Fighting for Us: A Small Town Family Romance (The Bailey Brothers Book 2)

by Claire Kingsley

  I closed the garage and went inside to clean up. There was a little note stuck to the key hook, Gram’s cursive handwriting in blue ink—a note with an address.

  I pulled off the note and hung the key on the hook. I didn’t need to ask her whose address it was. It had to be Grace.

  Subtle, Gram. Very subtle.

  But she was right. I needed to go see her. I felt bad for how I’d reacted yesterday. Terrible, actually. It wasn’t her fault I was such a fucking wreck.

  Ignoring the knot of dread that sat in my gut, I went upstairs to change.

  The truck rumbled to a stop and I looked at Gram’s note again. Was this the right place? I knew this street well—or I had once—but it looked different. Where was the abandoned house? None of these houses were half-buried in blackberry bushes. Had someone cleared it out? Or was I remembering the location wrong?

  Wait. This was the abandoned house.

  The note said Evergreen Street, but I hadn’t thought it meant this house on Evergreen Street.

  Holy shit. Had Grace bought it? How the hell had she done that?

  The overgrown yard had been cleaned up and there were sheer curtains in the big front window. It still needed landscaping and paint, but it was clearly lived in. Which meant she had to have done a shit ton of work on it already.

  I hadn’t known.

  This was a punch-in-the-gut reminder that I didn’t know anything about her anymore. Which was my fault. She’d written to me, but I hadn’t read her letters. It had been part of my survival plan. The cornerstone of it, in some ways. Leaving Grace had been the most soul-crushing part of my ordeal. Staying in touch with her hadn’t been an option.

  Now I had to face her. See for myself what she’d done with her life after we’d ended. And apologize for being such a psycho yesterday.

  With no idea what to expect, I got out of the truck, went to her front door, and knocked.

  She opened the door dressed in an old Tilikum College t-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees. She had a pencil tucked behind her ear and her blond hair was shorter than it used to be. It looked great on her. In fact, she looked amazing.

  Fuck, she was beautiful.

  She slipped a tape measure into a tool belt strapped around her waist. “Um, hi?”

  Damn it, I was standing here staring at her. “Sorry. Hi.”

  Her hand was on the door, like she wasn’t sure if she was going to let me in. I didn’t blame her.

  “Can I come in?” I asked.

  She eyed me for a second. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Was she angry? Glad to see me? About to slam the door in my face?

  “Sure,” she said finally, and stepped aside.

  I walked in and glanced around. The hardwood floors shone—they’d clearly been refinished. And the living room looked brand new—fresh paint, white baseboards and trim. She had a couch and two armchairs with a throw rug on the floor. All very cozy. All very Grace.

  The rest of the house, from what I could see, was still in progress. She had a little table just outside the kitchen covered with tools and a stack of wood samples. The walls were rough and some had pencil marks on them, like she’d been taking measurements.

  But overall, it was amazing. This place had been a shell. She was making it into a home.

  It might have been our home, once.

  The ache in my chest throbbed like a fresh wound. Fuck, this hurt. I needed to get this over with.

  “I’m sure you’re busy, so I won’t keep you,” I said. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I was overwhelmed and I obviously didn’t handle it very well.”

  “Okay. Thank you.” A little groove formed between her eyebrows as she watched me. “Do you want to sit down?”

  I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted to scoop her into my arms and hold her. Breathe her in and tell her how much I’d missed her. Tell her how a part of me had died every day that I’d had to spend without her. Soothe this ache with the warmth of her body.

  But I couldn’t. She wasn’t mine anymore.

  “Sure.”

  She gestured to the couch and I took a seat. She took off her tool belt, then sat in an armchair, tucking her bare feet beneath her.

  “The house looks amazing,” I said. “I didn’t recognize it from the outside.”

  “Thanks. I thought I’d have more of it done before you saw it for the first time. But it’s coming along.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  She smiled. “I’m sorry I keep staring. I just can’t believe you’re sitting here. Are you sure you’re okay?” She gestured to my forehead. “That looks like it hurts.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s fine.”

  Her eyes darted to my knuckles. My hands twitched. Part of me wanted to shove my hands in my pockets so she wouldn’t look. But another part knew she needed to see.

  “I talked to Logan last night,” she said. “He told me the basics. How you got out early.”

  “Yeah, no one saw that coming. I was totally focused on making it another year. And suddenly, here I am.”

  “Here you are.”

  I glanced away and rubbed the back of my neck. Being this close to her was getting to me. Her voice was so soft, her lips so full. I could still remember what those lips tasted like. What her skin felt like against mine.

  Fuck. I needed to stop thinking about getting her naked. What the hell was wrong with me? I searched for a quick way to change the subject.

  “So when did you buy this place?”

  “What?”

  The confusion in her voice made me look up. “I just wondered when you bought it.”

  “About a year ago.” The groove between her eyebrows was back. “You didn’t know I bought the house?”

  Damn it, what was I thinking? Her letters. She would have told me in one of her letters. God, how was I going to explain this?

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Did they hold your mail, or…”

  “No. I got your letters. I just haven’t read them yet.”

  Her lips parted and the hurt in her eyes was like a knife to the chest. “You didn’t read my letters? Any of them?”

  “Look, I know how awful that sounds.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty bad. Why?”

  “It’s hard to explain. Prison was a fucking nightmare and staying connected to the outside world didn’t help. It made it worse. I was just doing what I had to do to get through it.”

  “Is that why you wouldn’t accept visitors?”

  “Yeah. It was like having a wound scab over, only to rip it open again. I wouldn’t have survived in there if I was bleeding all the time. They’d have eaten me alive.”

  She took a shaky breath. “Okay, so you don’t… you don’t know anything that’s happened in the last seven years?”

  “I know some, but not a lot.”

  “Did you read anybody’s letters? Or was it just mine that you tossed out?”

  “No, and I didn’t toss them. I kept every single one.” I leaned forward, feeling frantic. Desperate to make her understand. Desperate not to let this be another way I hurt her. “I had a plan. When my release date got close, I was going to read them, start to finish. I figured it would help me prepare.”

  “But you got out early.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. I feel like such an idiot. I had all these stupid daydreams about you reading my letters and thinking of me, and it never happened. God, I wasn’t even close.”

  “Grace, I’m sorry.”

  She got up and wandered over to the window. “You know, I didn’t want to have it out with you right off the bat, but apparently Cara was right. You get home, and the first thing we’re going to do is fight.”

  “Cara?”

  “My best friend.”

  “Oh.”

  “I want to understand. I really, really do. I’ve spent seven years defending you, insisting there’s a reason you cut yourself off from everyone you love. I get the survival thing. I can
’t even imagine what it was like in there, and I don’t want to minimize that. But you gave me nothing. You walked out of that courtroom without looking back and then, nothing.”

  “I know, I—”

  “No, you don’t know. And neither do I. Neither of us have a clue about each other right now. Because you cut me out of your life without giving me a say in it.”

  “What was I supposed to do?” I stood, fighting to keep from raising my voice, but I was holding onto my self-control by a very thin thread. “Drag myself through the pain of everything I lost, over and over?”

  “I could have helped you through it. Damn it, I knew I should have camped outside that fucking prison and gone in every day until you finally got over your stubborn ass and came out to see me.”

  “Why? So I could have an in-my-face reminder of how fucked my life was?”

  “You didn’t have to go through it alone.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “You were never alone, Asher. I know I wasn’t there, and what you had to deal with was so much worse than me. But I had to live through it too.”

  I stared at her as the truth dawned on me. All this time I’d been afraid of how it would feel to find out what Grace had done with her life. Because I’d always assumed she’d taken off my ring. That she’d moved on and found someone new. Maybe gotten married and started a family. And I’d never quite known what would be worse—to find out she had or find out she hadn’t.

  Forcing my gaze down, I looked at her hands. She wore several rings—left thumb, right index finger, both ring fingers. But the one on the ring finger of her left hand…

  “You’re still wearing my ring.”

  She lifted her hand, extending her fingers, and looked down at the ring. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, her gaze fierce. “Yes.”

  The weight of that little gold band threatened to crush me. She hadn’t taken it off. I’d told her it was over, that she had to let me go, and she hadn’t listened.

  I was going to have to break her heart all over again. Because she didn’t understand. I couldn’t marry her. Not now.

  “Why?” I choked out.

  “Are you serious?” She put her hands on her hips. Before I could answer, she continued. “Go home, Asher.”

  “What?”

  “You saved the letters? You brought them with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then go home and read them.”

  “But—”

  “Go.”

  I shut my mouth at the sharpness in her tone. I deserved that.

  Without another word, I did what she asked and left.

  I drove back to Gram’s feeling like shit. Anger bubbled up from deep inside. But I wasn’t angry at Grace. I was angry at everything but Grace.

  Gram’s car was gone when I got back. I went upstairs, straight to the box I’d brought home with me. The only thing I’d had worth keeping.

  I took it to the bed and sat, leaning my back against the wall, and popped the lid open. I’d kept them in order, always placing the newest one at the front. I trailed my fingers along crisp envelopes. Different sizes and thicknesses. They’d all been opened. Read by prison staff. Then put away in the box.

  My occasional calls to Gram meant I’d known the highlights of life back home. Gavin had graduated high school. Evan had moved back to Tilikum. Levi and Logan had been hired by the fire department. There had been wildfires one summer—pretty bad ones—but I’d known everyone was safe. I knew about the fall Gram had taken a few years ago, and that she hadn’t broken anything. Knew she’d stayed healthy.

  Nothing about Grace, though. I hadn’t needed to ask Gram to avoid talking about her. Our conversations had been brief, just enough for me to let her know I was alive. Gram had seemed to understand what I’d needed.

  At the very back of the box was the first letter I’d received. I’d kept it beneath my mattress until I’d managed to get the box. Then I’d carefully tucked it inside. Every time I’d gotten a letter, from anyone, I’d added it to the stack. Always torn between the pain of not knowing, and the reality of my need to survive on the inside. The quicker the letters made it into the box, the better. Anything else had made me weak, and weakness had been something I hadn’t been able to afford. Not for a second.

  With a deep breath, I took out the first letter and pulled it from the envelope. Gently opened it, smoothing out the creases.

  My eyes tracked the words on the page, moving over Grace’s smooth handwriting. And when I got to the end—it wasn’t very long—I could only think one thing.

  Fuck.

  Dear Asher

  Dear Asher,

  I’m still not sure how to begin this letter. I think I’ve started it a dozen times. You should see the pile of crumpled paper in the garbage can next to my desk. It’s ridiculous. But nothing seems right. What am I supposed to do, ask you how you’ve been?

  I’ll just get straight to the point…

  Fuck you, Asher.

  I’m sorry to pick a fight with you right now, of all times. But you are not breaking up with me.

  I understand why you said the things you did. I realize you’re trying to do what you think is best for me, and I appreciate that. I really do.

  But no, I will not take off your ring. No, I will not find someone else. No, I will not move on. No, I will not let you go.

  That’s not how this works.

  You are what’s best for me. I love you, and I’ve loved you for most of my life. That hasn’t changed, and it isn’t going to.

  This is not the end of our life together. This is a great big, soul-sucking, heart-wrenching tragedy. But it will only ruin us if we let it. And I refuse to let that happen.

  Your only job right now is to survive. Don’t let them break you. Do what you have to do to get through each day. I’m counting on you to make it through to the end.

  I’ll be out here, doing the same thing.

  And let me be perfectly clear about this, Asher Bailey. I’m not going anywhere. Eight years is an interruption, not a lifetime. We can survive this. I realize nothing will ever be the same. You’ll be different, and so will I.

  But when you walk out those prison doors, you’ll come home to me. I’ll be waiting for you, with your ring still on my finger.

  Love always,

  Grace

  7

  Asher

  I sat on the bed, surrounded by envelopes and creased sheets of paper, still reading by the soft glow of a lamp. A breeze of cool night air blew in through the open window, whispering through the pages. I grabbed one before it could fall to the floor and set it carefully back on the quilt.

  It was nearly midnight, and I’d been reading for hours, leaving my eyes dry and gritty. But I couldn’t stop. Every time I put one down, I found myself taking out the next.

  I’d missed so much.

  It felt like reaching back through time, each letter offering another glimpse into a world that had kept turning without me. And even though I was sitting in my childhood bedroom, no longer locked behind bars and kept from all the people I loved, reading them still fucking hurt.

  I embraced the pain—let the words of the past wound me.

  Most of the letters were from the first year or so of my sentence. A lot of people had written to me in the beginning, not just Grace. Friends, extended family, fellow firefighters, guys from the gym. There were notes of support, cards with quotes about struggle and perseverance.

  As time had gone on and I hadn’t replied to anyone, the letters had slowed. Some people, like Chief Stanley, seemed to have either understood or quickly given up on me. He’d sent me one letter, then hadn’t written again. A lot of them had done the same.

  I appreciated the notes of support, but Grace’s letters were the ones that held me captive, twisting the knife of loss and guilt in my chest.

  She’d written to me frequently in the first year. After that, the time between her letters had gradually lengthened. I’d been aware of that, althoug
h I hadn’t allowed myself the space to contemplate what it meant. In the back of my mind, I’d assumed it was because she was busy living her life. That, and the fact that I hadn’t replied. But in those brief moments each morning, when I’d let myself think about the outside, I’d envisioned her moving forward. Happy without me.

  I’d desperately needed to believe in those visions. Despite what it had cost me to lose her, I’d needed to believe she was okay.

  But nothing had turned out the way I’d thought. And despite the way it made my chest ache, I forced myself to read through the last seven years of Grace’s life.

  She’d gone back to school at Tilikum College and finished her business degree. Then worked at a couple of different places before taking over the Steaming Mug downtown. From the things she’d written, it sounded like she loved her job. She was the boss now, and had made a lot of improvements to the shop.

  Damn, I was proud of her.

  Gram had let me know when Elijah had been sick one winter. I knew he’d been hospitalized with pneumonia, and ultimately recovered.

  What I didn’t know was that a year and a half later, Grace had gone looking for their deadbeat father to get help with Eli’s medical bills, and discovered he already had a wife and four other kids.

  It explained a lot, although it was still a shock. I’d never liked her father, but to find out Grace’s mom had unknowingly been the other woman, and Grace and Elijah the secret family he’d tried to keep hidden? Holy shit.

  And it only got worse from there. Now her father was in prison. Something about drug trafficking.

  Jesus.

  I hated that she’d gone through all this alone. That I hadn’t been here.

  She’d spent the last several years getting to know her half-siblings. There was a lot about them in her letters. They owned a winery in Echo Creek, about half an hour from here, and most of them worked there. She’d been a bridesmaid in weddings, and now she visited her nieces and nephews regularly. Her mom had even become friends with their mom, which I had to admit was pretty cool.

  Naomi had gotten married to a cop a few years ago, which made me shift uncomfortably on the bed. Grace liked him, and I was glad for her mom. But he wasn’t from around here, so I didn’t know him—didn’t know how he’d feel about me. The ex-con living next door.