Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3) (2 page)

“Oh, I couldn't.” Her eyes narrowed, and her lips drew into a firm line. If she could have poked him with her fork, she would have. “Here.”

“I insist. As my guest, it's my job to make sure you're comfortable. Let me.” Torturing her—and himself just a little—he stood and took the sweatshirt, holding it over her head. “Arms up.”

His friends watched on with amusement, and Reagan's eyes twinkled as Kara sighed with resignation and lifted her arms. He wiggled until the sleeves were in place, then stuck her head through it and let the material drift down. His fingertips skimmed the silky underside of her arms before dropping away.

Even that one touch would torment him for hours. God, she had the most beautiful skin.

And a missing head. Zach's giggles caused him to look back. The hood had flopped forward, and Kara's hands—covered by the too-long sleeves—were unable to push it back so her face could pop out. He helped maneuver the fabric until her head emerged. She gasped, as if coming up for air from the crashing surf. Her hair, once a smooth line of auburn silk, was fuzzy and a little mussed. For reasons that bewildered him, the flustered look on her face and the hair draped all over only made her more beautiful.

She met his eyes from upside down, and for a moment, the whole world faded away. His nose was an inch from hers. Her hair caught on her eyelashes, which were nearly as light as the strands. Those aqua blue irises were piercing. Was it his imagination, or did he hear her breath hitch a little, like his did . . .

“Mom, are they all coming to my EpiPen party?”

Moment shattered, Graham jerked up and away.

“What'd I miss?” Marianne jumped back down from behind him out the back door.

“We were about to be invited to a party,” Reagan said. To Zach, she asked, “What's an EpiPen party?”

“My pens are expired, so I have to get new ones.
Andplusalso
, I'm getting bigger.” To illustrate, he flexed and showed off a puny adolescent biceps muscle. “So I get new pens and I get to play with the old ones.”

“First off,” Kara said calmly,” ‘andplusalso' is not a word, as I've told you a dozen times.”

“Mrs. Wrigby says it,” he said defensively.

“Mrs. Wrigby has twenty-five ten-year-olds she has to garner the attention of. I'm sure if she thought it would work, she'd teach you geography while doing an Irish step dance. She says it to be funny. And secondly, they don't all need to come.” She sighed and looked at Marianne. “I was going to ask if you wanted to come over and check out his new pens, since the new pens are different, and you might watch him from time to time.”

“Because I'm a baby and can't stay home alone,” Zach added, looking disgusted by the thought.

“Because you're ten, and I'm not comfortable with it yet,” she shot back. “When he gets a new set of pens, I use the old ones for a quick brush up on training.”

“Can I come?” Reagan sat forward. “I'm interested. I've read your blog a little, and I'm intrigued. I can bring a movie and popcorn, and we can make a night of it.”

Graham waited for Kara to invite them all. After all, the guys had hung out with Zach on occasion, and Graham had taken the chance to hang out—not babysit, as he would never use the offending B word—with the kid to get to know him one-on-one. But Kara said nothing.

“Sounds good. Tomorrow night?”

Both other women nodded.

She sighed and rubbed a hand over her knees. “I think we'll head out then. Thank you,” she added to Graham as she stood, “for the sweatshirt and the invitation.”

He shook his head as she started to pull her arm out of one sleeve. “Keep it until you get to the car. You know how chilly it is now.”

She glanced up at the sky, with the sun that still hadn't quite set yet, and the balmy seventy-three degree weather. “Right. Zach, head in and grab the dessert dish. We've got to go.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but one fulminating glare from his mother had him nodding and going in. But he ducked his head back out again and said, “Thank you for inviting us,” before closing the door behind him.

“Mr. Manners,” Kara murmured before standing herself. “Girls, I'll see you tomorrow. Gentlemen, Tuesday at the gym.”

“I'll walk you out,” Graham said before she could escape. “It's not a problem.”

She wanted to argue, but he sent her the same fulminating stare she'd given her son, and she simply stood and walked into the house. Zach was already heading through the front door to the car, so he had her in the house alone.

“Thanks again for coming.”

She played with the strings of his hoodie. Though she was tall, the shirt swallowed her slender form. “You're really nice to keep asking us . . . I mean, including Zach and all. I know his allergies make stuff like this difficult.” Her eyes, which had been wandering everywhere but at him, made contact with his. “I really appreciate that you made the effort.”

He'd have done it even if he'd disliked the kid's mom. But the way she looked at him now, and the emotion in her voice for having made a simple potato salad . . . he'd keep a vat of the stuff in his fridge forever if she'd just keep looking at him that way. “It's seriously no problem.”

“I've been doing this almost ten years. I know it's not ‘no problem.'” She started toward the door, then, almost as a second thought, came back and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Graham.”

She took off before he could ask her to stay, or ask her to dinner, or ask her to marry him . . .

You know, the usual.

Probably best she made her escape now. He could tap-dance around a closing argument in court, and couldn't manage to ask a woman to dinner. Or not that specific woman. He needed more time to prepare, and be ready to handle any argument she tossed at him for getting out of it.

He'd see her again soon. And he'd be ready.

2

M
arianne set the serving tray with three glasses of wine, some cheese and crackers on the coffee table. “Where's Zach tonight?”

“Friend's house.” Kara settled on the floor on the other side, while Marianne and Reagan took seats on the couch. “He got a last minute invitation and decided going there was much cooler than hanging out with Mom's friends.”

“He's such a sweetheart,” Reagan said. “He reminds me of my brothers, but cuter and less of a pain in the ass.”

Kara smiled at that, then twisted her hair into a clip and grabbed a glass. She didn't often have wine at home—the decent stuff was too expensive, and the cheap stuff was worse than no wine at all—so she relished when someone brought a good bottle to her place as a hostess gift. Even more so if she was kid free for the night.

“Please tell me why,” Reagan said as she nibbled on a cracker, “you have a free night from mommyhood and you
are wasting it on us instead of going out with a hot man and getting some much-needed touching?”

“You're both free from mommyhood and you're wasting your night here.”

“Because we love Zach and you and we want to be able to save the rugrat's life.” Marianne pointed at her. “Plus, we're
always
free from mommyhood. And when we go home, we've got someone in our bed. You've got a book.”

“Or a vibrator,” Reagan said absently. When both women stared at her, she blinked. “Whoops. Said that one out loud, huh?”

“Nice one, Heels.”

“They are adorable, aren't they?” Reagan extended one leg to show off her red patent leather Mary Jane–style three-inch heels. “Red is classic. Speaking of classic, you know who has those classic good looks? Graham Sweeney.” She stared hard at Kara as she said it. “The Adonis with a good right uppercut.”

“Do you even know what an uppercut is?” Marianne whispered.

“No,” Reagan whispered back.

“I'm not dating Graham Sweeney. Or any other Marine.” Kara gulped down the wine. Hell, she was kid free and had nowhere to drive tonight. She could go crazy and kill the bottle. “I'm not opposed to dating. I date.”

“Rarely,” Marianne muttered.

“I'm picky. That's not a bad thing. Not when I've got another soul to worry about.” She crammed a cracker in her mouth in frustration. This argument was going to cost her serious calories. “I can't bring around losers. It's unacceptable.”

“But why no Marines?” Reagan asked while Marianne shook her head vehemently. “Oh, uh . . . sorry. Ignore the question.”

Kara sighed and waved her longtime friend off. “It's okay. Henry's an asshole. Zach's father,” she explained to Reagan.

“Sperm donor,” Marianne muttered into her wineglass.

“Sperm donor . . . unless Zach can hear me.” Kara was firm on that. She couldn't rightly call him a father on a regular basis when he wanted nothing to do with his own son, but she still did her best to keep the negativity away from Zach. “He lives here, we all went to high school together.”

“I'm almost a year younger than Kara, and Henry is a few years older. Just for your frame of reference.” Marianne handed Reagan another cracker and took one for herself. “This one walked in graduation with a secret under her cap and gown.”

“Five months along and nobody knew but me and Henry.” That part made her smile. She'd been so relieved when she'd shared the news with him, and he'd supported her gut reaction to keep the baby. It had taken the pressure off. “Obviously I wasn't going to start college when I'd be giving birth midsemester, so I took what I told myself was a year off and started working the front desk at one of the gyms here. Henry supported that decision. He supported every decision I made.” That made her grimace. “It took me awhile, and some maturity, to see he wasn't really supporting me so much as not emotionally investing. It was ‘Whatever you think is best, I believe in you.' Or ‘You know what you need, so go do it.' All talk.”

“I can see where that might bolster your self-esteem though. Feed into the relationship.” Reagan nodded. “So you had Zach. What'd your parents think?”

“What parents?” Marianne snorted, and Kara shrugged. “They were done with me when they realized I wasn't giving the baby up and wasn't going to college right away. It was my decision to toss my life away,” she added, “according to them. So I had to live with it.”

“Fuck 'em,” Marianne said, holding up her glass in a toast. “My parents didn't like your parents, by the way. Did you ever know that? They never said anything until after Zach was born, because I think they were hoping once the baby arrived they'd snap out of it.”

“No snapping,” Kara said sadly.

“No snapping,” Marianne agreed. “But you figured it out. Why? Because you're awesome. That's why.”

“And because I had a great support system, which included Marianne's parents. I found another gym that let me bring in Zach and leave him with the child care people, unless they were swamped. Then he went in a sling with me at the front desk. I had amazing shoulders and back muscles that fall.”

“I bet. How hard,” Reagan murmured, “to be nineteen and doing it all on your own.”

“Yeah. Zach wasn't much help in those days.” She laughed. “I would watch all these yoga mommies—that's what my manager called them.” She grinned when Reagan's eyebrows winged up. “You know, the ones who don't work, and come in carrying an iced green tea from Starbucks, wearing the matching, gorgeous yoga outfits that coordinate with their personalized yoga mats and their kids always match and look adorable, and they do the yoga class because it won't get them sweaty and then they all go out for lunch together. The yoga mommies.”

“Huh.” Reagan nodded slowly. “I could be a yoga mommy. Just, you know, without the yoga.”

“It's required. Sorry. I would watch these women go in there, and I would think ‘Wouldn't it be nice if coming to the gym was my break instead of the main stressor in my life?' So one day, after my shift, I stayed and did a class. I had no clue what I was doing. I looked like an idiot.”

“I'm sure that's not true.”

Marianne lifted a shoulder. “It's probably true.”

Reagan slapped at Marianne's knee.

“It's true. I did. I was never really an athlete like some people.” She shot Marianne a glance. “But afterward, I felt so . . . alive.” That made her feel bad. “That sounds awful. Like having Zach wasn't living. But this was something just for me. Mine alone. So I kept going back. I was the loser in
the back of the studio in the cutoff jeans and gym employee polo—because I couldn't afford real workout clothes—with the ungainly posture.”

“And now you teach it.”

“Teaching brought me more per hour than working the desk handing out towels. And I got bonuses if I had so many people per class. I added in Pilates because it complemented the workout. And I love it. It's not work anymore.”

“See that dreamy look in her eyes?” Marianne grinned and bumped shoulders with Reagan. “That's how I want her to look at a guy someday.”

“She will,” Reagan said, looking defensive. “She's just not ready yet.”

“One day,” Kara said. “One day.” When someone knocked on the door, she glanced at her friends. “Are the guys picking you up?”

“I told Brad I'd text him when we were done, since we would be drinking.” Marianne checked her phone with a frown. “But I don't think that's him.”

Kara stood and walked to the front door. A quick check at the peephole had her flattening her back against the door. “It's Graham,” she whispered. “What do I do?”

Both girls looked expectantly at her. After a moment, Graham knocked again.

“Open it,” Reagan mouthed.

Marianne pointed at Reagan and nodded in agreement.

“I can't,” Kara mouthed back.

Marianne rolled her eyes and walked to the door, pushing Kara out of the way and opening it with a flourish. “Graham, hey.”

Kara listened as Graham paused. “Where's Kara?”

She covered her face.

“Let's find out. Come on in.” Marianne hauled him in and straight over to the couch. “What brings you to our little girl fest?”

“Girl fest? I thought this was where Kara was showing you guys how to use Zach's EpiPens? I wanted to come by and learn.”

Her heart melted. She closed the front door and walked out from behind it. “Hey.”

He turned, and her mouth watered. In a dark polo that looked amazing with his perma-tanned skin, dark hair and darker eyes, jeans and boots, he was delicious. “Where'd you come from?”

“Never mind that. You wanted to see the EpiPens?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking a little embarrassed. “I didn't realize this was a girl thing. I can go.”

She caught his arm as he started to walk toward the door. “No, stay.” When he hesitated, she squeezed gently. It was like squeezing a PVC pipe . . . a thick one. “You're right, that was the main point of tonight's get-together. So let's do it.”

When he raised a brow, she flushed. Oh God . . . “Not . . . I mean, not do . . . it . . .” she finished weakly. “I'm gonna go get the pens.” She ran toward the kitchen before she said something stupid.

More stupid. As if there was something more stupid than that.

*   *   *

GRAHAM
wiped his damp palms on his jeans and looked at the two women sitting on the couch, staring as if they were watching a movie in a theater. “What?”

“Nothing,” Reagan said softly. “I'm just feeling a little warm. Is it warm?” she asked Marianne.

“Very,” the trainer confirmed. “Have a seat, Graham.”

He wanted to grumble at the innuendo and secret language they were sharing, but refrained. He perched on the edge of the armchair, looking around. “Where's the kid?”

“Friend's house. And here's the mom.” Marianne stood and took the basket of oranges from Kara's hands and set it
on the table. “I thought the cheese and crackers were snack enough.”

Kara sat down in front of the table, across from the couch, and settled a plastic tote box full of slender boxes beside them. “They're not a snack. Everyone grab an orange.”

Graham did, brushing his knuckles against Kara's as they reached for the same one. She jerked back, and the orange fell to the coffee table. Marianne cleared her throat. Reagan stared intently at a wall to the side.

“Sorry,” Kara said, handing him the orange without touching. “Okay, so here's one version of a pen. These were his last version. This is the trainer, so you can test it first and see what it's like. No needle, no risk.” She demonstrated pulling the cap off, then went through miming thrusting it into her thigh and holding it for ten seconds after a clicking sound. “Count, out loud, because too much is going on at once and you have to make sure you keep it there the right amount. Then immediately call 911, even if he looks like he's doing better. Anytime, anywhere you have to use the EpiPen, you should call 911, even if he seems like he's improving already.”

“That seems violent,” Reagan said as she took the trainer from Kara. “Why does it have to be so hard against your thigh? Why not more gently against the arm?”

“The thigh is the best place, because it spreads the medicine the fastest and is the easiest spot for self-injection. But you have to hold it there because there's a recoil. The thigh isn't flabby.”

“Well, some are,” Reagan said, patting her own curvy legs.

“Stop,” Marianne said, taking the trainer pen and trying it out before handing it to Graham. He did the same, inspecting it closely after giving it a try.

The thought of having to use the pen on Zach's small body made his hand shake a little as he handed it back to Kara. She gave him an odd look, but then passed out another pen exactly like the first. Except it was a bit more colorful.

“Real pen time. Don't mess with it, it's got a needle. Hold the orange against the table or the couch, and you can feel what it's like injecting it.”

Graham did so, marveling at medicine and how far it had come.

“And we have now officially used about four hundred dollars' worth of medication on fruit,” Kara joked. Graham felt his eyes bug out at the number, but she waved it away. “They're useless to us now, so there's nothing better to do with them.”

“Why did you have four?”

“Two for school, two for home. He had two that he carried with him at all times, too, in his backpack or in my purse, but we practiced with those this morning together.”

He hated that Zach had to know all of this information. Hated that this was a vital part of his childhood . . . knowing how to save his own life.

“This is his new one. It talks.” She grinned and passed around the trainer. When Marianne pulled off the cap, it began to speak the instructions.

“Niiiiice,”
she murmured, then passed it to Reagan, who passed it to him.

“More expensive, unfortunately, but worth every penny. In an emergency, you don't have to worry about relying on a shaky hand reading tiny instructions.”

He looked up at Kara, wanting so much to offer help. She was a single mom, and though she hadn't told him the story, he could guess Zach's father wasn't exactly contributing financially to their lives. Or really contributing in any way, period.

Another knock sounded on the door, and Kara jumped. Marianne stood, saying, “I've got it.” She let in Greg and Brad, who came in and immediately took residence on the couch with their ladies.

“Oh, oranges.” Greg reached for one, and Reagan slapped the back of his hand.

“Trust me, you don't want that one.”

Kara and Marianne laughed when Greg wrinkled his nose in confusion and rubbed his hand.