Page 7 of Dirty Fighter

Simple as that.

Less simple? How to sort this out.

I circle around the house rather than walking through. I need a minute before I deal with Rowan again. A minute to remind myself that while my dad loved her like crazy, I don’t actually know her at all. I meet the guys at the edge of the clearing.

There’s a cloud bank pushing in, and the warmth of the afternoon sun has been replaced by a brisk breeze coming off the water.

I should be unpacking with these guys, enjoying watching World War Three break out over who gets the trundle beds in the office behind my dad’s room. But it looks like none of this summer’s cabin plans are going as expected.

“So wait, is she, or is she not, a stri-ehh-exotic dancer?” Lattner shoots me a panicked look, his hands coming up. “No judgment, man.”

“She works in hospital administration. I think.” Fine. I know she does, or at least, she did. Dad loved to brag about her, and apparently, I’m still pretending to be as indifferent about her as I wanted to be.

Wexler is still staring at our youngest teammate with a look like he can’t believe the guy’s parents let him stay out past curfew. He turns to me. “What can we do, man?”

“I appreciate you wanting to back me up here, but there’s not a lot even I can do until my lawyer calls. His firm is out of New York though, so they’re already gone for the day.”

Huska nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What about the team’s legal? With them, you may not have to wait until morning to put things in motion, but…” He trails off, and we all get it.

Except Lattner, who just blinks.

“It means involving the organization,” I explain to him. “Don’t get me wrong. There isn’t anything inherently bad about that… I mean, they’re a phenomenal resource to have behind us.”

Wexler shrugs. “But no one wants to be the guy making the radar because of his personal life. You want to stand out for your game and how positively you reflect on your team. You want to be the asset bringing the most to the table, yeah?”

No idea if the kid gets it, but eventually he will.

I look to Huska. “I’d rather go through my own guys. For now, anyway.” See if I can resolve it quickly and quietly, without giving Marsha any kind of opening into my professional life.

“So what about your— the girl?”

I turn back to the cabin where I catch a glimpse of her pacing through the window. I can’t believe she’s here.

I can’t believe any of this.

I shove my hand through my hair. “We’re going to need to sort this out. But until we do— Shit. I’m sorry, guys.”

Wexler steps in to grip my shoulder. “Don’t be. Coming up here the first time since losing your dad is hard enough, but finding out your stepmom is after the estate? The last thing you need is the three of us underfoot.”

But of course he gets it. The guy lost both his parents when he was a kid. It’s one of the reasons I asked him along this week. “Thanks for understanding.”

“’Course, man. Just wish there was something I could do.”

“There is.” I muster a grin. “Go flirt with the local girls. Take these two out tonight on me. Bruce’ll tell you where to go to get the best fish boil you’ve ever had. Hotel’s one town over, and tomorrow… Hell. Just have a good fucking week.” I meet each of their eyes. “And go easy on the rookie.”

There’s a round of back claps, fist bumps, and bro hugs, and then my guys head down the path it feels like we just came up.

Bruce about loses his mind when he finds out Rowan’s here. Not sure if he’s more upset about Marsha claiming ownership of the island or the fact that her daughter hired some other outfit to get her across the lake.

But he’s already on his way out of the harbor to come get my teammates before I hang up. Time to hash this out with Rowan.

“Did you speak with your attorney?” she asks when I walk in. She’s pulled on a pair of jeans and is rubbing her hands together in that classically nervous way that used to turn me inside out, make me want to pull her close and prove I could make everything okay. As if she ever wanted that.

“Look, obviously, there’s been a mistake,” I say flatly, tamping down the dual needs to take her hands to warm them up and call Marsha, her mother and a woman I know deep in my bones to be a seriously shitty human being, a conniving thief. “A misunderstanding.”

“I wish it was.” There’s a waver in her voice, like what she’s saying hurts her as much as it hurts me. “I know you don’t want to believe your dad would let this happen.”

“He wouldn’t. My entire life, he talked about this place belonging to our family, being part of my heritage. He couldn’t wait to teach my kids to swim off the dock like Gramps did with me and to someday see me teaching my grandkids the same thing.”