Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(58)

“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.”