“You know, the way you said that, I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not. But yes, that’s exactly why he said he had to break up with me. And really, it wasn’t a breakup, it was an argument. We got in a fight seven years ago and haven’t had the chance to finish it.”
She laughed.
I nudged her with my elbow. “Why are you laughing at me? Don’t be a jerk.”
“I’m not, promise. I just had a sudden vision of him coming home and the first thing you do is pick a fight with him.”
She wasn’t far off. When Asher got home, he and I were going to have words.
After fucking each other’s brains out approximately seven million times.
God, I missed him.
She slowed in front of my house and pulled to a stop. “I will say this, I’ll always admire your loyalty.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m sorry I suggested you take off the ring. Let’s not fight. I can’t leave if I think you’re mad at me.”
“You’re so weird.”
“I know. I can’t help it, I had a horrible childhood.”
I took off my seatbelt and leaned over to hug her. “I’m not mad at you.”
“Thanks, boo.”
“I’ll meet you at the Caboose around eight?”
“Sounds good.”
I grabbed my purse and went inside.
Countertop and cabinet door samples were spread across my living room floor. I’d forgotten I’d left those there last night. I’d bought this house about a year ago, and it had been in shambles. Totally unlivable after sitting vacant for years. But it had been nothing some hard work couldn’t repair. I still had a long way to go, but the living room, one bathroom, and one bedroom were totally remodeled. The kitchen was usable, although there were no doors on the cabinets and the linoleum floor was hideous. But it worked. I’d been able to move in a few months ago.
There were challenges to living in a construction zone, but I didn’t mind. And when I needed a break, I could always go to Cara’s for a few days.
Since I’d agreed to go out tonight—which meant I wouldn’t be spending my evening on the couch in pajamas with a glass of wine—I showered, did my hair, and put on some makeup. Afterward, I wandered into the kitchen to make myself a quick dinner.
Unfortunately, my fridge was mostly empty. Damn. I’d been planning on roping Cara into running errands with me today, but she’d surprised me with the spa day instead. Not that I was complaining. But now I needed to go to the store.
I grabbed my keys and purse and headed out the door, deciding to swing by my mom’s and pick up my little brother. He’d probably like a reason to get out of the house. And if not, I’d bribe him with candy or something. Moody eleven-year-olds still liked candy, right?
My house was less than a mile from my childhood home. The car bumped along the private drive. Mom’s car wasn’t parked outside, but Jack’s police cruiser was. A few years ago, she’d married Jack Cordero, former Seattle cop turned chief deputy in the county sheriff’s office. It had been a bit strange to gain a stepdad in my mid-twenties, especially since my mom had never been married before, not even to my father. But Jack was a great guy who adored her.
I loved that she was finally happy. That she’d found someone who treated her right. Unlike my asshole father—who, in a twist of irony, was also in prison.
On paper, I looked like a girl who ought to be rife with daddy issues. Engaged to a man serving eight years for manslaughter; father in prison for drug trafficking. Yep, that Grace Miles sure had her life together.
But the truth was, my father had never been a big part of my life. There had been brief periods in my childhood when he’d been a regular visitor. But for the most part, he hadn’t been around. About five years ago, I’d discovered why: He was married with four other children. My mom hadn’t known, and until I’d tracked him down for going deadbeat dad on Elijah, they hadn’t known about us.
Now I had three half-brothers and a half-sister who all lived about thirty minutes away. Thankfully, none of them took after the man who’d fathered us. I loved my new family. They were amazing.
Life took unexpected turns sometimes.
I parked next to Jack’s car, but my gaze strayed to Gram’s house. I wondered if she needed anything at the store. Since I was going, I might as well ask if I could pick up anything for her.
I walked across the grass and up the porch stairs. Gram’s house never seemed to change. Same wrap-around front porch that creaked beneath your feet. Front door always painted a cheerful yellow. Yellow shutters to match. Her gardens were legendary, producing more fruit and vegetables than some small farms.
This place felt as much like home as my mom’s house did. I had countless memories of sitting at Gram’s kitchen table with the boys, my legs swinging while we ate cookies or blueberry muffins. Gram had acres of land and I’d spent most of my childhood roaming with Asher. Playing in the creek, building forts, making up stories and games. It had been a good life.
The front door was unlocked, as usual, so I let myself in and heard water running in the kitchen.
“Hey, Gram,” I called as I walked down the hallway toward the back of the house. “I’m going to the store. Do you need any—” Letting out a quick shriek, I stopped in my tracks.
A man stood at the sink. Short dark hair. Broad back and wide shoulders rippling with muscle. Thick, tattooed arms.
I recognized some of those tattoos. But it couldn’t be.
He shut off the water and turned, his eyes meeting mine.
Oh my god.
My breath caught in my throat, and for a second, I couldn’t speak.
It was Asher.
Or someone who’d once been Asher. This man was thick and hard with a little piece of medical tape over a fresh cut on his forehead. My eyes swept up and down, taking him in. He looked so different.
But it was him. He was standing right here.
He stared at me, a deep groove between his eyebrows, his eyes flashing with alarm. Why was he looking at me like that? His mouth opened, like he was about to say something, but he closed it again.
Finally, I managed to get a word out. “Asher?”
“What are you doing here?” His voice was gravelly, almost monotone.
“Me? What are you doing here?”
“I was released.”
I faltered again, sputtering for a second before I could get my voice to work. “You were… What? Why didn’t anyone call me? When did you get here?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared at me like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
This was not the way I’d always envisioned this moment. I’d planned to be there when he got out so I could meet him outside the prison gates and launch myself into his arms.
Instead, we were standing in Gram’s kitchen, staring at each other like neither of us knew what to do.
“Oh my god, what am I doing?” I stepped forward, ready to throw my arms around his neck.
But he held a hand out to stop me. “Don’t.”
I flinched backward like he’d slapped me. “What?”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t do this yet.”
“You can’t do what? I don’t understand.”
“Fuck,” he muttered. Looking down, he gripped the counter behind him, like he needed to brace himself to keep from falling. “You need to go.”
“You can’t be serious. Asher—”
“Please,” he said through gritted teeth. He closed his eyes like he was in pain. “Please go.”
Memories of the last time we’d spoken came rushing back. When he’d said it was over. When he’d told me I had to let him go.
He was home, and he wanted me to leave?
Sadness and anger warred to be the first to rip free from my chest, and the resulting struggle choked off my reply. Feeling like the world had just flipped upside down, I turned around and walked out.
; 4
Asher
I couldn’t calm down.
The wood floor creaked beneath my feet as I paced around my old bedroom, trying to ward off the panic. My heart beat too fast and adrenaline singed me from the inside. I balled my hands into fists, trembling with agitation. One step from losing it.
I wanted to hit something.
Why had she come here? Why today?
I’d only been home for a couple of hours. When I’d arrived, Gram had acted like I’d been gone for a long weekend, not spent seven years behind bars. She’d smiled and hugged me tight, then told me to carry my own stuff up to my room.
My brothers had wanted to stay to celebrate, but she’d saved me the trouble of telling them no fucking way. The last thing I needed right now was to have to pretend I was fine. That I was the old Asher they all remembered, ready to jump back into the life I’d left behind.
I felt like I’d been living in another world, and I’d just been dropped into the middle of this one with nothing but the clothes on my back.
Which wasn’t far from the truth.
Once Gram had chased my brothers out, the familiarity of this house had helped ground me. The shutters and front door were still painted yellow. The floors still squeaked in the same places. It still smelled like fresh laundry and baking bread.
Still smelled like home.
The quiet had given me a chance to think. To slow down and get my head together. And I’d come up with a new plan.
My eight-year plan had been tossed out the window with my visit to the warden. That plan had consisted of barriers and mental armor designed to enable me to survive. And when my sentence was almost over, I’d intended to break those down enough to reconnect with my family before I went home. I would read all the letters I’d received to catch up on the details of life in Tilikum. Talk to my brothers on the phone. I’d use the final weeks behind bars to get ready to face life on the outside.
It had never occurred to me that I’d get out early.
So I’d made a new plan. I’d hunker down here for a little while. Take a few days to get my bearings. Catch up on life from the safety of Gram’s house. I would read everyone’s letters, ask questions, spend time with my brothers. When I was ready, I’d widen my circle. Hear more news. Venture out and see what had changed. Let people find out I was home.
But then Grace had walked in and blown my new plan to pieces.
She wasn’t supposed to be here yet. I wasn’t ready.
I kept pacing, trying to resist the urge to put my fist through a wall. I craved the pain—wanted to smash my knuckles against something solid.
Wanted to fight.
That urge heightened the sense of panic threatening to overtake me. I wasn’t in prison anymore. I couldn’t just hit something—or someone. Feeling my fist sink into someone’s gut or crack across their jaw might have brought temporary relief. But I couldn’t live like that here.
I didn’t want to admit it, but deep down, I knew why I was so out of control. For seven years, I’d existed within the confines of a rigid set of rules. I’d had structure. Routine. And the sudden and unexpected loss of that routine had me teetering on edge.
Freedom was supposed to feel good, but right now, it just felt like chaos. Like there wasn’t anything solid beneath my feet.
Why did she have to come today, of all days? When I was still reeling from the shock of being released?
I stopped pacing and leaned one arm against the window frame. Closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to force calmness into my body. To slow my racing heart. But when I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Grace’s old bedroom window.
Fuck.
I grabbed the curtain in a tight fist and was about to yank it closed—and probably rip it off the wall—when Gram’s voice came from the doorway.
“Hey, Bear.”
I slowly unclenched my fist, letting go of the curtain.
Her hair was in the same thick braid she’d worn for as long as I could remember. It was mostly gray now. The lines on her face had deepened, but her dark brown eyes were still sharp and clear.
“It’s been a day.” She sat on the edge of my old twin bed, then patted the mattress next to her. “Come on, now.”
The angry, wounded little boy inside me responded to the soothing tone of her voice. I obeyed, sitting on the bed beside her.
“You take your time, Bear.”
I leaned forward with my forearms on my thighs and raked my fingers through my hair. “Yeah.”
“I mean it. Slow down and breathe.”
“I’m trying.”
She didn’t say anything for a long moment, but her quiet presence helped. My heart rate slowed, and the sense of panic began to recede.
“Sometimes what we need is a place to fall apart. A place where we know our pieces will be safe while we work on putting them back together.” She patted my leg. “You’re safe here, Bear.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I swallowed back the rush of emotion that welled up inside me—feelings I’d buried for so long. Anger and aggression had been my constant companions—them, and boredom. But things like love and gratitude were foreign—feelings I barely recognized.
Gram didn’t say anything while I fought to pull myself together. While my mind reeled and my heart squeezed tight in my chest. I felt guilt for not being happy. Worry that I couldn’t handle this. And fear that I was too fucked up to be home.
That I was going to take everyone down with me.
Gradually, my breathing returned to normal. Opening my eyes, I straightened and wiped my palms on my pants.
Now that I wasn’t lost in a haze of panic, it dawned on me that my side of the room was full of stuff. Growing up, I’d shared this room with Evan. His side was now empty. There was a comforter on the bed, but it wasn’t the quilt he’d used when he lived here. It looked new, with matching pillows, like it had been done up for guests. His shelves and bedside table were bare. No oversize clothes or size thirteen shoes lying on the floor.
My side almost looked like someone lived here. The handmade blue quilt I’d used as a kid was still on the bed. Shelves were filled with sports awards and trophies that I’d left behind when I moved out. There were college textbooks and old spiral notebooks. My volunteer firefighter uniform hung in the closet, next to my old letterman’s jacket. Boxes marked Asher were stacked against the wall, and my old alarm clock—the obnoxiously loud one Gram had bought me sophomore year so I’d quit oversleeping—sat on the bedside table.
Beside that was a framed photo of me and Grace. It had been in my apartment, before.
“Did you keep all my stuff?”
“Most of it. If I recall, you had some condiments in your fridge that we threw out. But other than that, most of it’s here.”
“Why didn’t you just get rid of it? Or put it in storage or something?”
“I liked having it here.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I supposed it made sense.
“Grace did, too.”
It was hard to hear her name, but I wasn’t about to tell Gram not to say it. “What?”
“I think she liked having your things here, too. Now and then, when she was visiting her mom, she’d come up and sit for a while.”
Leaning forward again, I scrubbed my hands up and down my face. I needed more time before finding out the truth about Grace. Time to prepare myself to hear about her life.
She was so fucking beautiful. It had hurt to look at her.
I wasn’t ready to talk about her, and yet I couldn’t stop myself from asking—from continuing the conversation. “Why would she do that?”
“I suppose it brought her a little comfort. Made her feel like she was still connected to you. It wasn’t an easy thing for any of us to live through.”
“Gram, I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t you dare.” She cut me off, and her voice had an edge to it. “Sending you away was wrong, plain and simple. There was no justice in
it. So I don’t want to hear you apologize to me or anyone in this family. Not for that.”
She was wrong. I had a lot to apologize for. But I wasn’t going to argue with her.
“You do need to apologize to Grace, though.”
I grunted. Great. She’d probably heard everything with her superhuman ears.
“Don’t talk to me like a caveman.”
“Gram, I can’t.”
“Can’t tell her you’re sorry for running her off like that? Of course you can.”
“No, I can’t see her yet.”
She patted my leg again. “It won’t be as bad as you think.”
Judging by the way I’d felt when I saw her downstairs, I wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. But you take your time just the same. You’ve been through more than your share, and no one’s going to blame you if it takes a while for you to get your feet under you. But you will.”
I wasn’t sure about that, either. “Thanks. And Gram?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for letting me stay.”
“Like I said, everyone needs a safe place sometimes. And my cubs can always come home.”
5
Grace
Well, that had been a freaking nightmare.
Blindsided and dazed, I left Gram’s house, wondering what the hell had just happened. My phone rang, but I ignored it. I didn’t trust myself to speak yet.
It rang again before I got home. This time I checked. Levi. The missed call had been Evan. They were probably calling to tell me Asher was home, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone with the last name Bailey right now. I’d call them back when I was calm.
I parked in my driveway and when I got out of the car, a memory flashed through my mind, so vivid it took my breath away. Me, standing in front of this house after Asher had told me he was taking the plea bargain and going to prison. After he’d told me I needed to let him go.
Without thinking about it, I’d driven here. Parked outside the then-abandoned house and started throwing things. Rocks, sticks, pinecones. I’d thrown everything I could find, desperate for an outlet for my anger and pain.
Fighting for Us: A Small Town Family Romance (The Bailey Brothers Book 2) Page 3