist through a wall. “Don’t give up. You got fired because of me. Let me fix it.”
“That’s not how this works.” Her ponytail swished around her shoulders as she shook her head. “I just have to . . .” She raised her hands, let them fall to her sides, bouncing lightly off the wall at her back. “Start fresh, or something. Since I don’t know where that will be, I need to be ready to go.”
“Higgs!” Coach Ace boomed behind him. “This isn’t Snuggle Hour, it’s practice. Get a move on!”
He saw her ready to bolt. Saw she was done. And hated—so much hated—that he’d been a part of that. “We’re not done.” He meant it in more ways than one, and by the way her eyes widened, he knew she caught his double meaning.
* * *
THIS is it?
Reagan stared at the contents in the box she’d packed, and wanted to cry. She’d spent months here, and had about one box of things—minus her furniture, shoes and clothes, of course—to show for it. She hadn’t been sightseeing. She hadn’t tried local restaurants. Hell, the beach was ten minutes away and she hadn’t put one toe in the sand.
Because she’d been working. Her job, this job she’d considered the most important thing, had consumed her.
No, not true.
Gregory Higgs. He’d broken her shell, made her look at what she’d thought her life would be like. Made her want to consider something besides making it on her own. She didn’t want to be on her own anymore. She wanted Greg with her.
The corner of something caught her eye. She found a book under her couch she’d forgotten and placed it in the still-not-full box.
At the knock on her door, she praised God she wouldn’t have to stare at the pathetic contents of her independent adult life another minute. Marianne had promised to bring by a few boxes from deliveries to her training room. Which beat the hell out of buying the boxes out of her now finite funds. She’d need about five just for her shoes alone.
“Thank you, God,” she said, unlocking the last latch and swinging the door open. “I so needed . . . Greg.” She froze, blinking. “Uh, hi.”
“Needed me, huh?” He grinned, then leaned down and kissed her. “That’s always good to hear.” Then he skirted by her and into the apartment.
“Come in,” she said with an eye roll and shut the door behind him. After securing the last latch, she leaned her back against the door. “Practice is already over?”
“Had a quick word with Coach Ace and he let me out early.” Greg peered into her one box. “Special circumstance. What’s this box for?”
“Packing. Greg, you can’t just come in and start distracting me. I have stuff to do.”
“Is this for donation, or what’s going on here?” He looked around, but she knew he was likely wondering exactly what was different. Almost nothing, really. The place had had zero personality this morning, and it still had zero personality, even after removing almost all her personal items.
“It’s for me to be ready to go. I have to talk to my landlord in the morning”—if I can find him—“but I should be able to be out by the end of the month with no penalty.”
“Good. This place sucks anyway.”
She started to argue, purely as a defense mechanism, but he stopped her by coming over and gripping her shoulders.
“I want you to move into something safer. I want to move my stuff in there with you. I want to spend every single night in the same bed with you, and not have to run back and forth between my bunk and your bed. And I want to know when you’re here alone, you’re safe.”
“Fantastic. I’ll just reach into my bag of magic cash and make that happen.” Hurt, she shook his hands off. “I’m really not in the best mood tonight, so you should probably go.”
“Can’t do that. Don’t cut me off,” he warned. “I’ve got important things to say and I really only want to say them once.”
Resigned, and knowing if she just gave in, he could leave faster, she sat on the couch. “Fine. What?”
“First off, you were right.”
She held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. “Yay, me. Right about what?”
“We should get in front of it. It’s . . . hard.” Greg swallowed, but this time she wouldn’t go to him to make it easier. “But I took the first step today, and I’m ready.”
“Are you?” She waited a beat, but he didn’t answer, or look at her. “I thought not. Don’t do this because I got fired. Don’t do this because you want to save me. I don’t want saving. I’ve got to figure this out myself.”
“I’m not saving you,” he bit back. “I’m . . . I don’t know. Every time I go over it in my head, it sounds stupid.”
“Say it anyway. Whatever it is. I’m not going to laugh.”
“Maybe . . .” He sighed. “Maybe I’m saving me. Or the old me. I don’t know. It’s like . . . this sixteen-year-old version of me is standing on the other side of some glass, wanting to know life turns out okay even though he’s had shit up to then. Like, that promise that life is better is gonna keep him from making the bad choices later. And me being honest and putting it out there is my way of telling that kid it gets better.”
Okay, that worked. Reagan pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes to keep from bursting into tears. “Why did I have to find you? I wasn’t ready for you.”
She jerked when she felt hands touch her knees, but she didn’t look. Couldn’t look, or the tears would flow freely.
“I don’t think you have to be ready to meet the person you will love. But it happens anyway, and you have to be willing. And I love you.”
She choked on a laugh. It was too much.
“I love that you wear these uptight clothes and those weird bun things in your hair to look all prim and businesslike, but you still wear your sexy heels. I love that you wear those blue slippers Marianne bought you, even when she’s not around, because you promised to. I love that you threw your all into your job, and it broke your heart to lose it, because that meant you were all in.”
She felt his fingers push a strand of hair behind her ear. “You believed it wasn’t me, even after hearing my past. So I’m guessing, even though you might not like me very much right now, you love me, too.”
“You suck,” she whispered. “I was supposed to say it.”
He gently pried her hands away from her eyes. She probably looked like a red-eyed wreck, but he smiled and pretended not to notice. “I’m all ears.”
“I love you,” she whispered. He kissed her softly, and she said it again, though there was no way he could have heard her. She let her fingers roam up his jawline, across his brows, through his short hair, back down to the back of his neck to pull him in tighter.
After another minute of nerve-firing kisses, Reagan pulled away. “This is great, but it doesn’t solve the problem of me being fired. I mean, knowing you love me is fantastic, but I’ve gotta have rent money.”
“You and your shoes will have plenty of space, I promise.” Greg sat back on his heels and reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. “I wrote down as much as I could, from my side of things. If you want to go ahead and use this for quotes or whatever you need, feel free. I figured you’d want to make it more newsy though.”
“‘Newsy’?” she said, raising one brow and unfolding the paper.
“Hey, it could be a word.”
She quickly scanned the sheet. “This is all the stuff you told me. The whole . . . oh, Greg.” Her eyes watered. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. It’s good for you, but it’s definitely the right thing for me.”
She sighed and refolded it. “I’m not sure this is the right job for me, honestly. Maybe I shouldn’t even fight to keep it. I could . . .” She raised a shoulder. “I don’t know, get a job as a cashier at the Piggly Wiggly.”
“Reagan Robilard.” His voice had some snap to it, and she looked at him in surprise. “You did not come three thousand miles to be a cashier. Maybe this isn’t your dream job after all. Most people don’t find it the first time out. But you’re not giving up. You’re not walking away from this job having been fired. Get your job back, and we can talk about the rest as it comes.” He started to smile, slowly. “Besides, after the season’s over, I’m hoping you’ll come back with me, anyway.”
“Come back . . . to California?” She blinked. “Seriously?”
“Hell yeah.” He kissed her again. “I don’t want to be away from you. Just think about it.”
He left to head to the kitchen for some water, and her mind started to dance.
* * *
TWO days later, Greg pulled open the door to Back Gate, letting Reagan in ahead of him. From the back, he heard their friends let out a wild greeting, all raising a glass.
Marianne and Kara jumped up and ran to hug Reagan. “Sit down! Sit, sit, sit,” Kara said, dragging Reagan with them to their table. “We ordered you a drink, we weren’t going to wait.”
“That’s fine.” Flushed and grinning, he watched Reagan sit and lean into her friend’s side hug. He loved seeing her so damn happy.
“So?” Marianne leaned forward, arms crossed over the table. “How’d the meeting go?”
Reagan glanced between her friends, then Brad and Graham, before landing her gaze on him. “Do you want to tell it?”
“Hell no, it’s your story. You tell it.”
“Someone tell it!” Kara said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I told the babysitter I’d only be gone two hours.”
Graham opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of the idea and shut it again.
“Well, I . . . oh, thank you.” Reagan paused to smile at the waitress, who set her drink down on a napkin.
The group groaned.
She took a small sip of the light beer and closed her eyes in bliss. “Mmm, good choice, ladies.”
Brad growled. “How the hell do you put up with this?” he asked.
Greg just smiled and shook his head.
“So, I showed up, my article in hand, at the office. My supervisor didn’t want to see me at first.”
“Asshole,” Graham muttered. Kara nodded in agreement.
“But I convinced him it was worth his time. He got all excited I’d ‘pried’ the story out of Greg.” She grinned at that. “Pried. Right. Anyway, so I say that it’s a good one, and I’d love to let him have it, since it would help the team. And I’m a team player,” she added seriously.
“Of course. Go on,” Greg encouraged.
“But when he just held out his hand, and I didn’t give it over, he got all flustered. I said it was conditional on having my job back. And he got frustrated and said this wasn’t how team players worked. And when I reminded him I got kicked off the ‘team,’ he got angry.”
“Nice,” Brad murmured.
“So after some negotiating, he agreed I would come back, just for the rest of the boxing season. Once that’s over, he can find someone else for the next season. He’s right, this isn’t where I belong in the long haul.” She looked at Greg then, and his heart swelled. “I’m not sure exactly where I do belong, geographically, but I think I’m not on the right coast.”
“Right coast,” Kara repeated, confused a moment. “You mean, east versus west coast? Oh,” she added, looking between him and Reagan. “Oh!”
“I might end up seeing what my prospects are like in California.” She shrugged, as if no big deal, and took another sip. “This really is tasty.”
“And that’s her version of a mic drop, ladies and gentlemen.” Graham clapped, startling a few patrons at surrounding tables, causing them all to laugh. “Well played, Ms. Athlete Liaison.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Reagan nodded her head regally at the congratulations. “So for my first job out of school . . . I wouldn’t call it an unqualified success, but I definitely got more out of it than I anticipated.”
“Experience?” Mariane asked, eyes twinkling. Brad nuzzled at her temple.
“Oh, definitely.” Reagan nodded quickly.
“New and exciting opportunities,” Kara added, and Graham stared at her so intently—not that Kara noticed—that Greg felt a little drop in his own belly for his friend’s intense longing.
“No doubt.” Reagan squeezed Greg’s knee under the table. She turned to look at him. “And a new appreciation for what the word ‘independent’ looks like in practice, not just theory.”
“They’re gonna kiss now,” Graham anticipated. “Let’s talk amongst ourselves while they’re over there being gross.”
“Ignore them,” Greg said under his breath, pulling her chair closer to his so he could give her a long, slow kiss. Without breaking contact with Reagan, he flipped off his groaning friends.
“Love you,” Reagan whispered as they pulled an inch apart. His heart clenched, and he prayed he never learned to take those words for granted. “Now, how long before we can get out of here? I have a lot of shoes to pack.”
He laughed, pulled her close, and mentally sent another mental message to his sixteen-year-old self.
Yeah. It really does get better. The best is coming up. Just hang on.