But on the morning of day three, something was different. I think partly we all felt a little better. Like we’d pushed through the initial soreness and our bodies were adapting. But there was a mental shift, too. I almost can’t explain it.
Evan smiled. He actually smiled. More than once. I can’t remember the last time I saw him do that.
I saw it in Logan too. He sort of chilled out. It was like he didn’t need to fill in every silence or make sure someone was always looking at him.
Gavin was the calmest I’ve ever seen him. It was eerie, actually. Not that we didn’t have to stop him from killing himself at least a dozen times. He tried to catch a rattlesnake, Asher. Why does he have a death wish? But overall, he was way more mellow than normal.
Speaking of smiling, when we stopped for lunch that day, Levi cracked a joke. Can you believe it? I didn’t think he remembered how. I forgot how funny he could be.
I don’t know what it was. Maybe being away from everything with no distractions. Out in the fresh air under that huge blue sky, the mountains all around us. Or maybe Gram’s right and you are all a bunch of wild animals. Maybe I was seeing the Bailey men as they’re meant to be, wild and free.
Whatever it was, there was some magic out there. It was a grueling hike and sleeping on the ground sucks, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat, especially if you were there. I’d love to see what the wilderness would do to you. If it would open you up and set you free the way it did for them.
Maybe someday we’ll experience that together.
In any case, I not only survived, I conquered. Now I’m happy to be home, and a bed has never felt so good.
Love you,
Grace
13
Asher
Sometimes it was annoying as hell how fast word could spread in this town. Although the number of people stopping by Gram’s to gawk at the ex-con slowed, I couldn’t go anywhere without being followed by whispers and stares. The gossip train was rolling. Rumors ranged from a prison riot leading to my escape—no idea how they’d come up with that one, since I wasn’t in hiding—to my family being secretly rich and bribing the governor.
My favorite was the speculation that I’d never been in prison at all—that I was actually a spy and had been on an extended covert mission overseas.
People around here had always loved spinning tall tales, so I wasn’t sure if anyone actually believed all that bullshit. But it fed the town’s curiosity.
However, sometimes word getting around could work in a guy’s favor. Case in point, after Gram loaned me out to my great-aunt Tillie to fix a few things she claimed had been on my great-uncle Fred’s honey-do list for a decade, I started to get calls. A week later, I had enough work that I could consider myself employed.
Becoming the local handyman hadn’t exactly been the plan. But it was a way to get back on my feet, and I liked that there wasn’t too much commitment. As hard as I was trying to adapt to life in Tilikum again, I still had doubts. Big ones. I didn’t want anything tying me down right now.
I’d spent most of the day at Mitch and Darcy Benson’s house, installing a new sliding door. Mitch had come home partway through the day and had eyed me warily for a while. I wasn’t sure whether he was threatened by the fact that he had an ex-con in his house, or didn’t like that his wife had called someone else to do a job. A few hard stares back at him and he’d left me alone. But it hadn’t exactly been comfortable.
Maybe I’d stick with little old ladies for clients. The worst they did was gawk at my tattoos and try to feed me cookies.
My route home took me through town. Dark clouds were rolling in and the air smelled like rain. I passed the Steaming Mug and my gaze lingered on the coffee shop as I slowly drove by. Just a glimpse of the place where Grace worked, and my mind was suddenly filled with her.
She was the moon to my ocean. I couldn’t escape her gravity.
But I was sure as hell fighting it. I had to.
The other night at the Caboose, I’d come dangerously close to giving in. Again. Sitting next to her, hearing her voice, our legs touching beneath the table, I’d almost caved. I’d been a heartbeat away from hauling her out to my truck and fucking her right there in the parking lot.
It had been such a long time.
Instead, I’d left. And it had been the right call. I couldn’t let that happen. I’d only wind up hurting her more than I already had.
Since then, I’d kept my distance. She was at Gram’s for Tuesday dinner, but I stayed in the kitchen—surrounded by my brothers—the whole time. I didn’t want to risk being alone with her. The two of us out on the back porch again would be a recipe for temptation I didn’t know if I could resist.
Other than that, I hadn’t seen her. We texted back and forth a little, but I avoided making plans with her. I still didn’t know if what I was attempting was possible—if we could live separate lives, side by side in the same town. And maybe it was wrong of me to stay. Maybe I was making it harder for her to let go, just by being here.
Something in the middle of the road caught my attention and I slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting it. I jerked forward against the seat belt and my hands clenched the steering wheel.
Harvey Johnston slowly stood and adjusted his cowboy hat. He grinned and held his hand up in a wave.
I rolled down the window and leaned out. “Harvey, what are you doing in the street?”
He turned in a slow circle. “Am I?”
“Yeah, buddy. Did you lose something?”
His brow furrowed and he patted himself down, like he was looking for something. A smile crossed his face. He reached into the pocket of his leather vest and pulled out a small spray bottle. “Found it.”
“What is that?”
“Squirrel repellent,” he said, triumphant. He tipped his hat to me and wandered over to the sidewalk.
Chuckling, I shook my head and kept driving.
I would miss this place if I left.
I drove by the gym where I used to train and, on a whim, I pulled over and parked. I’d passed it at least a dozen times, but I hadn’t gone in. My life as a fighter had developed there. For a kid with a lot of anger to work through, it had been a much-needed outlet.
But the skills I’d learned there had also been one of the reasons I’d faced jail time.
I looked down at my hands, flexing them a few times. My knuckles were mostly healed and the cut on my forehead was barely a scab. The marks I bore from years of fighting had faded, the scars becoming harder to see. Unfortunately, the ones on the inside hadn’t gone anywhere.
Clenching my fists again, I thought about the last time I’d hit something. It had been a while, and as fucked up as it was, a part of me missed it.
The demons wanted to be let out.
Which was why I was not going into that gym to ask to start training again. My days as a fighter were over.
But I did need a place to work out. There was another gym over by the college, but it was one of those chain places. I didn’t need rows of treadmills and repetitive pop music played over the speaker system. I needed a place to lift.
I went inside and was greeted by the familiar smells of rubber and metal. One side of the gym had a weight training area, with squat racks, benches, and free weights. That was what I was after. I’d worked out a lot in prison, and I didn’t want to lose my strength.
The other side had open practice mats, a roped-off boxing ring, and an MMA cage toward the back. Punching bags hung from steel chains. A coach worked with a small class on one of the grappling mats and a couple of guys sparred in the ring.
I’d never thought of MMA as anything other than a hobby, even when I’d entered tournaments. I’d just enjoyed the physical and mental challenge, and it had taught me a lot.
But in prison, fighting had become something different for me. Something dark and dangerous. Something I no longer trusted.
I tore my gaze away from the mats and found someone who worked there. He set m
e up with a membership so I could come in and lift. And even though I wasn’t putting on gloves again, it felt like a step in the right direction to do this for myself. It wasn’t much, and I was still living with Gram for the time being. But it was something.
Dusk was falling when I left. The clouds covered any trace of the darkening sky and the first drops of rain pattered against the asphalt. Felt like we were in for a storm.
I walked up the block to my truck, fiddling with the keys in my pocket. The street was empty, as if everyone had scurried inside at the threat of rain. But before I’d made it halfway, my back tightened and a chill shot down my spine.
Eyes. Someone was watching me.
I slowed my pace, straining to listen. Were there footsteps behind me, or was that just the rain? Huge drops splashed across my arms, dripped into my hair. My heart raced and my body tingled with adrenaline. I clenched my fists, digging my fingers into my palms.
I stopped next to my truck and whipped around, my arm already cocked and ready to lay a motherfucker out.
Nothing. The street was empty. Not even a fucking squirrel.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and rain pelted me, falling hard now. Squinting in the waning light, I searched, but I didn’t see anyone. Had I imagined it? Or had someone been watching? Slowly, I lowered my arm.
Feeling unsettled, I got into my truck and drove home.
The windshield wipers could hardly keep up with the sudden downpour. My eyes alternated between watching the road, and checking the mirrors, looking for any sign that I was being followed.
No headlights flashed behind me. I tried to relax my grip on the steering wheel, but my heart still beat too fast. My instincts screamed at me. You had to have eyes in the back of your head in prison, especially when you were a constant target. I hadn’t seen anyone, but I’d felt the all-too-familiar sensation of being watched.
I didn’t know what it meant, but it couldn’t be good.
The windows glowed with light when I got to Gram’s. I sat in the truck for a few minutes, my eyes glued to the rear-view mirror, just in case. But no one else came down the road.
And there she was again, filling my thoughts out of nowhere. Grace.
I had a sudden vision of knocking on her door, dripping wet from the rain. Of her pulling me inside and stripping off my soaked clothes to get me warm. Her hands all over me. Her skin pressed against mine.
My heartbeat slowing to match hers.
Jesus. Where had that come from?
With one last glance in the rear-view, I got out of the truck. I ran up to the front porch to get out of the rain and almost stepped on a box sitting on the welcome mat. That was weird. It didn’t look like a package that had been shipped—too flimsy. And there was no address label. Just an envelope with my name on it taped to the top.
Something made me reluctant to touch it, but I picked it up and took it inside.
“Hey, Gram?”
Her voice came from the kitchen. “Hi there, Bear.”
“Do you know who left this?” I asked as I walked in. I set the box on the counter.
Gram sat at the big farmhouse table with a mug of tea and the remnants of her dinner. She wore a pair of reading glasses and had a thick novel open next to her plate. “Left what?”
“This box. It was on the porch.”
“No, they must not have rung the bell.”
Eying the box with suspicion, I pulled off the envelope and opened it. A slip of paper was tucked inside. It read, It’s not your birthday, but we thought you might enjoy some cake.
I set the note aside and popped the tape on the top.
Sure enough, inside was a small cake. Had to be homemade. The chocolate frosting was uneven and someone had attempted to write Asher in blue. But it was mostly a jumbled mess of smears.
“What the…”
“What is it?” Gram asked.
“A cake.”
“Who’s it from?”
I turned both the note and envelope over to see if I’d missed something. “I don’t know. It doesn’t say.”
“Is it actually cake, or is something else with frosting on it?”
“That’s a very good question.”
Without knowing who’d left this, it could be anything. Once we’d sent a box of donuts filled with hot sauce and mayonnaise to one of the Haven brothers. This cake smelled good, but there was no way I trusted it.
I grabbed a knife and sliced through the middle. It felt like cake until I hit something hard. Thick chunks fell away, crumbling around an object, like it had been baked right in.
Oh for fuck’s sake. I picked through the crumbs and pulled out a metal file.
Someone had left me a cake with a file baked into it.
I held it up to show Gram. “This was in it.”
She eyed it over the rim of her glasses. “That would have been more helpful before they let you out of prison.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Really, Gram?”
She just shrugged.
This had to have been one of my brothers. Probably Logan, the fucker. I was going to have to get him back for this.
“Do you want any of it?” I asked.
Gram raised her eyebrows. “You realize it was probably one of those animals you call brothers who baked that, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” I leaned closer and inhaled. “It smells like chocolate.”
“Suit yourself, but I wouldn’t chance it.”
“You’re probably right. Are you sure you don’t know who left this?”
She didn’t look up from her book. “Sure don’t.”
There wasn’t even a hint of humor in her voice. No indication that she knew and was keeping it from me. But I still wasn’t sure. Gram was crafty. She might have been in on it. She never owned up to a prank, but I’d caught an amused twinkle in her eye more than once.
I pulled out my phone and took a quick picture before tossing the cake in the trash. I was going to text my brothers and see if the perpetrator would fess up, but I felt the sudden pull of Grace’s gravity.
This would make her laugh. I could send it to her just to make her laugh, right? That wouldn’t hurt anything.
Me: Found this on the porch.
Grace: Is that a file? Oh my god, that’s a terrible joke. I can’t stop laughing.
Me: My money is on Logan, but I’m not ruling out Gavin.
Grace: Probably both. Or Levi. He’s quiet about it, but he won’t hesitate if he sees an opening. What are you going to do to get them back?
Me: I’ll have to think of something.
Grace: Better make it good.
Me: I will.
My thumbs hesitated above the keys, ready to type, maybe I can come over and we can plot their demise together? But I stopped. Set my phone down.
That wasn’t a good idea. Until I was sure we could just be friends, I needed to be careful. Anything else wasn’t fair to her.
And hell, it wasn’t fair to me either.
14
Grace
As much as I loved my little house—particularly for what it meant—Cara had the coolest house in town. When she’d first moved here, she’d bemoaned the lack of what she called adequate housing options. I guess when you’d grown up in a literal mansion, small-town living took some getting used to.
She’d found a house built on the hillside overlooking the river, just on the north edge of town. The owners hadn’t been looking to sell, but she’d offered them a ridiculous amount of money for it. Then she’d gutted it and completely remodeled every inch.
Or, more accurately, she’d sipped drinks and ogled the construction crew while they remodeled every inch.
Fine. We’d ogled the construction crew.
That had been a fun six months.
I’d texted her this morning to see if she wanted to run some errands with me. She hadn’t answered yet, but I’d decided to come over anyway.
I parked in her driveway and let myself in. “Cara?”
> The main floor had an open floorplan. From the entry, I could see all the way to the back of the house, where floor-to-ceiling windows offered an incredible view of the river. Dark wood beams across the ceiling contrasted beautifully with her light furniture and cabinetry.
“Cara?” I called again. “Are you home?”
She appeared at the top of the wide staircase carrying a white suitcase. “Hey, fluffy love bunny. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Are you going somewhere? Or did I invite you over for a slumber party and forgot?”
“I have to go to L.A.” She came down and set the suitcase at the bottom of the stairs.
“Is everything okay?”
She sighed. “Not according to my mother, but she’s insane, so who knows. She’s going through a crisis. Again. I’ll be back in a few days.”
“I hope she’s all right.”
“She’s probably fine. If you think I’m dramatic, she makes me look like a weed smoking surfer who meditates. Anyway, I’m so sorry to leave you right now.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because we’re on a mission to get your fiancé back.”
“We?”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Yes, we. You’re my person, Grace. You want something, I help you get it. That’s how this works. You want Asher Bailey to marry you? I’m going to get that stubborn tattooed son-of-a-bitch to the fucking altar.”
I stepped in and hugged her. “You’re crazy, but I love you.”
“I know. I love you too.” She squeezed me and planted a kiss on my head. “I got your text, but what errands did you need to run? Do you want me to come with you? I can call and get them to hold the plane for a couple of hours.”
Cara rarely flew commercial, especially when she made quick trips home. She preferred to charter small private planes.
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “I need a few groceries and some stuff at the hardware store. But it’s no big deal.”
Fighting for Us: A Small Town Family Romance (The Bailey Brothers Book 2) Page 11