Midwest Fighter (Kendall Family Book 2)

by Jennifer Ann

  Someone claps me on the back so hard that I almost reel around to take a swing at them.

  “Six shots of Jose, Pats!” Asher hollers at her, taking the empty stool at my side. The dickhead looks completely out of place in a dress shirt and pressed pants instead of the usual jeans and rock band T-shirt he wears when serving drinks. Meeting my hardened gaze, he pats my arm. “You look like you could use it, buddy.”

  “No shots for me,” I insist, shaking my head.

  “It’s for Dad,” Braden says, moving in on my other side. “It wouldn’t be right if we didn’t salute him with his favorite.”

  “You’re not twenty-one,” I remind him before pressing my lips tight.

  “Like that ever stopped you?” Hunter asks from over my shoulder.

  As Patsy pours tequila into six shot glasses on the bar in front of me, I grumble to myself. I’m going to have one hell of a headache in the morning. The shots are handed out to my best friend and brothers, as well as Charlie, who hands me the last one.

  Asher holds his shot glass high. “To Frank Kendall, one hell of a father, friend, and mentor. You’ll be sorely missed, buddy. This town will never be the same without you.”

  The other guys answer with an “Amen” and other agreeable cheers. Moisture stings my eyes as I clink glasses with a couple of the guys before chugging the searing liquid down. I swipe the sixth drink off the bar and slug it down too, welcoming the warm glow in my gut.

  “That was Dad’s,” Braden says quietly, sounding as if I just kicked a puppy.

  When I discover the others staring at me with the same kind of disbelief as my little brother, I shrug. “Not like he can drink it.”

  “That was a dick thing to say,” he snaps, slamming his empty glass on the bar. “Stop acting like the world owes you a favor! You’re not the only one who buried their dad today, jackass!”

  “No, but me and Hunter are the only ones who stuck around to make sure he was taken care of,” I answer. “Unlike everyone else in this family, we didn’t do the selfish thing by moving as far away as possible.”

  “Come on, JD,” Asher says, pulling on my arm. “Don’t be starting that shit tonight.”

  I shrug him off as Braden leans over me, nostrils flaring. He’s big enough to be in my weight class and the little shit has enough spirit to put up a good fight. “If you have a problem with me signing up to protect this country, then say it to my face!”

  Anger at myself sears my veins. I don’t have a problem with him fighting for our country—in fact I’m even prouder of him than Dad ever was—and I never should’ve implied that. But I welcome the surge of adrenaline that comes with the idea of fighting my cocky little brother who thinks he has the entire world by its horns. I stand suddenly, sending the bar stool to the floor with a loud thunk, and meet him eye-to-eye. “Let’s take this outside and see what you’ve got, tough guy!”

  As Braden and I stand ready to go, the song ends and the place becomes silent as everyone watches on. Hunter wedges his way in-between us, eyes narrowed with a stern look. “Not the time nor the place for this, brother. Everyone’s here to honor Dad.”

  I shake my head slowly in warning, jaw clenched and hands clenched at my sides. “Step back. This doesn’t involve you.”

  “You’re wrong!” he answers, shoving my chest with both hands. “This involves all of us! He’s family, James! The same family you’re always bending over fucking backwards to protect! We all know you’re pissed that someone murdered Dad and we know you like to punch things to make yourself feel better, but this isn’t the way you do it! Especially not today!”

  I flinch with the feel of small fingers wrapping around my wrist. “James,” Sharlo pleads in a patient but stern tone. I turn to face her. The simple act of looking into her mesmerizing blue eyes softens the hard ball wound tight inside my gut. “The only one kicking any ass tonight will be me if you don’t come along for a breath of fresh air.”

  That confusing feeling I get whenever she’s around makes a comeback, transforming every irrational thought inside my head into a white fuzz. Gazing into her ocean-colored stare, tension falls from my body like a snake shedding its skin. When my shoulders relax and I inhale a deep breath, her lips quirk with a smile as she slips her hand into mine. My gut coils tightly with her touch.

  “Carry on, gentlemen,” she tells my brothers and Asher. They watch on with variations of parted lips and wide eyes as she pulls me toward the exit.

  Outside the chill of the early spring evening greets us in a gust of wind. With a shiver, Sharlo drops my hand to wrap her arms around herself. My eyes drink in the curves underneath the black dress she’s been wearing all day and I suddenly want nothing more than to get her naked again. My balls throb with the idea.

  “Eyes up here,” she sings, clearing her throat. When our gazes meet, she smiles in a way that makes her blue eyes sparkle underneath the bar door’s light. “Now then. I still may not know you from Bob at this point, but it’s abundantly clear you’re struggling with your dad’s death—as you should. No one should have to endure the grizzly sight of their parent having been stabbed to death. It breaks my heart whenever I wonder what it must be like for you, knowing his killer is still out there somewhere. It’s perfectly normal to be angry and hurt. That’s to be expected. But unless you’re in a ring with a willing opponent, you mustn’t resort to violence. It’s not okay to unleash your beast on your loved ones who are depending on you to help them through this.”

  Eyebrows drawing together, I shake my head. “Unleash my what?”

  She steps forward to place a hand over my heart and then tilts her head back to look me in the eye again. “I truly wish I could stay and help you through this because it’s clear you need someone in your corner. But I’m flying out to California tomorrow to visit with my dad and I promised your sister I’d be there for Charlie’s first concert in LA on Tuesday. She’s going to need all the support she can get with all the dreadfully rabid paparazzi that will want an exclusive on your father’s murder. I’d suggest you put serious thought into either finding a therapist who can help you through this, or finding a way to isolate yourself long enough to properly work it out with your fists. At the rate you’re going, you’re bound to end arse-up in some random alley with missing teeth and a banged-up head.”

  After all she said, the only thing I can focus on is the fact that she’s leaving. The only good thing to come along after losing my hero is going away. I’ve come to rely on the sight of her beautiful smile to pull me out of the darkness, the sound of her sweet voice to ease the pain. Once she’s gone, there won’t be anything to distract me from my sinister thoughts.

  Sharlo tugs on my arm until I lean down enough for her to wrap herself around my neck in a warm embrace that somehow seems more intimate than just a hug. I snake one hand around her waist and the other inside her thick hair, pressing my fingers against the smooth, soft skin on her neck to hold her close. Though I’ve never been the touchy-feely type, something about having her in my arms feels natural. Like we are meant to somehow fit together.

  Knowing I probably won’t have the chance to see her again for a long time, I relish in the feel of her soft breasts pushed into my chest, the steady flutter of her heart. I nuzzle my face into the sexy curve of her neck, committing her vanilla scent and the tickle of her silky hair on my face to memory. Wishing I had the courage to ask her to find a way to stay and to give me another chance, my arms tighten around her little frame instead. She clings to me in return, reigniting the constant pull I feel when she’s close.

  “If you find out you’re pregnant, I’ll be there for you,” I whisper.

  “Oh, James,” she sighs in a tone that sounds both pleading and desperate.

  I pry her shaking shoulders back far enough to stare into the pacific blue depths of her gaze. My heart pounds so hard inside my chest that I’m sure she can feel it shaking my entire body. There’s so much I want to say—to thank her and apologize for fucking up, to
ask her to return to the hotel one last time and tell her I don’t want this to end. But the words stick in my throat.

  Finally, I seal my mouth over hers, hoping she’ll feel everything I want to say with a hard kiss. Reluctantly, her lips and tongue answer while she makes a little noise inside my mouth and digs her fingers into my neck. My hands glide up and down her body, appreciating the tightness of her ass and the way she seems ready to tackle me down to the sidewalk. She’s so much more than just a hot body, but having her wrapped around me is enough in itself that I want to drag her away and have her all to myself.

  Suddenly, she pulls back. With the side of her temple resting against my cheek, her butterfly-like lashes brushing over my skin, she whispers, “You’re a good man, James Kendall. And you will survive this. Don’t let your anger consume you.”

  When she leaves my arms, I’m struck with a chill and her absence creates a gaping hole in my chest. In losing her, I’m losing the only thing keeping me grounded.

  I’m so busy wading through self-pity when she begins to walk away that the sight of my brother-in-law standing in the bar’s entrance hits me harder than taking a sucker punch in the gut. So much for keeping this a secret from Evelyn.

  Calm and collected, Sharlo simply bobs her head at him in greeting. The fact that she’s so casual with him like he’s any other guy makes me respect her personality even more. She’s nothing like any other woman I’ve met. I doubt I could ever find another one like her if I tried.

  “I trust you’ll allow me the privilege of bringing our girl up-to-date when the timing is right,” she says to him. “I’m fairly certain she doesn’t need any complication to what’s already been a shitty day.”

  Charlie’s freakishly blue eyes flicker between the two of us before he slowly nods in understanding.

  “Right, then,” Sharlo sings. “Go easy on the big guy. I assure you he’s giving himself more of a beating than any poor bloke who’s brave enough to take him on in the ring.” She pats him on the ass before disappearing through the bar’s doorway.

  There hasn’t been much time for me to get to know Evelyn’s husband. He seems like an easy-going guy unless something has pissed him off or someone has done my sister wrong. Based on the way his eyes storm over and his stride is heavy when he starts my way, I brace myself for a serious ass-chewing before he says, “You and I need to talk.”

  Chapter 6

  SHARLO

  The moment the private car pulls up in front of Dad’s gated mansion on a hill in Monte Sereno, I let out a breath I swear I’ve been holding since my plane landed over an hour ago. Not that the sight of his third house in five years sets off any fuzzy feelings of home, but I’ve been dying for something to take my mind off the fact that I merely left James without so much as giving him my number. The beautiful man was a mess and in dire need of more than a proper lay, yet like some sort of call girl working for charity, those were the only services I provided.

  When Evelyn and Charlie escorted me to the airport early this morning, Charlie’s critical stare and the fact that I haven’t driven in a car in years were the only things keeping me from running back to James.

  Dad appears beneath the arched pillar on the front stoop, donning a bright polo shirt with his hands in his khakis and a warm smile spread over his pale lips that creases the skin around his bright blue eyes. For someone about to turn sixty, he’s far more youthful in appearance than one would expect. Only a smidgen of white stands out against nut-brown hair as full and thick as that of a man in his prime, and he’s in the best shape of his life.

  Having only recently left the corporate world, he’s transformed into a man of leisure, spending long days on golf courses as well as competing in triathlons. It seems whenever I ring, he’s in one kind of training or another. Since he failed to pass along whatever athletic gene it takes to understand putting your body through that level of torture, I merely celebrate the fact that he’s taking proper care of himself.

  As I step out from the car, he’s accepting my suitcase from the driver and shaking the man’s hand, saying something brilliant that has them both laughing.

  “My baby girl!” he calls out to me. “Welcome home!”

  Despite wanting to roll my eyes at the absurdity of calling something I’ve only set foot in once my home, I hurry into his open arms. Caught off guard by the swell of emotions suddenly choking me with his familiar aftershave, I clutch the back of his coarse shirt in my fists. Though I may not be close with either of my parents and only see them on occasion, for the first time in ages I’m able to appreciate the fact that I’m not orphaned.

  “I’ve missed you,” I say, sniffling.

  His lips press against my hair. “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart. How was your flight?”

  “It’s quite unnecessary to fly me first class whenever I come for a visit. I flew economy a few days ago and managed to get along quite well, even without the complimentary meal and entertainment. It’s not so scandalous how the other half lives.”

  “Only the best for my girl,” he answers with a chuckle. “Let’s go out back by the pool and relax before you settle in your room. Victoria made a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies with chunks, just the way you like them.”

  I back away with a laugh. “You do realize I’ve grown into a fully functioning adult and I’m no longer a four-year-old, yeah? I outgrew milk and cookies around the time I stopped lip syncing to Britney Spears in my knickers.”

  “That’s blasphemy! No one is too old for milk and cookies! It beats that crumpets and tea nonsense your mom was always forcing down your throat when you were little.” The kind of charming smile that helped him become a CEO numerous times tilts his mouth when he reaches for the handle of my suitcase and drapes his other arm across my shoulders. “Speaking of nonsense, have you heard from your mother lately?”

  “She hasn’t rang me in some time, but Aunt Camila said there were pictures of her latest rendezvous on Facebook. She mentioned something about the Dominican and a forty-year old Frenchman.”

  “At least I know my money is going to good use,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

  We haven’t even stepped foot inside the stark monstrosity of a house when I feel the vibration of his phone between us. Flashing an apologetic smile, he releases me to remove the smart phone from his pocket. “The lawyers are still pounding out some details on the sale of the company,” he explains. “Go on ahead and wait for me on the patio, sweetheart. I’ll be there in a minute or two.”

  “Of course.”

  It comes as no surprise whatsoever that I’ve barely spoken to the man before he’s pulled away by business. It’s what I’ve come to expect every bit as much as Mum’s inability to act like a fully functioning adult.

  I hurry across the stone floor through the living room with my head down, unable to stomach the sight of my massive sweet sixteen portrait on display above the mantel like it’s the bloody Mona Lisa. Once I’ve reached the safety of the patio, I let out a long breath as my eyes roll to the top of my head. Although quite lovely, the new Mediterranean-style house is far too grand for one person living on their own who breaks out in hives with the thought of entertaining. The sprawling backyard provides the kind of utopia I can fully appreciate, reminiscent of a Jane Austen novel with lush greenery and old-world charm. Even though the flowers have yet to blossom and the grass isn’t as brilliant as in the summertime, the sun reflecting down on the Olympic-sized pool is a welcome sight.

  Ascending down the grand stairway toward the lower level of the backyard where the pool house sits, the silly thought that I’m a princess entering a ball comes to mind the way make-believe often did when I was young. Mum would never allow me to invite my less fortunate schoolmates over to play because she didn’t want them to know she spent life high off her tits and Dad was always gone on business trips, leaving me with nothing more than an overactive imagination to bide my time.

  Though Dad would prefer I sleep in a dreadful
room clad with pink ruffles and a 4-poster bed that he declared as “mine,” I fancy the smart guest house complete with a state-of-the-art sound system and a well-stocked refrigerator. It reminds me of the similar pool house behind the mansion we lived in a few kilometers down the road when I was a rebellious teenager and threw brilliant parties to bribe others into becoming my mates.

  After I’ve retrieved a bottle of imported water from inside, I settle into one of the white loungers beside the pool and release a sigh. Were it not for the fact that I’ll be in LA soon with Evelyn, it would be a complete waste of my time to travel all this way to visit a man who has never really been there from the start. Still, it seemed necessary to at least attempt a connection with him after watching James and his family struggle over the past few days.

  It would seem I’m incapable of going mere minutes without thinking about my tortured lover. Getting his number from Evelyn and checking in to see if he’s doing alright would be easy enough if I didn’t worry the sound of his voice would evoke memories of his lips on my skin and force me to hop on an airplane back to the Midwest. The way he clung to me when we said our goodbyes broke my heart. Yet here I sit on a multi-million dollar estate, sipping on an over-priced water while he struggles to make sense of his loss.

  Made restless by the self-deprecating thoughts spinning through my noggin, I head back toward the house in search of those damn cookies Dad spoke of. Chocolate always has a way of comforting me even if it wrecks havoc on my already full waistline. It reminds me of being a little girl bouncing on Dad’s knee as I devoured the gooey treats. The memory evokes thoughts of the butterflies and suddenly I’m fantasizing about the sweet little nickname James had bestowed on me. Bloody hell, every single thought leads to a game of Six Degrees of James Kendall.

  Inside the house, Dad’s voice echoes through the high ceilings, as angry as I’ve ever heard. I find him among the aroma of baked goods inside the cottage-style kitchen, rubbing at his forehead while shouting, “Everything that happened to you was your own goddamned fault! You can’t blame me for all your problems!”