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

by Claire Kingsley

  “It was an accident.”

  “You don’t understand. It doesn’t fucking matter. You want our life back—the life we were planning before some piece of shit dragged you out into an alley. Do you actually think I can give you that life now? That we could get married and go to work every day and just live like normal, happy people? Do you think we could have kids? Jesus, I can’t be someone’s father.”

  “No one said right away. There’s no rush for anything; we have plenty of time.”

  “You’re kidding yourself. I don’t need time. I need to face the truth about who I am, and so do you. I’m not cut out for this. I love you, and I always will, but I can’t marry you. I can’t be your husband, and I can’t father your children. That’s the life you want—a life with a good man and a family. I can’t give you that. I can’t be him, no matter how much you want me to.”

  Tears welled in my eyes and my throat felt so thick, I wasn’t sure I could get any words out. “You’re wrong.”

  “No, I’m not. I’d be wrong to try to keep you when I know I can’t.”

  “So that’s it?” I sniffed, trying to hold back my tears. “After everything we’ve been through, you just want to quit?”

  He closed his eyes. “Don’t make this harder. Please.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Please,” he said again through clenched teeth. “I told you, you should have listened to me. I should have come back and found you married to someone I’d have to hate for the rest of my life, but love for taking good care of you.”

  “Fuck you, Asher,” I snapped. “You keep trying to tell me I don’t understand, but neither do you. You don’t understand a fucking thing if you think there could ever be anyone else. Even if I had listened to you and taken off your ring, moving on was never an option, even if I’d wanted to. That’s the part of this you’re refusing to see. If I tell you fine, it’s over, I’m done with you, are you going to go out and find someone else? A few years from now, do you really see yourself living with some other woman?”

  “No.”

  “Try to tell me it’s because you’re too fucked up to be with anyone and that’s the only reason.”

  “I am too fucked up to be with anyone.”

  “But even if you decided you weren’t, no one would ever be right for you the way I am. You know how I know that? Because no one will ever be right for me the way you are.”

  “That’s not enough,” he roared and smashed his fist into the dashboard. His knuckles came away bloody.

  I grabbed a shirt out of my lap wipe up the blood, but he jerked his hand away.

  “Get out of the truck.”

  “Let me just—”

  “Get out of the fucking truck, Grace.”

  His tone left no room for argument. I gathered my purse and the small pile of clothes I’d retrieved, holding them close to my chest, and got out of the truck. As soon as I’d closed the door, he tore out of the driveway, leaving me behind.

  41

  Asher

  I left Grace at Cara’s house and went looking for a fight.

  The need to hurt someone was so acute, I couldn’t control it anymore. I didn’t give a fuck who it was. I needed to punch someone. My knuckles were already raw, but the fist to the dash hadn’t been enough. I had so much pain burning inside me, I needed to get it out—inflict it on someone else.

  I drove straight to the Timberbeast Tavern. It was mid-afternoon on a weekday, but if I didn’t find a goddamn Haven there, I’d keep looking until I did.

  As the truck rumbled to a stop in the parking lot outside Timberbeast, I told myself those assholes needed to pay anyway. I was only there to deliver what they already had coming. It was about fucking time.

  With my blood pounding in my ears and my vision hazy with rage, I stalked into the tavern.

  It was mostly empty. A few barflies hunched over their afternoon beers and a grizzled bartender wiped down glasses with a white towel. His eyes narrowed at me, as if he knew exactly why I was here and wasn’t going to take any of my shit.

  Fortunately for him—or maybe for me, but I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly—no one I wanted to hit was here. So I left.

  I was only thinking half a step ahead, like my mind was fixed on the present moment and couldn’t see past it. I got in the truck without a clear idea of where I’d go next—just turned on the engine. Maybe it was a subconscious attempt to keep me from thinking about the real reason I was losing my shit. It was like being in prison again. I couldn’t even think her name.

  The ease of slipping back into survival mode probably should have alarmed me. I was cut off from the rest of the world, untouchable. It was empty and hollow, but it was better than the alternative.

  I drove out onto the street and someone walked out in front of me, right in the middle of the road. I slammed my foot on the brake, making the tires screech against the pavement, and cranked the wheel so I’d avoid hitting him.

  The truck came to a stop and my heart felt like it was going to rip through my ribs. What the fuck had just happened?

  Gavin stood in the middle of the road, his arms crossed, a shit-eating grin on his face.

  Fury burst through me like gasoline on a fire and I flew out of the truck. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  He didn’t move. “Stopping you.”

  “You jumped out in front of me, you dumbass. I could have fucking killed you.”

  He scoffed, like that was both ridiculous and amusing. “You weren’t going to hit me. Plus, I walked very calmly into the road, I didn’t jump.”

  Surging in, I grabbed his shirt at his throat. He didn’t even flinch. I wanted to shout at him. To tell him how stupid he was. That I could have killed him, and how would I ever have lived with myself if I had. But his lack of reaction took the wind out of my sails. He looked at me like nothing was wrong.

  I let go of his shirt and he shifted his shoulders to straighten it. “You can be a scary motherfucker when you want to be, you know that?”

  “I didn’t think you were scared of anything.”

  He grinned at me again.

  “Are you done?”

  “Nah, bro, I’m just getting started.”

  “With what?”

  “Keeping your scary ass from going to prison again.” He patted my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  He climbed into the passenger seat of the truck. I gaped at him for a second or two. A car approached from the opposite direction and honked. I was parked diagonally across the street. With a groan, I got in, put it in drive, and got back in my lane.

  “You jumped out in front of me on purpose?”

  “Obviously it was on purpose. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “How is walking into oncoming traffic not stupid?”

  “Hey man, I’m not the one who just dropped by the Timberbeast by himself.”

  “How the hell do you know about that? And how did you know where I’d be?”

  “It’s a small town, dude, everyone knows everything.”

  I glared at him.

  “Grace activated the Bailey alert system. She said, and I quote…” He paused to get his phone out of his pocket. “‘Asher just left Cara’s and I’m afraid of what he’s going to do. He looked like he wanted to go kill someone and I don’t use that phrase lightly.’”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, man. I was closest, so I said I’d head you off.”

  “And your solution was to throw yourself in front of me so I’d almost run you over?”

  “It was a rush, dude, I’m not gonna lie. Don’t go that way, turn left.”

  “Why?”

  “I just risked my damn life for you, turn left.”

  I had no idea why I was listening to him, but I turned. “I’m probably going to regret this, but where are you trying to make me go?”

  “The Arena.”

  I looked at him like he must be crazy.

  “Come on, man, I’m terrible at interpreting nonverbal co
mmunication. What does that look mean? Because in my head, it could mean you’re surprised that the Arena is still there. Or maybe it means you don’t remember it, but that seems less likely.”

  “I remember it.”

  The Arena had started as a thing, rather than a place. It was what we’d called the boxing matches Gram had resorted to when we’d fought too much as kids.

  When we’d gotten older, it had turned into an aggressive version of rock, paper, scissors. And to keep Gram from finding out, we’d taken it to a clearing out near the lake. By then, we were all taking martial arts. Teenage boys with fighting skills squaring off was a lot different than an eight- and nine-year-old, or seven-year-old twins, throwing some punches with big padded boxing gloves. But whenever a big enough issue arose between any of us brothers, we’d taken it out to the Arena.

  There was no way I was going toe to toe with any of them now. No fucking way.

  “Unless you tell me someone’s dragging the Haven brothers out there so I can beat the shit out of them, the answer is no.”

  “This isn’t a Haven problem, Ash. This is Bailey business.”

  “The fuck it is. I don’t have an issue with any of you.”

  “Yeah, well maybe we have a fucking problem with you.”

  “I’m not fighting out there.”

  He chuckled, his demeanor still completely nonchalant. “It’s so funny how you think you have a choice.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “Let me make something perfectly clear.” He shifted on the seat so he was facing me. “We’re going. You can drive, or you can try to get out of it. But if I have to knock you out cold, hog-tie you, toss you in the back, and handcuff you to the truck, I’ll do it. You think you’re stubborn? I’m fucking relentless.”

  His eyes were wild, the sort of crazy a guy couldn’t fake. He wasn’t kidding.

  Without another word, I drove us out to the Arena.

  Levi and Logan were already there, sitting on the tailgate of Logan’s truck. Evan stood with his arms crossed next to his motorcycle. I parked beside Logan, and we got out.

  “Damn it.” Logan jumped off the tailgate and dug his wallet out of his pocket. He threw a bill at Gavin and it fluttered to the ground. “Didn’t he even put up a fight?”

  Gavin scooped it up and cheerfully tucked it in his pocket. “I’m very convincing.”

  “You bet on whether I’d come?”

  “We bet on whether I’d be able to get you out here by myself,” Gavin said. “Easy money.”

  “I’m fucking disappointed in you,” Logan said, pointing at me. “Did you even make him work for it?”

  “What the hell are we doing out here?” I asked, squinting in the bright sun.

  The Arena was in a flat clearing surrounded by scrubby pines. The low undergrowth gave the ground a little padding. Not as much as a real ring or training mats, but enough that when a match inevitably went to the ground, we were less likely to get hurt. Fallen branches we’d stripped and sunk into the ground years ago still stood in the four corners, marking the boundaries of our makeshift ring.

  “We’re keeping you out of trouble,” Logan said.

  “Your fuse keeps getting shorter.” Levi hopped off the tailgate. “We’ve known this was coming for a while. You want to get some shit out? Let’s do it here where it doesn’t end with you in goddamn handcuffs again.”

  “No.”

  “So we should just let you rampage around town looking for a fight?”

  I crossed my arms, but that was exactly what I’d been doing. What I still wanted to do. “How the fuck do you know what I was doing?”

  “You went to the Timberbeast, right?” Levi asked. “Like I said, man, we saw this coming. You’ve been acting like a psycho since the fire at Grace’s house.”

  “Don’t fucking talk about her.”

  Levi gestured at me. “A ringing endorsement for your stability right there.”

  Evan took a few casual steps closer. “When a wolf starts going rogue, the pack has to deal with him. I hate those asshole Havens, but you go after them now, like this, and you’ll start a war. We’re not letting that happen.”

  “Who brought the gloves?” Gavin asked.

  Levi reached into a duffel bag in the bed of Logan’s truck and tossed a pair of fingerless padded gloves to Gavin, then another to me.

  “I’m not doing this. You guys don’t get it.”

  “So it’s cool if you lose your temper and go try to pick a fight—by yourself, I might add—with guys who won’t hesitate to hurt you,” Logan said. “But you can’t spar with your brother out here?”

  “No.”

  “To be fair, we probably shouldn’t call it sparring,” Gavin said, adjusting the strap on one of his gloves. “Because I’m going to fucking hit him for real.”

  Logan laughed.

  “Your funeral,” Evan said with a skeptical glance at Gavin.

  “I can take him,” Gavin said. “And now you’ll all know.”

  “Gav, you’re nuts, man,” Logan said. “I still say we should do this two on one.”

  Gavin eyed me with that wild-eyed expression. It was unnerving. “Nope. I got this.”

  Logan nudged me with his elbow. “I’d put my gloves on if I were you. He’s dead serious.”

  “I’m not fighting him.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s going to fight you. I guess you can decide whether to fight back, but I would. He’s good.”

  “Hold up.” Evan raised a hand. “Rules.”

  “We don’t need rules,” Gavin said.

  “We always have rules,” Levi said. “No bare knuckles. No cheap shots to the nuts. No knock-outs. Submissions only.”

  Gavin tapped the pads of his gloves together and bounced up and down on his toes a few times. “Fine.”

  I stared Gavin down. I did not want to do this. “Do you have any idea how many fights I won in prison?”

  “How many were knock-outs?” he asked.

  “Most of them.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t knock me out. That means you gotta make me tap out. You might look scary, big brother, but you’re out of practice. And I’m not.”

  Anger and fear vied for dominance inside me. The rage was hot and addictive. Even though I wasn’t angry at Gavin, I knew it would feel good to let it out.

  But I was afraid of what I’d do to him. Afraid I couldn’t do this without losing control.

  In all those fights I’d won in prison, I hadn’t stopped a single one myself. It had always been guards or other inmates pulling me off my opponent.

  Did I have enough control left to grapple with my brother?

  Blinking, I realized Evan was shoving the gloves on my hands.

  “Let’s get this over with. I have shit to do.”

  I jerked my hands away and finished strapping them on. I flexed my fingers a few times. It had been a long time since I’d done this with gloves on.

  “Come on,” Gavin said.

  The rest of them backed away. We weren’t quite in the marked-off area, but apparently Gavin didn’t care. He took a quick step forward and popped me right in the nose.

  “What the fuck?” I roared.

  “Oh shit, he actually did it,” Logan said.

  Gavin backed up past the corner markers and beckoned for me to follow.

  “Fine. Fuck it.”

  I stalked toward him and threw a right hook. He put his hands up to guard his centerline and dodged. I stayed on the offensive, harassing him around the Arena, making him back up and change directions. Although I threw punches, I wasn’t really trying to hit him. Gloves or not, I wasn’t going to punch my brother.

  He had no such qualms. His fist landed below my chin in a swift uppercut, making my teeth rattle. He hit me again, scoring a punch to my ribs. I absorbed the blows, barely flinching.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” I asked.

  Gavin smiled.

  Putting my arms up to guard my head, I twisted back and forth whi
le he tried to land another punch. He hit hard, but I could take a lot of this. I’d always been able to take a hit, but prison had hardened me. I lured him closer, answering with a half-powered punch for every three he threw.

  With a burst of speed and power, I surged in. I wrapped an arm around his torso and pressed my head against him. Before he could react, I hooked his front thigh, yanking it up while I drove hard with my legs. We rolled to the ground, but I had control.

  Logan shouted instructions at Gavin from the side. We grunted as we pushed and pulled against each other, gaining holds, breaking grips, constantly shifting positions. Just when I thought I had the upper hand, he twisted away. The little shit was making me work for it.

  Clarity started to flow through me as I grappled with him. My anger ran deep, but something about this primal struggle for physical dominance filled a need I’d been desperately trying to suppress. As if my very bones and muscles craved it. I’d been denying what this did for me, but out here, in the clover and scratchy grass, I gave in to it. Fought against an opponent trying to control me.

  And it felt really fucking good.

  Gavin was right—I was out of practice, and he was not. I teetered between restraint and anger, trying to hold on to myself while I fought. The longer we grappled, the more I tipped toward rage. Toward unleashing everything I had, overpowering him at any cost.

  He got his forearm around my throat, close to trapping me in a choke. For a second, I couldn’t get any air. Like a switch had flipped, my survival instinct exploded. I broke his grip, turned into him, and manhandled him to his back.

  Less than a second later, I found myself on top of him, my body weight holding him down, my fist flying toward his face.

  I pulled back the punch, stopping myself before I could break his nose. Or worse.

  He took full advantage of my hesitation. A few perfectly executed moves later, he had me in a blood choke. I could breathe, but with the pressure he was putting on my neck, I had about ten seconds before I’d pass out cold.

  I tapped his arm with my free hand and he immediately released.

  Breathing hard, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. My knees were scraped bloody and I was covered in dirt and sweat. Gavin caught his breath next to me and to his credit, he didn’t gloat. He didn’t jump up and celebrate his victory.