That sent him off on another spasm of giggles.
“He’s on a sugar high,” Killian muttered. “Emma better text soon, or she’s gonna be FaceTiming with a comatose Charlie.”
“He’ll be fine,” she said. “Kids are allowed to gorge on icing and candy for their birthday.”
“Charlie,” Killian prodded after a moment. “I think we forgot one gift.”
Aileen’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious. Another one?”
Charlie’s grin was devilish as he raced into the master bedroom. She raised a brow at Killian, but he merely sent her an innocent shrug and a wink. His son was back a moment later, walking slowly and holding his hands very steady as he traipsed through the discarded, torn paper. Halting before Aileen, he extended his arms for her to take the gift.
“Mine?” she asked him, and he grinned and nodded with so much enthusiasm, it looked like it hurt his neck. “Sit down and help me.”
Charlie sat, but kept his hands to himself as she tore off the paper. In it, she found a framed photo of the article—okay, more of an opinion piece—she’d written after her interview with Trey and Cassie had hit mainstream media. The video had gone viral in under forty-eight hours, with networks calling to beg her for additional unedited versions or asking her to comment on the situation as she’d seen it. She’d declined, though she offered her services freelance, and was making a decent living shuttling herself to and from Phoenix for interviews with the Suns’ head coach and players. She’d written an opinion piece though, which the New York Times had printed.
She’d cried the morning it ran.
“Oh, it’s beautiful.” The heavy silver frame and thick cream mat surrounding the article made her want to cry all over again. “You guys.” She held out an arm to Charlie, who sat back and shook his head. Stunned, she looked to Killian. “What’s wrong?”
“Not quite done. But why don’t you see how it’ll look next to the photo of your parents?” he prodded gently, pointing to the wall where she’d hung the photo from her old studio apartment. It was then she realized he’d shifted the framed photograph of her parents over a few inches to make room for her newly framed article.
She stood and held up the frame, frowning when it clinked. “Something’s loose, I think.” She rotated the frame and found a ring dangling from a ribbon attached to the back of the photo.
Eyes watering, she turned to Killian, who was down on his knees. He took her free hand.
“I know I love you,” he said, reminding her of their words not so long ago. “I know it’s early, but I know you’re the best woman for me. And I know we’ll be happy together. So, marry me?”
“And me!” Charlie shrieked, bouncing on the couch. “You marry us both!”
Carefully, so she didn’t injure the frame, she placed it on the ground by her feet. Then she leaned forward and kissed his lips softly. “You know I’m going to say yes.”
Keep reading for a sneak peek at BELOW THE BELT, the first book in a new series from Jeanette Murray!
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?
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 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 the similar civilian “uniform” of khakis and a button-down polo shirt 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, more wiry built. 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 BOQ 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 packing, 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 set up. 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 was one less fucker 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 and 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 knew who had been stationed at Lejeune, 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 the 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.