Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3) (17 page)

Graham cleared his own throat, then gently bumped his temple against Zach's. “Thanks, kid. That's . . . that's some serious luck right there. I can't lose now.”

Zach threw up his fists and yelled out, then jumped up and ran for the living room. “I'm gonna set the Xbox up. When you're ready for a beat down, come on in!”

Kara finished the last dish and set it on the drainer to dry, wiping her hands on the dish towel. Graham's large hands settled on her hips, drawing her back against him with a soft gasp. For the first time in a while, he wasn't hard as stone. His hands slid around to rest on her stomach, his chin resting on her head. His heartbeat was steady against her ear when she turned a little.

“I'll make a copy of the photo and get you the original back.”

“Thank you.”

“I love you,” he said quietly as they both stared out the window over the kitchen sink. “Don't say anything back. Just hear the words and know I mean them. I love you. I love you both.”

She cried silently, because there was too much built up inside her to do anything else. It hurt so much, so very much. But he simply held her and let the tears fall without trying to stop them. He understood even that . . . that she needed to release some of the sadness and tears were the only way to get the job done.

After a few minutes, she patted his top forearm. “Better go knock my kid down a peg. He's too cocky for his own good.”

“Consider it done.” He kissed her cheek, where the tears were still damp, and squeezed her once more before letting go.

*   *   *

HOURS
after Kara and Zach had gone home, Graham laid on the floor of the gym with Brad and Greg. They'd each taken about five yoga mats from the stash kept for Yoga Tuesdays and piled them up to form the world's worst cots.

“We leave in less than two days for the games, and instead of relaxing with our women, we're hanging out here, alone, in the freaking gym. What's wrong with us?” Greg rolled over on his back and stared at the rafters, poking at Brad, who lay closest to him. “I'm really curious about this. What's wrong with us?”

“We didn't want anything to happen to our equipment, or to psych our guys out before we leave, and so we are taking the overnight shift tonight at the gym. Nothing more than that. Plus, we have tomorrow off completely, so you can go home and sleep in your nice, comfortable bed after this. God, all this bitching and whining about sleeping indoors on cushy mats. And y'all call me the grandpa.”

“But they took Nikki away. I mean, I doubt she's still in jail. She posted bail, or her parents did, then took her back to Wilmington with them. They're not going to let her back around here to screw with us anymore.”

“And if it wasn't all her? What if she had a friend? What if she actually only did the windshield brick routine?” Brad shot back.

They both went quiet.

“You're a chatterbox,” Greg said after a minute, kicking at Graham.

He rolled onto his stomach, palms flat on the mat, resting his chin on top of them. “What is there to say? She confessed to the windshield and keying my car, but swears the rest wasn't her.”

“She confessed because it clearly
was
her. Probably
hoped if she was honest about one thing, it would look less like she was lying about something else. Twisted logic.”

“I thought that was my department.”

“Figure it out then, counselor,” Greg said with a grin. “Court will seem like child's play after all this.”

“Please. I'm hardly ever in court. It's all reviewing rental agreements and separation papers and document junk. Mediation and giving advice to people who won't take it anyway.”

“Try not to make your job sound so exciting,” Brad said dryly. “It makes the rest of us jealous.”

“Noted. All I am saying is that we shouldn't let down our guard.”

“Hmm,” was all Greg said. Brad remained silent.

After another five minutes of quiet, Graham said, “I'm going to ask Kara to marry me.”

Brad and Greg jackknifed up simultaneously. “What?”

“Not tomorrow. Calm down,” he said evenly, still staring straight up. “But she's it for me. When you know, you know. It's as simple as that.”

“Simple as that,” Greg said in a disbelieving tone.

“You're getting a two-for-one special there,” Brad reminded him.

“I know.” The grin spread; he couldn't help it. “Zach's basically the best bonus you could ask for.”

“He's a pretty cool little twerp,” Greg agreed, laying back down. “I think if I asked Reagan to marry me now, she'd throw a shoe at me. Not that I would, but hypothetically.”

“Marianne would probably throw up,” Brad put in, chuckling under his breath. “It might be worth it just to watch her turn a little green. She's way too involved in her career to think about marriage. Thinking about asking her to move in with me, though.”

“You live in California. That's not across town, that's across the country.”

Brad shrugged and settled back on his pile of mats. “So?”

“So,” Greg repeated, again disbelieving. “You are both crazy. Reagan might look for jobs on the west coast after this, but she'd never agree to move in with me.”

“She's also several years younger than Cook and Kara,” Brad pointed out. “She might want a little more freedom before considering tying herself to someone—namely, you—forever.”

“Crazy,” was Greg's pronouncement. “Just crazy.”

“Or maybe we just know what we want,” Graham said softly. “Why waste time?”

Time, he knew, was the problem. Eight years of it. After debating a moment, he told his friends about the situation involving Kara's ex and the custody issue with Zach's father.

“Sounds like the worst piece of shit,” Brad said, rolling over better to see them. “He doesn't want them, but he makes it impossible for them to be with anyone else.”

“Not entirely, but true enough.” Realizing Greg had been quiet awhile, Graham turned and looked at him. “Thoughts?”

“I knew guys like him. Usually a foster brother or sister's mom or dad. They'd dance in when it was convenient, talk a big game, then dance right back out again when they smelled responsibility. Played huge mind games with the kids when they'd do it. Kids, up to a certain age, are naturally hopeful.” Greg shook his head. “Fucker.”

“I have to figure out how to handle this. If I thought beating the shit out of him would solve problems, I'd be damn tempted.”

Neither man spoke.

“But that won't work. It has to be done through the legal channels. Kara's too scared to talk to him about it and ask him straight out. Scared it might poke him enough to take Zach for a weekend when he technically has rights . . . just to piss her off.”

“Might,” Brad agreed. “I could see it. Guys like that live off people being intimidated by the
what if.
”

“So it has to be done precisely in a way that won't have any blowback on them.”

“Before or after we leave?” Greg wondered, shifting slightly on his mat.

“After.” Maybe. “I asked them to come watch us. I was going to fly them down to Texas to watch. That's how this whole thing came out. She had to explain why they wouldn't be able to come.”

“She still could, couldn't she?” Greg sat up a little on his elbows. “Oh. Right. The kid. Can't leave him home alone. Well, damn.”

“Go to sleep,” Brad grumbled. “In less than two days, we'll be on the way to Texas. You can chitchat and gossip all you want on the way there.”

“It's like he doesn't even know us,” Greg said on an exaggerated sigh. “Nighty night, fellas.”

Graham smiled in the dark, thankful he had two friends who got where he was coming from, and who didn't judge him—okay, only a little—for knowing his own mind and his heart where Kara and Zach were concerned.

Now to figure out the rest of the
puzzle.

17

K
ara twisted her fingers together, then forced her palms to smooth out over the conference table. Nerves fluttered in her belly, and she knew they were only more so because every fifteen minutes she sat in this room, she was paying through the nose.

“Kara, hi.” Tasha Williams, dressed as always in a sharply tailored suit in ivory with a silk maroon blouse under that made her dark skin look gorgeous, walked into the conference room. All of her outfits made her curves look equally alluring and dangerous, like the femme fatale of the courtroom. She closed the door behind her and extended her hand, as always, while she pulled out a chair to sit down. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Let's get started.” Pen in hand, she opened the folder with Kara's past records. “Based on our history with Zach's father, we—”

“I need to get out of this,” Kara blurted out, then closed her eyes. Yup, that was definitely the mature way to handle that.

Tasha set her pen down and settled back in her chair. Her dark eyes were kind, even understanding, as she motioned for Kara to continue.

“I met a man. And . . .” Biting her lip, she forced herself to go on. “He's just . . . amazing. He makes me realize I could have more. And even if we didn't work out, he makes me want more than just a single life with Zach. I . . . I deserve more.”

“Finally.” Leaning forward, Tasha took both hands and grabbed Kara's shoulders, shaking gently. “Finally, girl. You've been playing defense for way too long. You've seen the light! Let's get on the offense. But first, this man wouldn't happen to be the same one you had me add to my list of approved contacts, would it? One . . .” She checked her file. “Graham Sweeney?”

Kara felt the flush move up to the roots of her hair. “Maybe.”

“Girl, bump that ‘maybe' up to a ‘yes, ma'am.'” Tasha's tight, dark curls bounced as she shook her head in appreciation. “He was something to look at.”

That took her back a step. “What? He was in here?”

Tasha nodded and picked her pen back up. “You bet. This morning, in fact. We had a quick chat so I could catch him up on the situation, gave him my honest opinion, answered a few of his questions, gave him some counsel, and that was that.”

“How did he . . . I mean, what did he ask?”

Her attorney looked regretful at that. “Unfortunately, I can't say. Captain Sweeney was here officially as a client.”

“But . . . it's my case.”

“Mmm, yes and no.” Looking caught between a rock and a hard place, Tasha shrugged. “He was more consulting with me on a matter related to, but not directly in line with your specific custody battle. He paid for my services. He's sharp, that one. He's got the client-attorney privilege. If you want to know more, you'll have to ask him. Sorry.”

She blew out a breath and nodded once. “Fine. I'd like
to find a way to get my son into my full custody. If I want to move to another state, or if I want to marry a man and have Zach take his name . . . or if I want to take him to freaking Disney World, I want that option, without the threat of his support being ‘forgotten' for a month. It will be tight. I have to start budgeting my life around only my salary. But I'll make it work.” It had to work. She was so tired of letting a negligent, careless, pitiful excuse for a man dictate what she could and could not do with herself.

“Let's see what we can do here.” Tasha clicked her pen back on and grinned. “Time to get to work.”

*   *   *

GRAHAM
checked the address once more, then got out of his car. This wasn't what he expected when he'd taken the contact information for Henry Theodore James . . . but then again, he had no clue what else he could have expected. The home was a simple, well-maintained single family dwelling in a lower middle-class neighborhood. Not the best area, but a decent part of Jacksonville.

Maybe in his mind, he'd seen something rundown, bordering on a hovel. A home to match the kind of man that neglected his son and that son's mother for a decade.

Or maybe that's just what he
wished
Henry James lived in.

No car in the driveway, though it could have been pulled into the single-car garage. The odds were he was at work. But Graham walked up the narrow walkway, lined by well-groomed shrubs, and knocked on the door anyway. He took another step back when the inside door opened.

“Yeah?” The man standing in front of him was about his age, with a dark goatee and Zach's hazel eyes. He wore a T-shirt that had dried paint on it, jeans with the same splatters, and bare feet. His hands were clutched around a rag, as if he'd just finished drying his hands. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah.” He looked down once more at the small scrap
of paper he'd jotted the address down on. “I'm looking for Henry James.”

“Are you a process server?”

That made Graham blink. “No, no, I'm not.”

The other man shrugged and stepped onto the porch, letting the screen door slam in his wake. “That's me. What do you want?”

Here was the man standing between a future with Kara. Flesh and bone, not a ghost. And blissfully unaware—or uncaring—of the shitstorm he left in his wake. Graham's hand tightened around the address and let it fall to his side. Too tempting.

“I'm here about Zach. Zach and Kara.”

Henry made a little sound in his throat, then leaned one shoulder against the front doorjamb. “New lawyer, huh. Let me save you some time, buddy. You're supposed to call my lawyer, not come to me directly. This is a sort of violation of privacy, I think. I'll have to check with mine.” His grin was all teeth, and completely unfriendly.

Graham sent him a matching smile of his own. “Not Kara's lawyer,
buddy
. Just a guy who cares. You've been dicking around with being a nonexistent father for long enough. Cut the cord. When she comes to you asking you to terminate your parental rights, you go along with it.”

“Ha!” Rolling his eyes, Henry kicked at the leg of a rocking chair on the small front porch and sat down with a thud. He propped his feet up on the railing, looking very comfortable with his asshole-ness. “Yeah, okay. I'm not sure who you think you are, but that's not going to happen. That's my son.” He jabbed at his chest in an imitation of a macho move. “My. Son.”

“Who you never see. Ever.”

“I'm a busy guy. I pay support.”

“Which you threaten constantly to take away. What is it, Henry? There's some reason you keep holding onto the thread, using it to yank them back when you sense they're
leaving you behind. Pride? Ego? Maybe you like having a sob story for the ladies you meet at bars. Wah, my ex won't let me see my kid. Please comfort my emotional wounds in bed.”

Henry's eyes went steely. Finally, Graham had his attention.

“Maybe not. You like claiming him on taxes, perhaps. Do you list him on angel trees at Christmastime and take all the stuff well-meaning families donate to your son that you never see?”

The tick in his jaw told him to keep hammering.

“Maybe it's a little closer to home.” Leaning in, he said in a low voice, “Don't want to disappoint your own mom and dad by permanently giving up their grandkid.”

Henry leaped out of the rocking chair, knocking Graham back several steps. Graham could have easily defended himself, and chose not to. “Fuck you, asshole. Who the fuck do you think you are, coming here and insulting me? If you're not their lawyer, you've got no business—”

“But I do,” he said softly, glad when Henry quieted down to listen. “It is my business, because
they
are my business.”

“Oh, that's how it is. You're fucking Kara. Shoulda figured. Now we're talking.” Looking pleased, Henry sat again, elbows on his knees. “Surprised it took this long. So what, you want rights or something? Want the kid to take your name? You have any clue how expensive that kid's medical junk is?”

That kid's medical junk.
It took everything in him to keep from plowing his fist straight into Henry James' face until the man was spitting out teeth.

Trust the system. Use the system. So when you go to court, you can say under oath, “No, Your Honor, I never once punched him . . . even if he would have deserved it.”

Graham fought to sound reasonable. “What does it matter? You don't want the responsibility, and I do. That should be enough. A little paperwork and you're done.”

“Paperwork is pretty boring. And, you know, lawyers are
expensive.” Henry glanced at the rag in his hand. “I might need another incentive to bother.”

And there it was. Finally. The real, true, no-bullshit reason he'd been holding on for so long. Money. “You want a payout. A bribe to actually do the best thing for your son.”

“I figured someone would have come by long before now. Kara's still a hot piece of ass, from what I can see. Oh, I check in from time to time. Still teaching yoga. Nothing changes for good old Kara.” His smile turned secretive and a bit lurid, as if he were mentally reliving what she'd looked like naked a decade ago. “But maybe she was just picky. Either way, looks like you're the winner. You wanna keep her happy, sweep her away from it all, make all her single mama dreams come true . . . go right ahead. But that's my son.” He sniffled a little, and his eyes watered up. “My only son. My flesh and blood. I couldn't . . . couldn't let him go unless I knew it was for the right reason.”

Henry sized him up visually. Graham could all but feel the scan. Though Graham hadn't worn his uniform, he knew everything about him, from his posture to his haircut to the clothes he wore—an iron-pressed button-down shirt, clean khakis with a leather belt and simple brown shoes—screamed
I'm a Marine
.

“You military guys . . . you make decent money. Good benefits and shit. It would help to see a good faith offering of how you'll be able to care for my boy.” He blinked slowly, as if holding back the manufactured tears.

Oh, you unbelievable, disgusting asshole.
Graham pulled deep and used a few yoga breaths. It calmed his system, and reminded him why he was doing it the right way in the first place.

Kara. Zach.

“Let me be clear.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the porch railing, face-to-face with the jackass. “I'm not
her
lawyer. But I am
a
lawyer. Know what that means? I
have connections, and knowledge on my side. And what I have is money.”

There was a gleam there now, Graham noted. He'd said the M word, and Henry scented a payout like a shark scenting blood on the surface.

“What I also have is patience. It took me a long time to find Kara, and I couldn't be more happy she comes with a son I can love, too. That means I'm doing this the right way. I can afford to drag your ass to court so often, your employers might start wondering why you're gone all the time. They might check in on your court appearances. That's public record, did you know that? When they see all the things Kara will be putting in that court case—the honest, truthful, proven things, with such delightful phrases as ‘deadbeat' and ‘irresponsible' and ‘negligent'—they might start asking questions. You might lose your job. You do have a job, don't you, Henry?”

He clenched his jaw, but said nothing.

“After a while, your friends might wonder why you aren't working anymore. Family, too. That mom and dad you want to keep disillusioned about why they never see their grandkid . . . they might see the court papers, too. All those things—totally true things—Kara can drag in front of a judge to prove you're not just an unfit parent, but true human scum. You want people to know all about that?”

“Fuck you,” Henry hissed.

But Graham was just getting started. “I know why you've gotten away with this shit up to now. You've been dealing with a single mom with limited resources, who has a kid with high-cost medical needs. A mom who has to debate between using up precious resources fighting against her kid's father, or living in terror daily he'll flip the switch and demand time again with his kid, when he's not capable of caring for a goldfish.”

Henry said nothing.

“That's changing. See, the thing is, I'm just a single guy
right now. I can live pretty simply. Not into cars, or guns, or expensive hobbies. Know what happens when you make money and don't spend it? It sort of piles up. So I've got this interesting pile of cash, and no clue what to do with it right now. I might rename that fund Henry. I'll rename it the Kick Henry's Ass Fund. And its sole purpose will be to drag you to court so often, and so regularly, that you are smothered with court fees and law office bills.” He paused for a moment. “How long do you think you can hold that up, Henry? One month? Two? A year? The law taught me patience. The Corps taught me perseverance. And my parents taught me not to be a disgusting human being. You're toast. It's just a matter of how soon you admit it to yourself, so we can all move on.”

“You can't threaten me,” Henry said, standing so he towered over Graham from the porch. “You don't have the right.”

“Threaten?” Graham looked around theatrically. “Who said I threatened you? I was simply explaining one potential outcome of fighting back against terminating parental rights.” He pointed as he stepped back toward his car. “Zach's going to be mine, just like Kara is, because I care about them both. If you're smart, when Kara comes at you with the papers, you'll sign them and move on. Because I'll be damned if you get a penny out of me, or Kara, to make this stop.”

As he got in his car, the front door slammed shut. And Graham let his hands shake, as they'd wanted to for the last ten minutes.

He'd seen arrogance, and ego in the man's face, then triumph. But it was what Graham saw last that told him half the battle was already won.