Home > The Fighter (Barrett Boys #2)(7)

The Fighter (Barrett Boys #2)(7)
Author: Jordan Ford

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” The kids crowded around, making our fighting circle that much smaller. I landed a solid punch in Kenny’s face and raised my fist for another. No one hassled my little brothers and got away with it.

“Deeks, stop!” Cooper’s arms came around me, hauling me back.

I swung and punched, yelling out as my older brother dragged me away. I fought him to get back to Kenny. He deserved more than a bloody nose for calling the twins useless clumps of dog poo. He made Jake cry.

“Stop fighting!” Cooper yelled in my ear. “Just calm the hell down!” I kept wrestling against him until he shoved me away and shouted, “You’re just like dad!”

He may as well have kicked me in the balls.

I didn’t speak to him for three days after that.

With a grunt, Julio comes at me again. I raise my arm to block his attack and scramble back to my feet, bringing my fists up to shield my face.

The move makes me think of Grandpa.

Dammit, not now, brain!

But I can’t stop it.

I can’t stop those memories storming through me. I shouldn’t have thought about the ranch yesterday. I shouldn’t have opened that freaking door.

Swinging out with my fist, I try to focus on the fight, but all I can see is an old man with a weathered face and eyes as kind and calm as a lake in the morning, telling me how to deal with my anger.

“That’s not how we behave, son. This family’s been through enough. You need to rein it in and control that temper.”

I clenched my jaw, fisting my little wrists beside me.

“You broke Jake’s favorite toy. We can’t fix that, and he’s real sad.”

“He was being annoying,” I mumbled.

“You made your brother cry.”

My insides curdled. I’d made people bleed for hurting my family, and there I was doing it myself… just like dad.

Anger frothed up my throat. A desperate need to punch and kick surged through me.

I didn’t want to be my old man!

But I didn’t know how to quell the rage inside of me.

“Just because you’re angry ’bout something doesn’t give you the right to act like a horse’s ass. There are consequences to every action we take.” Grandpa stepped toward me, and I flinched, ready for battle.

We’d only been at the ranch a month or so. I was still getting the lay of the land, figuring this old man out and what form of punishment his “consequence” might look like.

He took a step back, his smile sad and kind of heartbroken. “Deacon.” He said my name slowly, like it meant something to him. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth, and he blinked a few times, then looked at me. “Son, I will never raise my hand against you, no matter how mad I am. I will always love you, no matter what you break or how riled I might feel. And I will always show you mercy. My love for you is unconditional.”

I’d never heard anyone speak to me like that before.

I wasn’t even sure I understood what he was saying.

“And because I love you so much, it’s my job to teach you, help you get those roaring emotions of yours under control. Because if you keep heading down this road, you’re gonna end up just like your father. Is that what you want?”

My nostrils flared, and I gave Grandpa the darkest look I could muster.

He just smiled and did this throaty little chuckle. “I didn’t think so.” He bobbed his head a few times and looked away from the house.

We were outside, standing by the cellar, which I was sure he was going to lock me inside of. But then he started walking toward the barn.

“Come on. Follow me down my road, and I’ll help turn you into a good man who lives justly, loves mercy and walks humbly.”

I stayed where I was, wondering what the hell he was talking about. “Your road?”

“It leads to a good life.” He stopped and spun around to smile at me. “Trust me.”

Trust him? I barely knew the guy.

But it wasn’t like I had any place else to go.

So, I walked after him until we reached the back of the barn. With a little grunt, Grandpa jiggled the door open to reveal a workshop that looked like it’d been lying dormant for the better half of a century.

“What the hell is this?” I murmured, jumping away from a tangle of cobwebs that was out to get me.

Grandpa pointed at the chaotic mess. “Your project. You’re gonna clean this place up. Make it look good as new.”

“All by myself?” I shot a look at him.

He nodded with a smile.

“What the fuck? No!”

“Deacon.” His smile disappeared. “That’ll be twenty.”

“Fuck off! I’m not doing twenty push-ups!” Damn Grandpa and his stupid rules!

“You just made it forty. Come on, son, we’ve talked about this. A good man doesn’t need to go around cussing over everything. You need to control that tongue of yours.”

I stepped up to him, puffed out my chest, and spoke slow and clear. “I am not doing forty fucking push-ups!”

“You’ve just made it eighty.”

“Shit!”

“And that’s one-sixty.”

“Shit is not as bad as fuck!” I tried to argue.

“You’re still cussing. Now, before you say anything else, do you want to help me work out what one-sixty plus one-sixty is? Let’s have a think about that…” He rubbed his chin, murmuring under his breath while he worked it out. “Three-twenty.” He hissed. “You really want to do three hundred and twenty push-ups? That could take a while.”

It was all I could do not to lose my mind. But one thing Grandpa had proved over the short time I’d known him was that he was a man of his word.

Dammit!

I clenched my jaw and kept my mouth shut.

He pointed at the dusty wooden floor. “You better get started.”

“What if I refuse to do them?”

“You’re not leaving this workshop until they’re done.”

“I could punch you in the face and walk right out of here.”

He gazed down at my defiance and softly asked, “You really want to do that?”

We stared at each other for long enough to make my skin itch. I was squeezing my fists so tight, my nails started digging into my palms.

“I know it may not seem like it, but I’m trying to help you, Deacon.”

It was the kindness in his eyes that made me bend. For a moment, I saw Mom in them—same color, same shape… same love.

With an irritated huff, I dropped, saying every swear word I could think of inside my head. I got to about thirty push-ups and collapsed.

“I can’t do any more!”

“Take a breather. We’re not on a clock.”

I glared up at the old man, resisting the urge to tell him what I really thought. Resisting the urge to kick him in the shins.

It took me forty-five minutes, but I eventually got through one hundred and sixty freaking push-ups. Grandpa even dropped and did the last sixty with me.

Standing up with jelly arms, I puffed and held my side. “Well, at least I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Let’s hope so.” Grandpa laughed, patting my shoulder and then pointing into the room. “If I were you, I’d start by moving some of this big broken stuff out of the way, and then you can get down to the cleaning.”

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