As I add potatoes to my plate of waffles, I realize what I just agreed to. Even though I have nothing but gratitude toward Logan, I know it’s only a matter of time before he and the rest of the members of Harvest Valley show their true colors. The moment they get to know me and see my flaws, they’re going to shun me like my last church did.
Coming to Tuesday brunch for the food was a stretch to begin with. But now Sundays too? I’m not prepared. Besides, Sunday morning is a time I typically spend training—Rocky style, since I can no longer afford a gym membership or the fuel to get to the nearest one out of town.
I try not to mope.
I’m going to have to come, for the good of my vehicle.
I follow Logan to a table and proceed to eat in silence, partly because I’m ravenous, and also because I’m still trying to work out my new training schedule for the week. Logan inhales his food, and when his stomach appears to be nice and full, he pats it like a well-behaved pet.
Someone approaches the table, and I recognize him from all the previous meals I’ve attended. “Hey, Steve,” I say.
“Hi, Bash.” Steve reaches out to shake my hand. I can’t help but notice the way it slightly shakes, and how Steve swallows hard, like he’s afraid of me or something. Unfortunately, this is something I’ve gotten used to since I started training seriously. Logan is one of the few friends I’ve made who doesn’t seem at all intimidated by me, and it’s part of the reason I like him so much.
Logan nods at Steve. “Bash will be joining us in his first ever church service this Sunday.”
Steve looks so excited, it makes my stomach sink. “Awesome,” he says. “I’ll see you there.”
He walks away, leaving me to contemplate how I ended up here.
“This is great, man.” Logan rubs his hands together like he’s about to dig in for supper, though he just stuffed his face full of French toast and eggs. “I knew you’d join me eventually.”
“Don’t get too used to it.” Staring off at the table of men next to us, I watch Jason clap Bob on the shoulder, all smiles to be here. “This is a one-time thing. And besides,” I add with a grin, “you know I’m only here for the food.”
Logan laughs. “Well, there won’t be much more than donuts and coffee on Sunday. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“It’s fine, mate.”
He relaxes in his chair. We’re the only two seated at this particular table, which is probably for the best. The last thingI want to do is getinvolvedhere. Network. Make friends. By some unspoken rule, Logan and I always sit apart from everyone else, but that hasn’t stopped them from occasionally coming to me. Introducing themselves. Getting to know me, or trying, at least. It’s to be expected after all. This men’s breakfast group meets every Tuesday. Things are bound to get more personal eventually.
I just need to get out before that happens.
“You know,” says Logan, “I think your parents cutting you off was God’s way of leading you here.”
“Well, if there’s one thing I’m grateful for, it’s that He got me away from my parents,” I mutter.
His brows narrow as he meets my gaze. “You’ve never told me why they cut you off, you know.”
I smirk at the table. I don’t like people rummaging around in my personal business, so normally I’d tell him to mind his own, but Logan means well. “In July, I debuted with my fight promotion, Munera, against the very explicit wishes of my parents. Then I told them I was done working for them. Doesn’t get much worse than that to members of high society.”
I try not to get angry as I think back to the last night I worked an auction with them in Portland, the same night my fight showed on TV. I remember my parents, in a rage I’ve never known they were capable of. Them draining all my accounts and leaving me to rot in our Meadow Hills lake house. “When you ignore our rules, you don’t get to spend our money, Sebastian,” my mother spat. “You’re twenty-five years old. You’ll just have to make do with your fight money now, since this new whim is so important to you.”
“Fight money?” I laughed. “What fight money? I don’t have any sponsors yet. This was my first professional match and my next one is four months away. I’ll maybe get two grand. Calm down, Mother.”
Calm downwas probably the worst thing I could have said to her.
The rest seemed to happen so fast—Ingrid, refusing to go back home with our parents. Them promising she wouldn’t get any more money from them if she stayed with me. I must have done something right as her big brother, because when she had to choose between money and me, she picked me. And two months later, she’s still here.
And if their dozens of phone calls lately are any indicator, my parents definitely expected us to both come crawling back by now. But the thing is…I don’t care about their money. I’ve always wanted to be free and on my own. I just wish things hadn’t played out the way they did.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Logan says, breaking me out of my trance.
I shrug. “It’s nothing more than a manipulation tactic. They want me to come back home, so they’re punishing me by cutting off my access to money. They think I’ll come running back to them any day now.”
“That’s messed up.” Logan rubs the back of his neck and frowns. “Will you, though? Go running back to them?”
“No. They’ll only let me come home if I give up fighting because they want to keep training me to take over the family business. And there’s no way I’m doing that. Besides, I don’t want to go back.”
“Have you heard from your parents since all this happened?” Logan asks.
