“Fine,” I say to Buddy, “just one piece, but don’t tell anyone.”
I toss him a small sliver of ham. He jumps and catches it in the air. I’m scraping the last plate and closing the dishwasher when Felix walks in.
“Griffin, you have a visitor.”
I frown. “Maver—uh, Ms. Frayer? From the farm?”
“No. Your uncle.”
“Oh.” I wipe my hands on a cloth. “Is that allowed?”
“Family visitation is allowed. Do you not want to see him?”
I don’t, but he’s family. My only family. “Yeah, I guess I’m just surprised he showed up.”
Which makes me suspicious.
Buddy follows me down the hall and I see James standing by the door. He looks a little tired, like he hasn’t been sleeping. Although he looks happy to see me, his eyes immediately dart down to Buddy and he frowns.
“Hey, nephew,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “What’s with the dog?”
Buddy hangs back a little and his tail stops wagging. “One of the animals I’m helping with at the farm. Come on,” I say, grabbing my coat and Buddy’s leash. “He needs to go outside.”
I didn’t really want James in the house.
Buddy perks up when he sees the leash and I clip it to this collar. We head out on the porch and down into the yard.
“Is that part of your therapy or something? Forcing you to take care of an animal to repent for your crimes.”
“No,” I say, but then reconsider. “Yeah, I am doing my hours at the farm because of the crime, but Buddy is different. He’s a rescue and kind of bonded to me.”
“He looks sturdy, like he’d be good in a fight.”
Anger flashes through me. “He’s been through enough—no one is fighting him.”
James holds up his hands. “Just making conversation. Man, they’re getting to you, aren’t they?”
I run my hand through my hair. “What are you doing here, James?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Just coming by to check on you. That’s my job, you know? It’s been twelve days, and I thought I’d see how you were holding up.”
Twelve days. That means I only have eighteen more. The realization brings out conflicting emotions. Something that seemed like an eternity two weeks ago, now suddenly feels too short.
“I’m fine,” I say. “It hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be.”
“I’m sure you’ll be ready to get back home. Back to work.”
I watch Buddy sniff around the perimeter of the yard. “Yeah, about that. Don’t you think I should probably get my own place soon?”
Frowns. “Why would you do that?”
“I’m a grown man, James. Baseball didn’t work out. Crime didn’t work out. I think it’s time for me to get a legitimate job.”
“Man, I knew they’d push you hard out here, but I didn’t think you’d totally sell out. You may not think my business is legitimate, but it pays the bills. If you’d gone to the Farm Leagues out of high school like I’d told you to, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. But no—you had to try to play college ball. Follow your father’s dream. Now you’re telling me you’re abandoning me?”
Logically I know I shouldn’t, but when James talks like this I feel bad. Shameful. I let him down. I let my dad down. Nothing I do is right.
Buddy looks up at me and I swear he smiles.
Well, almost nothing. I helped save Buddy and that feels pretty good.
“I’m not abandoning you,” I say. “But I’m done with that life. I’m not going to prison. Judge Johnson was serious, and the time is serious. I got lucky, and I’m not going to blow it.”
He shakes his head. “No one is going to prison, Griff. Listen, I’ve got something planned for when you get out. Legal. Easy. We’ll make money fast.”
Apprehension twists in chest—he just never listens. Won’t take no for an answer. I try again. “Like I said, I think I’ll be going on my own way.”
He looks hurt. “So family means nothing to you? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No.”
“Then you’re just going to leave me high and dry. Because this job, it’s completely legit, but I can’t do it on my own.”
Guilt, no matter how foolish, washes over me.
“You’re sure it’s legal?”
He smiles, showing his chipped tooth, that he proudly got in a fight at one of my games. “Absolutely.”
I think for a long moment, knowing I need to tell him that I’m out. I’m done, but that’s not what I say, “One job, but I’m moving out. And after that, nothing else, got it?”
He sticks out his hand and I shake it. “You’re a good kid, you know that?”
I don’t respond. I just look down at Buddy, who gazes at me adoringly, unaware of how stupid I am. I thought the guilt from people was bad enough, but from a dog? It’s the worst.
20
Mave
“Hold on to his leash,” I say, doing the same with Lolly. I’ve decided it’s time to introduce Buddy to the other dog. So far, he hasn’t shown any aggression to other animals, but it’s always a consideration with dogs that have been in fights.
Griffin loops the leash around his wrist, that forearm muscle taunting me. “I’m ready,” he says.
Buddy seems nervous at first, warily watching Lolly as she steps forward. Admittedly, my dog isn’t used to being leashed. She has the run of the place. But she’s also got good instincts and as she approaches Buddy carefully, she moves with small, safe steps.
Buddy whines and Griffin’s eyes dart to mine. “Is that bad?”
“No, he’s curious. That’s not a problem.” Buddy looks up at Griffin, his tail wagging slightly. “Another good sign.”
A few sniffs later, and some false aggression, and the two are happily checking one another out. Griffin looks relieved.
“I’ve been reading up on rescuing fighting dogs. I was worried…”
“That we’d have to put him down?”
“Yeah,” he bends and gets down on the ground near the dogs. The action makes his cuffs rise and I see the ankle monitor—a reminder of why he’s here. Buddy and Lolly both lick his face. “That would’ve been terrible.”
“We got Buddy out pretty fast—his temperament isn’t right. Neither was Lolly’s. They don’t last long enough in the gaming system to be too damaged.” I don’t finish the statement. The real damage is that they are likely killed before they’re permanently changed.
He looks up at me, that sadness I know so well flickering in his eyes. He moves to stand, and I offer him my hand. He takes it and I help him off the ground while the two dogs do their best to keep him down.
“Thanks,” he says, fingers lingering on mine. It’s been like this the past few days. Innocent touches, spending more time together. Some of it’s just because he’s staying here, but it’s more than that. Every time I see him, my heart stutters, and I get a little sweaty.
I turn away, putting a little distance between us.
“If we’re done for the day, I think I’m going to head back to the house tonight.”
“Oh, sure.” I unhook Lolly’s leash. “Do you have a meeting?”
“No. My team’s in the semi-finals tonight. I wanted to watch the game.”
“The baseball game?” I ask stupidly, because duh.
“Yeah. I may not play anymore, but I still watch.”
“That’s fine—we’re done, other than the late-night stuff.” I hesitate, fully aware I’m not ready for him to go. “But if you want, you can watch the game here.”
His eyebrow lifts along with the edges of his mouth. “Yeah?”
“Sure.” I walk toward the barn door. “Paul would probably love to have someone to hang out with.”
His eyes, which had lit up when I invited him, seem to darken. “Great. Paul and I can hang out. Sounds good.”
I didn’t mean it like that—like I’m ditching him on my brother, but this is
new for me, awkward and uncomfortable. I’m better pushing people away than pulling them in.
“Let me do a few more things out here and I’ll clean up and come over in a while.”
“Come for dinner,” I blurt. “You know, if you want. In the house.”
Usually he eats in his room.
This time he smiles all the way and it’s shattering. “That would be nice.”
I give him a tight smile and call Lolly to follow me, getting away from Griffin McGuire as fast as possible. I’d invited him to the house, for dinner and the game. It’s not a big deal for some, but it is for me, and I need to get out of there before I sabotage myself.
I’m not prepared when Griffin shows up smelling clean and wearing a worn university baseball shirt that looks soft and comfortable enough to sleep in.
His eyes sweep over me, and I hope it doesn’t show I took an extra minute on my outfit—nothing major—just clean jeans and a nicer shirt than I normally wear around the farm. I may have put on a little makeup, too.
Ugh, what’s wrong with me?
“Paul cooked,” I say apologetically, “which means any dreams of greasy ball-park food are dashed, but I did find some chips to give it a more game-like feel.”
“I’m not picky,” he says, shutting the door behind him. He sniffs the air. “What’s that smell?”
“Baked chicken?”
He steps forward and leans toward me, sniffing my hair. “There it is. That shampoo, it’s incredible.”
Did he just sniff me?
Am I flattered?
Seriously, what’s wrong with me?
“Well, I’m sure it’s an improvement over wet dog and Hamilton, but it’s nothing major.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t ever smell bad. I like your shampoo. I’ve noticed it before.”
The same way I’ve noticed that his sweaty skin doesn’t smell repulsive like my brother’s does?
“Hey man,” Paul says from the kitchen. “I’ll have this ready in a minute.”
“Need any help?” Griffin asks, easing past me. Buddy follows a foot behind, not wanting him out of his sight.
I know the feeling.
We eat in front of the TV, everything healthy but my bag of chips. The game is an exciting one and I don’t know much about baseball. Griffin happily fills me in.
“How old were you when you started playing?” I ask. Paul is stretched out on my grandfather’s old recliner, half asleep. Griffin sits on the floor with Buddy, rubbing his ears.
“About seven. I tried a few sports before that. My dad was into soccer, but it didn’t hold my interest.”
“But baseball did?”
“Yeah, there’s something about the intricateness that I like—it seems slow, but it’s very strategic—methodical. Pitching more than any other position.”
His face brightens when he talks about it.
“I’m sorry you had to give it up.”
“I didn’t have to…not technically. I just couldn’t bring myself to walk on the field anymore and give my best. It wasn’t fair to the rest of the team or my coaches. Definitely not the school paying for my scholarship.”
The ninth inning rolls around and the home team ties the game.
“Extra innings?” Paul says, sitting up. “I’m out—let me know the score in the morning.”
“Thanks for dinner,” Griffin says.
“Night, bro.”
“Goodnight, Sis.” He walks past me and ruffles my hair, eyes darting between me and Griffin. His look is pointed, carrying a deeper meaning. I’m not sure what it means.
Go for it?
Stay away?
Leaving us alone like this isn’t exactly a red light.
Whatever it meant, he’s gone, stopping in the kitchen for a water bottle and then climbing the stairs with heavy footsteps.
“You can go too,” Griffin says, “if you want.”
“I’m used to late nights—with the puppies and kittens. I don’t sleep much.”
“Do you need to feed them now?”
I’ve secured the puppies in a back room. They spend most of the day playing and sleeping. “They’ve moved on to solid food now, they’re good.”
Griffin gives Buddy’s head one last rub and he stands, crossing the room and sitting next to me on the couch. His foot props on the coffee table and I see the black band of plastic.
“Is it a pain wearing that?”
He automatically shifts his jeans down. “It’s annoying, but I can’t complain. The alternative is worse.”
“The alternative—prison?”
“Yeah. The sentence isn’t long—less than a year, but I don’t want to go. That’s not the life I want to lead.”
I believe him. Thinking of Griffin locked up…it’s difficult.
“My mom was in jail once,” I confess suddenly. “We didn’t go see her. My grandparents thought it was a bad idea.”
He frowns. “I didn’t know that. That must’ve been rough.”
I shrug. “I guess. In a way it was easier—at least when she was in jail, we knew where she was. Other times…she just vanished. It was hard to know.” He watches me closely and my skin itches from revealing this part of my life—my story. “She was an addict. It sucked.”
“I can’t imagine, Maverick.”
“She stole from my grandparents, from me and Paul. She’d blow in, pretend to be better and then rob our piggy banks. Every time I saw her, I felt mixed emotions.” I stare at the TV, the game has restarted, but Griffin, his eyes are on me. I can feel them. “I didn’t trust her. I didn’t trust her not to steal from us. Or to come back home. Or to stay clean. I didn’t trust that she’d changed, because she never did.”
I glance over and see his set jaw and the way his hands ball at his sides. My heart pounds, the truth flowing out of me, like a dam breaking. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes and I stare down at my lap. A moment passes before I feel the couch shift, and Griffin moves closer to me.
One hand runs behind my neck and the other lifts my chin. I’m embarrassed but look him in the eye.
“I can’t imagine going through all of that, Maverick. Not knowing from one day to the next what you’re dealing with. The instability and uncertainty.” His thumb grazes my jaw. “Trusting people must be very difficult and I understand a little better why letting me come here—on the farm and in your house—was so difficult.”
A tear escapes and he wipes it away.
“Thank you for giving me a chance. I didn’t deserve it, but you gave it to me anyway.”
I’m speechless but he doesn’t press, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me against his side. He’s warm. Strong. And despite all my instincts—safe.
We watch the rest of the game like that; close and comfortable, dogs sitting at our feet, and I wonder if I’ve been wrong all along.
Maybe people can change; I just haven’t been giving them a chance.
21
Griffin
I lift the fifty-pound bag and hoist it over my shoulder with a grunt.
“Now I know why you brought me with you,” I say, lowering it onto the cart. Maverick and I are at the feed store, stocking up on a few supplies. “Manual labor.”
She smiles and reaches out to tweak my bicep. “Just keeping you in shape.”
Her touch creates a spark—one I suppress. More and more, I’m fighting a physical reaction to Maverick and when she smiles at me, or touches me, I feel my resolve crumbling.
I rub my back. “Well, you’re going to have to send me to the physical therapist when my back gives out.”
“Please, I bet you could lift twice that much.”
She’s right. I probably could, but messing with her is more fun.
I get behind the cart, pushing it along as she points to each item she wants. I grab each one, perfectly willing to be at her beck and call—I’m just happy to spend time alone with her—even if it means I’m lugging around giant bags of animal food.
At the register, I wait while the clerk totals up the order.
“Seven-eighty-five,” the freckled-faced teenager says.
Mave pulls out a credit card and says, “See if that one works.”
The kid runs it and the transaction processes. Mave breathes a sigh of relief.
“That was really expensive,” I say, pushing the cart through the sliding doors.
“Running a farm where everyone eats nonstop takes a lot of money. Add in medicine, vet visits, and everything else…it adds up.”
I look out in the parking lot toward the truck and see a man standing by the window. Lolly and Buddy are inside the cab, barking loudly.
The man looks my way. I stop abruptly and instinctively pull my cap down.
“Maverick, we need to go back inside.”
“Why?” She looks toward the truck. “Who is that? Why is he standing there?”
I swallow and look at her. “Do you trust me?”
It’s a loaded question—one I’m not sure how she’ll answer. I look at her pleadingly.
I’m shocked when she replies, “Yes.”
We maintain eye contact as we both process her answer, before I say, “For the safety of the dogs and your reputation, please go inside. I promise I’ll tell you everything.”
Worry lines cross her forehead, but she nods and takes a step back into the store.
He stands by the window a few minutes longer but eventually walks in the opposite door. Once he’s in, we step back out, barely missing him. I push the cart over to the truck and quickly load it up.
“Start the truck,” I say, tossing her the keys.
She opens the door, the dogs thrilled to see her, and cranks the engine. A moment later I get in the passenger side.
“Talk,” she says. “Now.”
The dogs are wound up and Buddy licks my face. “Can we go somewhere to let the dogs out? I don’t think we should go right back to the Farm.”
She nods and drives a few blocks, turning down a road that I know leads to a park. A few minutes later we let the dogs out and let them run into the fenced dog area. She pulls down the tailgate and sits on it, patting the spot beside her.
Rescuing the Bad Boy: Bad Boy Sweet Romance (Last Chance at Love Book 1) Page 9