When the phone rang again a second later, she answered without even looking at the call display. “You are relentless,” she said with a laugh.
“Expecting someone else, sweetheart?” her mother asked.
She groaned inwardly. Always check caller ID. Always.
“Yes, sorry . . . hi, Mom.” She opened the first promo sheet. She could work while they talked. No doubt her mom would inevitably launch into the daily happenings in Lovelock, followed by a summary of her latest psychic predictions, rounded out by an update of her favorite daytime drama, Endless Hearts. Grace had perfected the art of the well-placed uh-huh and that’s good to fool her mother into believing she was actually paying attention. “How are you?” There, that should set the train in motion while she approved these ads.
“I’m good. So how’s your roommate situation?”
Did her mom know about Walker? The tone in her voice made it hard to decipher what exactly she was talking about.
“I haven’t moved in with Erik, yet.”
“I know. There’s still time, thank God,” she mumbled.
Grace sighed. Her mother shared Kylie’s opinion of Erik. She was sure the two found strength in numbers, and she was surprised they hadn’t staged some sort of intervention yet. She didn’t understand their hang-up. Sure Erik was a little cool and standoffish, but in his line of work, he had to be. He didn’t sugarcoat things. He was a straight shooter. Too much so apparently for her mother and best friend.
“No, I meant Walker.” She said his name in a hushed, excited tone.
Okay, that was easy enough to read. “You spoke to Kylie?”
“She called this morning to chat.”
An involuntary pang of jealousy hit her and she brushed it aside. What did she care if her mother and Kylie were close . . . closer than she and her mother were. They had been for years—since Kylie’s mom died and she’d turned to Veronica Andrews for advice on school, fashion, boys, life. Grace had preferred to figure things out on her own. Therefore the late-night post-breakup cry sessions at her house with Ben & Jerry’s ice cream were reserved for Kylie’s heartbreaks, never her own.
“Yeah . . . well, it’s only for a few weeks.” Nineteen-and-a-half more days, to be exact.
“Long enough,” her mother said, sounding pleased.
“For what?”
“To fall in love with him again and give us all the big in-law family we want.”
“You mean the family you and Kylie want?”
“Who else matters?” her mother asked flippantly. “Anyway, tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” God, she hoped that lie sounded convincing. Her cheeks felt hot, and she knew if her mother could see her, she’d immediately call bullshit.
“Nothing?”
“Nope.” Except she’d seen him naked and he’d seen her naked. Now we are even, he’d said. Ha. Not even close. She’d built up twelve years of teenage lust and pent-up physical attraction. He couldn’t even begin to catch up. No, they weren’t even close to being close.
Man, her head hurt. Reaching for a bottle of aspirin on her desk, she popped two into her mouth and swallowed them dry.
“That’s a shame. I saw him last month when he was in town visiting Malcolm, and sweetheart, if you are not having sex with him yet, then you are not your mother’s child.”
How often had she wished that were true? And unfortunately her mother was right. Any man that had caught her mother’s eye over the years hadn’t had to wait long to have her heart and her body. Veronica firmly believed sex and love were two different things, yet for her mother one usually followed the other. She was often left brokenhearted and, in the case of Grace’s father, broke. He’d been a con man who’d done the worst damage of all.
Grace loved her mother. Everyone did. Veronica Andrews was a sweet and caring person—a little too sweet and caring. Never seeing the bad in anyone. Grace had often felt like the adult in their relationship, and she’d longed for someone she could look up to. Her mother had done her best, but it fell just short of what Grace had needed, and going home only served as a reminder of the life she’d left behind.
“I am in a committed relationship, Mom.” There was no point discussing the other reason—that she didn’t fall into bed with every hot guy who asked. That would only lead to a lecture about how sex wasn’t something to be ashamed of . . .
Her mother sighed. “So, will you two be driving home together next weekend for the anniversary party?”
“I never said I was coming home yet.” She rested her forehead in her hand. But she would. She knew it. Between Kylie and her mother, they wouldn’t rest until they got her to agree to attend.
“Well, I need to know so I can clean out your old bedroom . . .”
“Don’t go through any trouble, Mom. I can stay at the B and B.” And just like that, she’d basically agreed to attend.
“No way. Family stays with family.”
She cringed. The last thing she wanted was to stay with her mother. The tiny, clutter-filled space would cause her to have an anxiety attack within moments of arriving. And there was no way she could bring Erik back there. Her mother’s minor hoarding addiction was something she’d so far been successful in keeping from him.
She wasn’t even sure if he would be back from California in time to go to Lovelock with her. Or if he would even want to, she realized. “If I decide to come, it will most likely be just me. Erik’s in California.”
“Alone?”
Gracie fought the irritation at her mother’s suspicious tone. “Yes, alone. It’s a work trip, Mom, not a vacation.”
“Why didn’t you go with him? Turn it into a vacation. You always say you haven’t had a vacation in years.”
“I wanted to, but I had to stay behind to work.”
“Work, Gracie?” The disappointment in her mother’s voice annoyed her.
“Yes, Mom—work. It was important I stay here and get things organized for next month’s fight card.” She didn’t expect her to understand. Her mother had never been career driven. Working as a waitress was more than she’d ever wanted to do. And she said she only worked because she liked to meet people, not because she cared about money, even though they sure as hell needed it and there was never enough.
Grace had cared about money, or more specifically, the lack thereof in her home growing up. Often, they’d relied on food handouts from the church, and her clothing was always hand-me-downs from the thrift store.
She still remembered the day she’d shown up at school wearing a jean skirt she knew Kylie had donated to the thrift store the week before. Her friend had been kind enough not to say a word, but it was the sympathetic look she’d caught briefly in her friend’s eyes that had made her vow never to be financially troubled, especially not if she planned to someday have a family of her own. Her ambition was a direct result of her mother’s lack of it.
“Different priorities, I guess,” her mom said. “Anyway, you’ll never believe who finally painted their fence . . .”
Ah, here we go. The part of the conversation where she could tune out and get some work done.
***
“Good news, man, I got you a sponsor,” Pat said, leaning over the bar later that evening at ShadowDancers.
“A sponsor already?” Walker asked, eyeing his manager with suspicion. Things were happening so fast. First he was offered a fight and now he had a sponsor. It made him a little cautious.
“Unless you don’t want one,” Pat said, holding up his arms and shrugging. “It’s no sweat off my back . . .”
“I want one.” The money in his own personal bank account was dwindling, and he sure as hell wasn’t making enough in tips every night to start looking for a place of his own. And if he didn’t keep his head on straight and hands off of Gracie, he would be out on his ass, sleeping in the Jeep. And training at the gym was hard enough without a good night’s sleep and the use of a bathroom and kitchen. Sponsorship meant money. “Wh
o have we got?”
“Scratch-Stop.” He proudly displayed a pair of tight, hot pink underwear briefs with yellow lettering stamped across the ass.
Walker stared at the tiny briefs in disbelief. One of his balls wouldn’t fit in that thing.
“What?” Pat frowned, turning the shorts around in his hand. On the crotch section was the company’s logo—a hand inside a circle with a slash through it.
Classy.
“I’m trying to decide which part of this is worse—this banana-hammock thing you expect me to wear on pay-per-view TV for my debut fight in the MFL, or the fact that my sponsor is a jock-itch cream.” He rested his hands on the bar and prayed his manager was messing with him.
“Look, man, you’re a new fighter. The Condom Depot isn’t exactly knocking on your door. I had to use every persuasion technique I had to get these guys to sponsor you,” Pat said. “And what’s wrong with these shorts? I’d wear them.”
Walker turned and opening a case of Strongbow, he began filling the bar fridge behind him. “Good. You wear them. We’ll still get the money if you wear them in my corner during the fight, right?”
“No. It doesn’t work that way.”
Walker folded the empty box and added it to the pile behind the kitchen door. “Forget it, Pat . . . I refuse to embarrass myself in there.” Trying not to embarrass himself by getting schooled by his opponent would be tough enough.
“If you win the fight, they’ll give you five grand.”
He stopped. “Five grand if I win . . . how much if I lose?”
“Two.”
Still, not exactly eight fifty an hour. Enough to get his own place and put some much-needed distance between him and Gracie. The temptation was too strong. He needed the cash. “Let me see the . . . shorts . . . again,” he said, taking them from his manager.
He held them up and stretched the fabric. How in the hell was he supposed to get into these? He’d seen fighters wear briefs before, but damn—these were more like a thong. Though, maybe the crazy color or the fact they left nothing covered would throw his opponent off his game a little. Might be worth the embarrassment for that advantage. He shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering it.
“That is the brightest fucking eyesore I’ve ever seen. Put it away,” Maria barked, joining him behind the bar.
He quickly tucked them into the back pocket of his jeans and reached for a dishcloth to wipe the bar. The place was starting to fill and he still needed to restock the liquor bottles. “I’ll think about it.”
Maria yanked the tiny strip of fabric from his pocket. “You can’t be serious, Walker.” She wrinkled her razor-sharp nose and tossed them into the trash can.
“Hey! They said those were the only pair they were providing . . . a one-size-fits-all kinda thing,” Pat said, leaning over the bar to try to reach the underwear.
One size fits no one was more like it.
Maria slapped his hand and pushed him back over the bar. She placed her hands on her hips. “Pat McHale. I should have known you were the mastermind behind this.” She turned to Walker. “Couldn’t you have found yourself a better manager?”
“I’m offended,” Pat said.
“I tried,” Walker said with a sigh. “But I had to work, remember?”
“Even more offended.”
They ignored him.
“Fine. Even though you are the worst bartender I’ve ever had in here, the girls seem to like you and Billy said you settled an argument in here the other night before it escalated into a fight. God knows we can’t afford any more fines, so I guess I can help you out,” Maria said.
“You’ll sponsor me?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A Vegas night club would be a much better sponsor than a sweaty-balls itch cream.
“I’ll provide the shorts and the banner for your corner, but all I can offer is a two-thousand payout, win or lose,” she said.
Grabbing her, he twirled her around behind the bar, planting a loud, smacking kiss on her lips. “You are amazing.”
She blinked, looking slightly dizzy as she slapped his arms. “Put me down or I’ll change my mind.”
He set on her on the floor. “Sorry. Thank you, Maria.”
“Hey! I’m your manager and I busted my butt to get Scratch-Stop for you. Where’s my twirl and kiss?” Pat grumbled, retrieving the briefs from the trash can. No doubt another desperate fighter would be squeezing their ass into them.
“I think that explains why he wanted you to wear that tiny bikini,” Maria said with a teasing wink as she disappeared back toward her office.
***
Unlocking her apartment door later that evening, Gracie released a sigh of relief. Inside was dark and quiet. Walker wasn’t there. She hung her coat in the closet and freed her feet of the three-inch heels that had cost a small fortune based on the designer, not on comfort. When she hit the light for the living room, she saw his open suitcase on the floor in front of the sofa.
Don’t snoop. That is private property.
As if he hadn’t gone through her things when she wasn’t home, she thought, sitting on the floor next to it. T-shirts, jeans, underwear, socks . . . several notebooks from the university. Nothing interesting.
Then, at the bottom of the pile was a picture frame. Turning it around, she smiled.
It was a family photo—one of the last ones the Adamses had taken when Emily was alive. Walker and Kylie looked so young, smiling next to their parents beneath a big maple tree in the town park. Dressed in jeans and black T-shirts, the family looked like an ad for Old Navy. She’d always envied Kylie for having such a close family unit, a mom, dad, and brother who put each other above all else. Of course she also envied the fact that the family lived in one of the biggest houses in town and their bills were always paid. She knew Kylie and Walker had never had to eat barbecue hot dogs every day for two weeks because the electricity in the home was shut off, or do their homework by flashlight and candlelight. So often she’d wished the family would offer to adopt her.
Then Emily had died and, without her mother, her friend’s life had unraveled. Things had changed drastically for the family. Judge Adams had thrown himself into his work, leaving his teenage kids to survive the tragedy on their own, together. That was when Kylie had gotten close to Grace’s mother, and while Grace didn’t understand her mom at times, she was happy Kylie had had someone she could turn to.
She touched Walker’s smiling face, so handsome even then. At fifteen, he’d had the world at his fingertips. He’d been happy, carefree, popular . . . the guy every other guy wanted to be and every girl wanted. Including her.
Then slowly he’d changed, little by little. He’d been angry when he’d lost his mom, and within a year, he’d started spending more time at the gym than at school, though he’d still pulled off amazing grades, landing him a scholarship to college—not that he needed it. His fighting with his father started in senior year when the question about his future arose, and from what she’d gathered from Kylie, he’d gone into law school to please his father, hoping to regain the relationship they’d once had, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness and goals. She wondered what had made him suddenly reconsider the career path he’d resolved himself to. So close to having the degree finished to drop out . . .
The apartment door opened and she jumped, dropping the photo back into the open suitcase.
“Hi,” Walker said simply, glancing at his open suitcase on the floor.
“Walker—I’m sorry . . . I wasn’t snooping . . . it was open and I . . .”
“And you decided to take a peek,” he finished, but he was smiling.
Her cheeks flaming, she tried to shut the suitcase. “Sorry . . .”
Sitting on the floor beside her, he stopped her. “It’s okay. I went through that box of personal items you keep under your bed . . .”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He laughed. “I was kidding, but now that I know there is one . . .
”
She hit his arm. “Jerk.”
“Hey, I’m not the one caught red-handed. Find anything interesting in there?” He nodded toward the half-shut case.
She took the picture out and handed it to him. “Just this.”
He sat back against the couch and stared at it. “She was so incredible.”
“She was.” Emily Adams was the supermom everyone at school loved. She didn’t work outside of the home, so she dropped her kids off at school and picked them up instead of them having to take the bus or walk. She was the head of the PTA committee, and she was often at school as much as the kids were organizing events. Kylie and Walker had never tasted a store-bought cookie—always having fresh-baked snacks waiting for them after school—and despite Judge Adams’s busy work schedule, Emily insisted on two family vacations a year. The family had gone everywhere—Disney World, Paris, Hawaii . . .
“Her death was such a shock. She was so full of life—energetic and happy. She died two months after this photo was taken. Kylie and I hadn’t even known she was sick.”
“It was definitely unexpected,” she said softly. Emily Adams had kept her illness a secret from everyone except her husband. It wasn’t until a month before she’d passed that she’d been unable to hide it any longer. Once she’d started losing weight and feeling tired and sick, she told her children. Grace hadn’t seen much of Kylie back then. She’d refused to leave her mother’s side, even to attend school, but every day she would sit on the Adams porch after school, in case her friend needed her.
And then one day she did.
“I was really glad Kylie had you and your mom back then.”
Funny how she’d been thinking the same thing.
“Dad had buried himself in work and I was a kid; I didn’t know how to deal with her or talk to her . . .”
Breaking Her Rules Page 7
