The Final Fight (Fighting Series Book 8)

by JB Salsbury

  Twenty-six

  Braeden

  “Just drink it!”

  I knock the offered water bottle out of my face and continue to rock back and forth in the fetal position.

  AJ rolls her eyes and crouches down on the grass next to me. “You’re dehydrated.”

  “No, really? Thanks for the prognosis, Dr. Obvious.” The gut cramps coil once more, and I’m racked with another round of dry heaves.

  “I don’t remember you being so stupid.”

  “I don’t”—another heave— “remember you being so”—and another. “Aw, fuck.” I’m never drinking again. Or eating. Or moving.

  “Hmm, you were saying . . .?” She cups a hand to her ear. “I’m waiting. I expect this one will be a doozie.”

  “So annoying!”

  She crunches up one side of her face. “That was pathetic.” She tilts her head back and squeezes a liberal amount of water into her mouth then drops to her ass and stares at the passing cars.

  We decided we’d just take a quick jog around the neighborhood. “It’s all flat,” she said. “It’ll be easy,” she said. Now the neighbors are getting a good view of the inside of my stomach.

  As soon as the burning in my lungs, convulsions, and nausea pass, I roll over on my back, grateful for the bit of shade offered by the tree I chose to drop dead under.

  “Better?”

  “Shut it.” I knew when she walked out the door I should’ve slammed and locked it behind her. “I quit.”

  “You can’t quit. You promised.”

  “I didn’t promise shit. Are we done?”

  “No.” She stands and offers me a hand. I don’t think she does it on purpose, but she’s reaching for my bad side.

  I use my good arm to grab hers and pull myself up, spit one more time, then wipe my mouth with my shirt.

  She starts walking down the sidewalk, so I follow and then pull up beside her. “Why can’t you use it?”

  “That’s not a serious question, right?” I throw her own words back at her.

  She stops walking and looks up at me. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

  “It’s all fucked up, see?” I motion to my gimp arm like a Price Is Right model.

  “Is the inside fucked up too?”

  “It won’t straighten all the way.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “Of course I’ve tried.” I start walking as the flare of anger builds in my chest.

  She catches up to me, but doesn’t speak, thank God.

  “Have you tried hard?”

  I stop again. “What is wrong with you?”

  “It’s just a question.”

  “Leave it alone!”

  A man watering his plants glares at me. AJ waves at him and smiles. “Good morning!”

  I continue to walk, and in need of a subject change pronto, I flip the tables. “Why aren’t you performing anymore?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  She expects me to be an open fucking book, but she’s pushing off my questions? “I thought you loved it.”

  “I do. I . . . did.”

  “Then why quit—?”

  Now it’s her turn to stop. “I didn’t quit.”

  I hold up my hand in surrender. “Whatever you say . . . quitter.”

  Maybe it’s best we don’t dig too deep into each other’s lives, become too imbedded, too invested. The break will be easier if we keep things as superficial as possible. Besides, if she shares with me, she’ll expect tit for tat, and that shit ain’t happening.

  ~*~

  AJ

  I hate the defeated look in his eyes, how his shoulders slump and every step seems to sap him of energy. He’s a drastic contrast to the man he was the last time we ran together, and the truth of that makes everything so much more real.

  This isn’t the same light-hearted guy who insisted I go out to dinner with him, who relentlessly pursued me and refused to take no for an answer. This is a man who has lost his will to fight.

  We walk in silence the rest of the way back to his house. When we turn the corner to the sprawling ranch-style home nestled up to the mountains, Blake’s in the front yard, playing catch with a small blond-headed boy.

  The tiny kid spots us and takes off running down the sidewalk. “Uncle Brae!”

  “Squirt.” Braeden drops to a squat and catches the kid with one arm, scooping him up with little effort. He nuzzles the kid’s neck, making him squeal.

  “You’re sweaty!”

  “I know; that’s because my friend here tried to kill me.”

  The kid’s eyebrows slam down over his green eyes, and I imagine this is exactly what Braeden looked like as a kid. “Why did you do that?”

  I glare at Braeden. “I didn’t.” I soften my expression then focus on the little boy. “I promise. I just took him for a jog.”

  The little boy glares harder, reminding me of the way Blake reacted to Andre in the back hall of the charity event. Jeez, these Daniels boys are no joke. Loyal to the bone apparently.

  I hold my hands up in surrender. “I swear. It was just a jog.”

  Braeden chuckles. “Quit with the mad-doggin’, kiddo. I was just playin’. This is my . . . friend, AJ. AJ, this is my nephew, Jack.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” he mumbles, but I’m not convinced he means it.

  Brae puts the boy down in the grass and gives Blake one of those non-verbal hellos that guys give by lifting their chin.

  Jack tosses the ball to his dad, and Blake stretches far to the left to snag it from the air before throwing it back at a soft lob. “You alright, bro?”

  Braeden props his hand on his hip, his bad hand nestled firmly into his belly. “Let’s see . . . I woke up too early, still d-r-u-n-k from last night.”

  Jack side-eyes his uncle, clearly understanding that the spelling of a word means for adults only.

  “Forced to jog, barfed up my spleen on the corner of 5th and Maple, and I’m pretty sure I pulled a muscle from dry-heaving.”

  Blake grins, his gaze sliding to mine for a second, before going back to his brother. “Sounds like the perfect morning.”

  “Oh good, you got in okay.” Layla’s coming down the driveway in an adorable pair of ripped jeans and a tank, her hair down and wavy.

  “I did. Thanks for the help.”

  “You mean you’re the one who set this up?” Brae looks to the sky as if he’s asking the Almighty for patience or maybe help. “My own sister-in-law—”

  “Oh! It worked!” A woman who appears to be in her late fifties comes from the open garage, her eyes on us, hands clapping.

  “Mom!” Braeden’s jaw falls open. “You too?”

  I panic for a moment when I realize I’m about to be introduced to Braeden’s mom and remind myself that he’s not my boyfriend. This shouldn’t feel as awkward as it does.

  The woman smiles meekly at her son then shakes her head, the graying brown hair pinned off her face in a twist not moving an inch. “No, but Layla told me last night, and I wholeheartedly support the effort.” Her vibrant green eyes come to me. “Hi, I’m Brooke, the one responsible for birthing these two.”

  I nervously wipe my hands on my thighs. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m AJ.”

  “Layla’s told me all about you.”

  My cheeks grow warm.

  “Women!” Braeden barks. “The three of you are no longer allowed to conspire against me.”

  Layla holds up her hands. “Hey, all I did was leave the gate unlocked.”

  Braeden stares over at his brother, who seems to find this entire exchange comical. “Do you believe this shi—take?” Jack smiles at Brae’s easy cover of a curse word.

  “Come on, bro, you know where two or more women are gathered there’s bound to be a man suffering.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “That is so not true!”

  Layla and I say in unison then giggle.

  “Well . . .” Layla leans over to pl
ace a kiss on her son’s head. “We’re going to meet Ax for a dress fitting and lunch.”

  Blake hooks his wife around the shoulders and pulls her body flush to his. He’s so much bigger than she is that, when he leans to whisper something in her ear, he practically curls himself over her. She nods once, then twice, then laughs and tilts her head up so he can reach her lips. “I love you too.”

  He smacks her ass, backs away, but keeps his gaze on her, and it is hot and hungry.

  Feeling a little out of place, as if I’m intruding on a private moment, I avert my eyes only to see Braeden studying them too. But not in a creepy way, more of a curious or scientific way.

  When his brother tosses him the ball, Braeden seems to snap out of it. He catches the baseball with his good hand.

  “Don’t forget to go try on your tux,” Blake mumbles loud enough for me to overhear.

  “Bye, AJ.” Layla smiles at me from the driver’s side of her car, and her mother-in-law waves from the passenger seat.

  Brae tosses the ball to Jack, and my heart melts a little when he does it underhand and gently. “Right, I forgot.”

  “You’ve put on enough muscle I’m sure it’ll be fine, but you should probably check to make sure.”

  This seems like a conversation Braeden isn’t totally comfortable with as he shifts on his feet and eyes the back gate that leads toward the safety of his cave. “Mm-hm.”

  “You can take my car.”

  Braeden doesn’t say anything, but he nods and then heads back to his place after rubbing his nephew’s fluffy hair.

  For a moment, I wonder if I should follow him, and if it weren’t for my keys and wallet in his place, I would’ve taken his cue and left him alone, but instead I follow behind him. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”

  “Thank you. It was nice to meet you too.” The last word is grunted as he tosses the ball to his dad.

  I hear a mumbled, “Good boy” from Blake just as I pass through the gate to the backyard.

  Braeden’s long legs eat up space, and by the time I’m around the main house, he’s passing by the pool and then pushing through his door.

  I speed up and follow him in, just in time to see him pull a beer out of the fridge. He pops the top and swallows back half.

  Disappointment unfurls in my gut and I frown. “It’s barely nine o’clock in the morning.”

  The suction on the bottle makes a loud pop when he breaks the beer from his lips. “Your point?”

  “Maybe you should eat something.”

  He holds up his bottle. “There’s a sandwich in every beer.”

  I track his body as he lumbers across the room to drop back on the couch, and a thick impenetrable wall goes up between us. Whatever progress I made with him today seemed to dissolve in a matter of seconds. For a moment back there when he was interacting with his family, it almost seemed like I got a little of him back, but it may have just been wishful thinking.

  And with every gulp of beer, I feel the distance between us growing.

  “I can’t believe I just met your mom,” I say almost to myself, and with his lack of response, I wonder if I might have said it in my head. “Will I be meeting your dad soon too?”

  His chin drops and he shakes his head. “Nope.” He brings the bottle to his lips. “He died when I was away. Cancer.”

  Oh my God! “Braeden, I’m . . .” I swallow hard, wondering how his father’s death played out in the timeline of his injury, and the conclusion I come to is devastating. “I’m so sorry.”

  “So am I,” he whispers.

  I should’ve stayed in touch, written letters, done something so he knew he wasn’t alone. “I called you.”

  He turns his head just enough to see me but doesn’t respond, so I move to the opposite end of the couch but maintain my distance.

  My hands fist in the hem of my tank top. “Six months seemed like forever, and when I didn’t hear from you, I called.”

  He tilts the beer to his lips, his eyes firmly fixed on the wall in front of him.

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  His chin drops, but he regains his composure. “Didn’t have your number.”

  “But, you could’ve tried—”

  “I didn’t want to, alright?” His emerald eyes dance with anger.

  “Okay.” Well, I think that’s about all the heartache I can handle for today.

  I stand and cross to my keys and wallet I set on the countertop. Gripping them tightly, I move toward the door.

  “So that’s it? You drag my ass out of bed for a run, and you think that’s going to fix me?”

  I pull all the strength I can muster and will my muscles to hold me upright, my shoulders back, but I can’t force myself to turn around and look at him. “I’ll see you around.”

  He doesn’t stop me as I walk out the door, close it softly behind me, and head out through the side gate. When I hit the driveway, I hear my name, but when I look up, it’s Blake who’s walking toward me.

  “How’s he doin’?”

  I shrug. “I see these . . . glimpses, ya know? But . . .” I shake my head.

  “Thanks for trying.”

  “I’m not giving up, at least not yet.”

  He eyes my keys in my hand.

  “A girl can only take so much.”

  Understanding softens his features and he nods. “I’m sorry if he hurt you; he’s, uh . . . not himself. He won’t talk to anyone about what happened over there. I think if he did, ya know, he’d decompress a little.”

  I pull the end of my ponytail over my shoulder and finger the ends. “He’s a vault with me too, so far.”

  “He’s blowing off physical therapy, counseling; it’s like he’s stuck”—he thumps his head— “in here and can’t move forward.”

  Blake is right. Even when I’d catch a glimpse of the old Braeden, it was like he’d catch it too and shove it back down.

  “When I look at him, I hardly—”

  “Recognize him,” we say at the same time.

  He nods. “Yeah.”

  “I’m not giving up on him.” I surprise myself by the fierce resolve in my voice.

  “Here.” He holds out his hand for my phone and hits a few buttons before giving it back. “I programmed Layla’s number in there, Braeden’s too, if you need it.”

  I palm the device. “Thanks.”

  “I appreciate what you’re doing for my brother, but you can’t let him take you down too. I can tell you’re on a mission. If you let him break you too, he’ll only hate himself more than he already does.”

  I can already feel Braeden’s words chipping away at what little confidence I have left. Is what Blake’s saying true? Can I help Braeden without sacrificing my heart?

  Twenty-seven

  Braeden

  Chaos.

  That’s the only word to describe my brother’s kitchen on any given morning. With my second cup of black coffee in hand, I watch as Layla and Blake nearly collide multiple times while passing back and forth between the fridge and the island.

  Layla’s making a second breakfast for Jack while Blake is packing the kid’s lunchbox. To make matters worse, it seems most of the people they know have decided seven thirty in the morning is the perfect time to call because even their phones are demanding.

  “Mom, I want cheese on my eggs!”

  I lean into my nephew. “You know you gotta hit up the magic word, buddy.”

  “Please, Mom?”

  “Atta boy.”

  “Cheese, okay.” Layla swings around and slams right into Blake’s chest. “Sorry.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No,” they say at the same time.

  The sound of Jack’s lunchbox getting fiercely zipped up is followed by the clank of a plate that gets shoved in front of my nephew.

  “Son,” Blake’s voice is low and reprimanding.

  “Thank you, Mommy,” Jack says through a mouthful of food.

  “Let me know if you
change your mind about hitting legs.” My brother tosses the Star Wars lunchbox into a Captain America backpack. He and Layla have been carpooling to work every day so that I can use Layla’s car if I need it. I hate that they do it, and I’ve tried to tell them I’m fine, but I can’t drive the GTO with my bum-fucking arm. I wonder if I should just sell it—

  “No AJ today, huh?” Blake’s eyebrows are lifted in question.

  Layla’s eyes snap up, suddenly not in as much of a hurry.

  “Nope.” And fuck me, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.

  I even cut myself off early last night and cleaned up my pad, thinking I’d get a wake-up call at the crack of dawn. When I rolled out of bed at six, I waited for her until finally coming in the main house for some coffee. It was either that or whiskey, and I haven’t completely given up that AJ won’t show, so . . . here I am.

  “She mentioned you two met at the Kairos?” Layla rinses Jack’s dishes, puts them in the dishwasher, and pulls the guy off his chair, asking him to go brush his teeth, all while keeping those dark brown globes focused on me.

  “Yeah, she was working as a performer, and I caught her after a show.” I give my bro and SIL a quick rundown, leaving out the personal shit they’re smart enough to fill in on their own.

  “Hold on.” Layla angles a stool and drops down next to me. “She’s a performer in Eros?”

  “Was.” I twist my coffee mug around in a full circle. “I guess this guy she’s living with is floating her now, so she quit the show. No need to work when you’re rollin’ in cash.” The words cause a bitter taste in my mouth.

  It’s hard to believe a woman like AJ would give it all up so easily, amazing the power of the almighty buck. She never kept it a secret that money was important, which is why I think deep down I knew I’d never stand a chance with her.

  “So that’s it?” Blake shoves his wallet and keys into his pocket. “She’s shacked up with some dude, and you’re just gonna let him have her?”

  “Don’t you like her?” my sister-in-law says.

  “I do like her. That’s why I’m not going to fuck with what she’s got, ya know?”

  Blake scratches his jaw. “I learned this lesson once.”

  Jack comes back into the kitchen, and Layla helps him slip on his backpack.