Homecoming (Dartmoor Book 8)

by Lauren Gilley

  Eden sent him a quick look, one he returned. They’d both been in the game too long to hang things up to coincidence.

  “I want to talk to Jimmy,” she said.

  Fox grinned. “I can probably arrange that.”

  “That look never bodes well.”

  “Not for Jimmy it doesn’t.”

  ~*~

  “Try it again, on the move this time.”

  “It’s a trash can.”

  “Right, which doesn’t have arms and hands, so it can’t reach and help you out. If you can hit the can, you can hit your receiver. Again. Feet moving.” Carter punctuated the instruction by taking a run at Elijah, who muttered a protest, danced like he’d been pushed out of the pocket, and threw the ball while he was running.

  It spiraled up into a perfect arc, the last of the day’s sunlight gleaming on the laces, and dropped into the can so perfectly it didn’t even wobble.

  Elijah threw up both hands in celebration, and turned to beam at Carter. “You see that?”

  “Yeah, I did. Now tell me the trash can idea is stupid.”

  Elijah rolled his eyes – but chuckled.

  Carter clapped him on the shoulder as they walked down to retrieve the ball, and set the trash can back on the jogging path where it belonged. “That was good today. You’re already showing a lot of improvement.”

  “Coach noticed at practice yesterday,” Elijah said, with the air of confiding a secret. His smile was nearly bashful as he flipped the ball from hand to hand, and they walked across the grass back toward the bench where they’d left their bags. “All he said was, ‘Better,’ but coming from Coach–”

  “That’s a huge compliment,” Carter said, knowingly. “Dude, that’s awesome.”

  When they reached their gear, they found a group of elementary-age boys with a huge bag of soccer balls held between them, practically bouncing up and down with anticipation. “Are you done with the field?” one asked.

  “Yeah, little man, have at it,” Elijah said, offering high fives to all of them before they dashed out onto the grass, whooping in delight.

  The two of them sat down on the bench to take long pulls from their water bottles; Carter offered a wave to the watchful mothers who’d taken up spots on the next bench over, and got several waves – and even an appreciative look – in return.

  “Now that your face doesn’t look like shit” – his bruises had all but faded – “you gonna try to bag a soccer mom?” Elijah teased.

  “No.” His cheeks heated. “I mean, I could if I wanted to…”

  Elijah choked on a laugh.

  “But nah. Not really my thing.”

  “Not your thing? Who was that MILF I saw you talking to that night at practice?”

  “Oh. Um. Well. She…”

  Elijah knocked their shoulders together. “I’m just playing, man, relax before you have a stroke.”

  Carter wiped a hand down his face. “My relationship history is really weird, okay?”

  “Okay, okay. That’s cool.”

  It was a little bit shocking, how quickly they’d moved from warily circling one another to being something almost like friends. When he wasn’t waiting for Carter to prove himself an enemy, Elijah was jovial, and funny, and not at all afraid to rib his pseudo-coach. Carter truly did love his club brothers, and, on good days, he liked joking back and forth with them, too; but there was a part of him that would always feel like he’d stepped into a world in which he did not belong. Even flying the Lean Dog on his back, he didn’t truly feel that he was one.

  A braver man than him would have opened his mouth and actually talked to someone about that – maybe not Aidan, but at least Mercy, or Tango. Even Ava.

  It was easier with Elijah. With someone who loved the game the way he did; who was hungry for the same things he’d been hungry for at this age.

  Out on the field, the boys had upended their bag and now zipped around wildly, kicking soccer balls in every direction without any sort of organization or cooperation. It was the spirit that counted at that age, Carter guessed. Beyond them, the sun flirted with the tree line, brilliant as a fresh orange, too fierce to look at for long, though the trailing gold and pink froths of cloud tempted the eye.

  “Hey,” Elijah said, and his voice had gone serious. “You know how you asked me about everybody hating the Lean Dogs at school?”

  Carter turned toward him, careful not to look too eager. “Yeah.”

  “Jimmy Connors was running his mouth in the cafeteria today.”

  “About what?”

  Elijah shrugged and looked away, hands knotting together around his water bottle. He looked uncomfortable. “Just talking shit about how the Dogs tried to scare him at work. Said y’all roughed up his dad.”

  Carter snorted. “My president spoke to his dad. He didn’t rough him up.”

  “I know,” Elijah said, surprising him. “He was all worked up. Saying y’all took Allie off and chained her up in the clubhouse. Lotta real nasty shit.”

  Carter took a slow breath in through his mouth, startled by the surge of fury that swept through him. And after they’d gone to the effort of setting up that little show on Main Street. After people saw Carter step in. And now Jimmy was out saying they’d turned Allie into some kinda club sex slave. That little shit. “Do you believe what he said?”

  “No.” Right away, no hesitation. His gaze slid over, cautious – but not like it had been at first. “It’s like I said before: I don’t really give a shit about Jimmy. And now he’s being super fucking annoying. He’s got it out for y’all. Bad. And I don’t know why. Everybody knew he liked Allie–”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah. He was kinda stalkery about it, actually. She was real sweet, but there was no way in hell she was gonna go out with him.”

  “Did he harass her?”

  “Nah. But he was following her around at the party.” His gaze narrowed. “Why do you care?”

  “Well, for starters, I care about the fact that some dumbass is trying to blame us for something awful that we didn’t do.”

  Elijah nodded, and Carter thought he looked sheepish.

  “And one of my brothers – his old lady’s a PI. A really good one. The police haven’t found anything, and she was supposed to do some poking around today and see if she could find anything useful out about what happened to Allie.” He caught his gaze and held it. “But I promise you: we had nothing to do with Allie disappearing.”

  Elijah stared back a long moment, then nodded and turned away. “I tried to tell him that you guys wouldn’t need to do something like that: lots of hot chicks hang out with y’all anyway. Not like you’d need to kidnap somebody.”

  Carter smiled, wryly.

  “And there’s something my dad says,” Elijah continued, tone shifting, growing more serious. “If somebody’s spending all their time pointing fingers at someone, it’s the guy with the finger who actually did it.”

  Seventeen

  “I keep telling myself I’m gonna go to the store, buy real food, and cook myself dinner,” Leah swore as her dad set a plate in front of her. It was nothing fancy, just a club sandwich and a small bag of chips, but it beat going home and turning on the stove.

  “What’s the point in having a restaurant if you can’t feed your own kid out of it?” he asked with a wink, and rested a hand on the chair opposite her own. “What about your coworkers? Are they nice, or are they assholes?” He’d been grilling her about her first day for ten solid minutes, from the moment she’d walked into the door, and all through making her sandwich and decaf.

  “They’re all very nice,” she said. “There’s Gabe, and Rochelle, and Isobel, and all of them are lovely.”

  “Lovely could mean anything,” he griped.

  “Yeah, but in this case, it means they respect breakroom fridge etiquette, and they don’t talk obnoxiously loud on their phones. They’d ordered a cake, Dad, with my name on it and everything, to welcome me on my first day.”


  “That’s overkill.”

  “And you’re a sourpuss,” she proclaimed, and took a bite of sandwich to lay the point to rest.

  He snorted. “Did you see the boss man today? Mr. Fancy Pants?”

  “No.” She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and reached for her coffee. “Rochelle said he hardly ever stops on our floor.”

  “Not fancy enough, probably.”

  “Dad, you’ve never even seen him. How can you have an opinion about his level of fanciness?”

  “Ava said he was fancy, and I trust Ava.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh my God.”

  He glanced up as a new customer entered, and she saw his jaw get tight, that Marine look stealing over his face – there was no such thing as an ex-Marine, after all. “Your boyfriend’s here.”

  She nearly choked on the bite she’d just taken. “My what?”

  A glance proved that Carter was walking across the shop – or, had been, before her dad’s look brought him up short. He glanced uncertainly between her and her dad. “Um…”

  “It’s fine, Carter,” she said, motioning toward the counter. “He doesn’t bite.”

  To her dad, after Carter had skirted around him and headed for the counter: “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Then why’s he coming in here all the time now?”

  “Are you going to turn away a paying customer?”

  He folded his arms. “I am if he’s got ill-intentions toward my daughter.”

  The statement deserved such a dramatic eye-roll, she decided not to attempt it and risk pulling something. “I’m the last person on earth Carter Michaels is interested in romantically. But we are friends, and have been for years. Plus, I’m almost thirty: the dad-with-a-shotgun routine isn’t cute anymore.”

  He grumbled, but pushed off and returned to the counter. She watched him go, ready to interfere if he said anything to Carter; but he didn’t. Went over to the cappuccino machine and let Noelle fill Carter’s order.

  That look, though, had caused some doubt. Carter stood with his wrapped sandwich and a green tea after he turned away from the counter, surveying the tables – few of which were available – and darting Leah a questioning glance.

  She waved him over. “Please ignore my dad. He’s regressing, apparently.”

  “I heard that!” Marshall called from behind the counter.

  Carter’s face went pink as he dropped into the chair across from her. “I told you he doesn’t like me,” he whispered.

  “He likes you fine. He thinks you’re trying to seduce me, or whatever. And won’t listen to any of my assertions that we are definitely just friends.”

  His face went blank a moment. “Oh. Okay, well.” He unwrapped his sandwich. “It’s good he’s protective, I guess.”

  “It’s ridiculous, is what it is.” She took a bite of her own sandwich and chased it with coffee. “Subject change: you were dressed like that yesterday, too.” She nodded toward his outfit: shorts and t-shirt, sneakers, no cut or wallet chain in sight. “You hitting the gym? I thought Ghost had a weight room at the clubhouse.”

  “No. He does. I’m…” He hesitated, regarding his sandwich with undue attention. “I’m actually doing some coaching.”

  “Of…?”

  “The varsity quarterback over at the high school. I’m helping him work on his long ball.”

  That wasn’t what she’d expected at all.

  Whatever her face did in response, it had him saying, in a rush, “It’s nothing official. I’m not charging him or anything. I wouldn’t even call it coaching, really. We’ve met a few times at the park, and I’m giving him some pointers. He already had the raw talent, it was just that he needed some tips, and Coach isn’t–”

  “Breathe, Carter.”

  He exhaled unsteadily.

  “I think that’s great,” she said, and meant it; hoped he could hear that she meant it. “It’s great,” she repeated. “I was surprised is all, because you’re…” Belatedly, she realized what she was about to say, and the way it might be perceived.

  “A criminal?” he guessed, rueful smile pulling at his mouth. He looked unbearably sad in that instance.

  She wished she could start over, but that wasn’t possible; all she could do now was try to smooth what she’d already said. “No, not that. I’m pro-Lean Dog, remember? But I didn’t know if you were still involved in anything football related.” Gently: “Sometimes it’s hard to pick back up where you left off when your role is different. It’s probably hard to be the coach instead of the athlete.”

  His brows lifted, and his face smoothed with surprise. “Actually…it’s not as hard as I thought.”

  “Really?”

  “No. I thought it would be. I have a hard time watching a game sometimes. It feels like I’m left out. And I thought it would be that way working with Elijah, but…” She watched realization break over him, as golden and beautiful as a sunrise, his blue eyes dancing with light beneath the soft glow of the overhead lamps.

  God, it was a good thing she didn’t go for pretty boys, because sometimes Carter was gorgeous enough to stop a girl in her tracks.

  “Watching him get better makes me feel good, you know?” he said, nearly wondrous. He’d set his sandwich down, and was talking with his hands now, gesturing with an easy excitement she hadn’t seen in him since she got back to town. “And I’m getting to be a part of it without, you know, my dad breathing down my neck about how I better earn the team fee. Without all that pressure.” He shook his head. “I threw up before every college game I played. And…” He’d been winding up the whole time, fervor blazing in his eyes.

  He bit his lip now, and seemed to shrink, his gaze withdrawing. When he turned his lip loose, and took a breath, it shivered. The coffeeshop faded to a blur of noise and light around them; Leah felt like they were insulted, tucked away, just the two of them. A frisson moved through the air, a sudden, unexpected intimacy.

  One ripe for a confession. “You know,” he said, looking up through his lashes, a blast of blue under dark fringe, “the day I got hurt. I almost…shit, this is bad. I shouldn’t…” He shook his head again – but his gaze found hers again, too, and wouldn’t let go.

  She wasn’t sure she was breathing.

  “I was relieved,” he admitted, and his shoulders dropped afterward. He’d been carrying that, she realized, for years now, and based on the sudden, total loss of tension from his body, she didn’t think he’d told a soul. “It was so much, being on that stage, and having all of that riding on me. Knowing people back home were watching me on TV every Saturday, knowing it was my one shot, and that so many things could blow it for me. Knowing I was done – and that it wasn’t because I couldn’t cut it, or because I quit – but because of something outside my control. God, it was a relief.”

  He sat back and wiped a hand down his face, grimacing when he realized that he’d wiped sandwich grease down his cheek.

  Wordlessly, Leah offered him a napkin.

  “Wow. Okay. I’m a jackass,” he said. “How many guys would have killed to be where I was, and I was glad it was over.”

  “You’re not a jackass.” She finally found her voice. “That kind of pressure eats away at a person. It’s awful sometimes, even if you’re doing something you love – even if it’s the thing you love most.”

  He sent her a doubtful look.

  “I actually finished college,” she joked. “So trust me: I know what I’m talking about.”

  He snorted, and smiled, and he was radiant with that relief he’d just laid on the table between them.

  Uh oh, she thought to herself. Don’t start thinking he’s cute.

  A tiny voice in the back of her head said, Too late.

  Thankfully, nothing ever stayed heavy between them for very long. “Oh shit,” he said, eyes widening. “I didn’t ask: how was your first day?”

  Thank God, she thought, and readily launched into a recap of her day. He made far fewer faces than he dad, and bu
rst out laughing when she described the “relaxation corner,” with its sofas, chairs, rain machine, and essential oil diffuser.

  “It’s relaxing!” she protested.

  He pressed a hand over his mouth that did nothing to stem his laughter. “I’m gonna tell Ghost we need one.”

  She threw a balled-up napkin at him, and the way it bounced off his forehead, and landed right in her mostly-empty coffee cup sent them both into fresh peals of giggles.

  When he finally had to go – and she was shocked to see that two hours had passed, and that most of the customers had filtered out, save a few older men reading paperbacks in the corners – he said he’d see her tomorrow, and waved as he backed out the door.

  “Not your boyfriend, huh?” Dad called from the counter, when he was gone.

  “Definitely not!”

  ~*~

  She couldn’t wipe his smile from her mind, though. Couldn’t get over the change in him tonight, when he’d embraced what she suspected was a whole lot of self-actualization.

  She went home, changed into sweats, and had just collapsed onto her ugly secondhand sofa in front of House Hunters when Ava called.

  “You have to slap a pretentious wanker today?” Ava asked in a horrible attempt at a British accent.

  “Of your many talents, impressions aren’t one of them,” Leah said, and Ava laughed. “And no, I didn’t even see him. I’m an accountant, remember? Not his personal assistant.”

  “There’s always tomorrow,” she said in her normal voice. “Seriously, though, how was it?”

  “It was good.” Which was what she’d been saying all evening. She walked through the same summary she’d given her mom on the phone, and her dad, and then Carter at the coffeeshop. “First days are always kinda weird, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “But it’s a fantastic job. Plenty of breaks, nice office, close to home, and the shop…I think I’m gonna be thanking your mom for the rest of my life.”

  Ava chuckled. “Don’t say that if you don’t want to get roped into babysitting.”

  “Bring on the babies.”