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“Tully and Dawson. Me and Emma. You and—”
“No one.” Mitchell picked up some sliced tomato and set it on his bread. “I haven’t gotten rid of The Viper in my life yet.”
Linc picked up some sliced hickory-smoked turkey and layered it on his sandwich. “What can we do?”
Mitchell’s bark of laughter held no humor. “Nothing. Keep doing what you’re doing. We’re almost finished, but my money has hired her a large team of attorneys to fight on her behalf.”
“Why is she stalling?” Tully didn’t stop assembling his massive sandwich as he posed the question. Linc watched him and wondered how the hell he was going to get his mouth around that.
Mitchell grunted as he paused to shake his head at Tully. “Money. It’s all about the money. She found out about the company and feels it should be hers. Well, at least half.”
“If it hasn’t been said before,” Tully continued, “I really don’t like her.”
“Makes two of us,” Linc added.
“Three.” Mitchell placed some cheese on the growing stack of condiments he was adding. “Three of us.” He looked before picking up a serrated knife and cutting the sandwich in half then placing it on the plate and grabbing a bag of chips.
They all ate in the living room, the talk turning to sports.
“What about you, Linc?”
He swallowed his bite. “What about me?”
“You don’t mention the guys you played with. Have you mended those fences yet?”
He wanted to send his plate into the wall. These two were the only ones who knew about the bridges he’d burned when he got injured. About his spiral down to where he didn’t think he was ever going to get out.
“No.” He squeezed his fist so tight, he had half-moons embedded in his skin from his nails.
Both of them looked at him. No judgment on their faces. They merely waited for more of an explanation.
“Let it go.” Linc forced the three words from between clenched teeth.
As one, they snorted. “You know that’s not going to happen.”
Mitchell balanced the plate on his knee and gave him a look. One he didn’t want to see.
“They were your friends, Linc. You deserve it, and so do they. I thought our chat at the cage had pointed you in the right direction about this.”
“I have friends,” he snapped, irritated with this conversation. “Two less if they don’t drop this.”
He didn’t need to remember the nights of being blackout drunk, not that he could, anyway. Or the pain as he’d pushed himself too far too fast, trying to heal, and ended up doing more damage. And he definitely didn’t need to replay the one time he’d managed to hobble his injured body back to the clubhouse and had overheard them talking about how they were going to be fine without him—that they didn’t need him. Another person had already stepped up to his position at third base and they would be going further than they would have with him in the lineup. That had been it for him. He’d turned around and walked away. Okay, hobbled away, and after checking himself out of the rehab facility, he’d headed home. If they didn’t need him, he sure as fuck didn’t need them.
“Threatening us isn’t going to change a fucking thing. We all know you’re not cutting us out of your life like you did them, because we’re too goddamn stubborn to leave. Plus, we’ll bring in Pops.” Tully shoved three chips into his mouth and chewed.
“I hate you both.”
They nodded. “We love you too, man.” Mitchell gave a short smile before he returned to demolishing his sandwich.
“Bastards,” he muttered with affection.
Thankfully, they dropped it for the rest of the lunch. However, it didn’t stop his mind from whirling, which had been their end goal. Getting him to think about his old teammates. Again. And he wasn’t any closer to solving who was the father of Emma’s adorable daughter.
When the time came to go get Emma and head to the airport, his gut was a bundle of nerves. He didn’t mind flying but he wasn’t sure about this entire trip. Sharing a room with a woman he woke up thinking about as he fisted himself was going to be a test of something he wasn’t sure he had. It didn’t help that he couldn’t get fantasy-her, dressed in an old worn shirt of his as she opened the door, looking like he’d interrupted her being pleasured, out of his mind. Hair tousled, skin flushed, nipples pointing through her thin top.
He sat outside her house in his truck, trying to get his erection back under the pretense of control. Behind him on the seat was not only a booster seat for Greer—which he loved having in his truck—but also his bag.
“Get out of the fucking truck and go get her,” he told himself.
He listened, strode to her house, and knocked. She must have been watching for him because the door opened right away.
