Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(15)

“Lawyer boy just can’t keep his fancy lawyering to himself,” Greg joked.

“Maybe that’s what slowed him down so much this morning during practice.” Brad inspected the side of Graham’s jaw. “You’re not one to get caught so easily. You’re always five steps ahead. How’d you get clipped?”

Because his mind had been with Kara, not on the sparring match. He shrugged. “Off day. Whatever.”

“Short practice today, boys.” Coach Willis walked by, his head barely reaching the tops of their shoulders. “Short practice. Coach wants you home early and resting. And by resting, he doesn’t mean mattress gymnastics,” he added, staring at Greg, who held up his hands in an innocent gesture.

“Short practice, thank God,” Graham murmured. He could go home and soak in his tub, lay down and read a damn book. Block out the world, including one very fine yoga instructor. For once, luck was on his side.





CHAPTER


5

Graham rolled up to his home in Hubert, five minutes from the back gate, and wanted to sigh with relief. Short practice his ass. Short practice apparently meant, “We’re going to murder you, and you’re going to like it. And after we’re done, we will let you leave early to find a ditch to crawl into and die.”

He hurt everywhere. Even the roots of his hair were tingling.

As he hit the clicker for his garage door, a movement by his front door caught his eye. He glanced, and saw a short person huddled on his front step, arms wrapped around their knees. A hoodie covered their head, despite the warmth of the afternoon, their sneakers were untied and a bookbag rested at their feet.

Zach.

He was out of the car in an instant, the car door still swinging open as he dashed over and crouched down in front of the boy. “Zach. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Is it your mom?”

The boy looked up at him, so miserable it made Graham’s heart rattle in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

As he sniffled, Graham settled down beside him on the concrete, wrapping an arm around the kid. He decided to not mention the tears or sniffling. “Sorry for what?”

The boy’s voice was a little muffled as he rested his forehead on his knees, but Graham could still make it out. “I came out here, and then you weren’t home and I got scared but I’m okay and please don’t send me back.”

In his head, Graham listed all the reasons Zach might have run away. Fight with his mom, bad grades, bad behavior at the babysitter’s, bullying . . . But it was overshadowed with pride and love that the young boy had come to him when he’d needed someone. Not Brad or Greg. He’d come here.

He gave Zach’s shoulder a quick squeeze and cleared his throat. “I’m here now. How’d you get out here, by the way?”

“Taxi. I used my allowance.”

Resourceful kid. Though it unnerved him that a cab had taken a ten-year-old boy anywhere alone. “Your mom has no clue you’re here, does she?”

“I was supposed to ride the bus to the babysitter today. She’s got yoga stuff to do. But instead I walked down to the gas station on the corner and called a cab.”

So both the babysitter and Kara were likely freaking out. “You know we have to call them, right?”

Zach’s small back heaved with a sigh. “Yeah. I just can’t.”

“I’ll do it.” And he’d work it out so the boy could stay, at least for a bit. Whatever was going on in his life, it was clear he needed someone besides his mom to lean on. Which was not at all a slap to Kara, because she was one of the most amazing mothers he’d ever seen in action. But sometimes, a boy just needed a man to talk things out with. Or even just an adult who wasn’t a parent. “Let’s go inside and get you a snack. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” he said with a dramatic flair, clutching his stomach and rolling to his side. His sneakers kicked out and he twitched like a bug in the throes of death. “I think my stomach’s gonna turn inside out in a minute.”

“Now that, we can’t have. Come on.” He led Zach back into the garage and through the door into the kitchen. It was a mint green color, which he’d thought cheerful, unique and a nice contrast for the dark cabinets at the time and now felt stupid about. It was like living in a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. He just didn’t have the energy to paint it right now. Not when the mere idea of lifting his arms over his shoulders made him want to cry daily.

He opened the tiny pantry and waved a hand. “Pick a snack, any snack.” For a moment, he expected to see a good rendition of a plague of locusts, descending on the free-for-all food. He kept his diet pretty solid, but stocked some junk food for when he had guys over . . . especially Greg, whose taste buds gave a toddler a run for his money.

Grabbing a bottle of water and a few aspirin for himself, he turned to see Zach carefully picking up each box of food and reading the ingredients thoughtfully before setting it back down. It tore at his heart, knowing this was his life. That he couldn’t do what any other boy his age would do and grab an armful of snacks and chow down. That each bite he put in his mouth could have dire effects on his health.

“Oreos,” he managed to choke out. “Oreos are good, right? I think I remember seeing that on your mom’s blog.”