Fight Dirty: A Dawson Family Novel

by Goodwin, Emily

  Fight Dirty

  A Dawson Family Novel

  Emily Goodwin

  Fight Dirty

  A Dawson Family Novel

  Copyright 2019

  Emily Goodwin

  Cover photography by Braadyn Penrod

  Editing by My Brother’s Editor

  Proofing by Contagious Edits

  * * *

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or places is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  To those who still believe in magic (and to Binx)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Thank you

  About the Author

  Also by Emily Goodwin

  Chapter 1

  Charlie

  Maybe there is a rational explanation for all of this.

  I twist my ring around my finger and pull it off my knuckle. Tears blur my eyes as I stare out at the water. Happy people walk the path behind me, and the air is full of typical New York City sounds.

  Cars honking.

  People laughing.

  People arguing.

  Music playing.

  Hearts breaking.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and a fat tear rolls down my cheek. Of course today of all days, I chose not to wear waterproof mascara. I look up, blinking back the tears. The only thing worse than crying in public is going back to work and having people ask me about it.

  Though there’s a good chance I can’t go back. That I won’t be able to bring myself to walk through that set of double doors, across the busy lobby, and press the elevator button to take me up to the office.

  Because he’s there.

  And I know there’s not a rational explanation for all of this.

  Part of me wishes I hadn’t seen what I did. I wouldn’t be standing here in the middle of Central Park debating if throwing myself off this bridge is a better option than facing the truth. I wouldn’t be desperately trying to patch my heart back together before it falls into a million pieces too little to gather up and glue into place.

  And I wouldn’t feel so stupid, because I should have seen this coming.

  He’d postponed the wedding twice. Went out for drinks “with the guys” when I knew the guys hadn’t made plans to go out. Yet…I wanted to trust him. I wanted to get married and have a fairytale life.

  I’m living a fairytale, all right. Just not the kind with a happy ending.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  I whirl around, bumping my knee on the side of the bridge, and see a homeless woman making her way over. There are a tragic number of homeless people in the city, but I’m a bit familiar with this woman. I’ve seen her on my morning runs through the park, and I gave her a coat, boots, gloves, and a hat last winter.

  There’s something about her that made her stand out to me, and it’s not just because she slightly reminds me of the Bird Lady from the second Home Alone movie. One of the things that shocked me the most when I first moved from Eastwood to NYC was how easily people walk by and ignore the less fortunate.

  And this woman…for some reason, I noticed her. And then noticed her again. She’s not that much older than me and I can’t help but wonder what happened in her life that led her to be in this situation.

  “Do what?” I sniffle.

  “Throw expensive jewelry into the water like that old bitch from the Titanic.”

  I don’t have a response to that. I push the ring back on my finger and try to blot up a tear with my finger. It doesn’t work.

  “If you’re just going to throw it away, you can give it to me.” She shuffles a bit closer. “I’ll pawn it and use the money for booze,” she admits with a shrug and then laughs. “Well, not all of the money. But a lot of it.”

  I blink a few times and try to get my head back on straight. “Are you hungry?” I ask her and she nods. “Want to get something to eat? I could really use some company right now.”

  * * *

  The homeless woman—whose name is Jolene—rips into the bread that’s in a basket in the center of the table. “So, did he cheat on you?” She dips the bread into her pasta sauce and takes a bite. I haven’t said much since we sat down at my favorite Italian restaurant. Out of habit, I ordered my usual pasta dish with the world’s best side-salad.

  Once the food came, the smell of the creamy pasta sauce soured my stomach. He was with me the first time we came here, discovering this little gem of a restaurant tucked behind a cell phone store. I ordered tea instead, but haven’t been able to bring myself to even take a drink yet.

  “Yes,” I admit, and my throat closes up. Memories flash before me, just like they do when your life is ending. I squeeze my eyes closed and take a deep breath as guilt starts to creep down my neck. I’m sitting here feeling like my life is over. Like there’s no way I can recover from this. Like everything is too much of a mess to even try.

  But I’m alive. I’m healthy. I have a job and a place to sleep tonight. Still, I can’t help the pain that’s radiating through me.

  And the anger.

  “You walk in on it or something?” Jolene asks and I shake my head.

  “I wasn’t snooping,” I start, turning the white teacup around on the saucer. Steam billows up out of the cup. “I ran home to feed Tulip and then couldn’t remember where I left my phone.” I pick up the lemon wedge and slowly squeeze it over my tea. “So I grabbed his iPad to text myself, you know, so I’d hear my phone dinging. And then I saw the texts from his assistant. I know you can’t always interpret things in print the way they might be implied in real life, but there’s only one way I miss your cock and I want you inside me again can be taken.”

  “That lying, cheating bastard doesn’t deserve you.” She breaks off another chunk of bread. “You’re pretty, for starters.” Slowly running her eyes over me, she mops up more sauce with the bread. “And you’re kind. I don’t see that a lot…especially from lawyers.”

  “How do you know I’m a lawyer?”

  “Lucky guess.” She smiles, showing off crooked and yellowed teeth. “And I’ve seen you carrying files with that fancy agency name on it.”

  “Oh.” I smile back. “I was beginning to think you were psychic or something.”

  “Or something is right. Are you a public defender or something noble like that?”
<
br />   I shake my head. “I mostly do real estate law. Nothing too noble; well, I did win a case a few months ago against a slum lord whose building wasn’t up to code and was overcharging the tenants.”

  I wrap my fingers around the teacup and pick it up. My mouth is dry, and my stomach clenched the moment I saw the texts and hasn’t relaxed. I’m afraid if I put anything in there it’ll just chuck it right back up.

  “That’s cool.” She spends a few minutes eating in silence. Once her plate is almost clear, she eyes my pasta. I slide it to her, and she digs in. “What are you going to do?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re breaking up with the asshole, right?”

  My head bobs up and down. I can’t go back to the way things were. Some people can forgive a spouse for cheating, but I’m not that kind of person. Maybe if we had kids to consider, but we haven’t even walked down the aisle yet.

  “We work together,” I whisper, feeling like I’m going to barf. Or cry. Or stand up, flip the table, and scream bloody murder. “And the…the other woman is his assistant.”

  “Oh shit, that’s some reality TV drama.”

  “Yeah.” My mind goes to Gemma, and I just don’t understand what she has that I don’t. What would draw him to cheat? She’s only a few years younger than me, is rather plain-looking, and couldn’t get into law school. She’s always been nice enough to me, but she knows—she fucking knows—she’s taking part in an affair.

  “I just feel so stupid,” I say in a small voice. Tears blur my eyes and my throat tightens. I pick up the tea and take a small sip, hoping swallowing something other than bile will keep me from puking. I squeeze my eyes closed and repress everything I’m feeling.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell Jolene.

  “Don’t be.” She twirls noodles around on her fork. “It’s easier to talk to someone who doesn’t know you, who won’t judge you or whose judgment doesn’t matter than it is to talk to someone close sometimes.”

  “That’s really accurate right now. But still, I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs. “If listening to you talk means I get some fancy food then by all means, keep talking.”

  I take another drink of tea and lean back, looking around the restaurant. People are carrying on like they didn’t just find out everything they’ve built their lives around was a sham.

  “How long you think the asshole’s been cheating on you?”

  I shake my head, wiping away a tear before it has a chance to run down my cheek. “I’m not sure.” Todd’s been working on a case for a big client for the last month. He’s stayed late a lot over that time, but since I knew the case was legit, I didn’t think much of it. His uncle is a partner at our firm and is how Todd got the job…and how he was able to get in on such a big case so soon.

  “So,” Jolene says again. “What are you going to do?”

  * * *

  I stick the spoon back into the tub of ice cream, digging around for a piece of cookie dough. Jolene’s question stuck with me as I started to walk back to work. Back to where he was. And my pain started to turn into anger.

  What are you going to do?

  I wasn’t going to go back to work and stare at little miss redhead’s face acting like everything was okay. And I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t go ape-shit once I got back to the office. So I called in sick, saying I got food poisoning. Todd texted me not long after that, asking if I was okay and telling me he’d be late.

  Because he’ll be screwing his secretary on top of his desk.

  Okay, he didn’t say that, but it’s what’s going on, I’m sure.

  It’s nine-thirty at night, and the door to our apartment opens. Tulip, my black-and-white cat, growls when Todd walks inside. She’s never liked him, and now I’m wishing I listened to her. Though that cat doesn’t like anyone but me.

  “Hey, babe.” Todd tosses his keys in the bowl on the entryway table. Our apartment is small, way overpriced, and perfectly New York chic. It’s what young lawyers new to the city are supposed to live in…well, if you’re going off what you see on TV. “Feeling better?”

  I trade my spoon for the bottle of wine I have wedged between the couch cushions. “I’m getting there.” I close my eyes and welcome the dry red wine down my throat. “How was work?”

  “Ugh,” he starts and takes off his shoes. It’s one of my few rules I put in place about living together. Take off your shoes when you walk in. Those things have been all over the city and it’s gross. I’m not a germaphobe by any means, but you can’t argue with the nastiness tracked in on the soles of your shoes when you’ve been on the subway.

  Todd always hated it and often forgot to take his shoes off.

  “This case is a tough one. Both sides have solid arguments.”

  “Those are the best cases.” I take another drink of wine. “As long as your side is stronger.”

  “Oh, it will be.” He hangs his jacket on the back of a chair before coming into the living room. His eyes go to the ice cream and wine on the couch. “I thought your stomach was upset.”

  “It was. This helps.”

  “Really? Dairy is one of the worst things you can eat when you’re sick.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” I shove the wine between the cushions again and go back to the ice cream. My heart radiates with pain, and the speech I had planned fizzles in my mind. I can call him out, tell him that I know he’s been unfaithful, and then what? He’ll give me a million excuses, all of them bullshit, and try to convince me it was somehow my fault.

  He sits on the couch next to me, eyes filled with concern. I clench my jaw, not sure how he’s able to do this. How can you act like you care when you’re cheating?

  There’s no way I can deny this. He’s cheating on me.

  And sitting here like nothing is wrong.

  My chest tightens and all the ice cream and wine slosh around in my stomach. I squeeze my eyes closed, words burning on my tongue. Tears leak out of my eyes, running down my cheeks.

  It’s funny, how you think you’d react if you were in this situation. I never thought I’d go mute, sitting here unable to make myself say the words. Yet here I am.

  “I’m going to shower,” he tells me. “Feel better, babe.” He gets up, going through our little living room to the only bedroom.

  What are you going to do?

  “Wait,” I say and move the ice cream to the coffee table. Tulip raises her head, sniffing the air as she stares at the tub of ice cream. Something sparks inside of me, lighting a strength I didn’t know I had.

  “Yeah?”

  I swallow hard, clenching my fingers into my palms. I look right into Todd’s eyes. “I know.”

  Chapter 2

  Owen

  And then there was one.

  I pop the top to my beer and sit at the kitchen table, looking around at my siblings, who’ve each been happily paired off. All I can think is suckers. Being stuck with the same person for the rest of your life? No fucking way. I’m a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy, though I always make sure to lay out my no-strings-attached ground rules from the start. I’m a player, not an asshole, and I love playing the game of getting new pussy almost every single day of the week. I don’t have to listen to anyone, get to do what I want to do, and have a damn good life.

  Logan, my twin, puts his arm around his wife, smiling down at her before she takes a seat across from me. Maybe it would be nice to have someone like—nope.

  It’s the single life for me.

  I’m happy with how things are. I have three nieces and one pretty cool nephew, and I love being an uncle. I get the best of both worlds: spend time with my family and then give the kids back to their parents so I can go out for the night. Or stay in and play video games, watch TV, or do whatever the hell else I want.

  “Can you hold Arya for me for a minute?” Quinn, my sister, asks. “I have to pee.”

  “Sure,” I tell her and take the sleeping baby from her arms. Arya’s only
a few months old but looks like a Dawson already, with dark hair and eyes a deep shade of blue that will no doubt fade to a soft green just like her mother’s.

  “You look good with a baby in your arms.”

  I look up to see Danielle smirking at me. Shaking my head, I roll my eyes. “Stop imagining me as Logan. It’s creepy.”

  She holds up her hands. “Busted,” she laughs. “Though really. You do.”

  “I look good no matter what.”

  “Just not as good as me,” Logan quips. We’re identical twins and can fool just about everyone but our close family when we try to switch identities. It got us into—and out of—trouble more times than I can count when we were younger.

  Macie, my mom’s newest rescue dog, barks and wakes up Arya. Her little eyes fly open and she looks up at me, realizes her mom isn’t holding her anymore, and scrunches up her face, getting ready to let out a cry. I stand up and gently rock her as I tell her it’s going to be okay.

  Her eyes flutter closed, and she goes back to sleep. Crisis averted.

  “You’re a natural,” Mom says, coming over to the table with a bottle of wine. Danielle reaches for it, filling up her glass and passing it to Kara, my other sister-in-law.

  “Chicks dig me,” I retort with a cheeky grin.

  Mom rolls her eyes and calls Dad to come out of his office. Always working, Dad grumbles something about going over a client file for the morning but joins us. Quinn comes back, taking a seat next to me and telling me I can keep holding Arya since she’s sound asleep in my arms.