“Imagine they’re there.”
Elijah snorted, and grinned.
“Imagine they’re there, and go through the footwork. That lamppost is your first receiver, the trash can’s the second, and I’m the third. You can pretend those birds over there are a three-man rush.”
Elijah laughed. “You’re crazy.” But he dodged, and spun, and pretended to get pushed out of the pocket, and pitched the ball neatly downfield into Carter’s waiting hands. He gave a single, restrained fist-pump of triumph afterward, trying and failing to hold back a smile as Carter jogged up to join him.
“See?” Carter said. “The power of imagination.”
Elijah gave him a playful shove. “Man.”
Carter laughed, his chest amazingly light. He felt like his spine had come unbent during practice, his shoulders growing weightless and wide. He could breathe.
“Let’s run through it a few more times.”
They did, Elijah’s accuracy perfecting on each sequence. It was a warm evening, warmer than it had been so far, and when they were both sticky and uncomfortable with sweat, pleasantly sore and tired, they flopped down on the grass to drink water and catch their breath.
“It’s starting to feel like spring for real,” Carter observed, reclining back on his elbows, the evening warm and humid against his face. The air smelled of cut grass, and sweet flowers, and, faintly, the tang of the river, carried along on the breeze. He cracked an eye open, to find Elijah mirroring his posture a few feet away. “When does school let out for the summer?”
“Week after next. We’ll still have practice, but only a couple times a week.”
Carter nodded. He’d always liked summers – the football camp parts of it. No studying English, no slaving over pages of incomprehensible equations at night. He ate, slept, and breathed football, from the pre-dawn run, to the films he watched before passing out at night. He’d seen other kids laid out around pools, and headed to the mall – aimless, teenage fun. But he’d had work to do. It had felt, no matter how pathetic it sounded now, like his life held some importance. You didn’t become great without putting the time and effort in. And by God, he couldn’t make his dad a better father, and he couldn’t change his origins, but he could work, and work he had, until he’d had SEC schools knocking on his door, offering him opportunities he’d only ever dreamed of.
And then…
He closed his eyes again, the last rays of sun warm across his lids. “I guess we won’t be needing to meet anymore, then.” He was a little surprised at the note of sadness in his voice, but he shouldn’t have been: he’d enjoyed this. Enjoyed getting back to football; enjoyed being useful in a way he never felt with the club.
“Why not?” Elijah asked.
Carter turned his head, vision red-edged and blurry from the sun when he opened his eyes. “I think I’ve probably shared whatever wisdom I had. You’re doing great. You don’t need me.”
Elijah frowned and sat up, plucking idly at the grass with fingertips that looked nervous, suddenly. His face didn’t give much away, though, nor his voice, more like that careful, modulated tone he’d used when they first met, before he trusted Carter at all. “We’re gonna have some clinics at camp,” he said, studying his hands, “and Coach said something about getting a new offensive coordinator.”
“About time.”
“But.” His gaze cut over, questioning. He took a deep breath, and said, “But what if I wanted to keep meeting. Not all the time,” he said in a rush, trying not to sound too eager, Carter thought. “Just some of the time. But. To keep fresh.”
Carter couldn’t hold back the smile that bloomed. It must have looked crazy, judging by the way Elijah’s brows went up. He managed to keep his voice calm, though, when he said, “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.”
They regarded one another a moment, then Elijah nodded and glanced away. He plucked an especially long blade of grass and ran it slowly through his fingertips, again and again. “Second string might need a tune-up, too.”
Carter nodded, still grinning. “Bring him. Happy to help.”
Elijah stilled. “Shit, should I be, like, paying you? For coaching?”
“No. No, I don’t need the money.”
Another nod, and Elijah’s shoulders dropped in obvious relief.
Carter drained the rest of his water and glanced out across the field. Now that they’d stopped moving around, the birds from earlier had returned, fat robins hopping along with their heads cocked, pulling up worms from the soft grass. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this hopeful about something. And it was a small thing: giving free advice to high school players. But more and more he was deciding that that sort of hope wasn’t something to be mocked, no matter how small or inconsequential it seemed.
When Elijah spoke next, his voice had shifted. “Hey.” A heaviness now, something low and worried that had Carter’s head whipping around. Elijah’s brows had drawn together, and a frown plucked at his mouth.
“What’s wrong?”
“I wasn’t gonna say anything, but…Jimmy Connors.”
And just like that, hope was crowded by a familiar nervous dread.
“He was running his mouth yesterday in the cafeteria. I wasn’t even sitting at his table, but I heard him talking a buncha shit. He said Allie’s parents hired a detective, and that she was threatening him.”
Carter frowned. “Her parents did hire a detective, but she isn’t threatening him.”
“I didn’t figure. But. That’s what he’s saying. And he said the Lean Dogs were gonna be sorry.”
Carter snorted. “It wouldn’t be the first time somebody said that about us.”
Elijah looked serious, though. Concerned. Troubled. “He said he was gonna prove to everybody that y’all killed Allie. He said he had actual proof, when somebody called bullshit on him. He said he had photos.”
“Photos?” Carter’s pulse gave a jump. “Of what?”
“Man, I dunno. But he’s out to get you guys, and I don’t think he’s playing.”
“What’s one seventeen-year-old kid gonna do to the Lean Dogs?” It was only after Elijah’s brows had lifted, and the boy had recoiled another small fraction, that he realized how harsh his tone had been.
Shit.
He tried to smile. “Thanks for telling me. We’ll be on the lookout for anything weird.”
Elijah held his gaze a moment, his own unreadable, then nodded. “Watch your back.”
~*~
Leah pushed through the door of the coffeeshop and took an immediate, grateful deep breath of its usual tangle of enticing scents. It had been a bit of a hectic day at work, but a productive sort of hectic. Numbers to crunch, emails to fire back and forth. She’d always loved numbers: the concrete efficiency of them. Numbers didn’t lie; numbers were dependable. She’d always thought of herself as whimsical and wild, a little, but she loved the orderliness of what she did for a living. The way it grounded her.
She headed for the counter, surprised to see Dustin and Sarah working behind it, neither of her parents in sight.
“Hey, Dust, is my dad here?”
“Your mom, actually.” He pointed toward the door to the back. “She had to make a phone call.”
“Thanks.”
Beyond a swinging door, the back housed the kitchen, break room, an employee restroom, and the office – whose door was cracked open. She could hear her mother’s voice coming from the other side – but the tone brought her up short, breath held.
“I understand,” Marie said, low, and raw, and crackling; she sounded near tears. “But if you could give us one more week to – you have a buyer? Well, what if we…I understand. But, Mr. Pearson….no, but.” Silence a long moment, while Leah’s heart pounded. Marie took a shaky breath. “Yes. Yes. I’ll talk with my husband. Thank you.” Clipped, and not at all thankful. The receiver clicked back into the dock.
Leah stood debating a moment, fingers and toes tingling with nerves. If she retreated, her mot
her would hear her footfalls, probably, and know that she’d heard. If she went in, she would find her mother upset, and Leah would ask why – she had to ask. Either way, there could be no pretending she hadn’t accidently eavesdropped.
Leah took a breath, rapped quickly on the door, and slipped inside.
Marie glanced around, startled, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. She looked unbearably thin, almost haggard, in that first unguarded moment, and Leah’s heart clenched.
“Leah!”
“Oh, Mom.” Her own eyes burned, on reflex, and she set her bag down and went straight to her mom, all thoughts of trying to skirt around this carefully deserting her.
Marie stayed sitting, and she wiped at her eyes – right up until Leah reached her. Then she pitched forward and wrapped both arms tight around her, squeezing hard.
Leah squeezed back, feeling her mother’s fluttering sadness seep into her, plucking at all her nerves. “What’s wrong? Who was that on the phone?”
Marie didn’t answer right away, breathing warm and ragged against Leah’s stomach. Then she finally pushed back with a deep sigh, and wiped at her cheeks, her eyes dry now. From this angle, Leah could see the gray in the part of her hair, evidence of an overdue salon trip. “Your father and I didn’t want to tell you until we were sure. We didn’t want to worry you.”
Her stomach lurched. “Worry me about what? God, Mom, are you sick?”
“What? No, no.” Marie waved away the notion and shook her head.
It was a big relief, one that left Leah weak-kneed enough that she dropped into the chair against the wall, the one beneath the coat rack. Soft jacket sleeves fell over her shoulders, cupped around her head.
“No.” Marie sighed again, and attempted a smile, one hollow and spare. “That was Mike Pearson on the phone. The landlord. He’s moving to Florida, and he wants to sell the building – but he wants an outrageous amount for it, and won’t accept our offer.”
Of all the things Leah had expected, this wasn’t one of them. She blinked stupidly. Then frowned. “How much does he want for it?”
“Almost twice the actual value.”
“What? That shithead. Why?”
“Greedy, I guess.” She slumped back in her chair, shaking her head. “He’s raised the rent on us for the last two years, another bump every three months.”
“What? I had no idea!”
“Because we didn’t tell you.” Sad little smile. “We’ve been going back and forth for weeks, trying to buy it outright, but he won’t budge, and now he’s going to officially put it on the market. Your dad and I have talked to the bank about a loan, but things have been so tight lately with the rent increase. And our credit’s not the best.” She seemed to shrink down into herself as she spoke, folding like dry paper. “We can’t buy it. Hell, at this point, we can’t afford to buy any place.”
“God, Mom.” Leah felt her eyes stinging again, and dashed at them. “I’m so sorry. What can I do?”
“Nothing, sweetie.” Through the tired lines of sadness, Marie’s face shone with love for her. “This is our mess to fix. I don’t want you to worry about it at all, okay?”
Leah knotted her fingers together in her lap. “Okay,” she said, mind already racing.
~*~
Carter debated skipping what had become his usual evening stop at Cook’s Coffee after his session with Elijah. He hadn’t seen Leah since the dinner at Ava and Mercy’s, when there’d been all this new, strange tension between them. He didn’t want to call it a spark, or attraction, but he knew that’s what it had been. He didn’t want things to be awkward now; didn’t want to meet Leah’s gaze across the shop and feel the urge to go crawl in a hole somewhere.
He’d been with three women at once a few weeks ago, but the thought of a little eye contact had him nervous as a teenager again. Idiot, he scolded himself, parked at the curb, and went in.
Leah was at her usual table – Carter half-wondered if her parents put a reserved sign on it, or if the regular customers had come to realize it was hers and steered clear – tapping away at her laptop, hunched low over the screen, lip caught between her teeth as she squinted, concentrating fiercely. He frowned to himself, and stood a moment, waiting for her to glance up in automatic response at the sound of the bell. She never did.
His stomach growled, and he headed for the counter – only to pause again when he caught sight of Leah’s mother standing behind it. Eyes puffy and red, face splotched, it was obvious that Mrs. Cook had been crying. Family drama? he wondered. An argument with Leah? That didn’t seem likely, but something had upset her, and he found himself wanting to soothe her, somehow.
She glanced up at his approach, and smiled – as full and sincere as normal, if a little stiff through the cheeks. Dried tear tracks, he thought. “Hey, Carter! You’re just a regular these days, aren’t you? Marshall says you’ve been coming in every night.”
“Oh, um, some nights. Most nights.” His face heated, and he willed himself – probably unsuccessfully – not to blush too much. He felt caught out, and again couldn’t believe his reversion to teenage-era jitters over a girl. “I really like y’all’s sandwiches.”
She beamed. “Glad to hear it! Turkey or ham?”
“Oh, turkey.”
“Grab a sandwich and a green tea for Carter, Sarah,” she instructed one of the teens working alongside her, before turning her smile back to him; folding her arms, tilting her hips. Getting settled: a Southern matron ready to set down roots and talk a while.
Shit.
“We haven’t had a chance to chat, you and me.” She cocked her head and gave him an assessing once-over. “How you been? You coming from the gym?”
“No, ma’am. I’ve been doing some coaching.” That felt disingenuous, but better than giving free quarterback advice.
“Oh, over at the Boys & Girl’s club?”
“No, uh, private coaching, actually. I’ve been helping out Elijah Henry.”
Her brows went up. “Oh, Elijah! Hometown hero. He’s so talented. We can’t wait to go to the games in the fall.” She went off on a tangent about the team, and the upcoming season, while Sarah brought his order up. Her expression seemed brighter, and he was glad to have offered a distraction from whatever had caused her tears.
When he pulled out his wallet to pay, she waved him away.
“No, it’s on the house.”
“Let me pay,” he insisted.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Go sit down and enjoy your food.” Her expression shifted, becoming sly. “There’s a spot open over there with Leah.”
“Uh…yes, ma’am.”
“You two seem to be reconnecting now that she’s back home.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gathered his tray and hurried off before his cheeks could grow too warm again and give him away.
He hesitated on his way to Leah’s table, willing her to look up and notice him; he wanted a chance to read her reaction to him before inviting himself down into her personal space. But she remained fixated on her computer screen, so he finally steeled himself and sat, as quietly as possible.
She glanced up, then, a distracted meeting of gazes and a fleeting smile. “Hey.” She went back to her work, and he was both grateful for the fact that it had turned out to be a non-event – and a little disappointed that there hadn’t been any eye contact, or tension, or a chance for butterflies in stomachs.
“Hey.” He unwrapped his sandwich. “Work stuff?” he asked, and, when she glanced up, nodded toward the computer before taking a bite.
“Not really.” She frowned. “I’m looking at loan options.” She shook her head. “Not very successfully.” That was when he noticed that she wasn’t just concentrating, but that faint lines of strain wreathed her usually-smiling mouth, lip caught again between her teeth. She looked worried, and sounded it, too.
He set his sandwich down, and wiped his hands. “A loan? Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” she said, and then sighed, and her gaze final
ly met his and held. Her dark eyes brimmed with stress and sadness, and Carter wanted to reach across the table, an automatic reaction to touch her somewhere, anywhere, and offer comfort. He didn’t, but he found himself leaning toward her. “No,” she admitted, a minute later. “I don’t…” Her gaze flicked toward the counter, where her mother had stepped back to froth milk and let the teen boy run the till for a moment. When Leah glanced back, she leaned forward, too, and her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Okay, they’d die if they knew I was telling anyone, but when I got here, Mom was in the office on the phone with the landlord. He’s selling this building, and he’s got the price so jacked up they can’t afford to buy it from him.”
He lifted his brows. “Why would he make it so hard for them?”
“Because he’s a grouchy old asshole,” she muttered. “He’s been hiking their rent up every three months for the past two years, Mom said. He’s trying to make them go broke! I don’t…” She let out a shuddering breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closing a moment. “I had no idea they were in financial trouble.”
“They must not have wanted to worry you.”
“But I could have helped!” She tossed her hands up, and then linked them behind her neck, sighing again. “I could have tried to help. Jeez.” She inclined her head toward her computer. “I thought maybe if I cosigned the loan with them, they could pass the credit check. I just…don’t know what to do.” She turned to Carter, gaze imploring. “They’ve poured their whole life savings and all their love into this place. If someone else buys it, and forces them to vacate, it’ll all go down the toilet.”
“I’m sorry,” he said with a pang of sympathy. He hated seeing her like this; the urge to help was swift and strong. “What if someone bought it who would just keep the shop as is. Charge your parents rent like the first owner – or, well, not price gouge them. But maybe a new landlord doesn’t mean the shop has to go anywhere.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced. “But there’s no guarantee. They could say they would leave it, and then change their minds in six months.”
Homecoming (Dartmoor Book 8) Page 21