Midwest Fighter (Kendall Family Book 2)

by Jennifer Ann

  That certainly doesn’t sound good. Even in the throws of an unexpected separation with Mum, I never heard him raise his voice to that degree. Besides, she was usually too high on Oxy to understand that she was a part of any conversation.

  When Dad spies me watching from the entryway, he flinches and turns away. “I have to go, Peter. My daughter is in town for a few days. I don’t have time for this.”

  He spins back around, setting his phone on the island. “Sorry about that, sweetheart.”

  I tilt my head. “Everything alright?”

  “It’s fine, sweetie,” he insists with a wave of his hand. “That was just one of many disgruntled employees who got the shaft when I sold the company. They don’t seem to understand that what happened after the buy-out was out of my hands.” Despite a line of sweat forming over his dark brow, he flashes one of his easy-going smiles. “What do you say we sit down with a plate of those cookies? I don’t think I’ve indulged in them since your last visit!”

  I don’t bother to dwell on the subject any longer, knowing from the sudden change of tone that he won’t allow any more talk of business even if I tried. That’s how he’s been programmed all my life. Business and family don’t mix in the complex mind of my father.

  The familiar exchange makes me feel more at home than I could’ve expected.

  Three painstakingly long days later in which I see very little of Dad and more of his cleaning staff, I arrive in LA. From the moment I find Evelyn in the private room backstage at the events center, pacing like a nutter with eyes wide, she already seems to be at her wit’s end. At least she appears the way one would expect the wife of a rockstar to be in the crocheted bodice and faux leather pants we designed together when the concept of the Rocker Chique collection first came into existence.

  When I first told Dad that we were launching the business he was rather impressed, but even more so the night before when I mentioned our line was being considered by a few major retailers. His praise meant more than he could imagine. It’s a boost to my confidence knowing I’ve got his support as I plan to put my heart and soul into this business until it’s a success.

  “Shar!” Evelyn squeaks, running to me for an embrace. “God, I’m so happy to see you! The stage manager already took Charlie to prepare for the opening song and you would not believe all the women Dante has turned away! How the hell do they get in, anyway? They didn’t even sell backstage passes for this tour!”

  Eyes rolling toward the ceiling, I back away. “Groupies have a knack for that sort of thing, finding a way in when there’s none to be found. But you have nothing to worry about. Anyone who knows Charlie Walker is well aware he’s smitten with one woman. Perhaps you’ve heard of her. I hear she’s a fit little number. He calls her ‘pickles’ or some odd thing. Rumor has it he tattooed her nickname on his intimate bits to make his intentions perfectly clear to any slag who manages to get her hands down his pants.”

  “Very funny.” Her arms cross over her bare midriff as she giggles. “This is why I needed you here with me. You make me realize how much I’m sweating the small stuff.” Her eyes take in my fringed mini-dress and oodles of jewelry. “You look great, by the way!”

  “As do you.” Looping my arm through hers, I plant a kiss on her temple. “Right, then. How do fabulous women such as ourselves get their hands on a drink in a place like this? We need to loosen you up before you’re exposed to the thousands of screaming women waiting for your husband.”

  A few minutes later when Dante delivers a bottle of whiskey, I belatedly remember that I could very well be with child and nearly toss my cookies as Evelyn tosses back a swig of the dark liquid. When she hands me the bottle, I point to the doorway. “Hold on. Was that Gavin Rossdale? You never mentioned he’d be here, naughty girl. Were you hoping to keep him all to yourself?”

  Knowing Evelyn would lose her shit if the lead singer of Bush were really in attendance, I’m not surprised when she darts to the hallway, searching back and forth like a woman gone mad. When she re-enters the room, frowning, I wipe my mouth like I’ve just taken a pull of the whiskey.

  “I didn’t see anyone, Shar.”

  “Perhaps I’m suffering from a bit of jet lag.” I set the bottle down on a table and wrap my arm with hers. “Any word from home on your dad’s case?” I ask, hoping to distract her and get an update on James in the process.

  “Oh shit, I forgot to tell you!” Eyes wide, she grabs onto my other arm. “Hunter said the FBI has become involved. I don’t completely understand the reason why—something to do with racketeering. I guess Dad and Uncle Orin’s paperwork for one of the government farm programs is being investigated. Hunter’s worried Dad was involved in something shady, but I don’t believe it for a second.”

  My stomach surges on her behalf. I can’t image anything having to do with their dad and racketeering in the same sentence could be a good thing. “How are the others taking the news?”

  The way she releases me and her eyebrows lower, I worry Charlie has told her of my involvement with James and she’s about to give me a piece of her mind. “Hunter’s the only one who didn’t split after the funeral. He said it’s a total madhouse on the farm. Even though he doesn’t know when they’ll let him move back in, he seems to be taking it all in stride.”

  “Wait. Where was James headed?”

  “God, I’m sorry. Things have been so crazy since we left Minnesota that I keep forgetting to keep you up-to-date. Charlie talked him into staying at our place for awhile so he can train with that old boxing legend dude Charlie works with. After what happened between James and Braden the night of the funeral, Charlie thinks it’ll be good for him to get out of town for a few days and focus on something other than Dad’s murder.”

  My heart literally skips a beat. James is going to be staying mere minutes from my flat! Suddenly I can’t seem to swallow. “How long does he plan on staying?”

  “He didn’t say. Hopefully long enough to get his anger under control.” A small smirk tilts her lips and she nudges me with her elbow. “Don’t worry, he’ll still be there when you fly back tomorrow. I gave him your number in case he needs…anything.”

  Eyes narrowed, I set my hands on my hips. “And why exactly are you looking at me like a cheeky monkey?”

  She releases a nasally laugh. “Give me a little credit, Shar. At the wedding I noticed you two were sweet on each other and I get the feeling something happened between you guys the night we found him in the shed fighting Asher. I’m fine with it as long as you remember how controlling he was with me all those years. You’ve seen how intense he can get and I’ve seen you somehow manage the impossible feat of talking him down. But if you decide to get involved with my brother, you need to prepare yourself for one crazy-ass ride that doesn’t come with brakes. He takes the well-being of everyone in his life seriously and won't back down for anything. I’m not totally convinced you’re up for someone like that.”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what to say to you right now. I’m not about to ‘get involved’ with someone who is merely in town for a few days on holiday.” Not exactly true considering what already took place in Minnesota, but it would seem the words need to be spoken aloud as a reminder to myself more than anything. “And if you believe for one moment that I’d give up my flat in Brooklyn Heights to live on a ranch, I must insist you have your noggin examined for leakage.”

  Evelyn’s maddening smile refuses to fade when she shakes her head. “We both know I have no business dishing out advice on relationships, but I know from experience what happens when two people who are right for each other feel a mutual attraction. It’s almost impossible to stop something like that. Who knows? Maybe the two of you would be good for each other. The rest of the details might work themselves out if it’s meant to be. You remember how convinced I was that I couldn’t have a meaningful relationship with someone famous.”

  Dante’s large frame makes a return appearance in the doorway, effectively putting an end t
o what’s transpiring to be the most awkward conversation of my mostly uncomplicated existence. “Time to go, ladies.”

  As we’re escorted inside the stadium, the pain from Evelyn’s sharp fingernails digging into the back of my hand are enough of a distraction from my own crises to remind me she’s living one of her own. The roar of the crowd and squeal of an electric guitar are deafening as Dante shows us to our spots beside the stage. We barely make it in time to see strobe lights flickering through a smoky haze, revealing Charlie’s silhouette emerging from beneath the stage pit.

  The bloke was clearly born for this the way he dominates the stage, flashing his million-dollar smile and moving around with a sexy ease as the crowd howls in approval. Even in a casual T-shirt and jeans it’s easy to see why he’s the fantasy of every American woman possessing a pulse.

  I feel like a jealous cow when watching my best friend’s eyes glaze over with the sight of her husband ripping into his guitar as he starts crooning one of his latest hits. Once Evelyn adjusted to the pitfalls of being with a fit rockstar, the complications of their relationship were a mere hiccup in the grand scheme of things. At least they were both in the same timezone when it all began.

  As much as I’d fancy a fair go with James, there’s far more than distance getting in our way. I imagine loving someone with severe mood swings would be exhausting, and I don’t know that I have what it takes to be in a controlling relationship. No matter, every nook and cranny of my body still manages to tingle with memories of our two stolen nights at the hotel. The severity in those eyes, the way he touched me—the mere memory of it all is enough to properly soak my knickers. What harm could there possibly be in having a little fun together while he’s visiting Brooklyn?

  Chapter 7

  JAMES

  When Charlie suggested the night of Dad’s funeral that I spend a few days in New York training with Manny Gibbs, I almost said yes on the spot. I’d do anything for another shot with Sharlo. But I told him I’d think on it.

  Then I saw Sharlo leaving a little while later and went on my phone to buy a plane ticket. The idea of not seeing her again for months or even longer drove me fucking insane. If nothing else, I want another chance to legitimately make it up to her for acting like a nut-case. I finally had the chance to be with her and I fucking blew it.

  The sex was explosive both times. Maybe even the best I’ve ever had. But while I was slamming into her like an animal, she watched me with this confusing look that wasn't quite pity but was nowhere near longing. Then the way she said goodbye outside of Roadrunners…I should’ve told her I didn’t want her to leave.

  The ride from JFK to my sister’s place blows me away with every turn. Even though I grew up in a small town, I’ve been to enough sporting events and concerts in St. Paul and Minneapolis that I’m comfortable driving in big cities. But whenever I think I have a decent feel for how life must be for Ev and Sharlo to live in Brooklyn, something completely unexpected happens. The private driver Charlie hired has an engineering degree but can’t find a job. My sister’s neighborhood, something I pictured as being chaotic since it’s a part of the city, seems relatively quiet as we roll through the stone streets framed by budding trees. The rockstar’s pad I figured would be over-the-top and extravagant ends up being tasteful and inviting like somewhere I could live.

  And then, after dropping my duffle bag in the spare bedroom and giving the place a thorough once-over, I answer a knock on the front door to find a small blonde covered in tattoos with nose and eyebrow piercings, clutching a brown paper bag and flashing a timid smile.

  “James, right? I’m really sorry to hear about your dad.” She hands me the paper bag and slips inside, leaving a trail of citrus-like perfume. When she turns back to me, her bright green eyes slowly drag across my chest before settling on my face. “I’m Hope. I used to be your sister’s boss at the bar, now I’m just a good friend. She asked me to stop by and introduce myself in case there’s anything you need. I just live like a dozen blocks over. I brought you one of Leona’s legendary burgers since I knew Ev left here in a hurry and there wouldn’t be anything in the fridge.”

  Though she’s hot and her personality is almost as outgoing as Sharlo's, she doesn’t do anything for me, and I just want to be left alone so I can go to sleep. The lack of attraction has everything to do with the British beauty I haven’t been able to shake from my thoughts.

  “I just got here,” I tell Hope, sticking my free hand in my pocket and peering into the bag. The burger smells delicious and makes my stomach growl, reminding me I haven’t had anything since breakfast. I look back at her behind furrowed brows. “I was just going to watch a little TV before going to bed.”

  Her sweet lips curl with a smile. “How about I join you?” Acting like she’s done it a million times, she breezes into the kitchen and grabs two beers from the fridge. “There’s a local band playing tonight at Leona’s if you’d rather stay up. You could experience some of the local culture and see where your sister spent a few months of her life.”

  “Not interested,” I say as she hands me one of the beers. When she looks surprised by my bluntness I clench my fist, ashamed by my impatience. “Sorry. It’s been a rough week.”

  The anger I’ve been carrying around since finding Dad hasn’t eased up other than the few stolen moments with Sharlo. It itches just underneath my skin, waiting to be unleashed. I have to control it or Hope might think I’m the kind of asshole to get violent with women. “I start training early in the morning,” I add with a tight smile, hoping to somehow soften the blow.

  “Totally understandable,” she answers quietly.

  Not surprisingly, she doesn’t stay much longer and I’m in bed by ten.

  When I agreed to come out, Charlie mentioned he didn’t think it was wise for me to get involved with Sharlo because if things went south, it would make things awkward for everyone. After several hours of tossing and turning, I wonder if he’s right or if I should fight for her. Then again, Sharlo’s too good for someone who’s unable to get a handle on his emotions. When she returns from California, maybe it’s best if I apologize, then leave her alone. But with the thought of her running around LA, surrounded by sophisticated guys who can appreciate her beauty, I’m unable to sleep much at all.

  I’m up at five to run a few miles down the path I mapped out before grabbing groceries from a little corner store down the block. After making breakfast I catch a taxi to Queens, eager to start training. The recently renovated gym has a sawn-wood smell and rustic vibe with barn wood walls and industrial ceilings that are a welcoming sight. It’s like something I’d see back home. But I feel a little out-of-place when I notice everything from the punching bags to the ring are state-of-the-art. Cupp’s shed looks like child’s play compared to this joint.

  “James Kendall?” a scratchy voice asks.

  I pull in a sharp breath as the boxing legend who once claimed the heavyweight title stands at the doorway of an office across the room, looking shockingly elderly and frail. The money I borrowed from savings already seems well spent when Manny comes forward and I’m in the presence of his greatness.

  The dark skin around his eyes crinkles when he offers a genuine smile. “Not what you were expecting? I’ve aged, same as everyone else, though I suppose boxing can take a toll on a person.”

  I close the distance between us to shake his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  Manny’s dark eyes widen and a grin tilts his wide lips. “Charlie mentioned you were a big guy. How much do you weigh, son?”

  “Two thirty on a good day.”

  “All muscle, I imagine. Looks like you take good care of yourself.” He pats me in the gut hard, making my muscles tense, and laughs. “Let’s get you in the ring and see what you’re made of.”

  By noon, my muscles are burning and Manny’s praising me on every move. At his direction, I punch, split, and block with everything I’ve got. I’m on my feet all morning, later sparing with some k
id who hardly looks old enough to go without training wheels. He’s a decent enough fighter, but not able to keep up at my level. About the time Manny’s ready to call it a day, my blood is pumping and my heart’s racing. I’m ready for more.

  “You show a lot of promise,” he tells me, clapping me on the shoulder. “It’s been a long time since someone at your caliber came through here. You’ve got some of Ali’s skills the way you can float like a butterfly and sting like a bee. Won’t be more than a couple of days before there’ll be amateurs swarming the place, hungry for a piece of you.”

  The compliment goes over my head when the mention of a butterfly has me thinking about Sharlo and those thick lashes.

  “Becoming a professional just may be within your reach one day if you keep at it. You’ve got a wicked cross and not many heavyweights have your speed or ferocity.” Manny dips under the ropes, then turns back to me. “Keep up with the cardio and watch what you eat. I’ll arrange for a match against someone significant in your weight class. I imagine there’ll be boys biting at the bit for a chance once word gets out.”

  “Anyone else I can spar in the meantime?”

  “Should be a few guys from the club in and outta here the next few days.” His lips tighten as he shakes his head. “Just don’t wear yourself down too much. Charlie told me what happened to your dad. I’m really sorry, son. That kind of thing can’t be easy to take. Anger's a good thing in the ring, but you're gonna have to keep it locked down so it doesn’t control you. Find something that calms you—I don’t care if it’s yoga or pottery classes, just stick with it.”

  With images of Sharlo naked under me, I nod. My head’s a fucking mess.

  I spend the rest of the day in the gym, going a few rounds with a couple mid-sized guys who give me a run for my money, and lifting weights until it’s dark out and I’m all alone. By the time I’m back to my sister’s place, exhaustion has washed over my muscles and my body feels as if it’s made of lead. I manage to make myself a sandwich and stand inside an ice cold shower a few minutes before going to bed and fantasizing about Sharlo, then passing out cold.