Midwest Fighter (Kendall Family Book 2) (15 page)

“Richard’s daft but he has no reason to be angry,” I answer, twirling my fingers around the strings of the hoodie covering my pajamas. “We broke up over a year ago and we’ve been civil ever since. Besides, this is his building. He’s responsible for any damage.” I gesture to the open door where the man’s partner writes on a tablet, blue and red lights flickering across his face. “Are the lights necessary? I believe we can assume the brick won’t be any sort of threat.”

“She’s been getting prank calls,” Nolan blurts at my side. “A friend of mine tried to trace the number, but whoever was making them must’ve been using a burner phone. Some prick is trying like hell to get her attention.”

With chills running up and down my spine, I stare at the evidence lying amongst a pile of broken glass. The words “spoiled brat” were written on paper in black marker and taped to the brick before it was tossed through the window. The message reminds me of the letters.

“There’s more,” I confess, cringing as I close my eyes.

“What?”
As expected, Nolan’s tone would suggest he’s relatively upset.

I open one eye to look at the officer. “I’ve been receiving anonymous letters as well. You’ll find them on the counter-top, next to the toaster oven.”

Adjusting his hat, the officer glances between me and Nolan before heading for the kitchen.

Nolan steps in my personal space, brows furrowed, and reaches for my arms.

“Oh no you don’t,” I say, taking a step back. “This is precisely why I didn’t say anything before. I can’t have you looking at me like that. Until tonight, I had everything under control. It’s not necessary for you to worry. No one was actually harmed.”

Though his frown softens considerably, his nostrils flare. “Go pack a bag. You’re not staying here by yourself.”

“Don’t cavemen normally pound their chests before they tell a woman their place?” I reply, gently pushing him back.

“He’s right,” the officer says, joining us with the stack of letters in one gloved hand. “It’s probably best if you don’t stay here by yourself. Whoever’s trying to scare you is still out there. We’ll take these letters and the brick back to the station and check for fingerprints.” He tips his chin at Nolan before handing him a business card. “We’re going to need her cell phone back from your friend. You can bring it to the station first thing in the morning.”

Taking the card, Nolan nods.

“Sorry to drag you out here in the middle of the night,” I tell the officer as he hands me a card as well. “For nothing more than a brick, besides.”

“You should take this seriously,” he answers. “Someone has it out for you. Stay alert and aware of your surroundings at all times. Try not to go anywhere alone.” Touching the brim of his hat, he releases a dimpled grin. “Call me if you need anything. We’ll be in touch.”

“You can reach her at the number I gave you with my statement,” Nolan tells him. “She’s going home with me.”

When Nolan turns to give me a smug look, I open my mouth to tell him the caveman act is definitely becoming a thing of annoyance, but he’s right. The idea that there’s someone out there who possibly means to do me harm makes my stomach flip over itself. I can’t take any risks. I have an obligation to protect this baby.

I
wish
like hell that I could say the two months since I left Sharlo have gone by in a blur, but every goddamned day has been slower than the last, dragging out endlessly despite burying myself in field work. And the fact that she only sent a few short texts since I returned stings like a motherfucker. The last time I tried calling, I received a message that her number was no longer in service. As tempting as it is to ask Evelyn what she knows, Sharlo would never forgive me for dragging my sister into our mess. But
Christ,
not knowing what’s going on is really starting to piss me off.
Am I going to be a dad or not?

Nothing has been able to take the edge off the constant burn in my chest that started up the minute I boarded the airplane in New York. Worse yet, they’ve started Uncle Orin’s hearings, and Hunter says he’s looking pretty damn guilty. When sparring guys in Cupp’s shed wasn’t proving to be enough to forget my fucked-up feelings, I tried drinking myself senseless before deciding the brutal hangovers while operating tractor weren’t worth it.

What I really need is Sharlo.

After parking the planter away for the year in our shed, I stop by to see Asher at the bar. I’ll do anything to avoid the farm. Every goddamned time I step foot inside, I’m reminded of the night I found Dad. There’s nothing waiting for me there anyway. And with every day that passes, it becomes clear I don’t want to spend the rest of my life working on the farm.

Roadrunners is packed, even by Saturday night standards, as the dark storm that was brewing all day finally lets loose. It was bound to happen once the crop was in the ground simply because I’ve been thinking about flying back out to New York. Now I may have to stick around to replant if we get the forecasted flood.

Once inside the bar, I shake the excess water off my head and take one of two open stools between a few of the local drunks.

“You look like a wet dog, JD,” Asher teases from behind the bar. “Maybe one of these days you should invest in a razor.”

Fingering the thick growth on my chin, I shrug. I gave up caring how I look once I became knee-deep into farming. Ivy told me the other day that it made me look “Hollywoodian”—whatever the fuck that means. Since I have no desire to speak to that woman ever again, I didn’t bother asking. At least she finally seemed to get the hint that I’m not interested. Last time I saw her, she shot me a dirty look before moving to the other side of the bar to hit on some younger guys from out of town.

“It’s called a beard,” I snarl as Asher hands me a glass of pop. “Maybe someday you’ll hit puberty and be able to grow one.”

Asher sticks a hand in his dark hair and laughs. “I figured you’d be a moody fucker with all this rain. Guess the trip to see your girl is postponed?”

I don’t share emotions and feelings with my buddies, but Asher figured it out on his own in the last few weeks and encouraged me to return to her as soon as possible. Knowing I probably won’t get the chance to see her for another week or two has my stomach permanently clenched.

Hunter’s sliding onto the stool beside me before I can answer. He clocked out earlier in the afternoon, so it’s no surprise he’s already half pissed-up. “Didn’t figure I’d see you up here, JD. Run out of shit to put away?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” I mutter, peering into my amber drink.

“Actually
no one
has to do it this early in the season, especially when we might be dragging everything back out in a few days.” He claps me on the back. “I get it, bro. We’re all on edge with Uncle Orin’s trial coming up. I just don’t think
you
should be around when it starts.”

Hearing Hunter mention the trial has me grinding my teeth together. The attorney prosecuting our uncle seems to think she has a pretty solid case against him that includes a full fingerprint in my parents’ bedroom and his lack of a solid alibi. While that fuckery has been going on we’ve been meeting with Dad’s attorney to see what can be done about the farming business. Uncle Orin and Dad split the cost of the machinery down the middle. A majority of the land was in Dad’s name and was willed in equal parts to me and my siblings. If they’re able to convict our uncle, the attorney thinks we’ll be able to operate this fall without any hiccups.

“You should go back to Evelyn’s until the rest of the family gets there,” Hunter suggests. “Levi’s around to help now and Braden will be home soon on leave. The three of us can manage whatever needs to be done.”

Our cousin Levi grew up helping on the farm, and we were always tight. He was a wreck when he first heard his dad was arrested and left his corporate job in Minneapolis to hang with us, volunteering to do whatever needs to be done to keep the family business going.

But Hunter and I have yet to negotiate the cost of renting our siblings’ shares of land to farm, so I suggested we should invite them all back for a 4th of July barbecue. When I mentioned it to Evelyn, she volunteered to have everyone up to their place in the Hamptons. Hunter agreed it’d be a good change of scenery and a way to get our minds off Dad and Uncle Orin. Selfishly, I was up for anything that involved getting closer to Sharlo.

“I agree, JD, you should get out of town,” Asher chimes in. One of his shit-eating-grins crosses his lips. I wait for him to rat me out in front of Hunter and mention Sharlo, but instead he says, “You could reschedule the fight with that douche from the gym.”

I look down as my fingers grip the glass of pop. The opportunity to finally put that prick Freddie in his place gets my blood pumping almost as hard as the thought of seeing Sharlo.

“I’ll stick around to see what this rain does,” I tell Hunter.

“Forget about the damn rain,” he insists, shaking his head. “Whatever acres might get flooded out I can re-plant by myself. Ash, here, can help me with seed bags. It’ll help him get those flabby arms back into shape.”

Asher plops his elbow on the bar in front of Hunter and offers his hand, ready to prove why he’s the arm-wrestling champ in the area. “Wanna see just how ‘flabby’ they are?”

As they’re bantering over who’s stronger, I’m already on my phone, checking for flights to New York.

I’m coming back for you, little butterfly.

* * *

L
ess than 48 hours later
, I’m on Evelyn and Charlie's front step, scratching my cleanly shaven jaw. Being in their neighborhood has already lifted some of the stress off my shoulders and I’m not surprised when I’m filled with the sensation of returning home. A part of me has started to wonder if I could make Brooklyn my home. It’s hard to separate what I want out of my future versus who I want to spend it with. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, though, and my gut tells me I wasn’t meant to stay on the farm the rest of my life.

The door flings open before I’ve had a chance to ring the bell. “James!” my sister cries, throwing her little body into my arms. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

It's a little over the top compared to how we’ve greeted each other in the past, but whatever. I'm so damn excited to be back that I find myself smiling when I lift her in my arms.

“Me too,” I say into her hair.

She drags me inside, beaming brightly. Her over-the-top excitement reminds me of how she was as a child, minus the usual pigtails or braids that Hunter and Braden were always pulling. Maybe Charlie really was the best thing that ever happened to her, like she keeps claiming.
Like Sharlo is to me.

“Did you have supper on the plane?” she asks.

“I’m good,” I answer, setting my bag by the door. Food is the very last thing on my mind.

“
Supper
,” Charlie repeats under his breath, chuckling. “Gets me every time.” He crosses the kitchen to shake my hand and give me a solid clap on the arm. Barefoot in a plain gray T-shirt and long basketball shorts, it’s hard to imagine the same guy performing in front of thousands of screaming fans. For being famous, he always does a good job at staying humble. And as much as his hair has grown out since the wedding, he’d seem better pegged as a surfer. “Good to see you, brother. The maid said this place was so clean after you left that she wondered if anyone had actually been here. Hope it worked out for you.”

“Didn't spend much time outside of the gym,” I say.
Or outside of the bedroom.

“So I hear.” Before I can catch his expression to see if that was meant sarcastically, he retreats to the refrigerator and pulls out three bottles of beer, popping the tops on an opener mounted underneath the counter. “Manny was pumped when I told him you were coming back. He said to stop in tomorrow and he’ll reschedule that match.” He hands a beer to Evelyn, then one to me before wrapping his free arm around my sister. “The Yanks are playing the Mariners if you want to sit back and chill for the night, order carry-out.”

I look over at my sister, hoping to gauge her reaction to what I’m about to say. “I was thinking I’d go see Sharlo.”

Something like guilt flickers in her expression as she takes a swig of her beer. “Does she know you're back?”

“Not unless you said something.”

“You should probably text her before you go anywhere.” From her stiff smile, there’s obviously something going on that she doesn’t want to tell me about. “You know, to make sure she’s home and up for company.”

“‘Up for company’?” I repeat, scowling. What the fuck does
that
mean?

My sister leaves her husband’s side to clamp her free hand around one of my arms. “Shar told me you were kind of seeing each other when you were here. But that was months ago, JD. Things have changed. She’s been going through…some shit.”

I clench my teeth at the thought of her going through something bad without me. Or
because
of me. “Is she alright?”

Evelyn shakes her head. “Sorry, I can’t say anything more. She should be the one to tell you.”

Veins on fire, I flex my free fist at my side. “She’s seeing someone else?” I ask.

If she’s moved on, it would explain why she didn’t stay in touch after I left. Even though I took off without a promise to return and we never said one damn word about being exclusive or whatever chicks need to hear to know they're taken, I thought the week we spent together would’ve meant something to her.

“You have to talk to
her,”
Evelyn insists in a small voice.

Fuck this shit. If it was that easy for Sharlo to get over what we had, there’s no point in going after something that must’ve never been there to begin with. I scoop my bag off the floor and sling it over my shoulder. “Guest room mine?”

Evelyn appears to be on the verge of crying when she nods. I head up the stairs with only one thought: Manny better be able to schedule that match right away.
I’m going to need to blow off a helluva lot of steam.

* * *

R
unning
the familiar path through the peaceful streets before the sun is up does wonders to clear my head. So does spending the entire next day with Manny, putting all the bullshit into my fists. Though the old-timer is happy to see me, he seems confused when I push him to re-schedule the match as soon as humanly possible. Despite his reluctance to have me in the ring so soon after my hiatus, I assure him I was putting time in at the ring back home. Thankfully, he gets Freddie to agree to come in the next night.

The next twenty-four hours that follow, I throw myself into the most intense training of my life, feeding off the darkness twisting through my head. Feeding the monster that’s more than ready to fight and prove that my life is about more than a hot piece of ass, no matter how sweet she may be.

The night of the fight, Evelyn and Charlie arrive to the gym before there’s any sign of Freddie or his idiot sidekicks. I watch from the doorway of the locker room as Charlie signs some autographs before they take a seat on folding chairs in the front row. My stomach dips and bends when Evelyn saves two seats beside her, but before long, Charlie’s bodyguard and manager show up to claim them. I’m able to breathe easy again knowing Sharlo won’t be sitting front and center.

The place becomes irritatingly loud as spectators pack in until there’s nowhere to even stand. Whatever reputation Freddie has built up must be pretty fucking big to draw this many people for an amateur fight. And I swear I see money exchange hands between a few guys. The hype will make it even more exciting when I knock him on his ass.