Fight For It

by Jessie Harper

  Copyright © 2020 by Jessie Harper and Stolen Barn Books

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The book is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design: Deranged Doctors

  Editing: Tamara Mataya

  Ebook ISBN:978-1-750961-0-0

  Print ISBN:978-1-7350961-1-7

  Created with Vellum

  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

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Sneak Peak: Forget About It (Coming Summer 2020)

  Dedication

  For Ava because everybody needs a cheerleader.

  1

  Julia

  I wake to the familiar weight of Paul's hand splayed across my belly. His arm holds me tightly against his chest, his breath steady and strong against my ear. I arch my back a little, rocking into him. His fingers flex as he nuzzles my neck.

  “Are you awake?" I ask as innocently as possible.

  "It’s a little hard to sleep with your ass grinding into me like that," he teases, beginning to slide his palm up toward the curve of my breast.

  "I wasn't grinding. I was stretching," I protest as I push slightly against him again. Paul grunts and I can feel his erection growing as we lay tangled together, the sun just beginning to rise outside our bedroom window. He kisses along my neck and I angle my head to give him better access. His hand continues to move north, finally reaching my nipple over the thin fabric of my T-shirt. I lean into his touch, stifling a moan. His finger runs over the hard bud of my nipple before grasping a handful of fabric. He eases my shirt up, up, up and manages to have it over my head and me on my back before I have a chance to blink.

  "You have a one-track mind," I scold as he smiles down at me, his blue eyes bright and his hair still mussed from the pillow.

  "Would you prefer two tracks?" He raises both hands in mock surrender before running them both down my sides. He pauses when he reaches the top of my pajama pants and leans in for a kiss. Our lips meet and I open my mouth to taste him, our breath mingling, tongues tangling. His hand reaches between my thighs and my breath catches. I know he can feel the wetness there, knows how much I want him. When he looks at me again it's with a smirk. "You seem like you need a little help with something there."

  "Well, I'm not sure if you're the man to help me with that problem."

  I reach for the front of his boxers. He’s hard and pulsing through the soft fabric and I can't help but give him a squeeze. I work to free him from his clothes as he helps me out of the rest of mine, the next few seconds a blur of arms and legs, greedy hands and searching mouths. We’re both laughing as I slide under him, the warmth of his chest pushing down on mine. I can hear the beeping already, but I ignore it, focusing on the smoothness of Paul's skin, the tickle of his lips on my ear as I shut my eyes tight and will this moment to last.

  But the beeping breaks through. I keep my eyes squeezed shut. No, no, no. Just five more minutes. Please, just a few more minutes of Paul's smell, of his hands on me, of his body pressed to mine.

  But by then it's gone.

  I reach my hand out to touch his side of the bed and my palm slides over cool sheets. Empty. The same way it’s been for the past two years. I hit the top of the alarm clock with an angry fist and the beeping stops. I wipe away the tears that have begun to stream down my face and get ready to start another day without my husband.

  Another morning as a widow.

  "Wow, you weren't kidding about the mess! This place is a disaster." Cassie, my best friend since middle school, wrinkles her nose.

  "Thanks for the confirmation."

  "You weren't planning on unpacking any of this stuff tonight, right?" she asks, looking around the living room. "Because I was planning on testing out your couch." She waves the bottle of champagne she's holding in my direction. "And this isn't going to drink itself."

  I sigh. There's so much work to do. At least the couch is close enough to the front door that we can climb over to it. "Let me see if I can find some glasses."

  Cassie hoots and starts to pick her way over the boxes that cover the floor. "Where are the boys?"

  I rip open one of the boxes marked "kitchen" in black marker.

  "With my parents," I tell her as I sift through the wads of packing paper. "Will these work?" I hold up two empty Mason jars. "I have no idea where the real glasses are."

  "I think those will be perfect! You really prepared to move back home, huh? Mason jars and everything."

  "It isn't like Richmond isn't the South, Cassie. I was only in Virginia."

  "If you say so." She pulls the foil from around the top of the bottle. "At least you're back now. Tennessee missed you. This beats girls’ weekends and phone calls any day."

  I join Cassie on the couch, trying my best not to kick any of the boxes as I go. She's still working on the cork, her brow wrinkling as she twists the bottle. I have missed her. This past year has been hard. Hard enough that I've actually packed up Charlie and Noah and done the unthinkable—I’ve moved back home and down the street from my parents.

  The cork comes out with a resounding pop and Cassie, never one to waste alcohol, doesn't spill even one drop as she pours it into our jars. I look around my new house, its bare walls reminding me that it isn't yet a home. Eventually. Give it time.

  "Here's to... what should we toast to?" Cassie asks with an excitement I wish I felt more of right now. "To fresh starts? New beginnings? To getting the band back together?"

  I hold my makeshift glass up to clink with hers, but I can't bring myself to commit to any celebratory toast.

  "What's wrong?"

  My eyes fill with tears before I can get my emotions under control.

  "Oh no, no crying! This is supposed to be one of those 'hell yeah' moments." Cassie gives me an encouraging nod of her head and her auburn curls bounce around her face. "Right?"

  I wipe at my cheeks and blink back the sadness. "This isn't exactly a triumphant return, Cass."

  "Sure it is. Look at this place. It's going to be gorgeous."

  She's right about that. I've lucked out in the house department. Even though it was built in the 1970s, the place has been completely remodeled with an open floor plan that makes it flow nicely. Granite counters and tall white cabinets line the wall
s of the kitchen, and a big bay window behind the sink looks out onto the play structure in the backyard. And while the large master gives me that familiar pang of loneliness with its double vanity and closet for two, I have to admit that in the middle of a horrible tragedy I’ve somehow managed to come away with my dream house.

  "And the boys start school on Monday, right? Lincoln is supposed to be great." Cassie keeps giving me her pep talk and I keep nodding along. Childless Cassie has no reason to know anything about schools but she's still trying to build this move up as something wonderful, as something that means everything is going to be fine.

  "Right."

  "You've got this."

  I let out the breath I've been holding. "I do." I say it with conviction because even though I'm scared out of my mind I have to fake it until I make it.

  "Then get your stupid Mason jar up here."

  I raise my glass to hers. We let the tops clink together again and when I take a sip of the champagne I do feel better. I'm not ready to conquer the world yet, but right now I don't have much choice. I'm putting one foot in front of the other, whether I like it or not.

  "That fireplace will be great in the winter," Cassie says, kicking off her shoes.

  "Yeah, Paul would have complained about the gas logs. He thinks—he thought a real fire required actual wood."

  Cassie ignores my slip up. "And he probably thought he needed to cut the tree down himself. He was cute, but such an overachiever." She prods me with her big toe. "You okay?"

  "I will be. Just still getting used to it, I guess. I keep expecting him to walk through that door."

  "That door? He wouldn't be able to get in that one, Julia. It's like Fort Knox in here the way you've got this place locked down."

  I give Cassie as much side eye as I can muster. "I don't want to worry about safety."

  "Sure, but do you really need a security system like this one? And all the locks? It's going to take you ten minutes to get back in here every time you run to the grocery store."

  "Better safe than sorry," I parrot back the words my father has said to me a thousand times. I'm here on my own now and I have to keep us all safe. "After Richmond I don't want to take any chances."

  I can see the exact moment Cassie remembers. Her eyes go wide and I know she regrets ever starting down this road. "Oh my God, Julia. I had completely forgotten that. I'm sorry. Just pretend I never said anything."

  I shrug. The break-in was one of those things that added insult to injury. After the shock of losing my husband I thought nothing would give me another jolt for a long time. Surely the universe could see the unfairness in having me come home to the house we shared to find the door kicked in and the place turned upside down. That day took more than just possessions; it left me feeling like all my security had been smoke and mirrors.

  "I'm still a little cautious, that's all."

  "Of course." Cassie waves me off. " You know what this party needs? Mexican food. Are you hungry?"

  "Do you think Fran and Steve are going to dust off their old spy skills now that you're so close?" Cassie asks, sipping on her drink. I raise my glass to hers and laugh. We've switched to margaritas and nachos now that we're out on the town.

  "I doubt it. Mom's pretty busy making her mosaics and Dad's schedule's pretty packed too. You know how much time watching professional sports takes up." I don't tell Cassie that they'll probably be spending big chunks of their time helping me with my kids. So much for my parents' carefree retirement.

  "But you'll warn me if they decide to go on the warpath, right? I still have nightmares about the time they caught us out at that Vanderbilt party."

  Cassie is one of my oldest friends, but my parents see her as nothing but trouble. Unfortunately, they equated most of my teenage rebellion as directly related to our friendship. I was often the instigator in our bad decisions, but my parents preferred to believe that it was wild Cassie who was leading me astray. From smoking cigarettes to sneaking out at night, whenever we got caught Cassie managed to take most of the blame.

  "We were only fifteen. I think now they'll cut us a little slack."

  "What do you think of this place?" Cassie downs the rest of her drink. "It's cute, right? And the food is good. More importantly, they have strong drinks." She gives me a wink.

  "Very cute. Mamacita's is a good name, too. Sounds just gringo enough for around here. But it's a little crowded."

  It seems like the possibility of running into people might be pretty high here and I'm not entirely sure I'm ready for that. I scan the clusters of tables, hoping not to see a familiar face among the twinkling strings of party lights. The space is definitely sporting a trendy vibe. It's the kind of place that I've come to dread since Paul died—a place for good times and shared experiences, not a place for dwelling on all you're missing or the hole in your heart. This restaurant is new, like so many things that have sprung up in the past few years. Being away for a while has made me like a stranger in my hometown and I'm relying on Cassie to show me around.

  Cassie raises one eyebrow at me, her mouth twisting into a smirk. "Afraid of seeing an old flame, are we? Or is it too early to reintroduce yourself to the debate team?"

  "I never dated anyone from the debate team. I was really only with—"

  "Graham." Cassie rolls her eyes. "He kept you pretty busy."

  Just thinking about my high school ex has Cassie growling. They're my two oldest friends and their hatred of each other is legendary. It's lasted almost as long as Cassie and I have been friends. She and I bonded at thirteen, two girls who both had an unhealthy obsession with Prince's Purple Reign—the album and the movie—a good ten years after it was cool. Now Cassie's single and gorgeous since losing her "baby fat" as my mother used to call it. Through middle school, high school, and college, Cass was the chubby one. Great sense of humor, but never the first one picked for kickball or for the prom either. None of that bothers her now. Grown up Cassie’s a woman to be reckoned with.

  "No more memory lane, Miss Homecoming Queen. We're living in the present and we haven't even taken the time to see if there are any interesting prospects here." Cassie scans the bar.

  "I'll help you look, but none for me, thanks."

  "What do you mean 'none for you'?"

  Paul's been dead over two years now and I've been on exactly two dates—both of them disasters. I wasn't ready but had felt pressured to "get back out there." There's no handbook for a young widow and I can already see Cassidy is going to be pushy when it comes to getting me a social life now that I'm home. But my main job right now is being the best mom I can be. Dating only complicates that.

  "I've got too much on my plate."

  "Fine. Then you can be my wingman until you decide to jump back in. You can handle that, can't you? Helping your best, most loyal friend score a few hot dudes? It'll be fun." Cassidy motions to the bartender. "Should we get another round? Happy hour prices, after all..." She sings it more than says it and I know better than to argue.

  "I don't think I'm going to be jumping back in anytime soon."

  Cassie frowns.

  "Come on, Cassie. You only get one great love and I've already had mine."

  "Do not make me reach over there and shake some sense into you," Cassie threatens. "I'll accept the 'getting my life back on track' excuse, even the supermom defense, but not the Disney princess true love business you're throwing around. You know I hate that shit. And you cannot tell me you would be unhappy with something like that."

  Cassie cuts her eyes to the side where a muscular back has just appeared. Broad shoulders, close-cropped dark hair. When he leans against the bar his forearms flex. I can't see an ounce of fat on him anywhere, and Cassie and I are looking. Our stares must be red hot, because before I can avert my gaze and pretend to be checking out the wall of tequila, he turns. Familiar brown eyes meet mine as he smiles. I scroll through my mental Rolodex and come up empty. Still, for the first time in forever I get the slightest zing up my spine.


  "Cassie?"

  Cassie's eyes widen and a smile overtakes her face. "Zach?"

  Cassie moves into the open arms of Mr. Muscular. Once they separate, they both turn to me. "Jules, you remember Zach, right? Zach Winston. From high school."

  I don't. And then I do. A flash of an awkward kid asking me to the homecoming dance. The disappointment on his face when I tell him I already have a date. But the boy I remember looked nothing like the man standing in front of me.

  "You should join us! We can have our own little mini-reunion!" Cassie herds him closer to us.

  "No, I..." Zach hesitates just long enough for Cassie to pounce.

  "Sure you can. Sit, sit." She grabs the stool next to us and starts to pull it over.

  Zach laughs. "No, really, I can't. I'm meeting some guys at the gym. I was only stopping by to grab some takeout."

  "Are you going to work out?" The gym seems like a strange Friday night option, although the way Zach looks now must require some serious workout time.

  "No." He smiles. "I own a gym, well, actually more like a martial arts studio. Sometimes a few of the guys will meet up on off days just to practice a bit."

  "You have a Friday night date to wrestle with a bunch of sweaty dudes?" Cassie wastes no time jumping in.

  "I guess," Zach admits, laughing again. "Don't knock it, Cassie. You want to come and check it out?"

  "No, thank you. But Jules here might be interested. We were just talking about how she needs some self-defense training."