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

by Claire Kingsley

  Finally, I got to her letter about the house, sent about a year ago. Her excitement shone through the words on the page, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the night we’d stood in front of that house together. The night I’d told her I loved her.

  Or at least, the old Asher had.

  Not that I’d ever stopped loving her. That wasn’t possible. I would love Grace Miles until the day I died. But loving her wasn’t enough anymore. Not with who—and what—I was now.

  I looked down at my bruised hands and flexed my fists. I’d spent the last seven years thinking it was over. She’d spent those same years believing it wasn’t.

  Her version would have been better. The problem was, she’d been writing to a man who didn’t exist anymore.

  I wasn’t the Asher Bailey who’d kissed her outside the abandoned house. I wasn’t the man who’d given her that ring. I wasn’t even the guy who’d stood in a courtroom while a judge handed down a sentence of eight years for manslaughter.

  He was gone. I was the wreckage that was left.

  A couple of hours later, I was still awake. I’d put the letters away—tucked them safely back in the box I’d kept them in—but sleep eluded me. I couldn’t stop thinking about Grace. Her letters, and all the things I’d missed. That ring still on her finger.

  The noise of a rumbling engine drifted through the open window. That was odd. No one else lived out here—just Gram, and Grace’s family next door.

  It didn’t stop, or fade as if someone had driven by. Whoever it was, they were sitting outside Gram’s house with the engine running.

  I got up and tugged on some clothes, then crept downstairs, instinctively avoiding the spots where the wood floor creaked. The windows down here were shut, muffling the sound, but I could still hear it. I poked my head out the front door.

  A pickup truck was stopped on the road out front. Logan leaned out the driver’s side window and waved me over.

  What the hell was he doing out here?

  I had a feeling I might regret this, but I shoved on a pair of shoes and went outside.

  “Hey, brosaurus, I’m glad you’re up,” Logan said, keeping his voice low. Gavin tipped his chin to me from the passenger’s seat. “We were trying to figure out how to get your attention without waking Gram.”

  “It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing?”

  “Get in.” He glanced at Gavin. “Gav, get in the back.”

  “Why can’t he get in the back?”

  “Dude, just do it. We’ll need you back there anyway.”

  Groaning, Gavin got out and climbed into the bed of the truck.

  “Come on, Ash. Get in.”

  “Why?”

  “We have shit to do. Let’s go.”

  I recognized the slight grin and mischievous gleam in Logan’s eyes. He was up to something—which probably meant I should turn around and go back inside. But curiosity won out over good judgment. Besides, I couldn’t sleep anyway. I went around to the passenger’s side and got in.

  Logan cautiously turned the truck around and drove back to the main road.

  “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing, or is this some kind of hazing thing?”

  “Nah, no hazing. We thought you’d want to be in on this, since it’s been a while.”

  “In on what?”

  He glanced at me, his signature cocky grin plastered on his face. “You’ll see.”

  Gavin knocked on the back window, so I slid it open.

  “I should be driving. It’s my truck.”

  “Quit your bitching,” Logan said. “I’m a better driver than you.”

  “Like hell you are,” Gavin said. “And it’s cold as shit out here.”

  Logan glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. “Should have worn a coat, dumbass.”

  “Okay, mom.”

  “Do you see what I have to deal with?” Logan gestured behind him. “I handle all the logistics, and I still get crap from that one.”

  “You can’t take credit for this. It was my idea. And a fucking brilliant one, I might add.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Credit for what?” I asked.

  “Check under your seat,” Logan said.

  I reached beneath the seat and found a large manila envelope. It was already open, so I pulled out what looked like a stack of bumper stickers, only larger. They were green with white lettering.

  “Bailey Street, Bailey Way, Bailey Avenue.” I shuffled through them, finding multiples of each. “Bailey Drive, Bailey Court, Bailey Place. What is all this?”

  “Street signs,” Logan said, like the answer should have been obvious.

  I already had a pretty good idea of what they planned to do with them. “I can see that. Why are we renaming the streets?”

  “Fucking Havens,” Gavin said.

  “What’d they do?”

  “They changed the Welcome to Tilikum signs on both ends of town so they said Welcome to Havenville.”

  “Jesus, it took forever to get that shit off,” Logan said.

  I chuckled a little. No surprise that the longstanding feud between our family and the Havens was still going strong. It went back generations.

  “Obviously we can’t let that go unanswered,” Gavin said. “So now every street in town is going to be ours.”

  “Where’d you get these?”

  “Etsy,” Logan said. “This girl I dated for a while was really into personalizing her shit. So I asked her where she got all her stickers and ordered these.”

  “He orders something online and thinks he gets all the credit,” Gavin said. “Such bullshit.”

  “Hey, I had to text Layla to get the information. That was risky.”

  “Yeah, and you ended up hooking up with her a few more times,” Gavin said. “Not exactly a hardship.”

  Logan grinned again. “True. Anyway, these aren’t meant to come off. Those bastards will be scraping adhesive off street signs for weeks.”

  Gavin snickered.

  Logan turned and slowed, coming to a stop next to a tall sign. “Pass one back to Gav.”

  I took a Bailey Drive sticker and handed it through the open back window.

  “Can you reach?” Logan asked.

  “Yeah, I got it.” Gavin stood in the bed of the truck and removed the sticker’s backing, then smoothed it out over the sign.

  I glanced around at the empty street. “I know it’s the middle of the night, but aren’t you worried about getting caught?”

  “Not really. Deputy Cohen is on duty tonight.”

  Chip Cohen wasn’t a Bailey, but if I remembered correctly, his sister was married to one of our cousins. That made him one of us. But I kept eying the street, narrowing my eyes against the dark.

  Logan drove ahead to the next block and stopped again. “Dude, it’s fine. You don’t have to be paranoid; we never get caught.”

  I handed Gavin another sticker. “I just spent seven years in prison. Everything makes me paranoid.”

  We drove up and down the streets of Tilikum’s little downtown, pausing at every intersection to paste Bailey stickers over the street names. The first few took several minutes, but after a while, we got into a rhythm. Logan would get the truck into position, I’d pass Gavin a sticker, and he’d do the honors.

  Realistically, they didn’t need a third person to pull this off. Logan could just as easily have done my job. And as weird as it sounded, beneath my paranoia about getting in trouble for this—the last thing I needed was to get on the wrong side of the law—I was kind of glad they’d gotten me up in the middle of the night to deface street signs. Back in the day, we’d done this kind of thing all the time.

  We took a left, onto a street that sloped down the hill toward the river that meandered through the center of town. Headlights flashed behind us.

  “Shit. Get down,” Logan hissed.

  I ducked and heard the thud of Gavin sprawling in the bed of the truck. “I thought you said we wouldn’t get caught.”
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  “We won’t if you shut up.”

  “The truck’s running.”

  “Good point. Maybe we shouldn’t duck. Pretend we’re not up to anything.” He slowly sat up and looked in the rear-view mirror. “Never mind, I think they’re gone.”

  Another car turned the corner in front of us, and for a second, I was blinded by bright headlights.

  “What the fuck are all these people doing out here?” Logan muttered. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “We’re out here.”

  “Yeah, but we have a good reason.”

  The car got closer and I stiffened. It said County Sheriff on the side.

  Logan leaned out the open driver’s side window as the car slowed to a stop next to us. “Hey, Cohen. How’s graveyard treating you?”

  “It’s not so bad,” Deputy Cohen said. “Holy shit, is that Asher?”

  Ah, fuck.

  “Yep. They actually let the big guy out.”

  “Ain’t that some shit. Hey, Asher. Welcome home.”

  I nodded to Cohen. “Thanks.”

  His eyes flicked to the street sign. “Well, I can see you guys are busy. I won’t keep you. Hey, Gav.”

  I glanced back in time to see Gavin’s hand lift in a wave. He was still lying flat.

  “Just don’t leave those sticker backs lying around,” he said. “No littering.”

  “Yes, sir,” Logan said. “Night.”

  Cohen tipped his hat to us, then drove on.

  I let out a breath. “Holy shit.”

  “I told you we didn’t have to worry,” Logan said.

  “You’re driving around with a convicted felon, defacing public property,” I said. “Of course I’m fucking worried.”

  Logan just shook his head at me and put the truck into gear. “You ready back there?”

  “Yup,” Gavin said.

  It took us another hour to go through all the stickers. For a small town, there were a lot of street signs. On the way back to Gram’s, Logan made sure to stop on the corner by Grace’s house so we could replace the Evergreen Street sign with Bailey Way.

  Finally, Logan took us down the bumpy road toward Gram’s. He parked on the far side of the shop. Gavin jumped out of the back and produced a six pack of beer, seemingly from nowhere. At this point, I didn’t bother questioning it.

  We walked down a gravel path to a familiar spot out behind the shop, past Gram’s well-cultivated gardens. We’d come out here countless times to toast our late-night pranks, although it had usually been with Cokes and candy bars from the Sugar Shack rather than beer.

  It reminded me how young my brothers had been when I’d left. How much they’d changed since then.

  The clearing had a fire pit lined with smooth river stones, the charred remains of the last fire still piled in the center. It was chilly, but Logan and Gavin both sat down without starting a new one. It was late, and we probably wouldn’t be out here long enough to bother with a fire.

  Gavin fished a bottle opener out of his pocket and cracked open three beers, handing them out one by one.

  “Good work tonight,” Logan said, holding his beer out.

  Gavin and I clinked our bottles with his.

  I took a drink, feeling the hint of a burn as it slid down my throat. “God, I haven’t had a beer in years.”

  “There’s probably a lot you haven’t done in years,” Logan said. “Is it weird being back?”

  “Yeah. A lot has changed. I knew life would go on without me, but still. I don’t even know where you guys live.”

  Logan took a drink of his beer. “Levi and I got a place not far from the firehouse. Then Gavin moved in, even though no one invited him.”

  “It’s a good thing, though,” Gavin said. “Your house was boring as shit before I moved in.”

  “Yeah, kinda. Levi isn’t exactly the life of the party. He just works and…” Logan trailed off and paused for a second. “I don’t know what else.”

  “What about Evan?”

  “His place is a couple of miles outside town. His shop’s out there too. He builds motorcycles and restores cars and shit. He hates people, so it seems to work for him.”

  “Since when does he hate people?”

  Logan shrugged. “Didn’t he always? He lives out there with his dog. We see him at Gram’s on Tuesdays for dinner, but that’s about it.”

  I took a long swallow, letting it all sink in. Something felt wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on what.

  “Are we allowed to talk about her yet?” Gavin asked.

  Logan elbowed him. “Dude, no.”

  “He wants to know where everyone lives and stuff. And it’s not like we can keep pretending she doesn’t exist.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I know where she lives. I went over there today.”

  “Fuck yes,” Gavin said. “Hand it over, buddy.”

  Logan groaned and pulled out his wallet. He handed Gavin a twenty. “Dick.”

  “It’s not my fault I have Gram-level psychic skills.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

  “We had a bet going on how long it would take you to go see her,” Logan said. “My money was on tomorrow. I figured you’d hold out at least another day before you cracked.”

  “What was Levi’s guess?” Gavin asked.

  “Next week or something.”

  Gavin laughed. “He’s such a cynical bastard.”

  “You guys are assholes,” I grumbled.

  “Well, this asshole believes in the power of love, and it just made him twenty bucks richer.” Gavin stretched out the twenty and wiggled his eyebrows.

  “The power of love?” Logan asked. “You’re so full of shit.”

  Gavin just grinned.

  Logan turned to me. “So how’d it go?”

  I ignored his question, hoping he’d take the hint and drop the subject.

  “That bad?” Gavin asked. “Don’t worry, bro, I’m sure she understands. You’ll last longer next time.”

  I shot a glare at him, my hand already balling into a fist.

  “Whoa.” He put his hands up, one still holding his beer, in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just messing with you.”

  With a slow breath to tamp down the flare of anger, I unclenched my fist. Of course he was just messing with me. It’s what we’d always done. But my first reaction had been to get ready for a fight.

  That was fucked up.

  “You okay, man?” Logan asked.

  “Yeah. I just don’t want to talk about her.”

  “All right. Fair enough. Thanks for your help tonight.”

  “No problem. Not that you needed me. But thanks for the beer.”

  “My pleasure,” Logan said. “And sure we did. Gotta initiate you back into Tilikum life, bronanza.”

  I nodded and took another drink. Tilikum life. Pranks. Some things around here hadn’t changed. But I had. And I didn’t really know whether I fit anymore.

  8

  Grace

  The shift schedule blurred on the screen. I’d been staring at it for the last hour, making little to no progress. This was ridiculous.

  Reaching my arms overhead, I straightened my back and stretched. I was at work, I needed to get my head back in the game. The baristas who worked for me weren’t going to want to wait to find out their schedule for next week just because my—sort of—fiancé was out of prison early and our reunion had basically sucked balls. There were perks to being the boss, like my cute little office and flexible hours. But I also couldn’t let things slide.

  I filled in a few fields on the schedule manager and made sure to hit save. I’d probably have to make changes later, but it would have to do for now. My brain simply didn’t want to cooperate today.

  My phone buzzed with a text, and I picked it up, already knowing it was probably Cara.

  Cara: I need a status update on the scary prison guy.

  Me: Where did you get the idea that he’s scary?

&nbs
p; It took her a long moment to answer.

  Cara: Damn it. Logan said scary. I retract my statement. If prince dickhead says he’s scary, he’s obviously a kitten.

  Me: He’s neither, and there’s no update.

  Cara: You have to give me something. I’m dying over here.

  Me: I already told you everything.

  Cara: You seriously haven’t talked to him since his shitty attempt at an apology yesterday?

  Me: Nope.

  Cara: Taser.

  Me: We’re still not going to taser him.

  Cara: Are you sure?

  Me: Positive. Are you coming tonight?

  Cara: Probably. Might as well do something while I’m not having sex because my love life is a joke and men are stupid.

  Me: They can’t all be stupid, can they?

  Cara: Still waiting for one to prove me wrong.

  Me: Fair enough. See you tonight.

  Mondays were Stitch and Sip night at the Knotty Knitter, Tilikum’s yarn and craft store. Gram had taught me to crochet years ago and invited me to come to the town’s knitting group. I’d been skeptical, envisioning a bunch of old ladies sitting around sipping tea with their knitting needles clicking while they gossiped about the rest of the old ladies in town. What could I possibly have in common with them?

  But it turned out, Stitch and Sip was a lot more fun than I would have thought. Especially after Cara had joined and started bringing drinks. A few of the ladies still hadn’t figured out that Long Island iced teas didn’t actually have any tea in them.

  It was pretty adorable.

  My phone binged with another text, this one from my mom, saying she was out front. I hit save on the schedule—again—and went out to the café.

  It always struck me how good my mom looked these days. Her hair was down and she wore a cute open cardigan and stylish jeans. Jack was with her, dressed in street clothes. He was a big guy with a salt and pepper beard and thick arms. He looked like a cop, even without his uniform, and the way he gently placed his hand on the small of Mom’s back was just the cutest.