“No regrets? Not too sore?” he asked.
“Not yet to both questions. I love it. Hope you do too.”
He heard the vulnerability in her voice, grabbed up her hand, and pressed a kiss on the palm. “I will.”
“How can you be sure?”
Because I love you. The words scrolled from his heart, his brain stopping the confession just in time. He swallowed the words back down and bit the inside of his lip until the metallic taste of blood hit his tongue.
She shook his arm. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Or as fine as someone who’d flung himself off a cliff into the unknown could be.
Her smile was quizzical, but she sat back in the seat. “Where to now?”
His palm grew damp on the leather of the steering wheel. “Will you come with me to see my parents?”
“I—geez, of course, I will.” Her wide, blinking eyes reflected her shock, but a slow smile tempered it. “It’s the right thing to do, Alec.”
“Things will never be the same with them,” he said hoarsely.
“No, not the same. You don’t have to start having cozy Sunday dinners together, but don’t they deserve a second chance?” She took his hand and knitted their fingers. “My father loved me, and I wish I hadn’t judged him so harshly. Cutting your parents out of your life is hurting you. I can see it.”
He nodded, her words settling like rocks of truth in his heart. If he wanted to move on with his life—with Lilliana—he needed to figure out where his parents fit or if they fit at all. He’d spent the last few years of his life floating in limbo. His connection to Hunter and Lilliana had grounded him.
“Do you need me to look up their address?” She pulled out her phone.
“No, I know where they live.” He didn’t want to admit he’d driven past the townhouse complex his parents called home. They’d sold the modest ranch home he’d spent his childhood in when Philly drafted him. It’s funny how his parents had wanted to shed their middle-class existence while Alec longed for his small back bedroom and the simplicity of their family dinners.
“Should we have a signal, in case things aren’t going well? Maybe a football call. Unsportsmanlike conduct?” She held her arms out straight. “Or how about a safety?” She clapped her hands together over her head like a referee.
In spite of his jumping nerves, he laughed. For the first time in years, the comfort of someone supporting him, not using him, washed through him. He wasn’t alone. “How about if I turn to you and say something like, ‘It’s time to go’?”
“Not as much fun, but I suppose that would work.”
He reached the townhouses within minutes and crept through the parking lot, looking for the correct number. He parked next to a silver Honda with a dented bumper. A pot filled with white and pink pansies marked their door.
He shuffled to a stop in the middle of the parking lot, the flowers blurring into a memory that sliced through his heart—his mother on her knees in their front yard, digging with a trowel and planting buttercup bulbs, singing an Eagles song. He’d dug too, but farther down and with his yellow tractor. His mother had squealed when he’d held up a half-dozen squirming earthworms, and he’d laughed so hard he got the hiccups.
Lilliana stroked a hand down his arm to where his hand was fisted at his side. Her touch unlocked his muscles, and he let her weave their fingers. “Are you ready?”
“They might not be home.”
“Maybe not, but let’s try anyway. Come on now.” Her tone was that of a mother coaxing a toddler into his first day of school.
He knocked. His grip was too tight on her hand, but she didn’t pull away, only squeezed his hand hard in return. Rustling footsteps sounded on the other side, growing closer.
Time slowed, and his heart accelerated like cresting the first peak of a rollercoaster. The door swung open, framing his mother, her hair more gray than blonde and her face lined with more wrinkles than he remembered.
“Alec.” Her voice cracked on his name, and she cleared her throat. Louder, she said, “Honey, Alec is here.”
Alec’s gaze shot over his mother’s shoulder. His father quickstepped over and stood next to his mother, his arm circling her shoulders. He too had aged. Once as tall as Alec, he’d lost a couple of inches, his shoulders stooped. But his hair was still thick, even if white streaked his temples. His parents wore identical expressions of hopeful shock.
Alec’s throat closed to a pinhole. Locating the words of a simple greeting was beyond his capability. Lilliana injected a sense of normalcy.
“Mr. and Mrs. Grayson. I’m Lilliana Hancock, Alec’s girlfriend. It’s so nice to meet you.” She tugged at her claimed right hand, but he refused to give it up, leaving her to exchange awkward left-handed handshakes with his parents.
His mother pushed his father backward and gestured them in. He didn’t miss the slight shake in her hand. Age or nerves? “Come in, come in. Let me get everyone some iced tea. Or coffee? Would you prefer coffee?” A desperate need to please was in her voice and in her darting glance.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Tea would be great, Mom.”
Lilliana squeezed his hand and relaxed into his arm, probably relieved he hadn’t turned mute. The small entry opened directly into a den. The overstuffed couch was unfamiliar, but he recognized his father’s lounge chair and the floral loveseat from their old house. He led Lilliana to the loveseat and forced her to sit with him. His hand felt like a damp, sweaty mess in hers, but he couldn’t let go. His father perched close to them on the edge of the couch, his hands clasped together and tucked between his knees.
A scuffed wooden side table was littered with framed pictures. The closest rocketed him backward in time. It was a JCPenney professional shot, taken when he was around eight. His bowl-shaped haircut framed his huge grin, blank spaces on either side of his newly sprouted, enormous two front teeth. He sat with his arms over their legs, holding onto one of their hands, while his parents’ hands were linked behind him, symbolic of their family’s weird symbiotic relationship.
My God, he looked ridiculous. He also looked happy. His mother glided in with a tray of teas and a plate of cookies.
“Are those snickerdoodles?” he asked.
“I made them yesterday.” His mother tried on a smile even though it was tentative and unsure. “Would you like one?”
Store-bought versions had never lived up to his mother’s homemade cookies. He picked one, taking a deep cinnamon-scented breath before biting into it. Every lost childhood memory that resurfaced scraped away the recent, more disappointing ones until he felt raw and unprotected.
“It’s good,” he mumbled before shoving the rest in his mouth. He let go of Lilliana to rub his hands down his thighs. She picked up her tea and sipped, casting him a side-eyed glance through her lashes.
“Son, we’re so happy you stopped by. Did you read our emails?” his father asked.
Alec tensed and shook his head, looking back over at his happy eight-year-old self. If they asked for money, he would walk out the door without a word.
“Then, let me apologize face-to-face. Man-to-man. I let you down, Alec. My gambling”—his father cleared his throat and reached for his wife’s hand—“is under control. I did a program. I’ve wanted to tell you…”
His mother picked up the thread of conversation. “I let you down too, sweetheart. We’ve wanted to tell you we’re sorry. We miss you.”
He had missed them too. At least, missed the way it used to be with them before football became the only thing about him worth caring about. Lilliana’s hand snaked around his elbow, settling on his forearm.
“I miss you too, Mom, but I’m not sure…” The tears in his mother’s eyes made him feel like he was drowning, his breaths coming shallow and quick.
His father sat forward another inch. The intensity in his hazel eyes was like looking in a mirror, tossing Alec off-balance. “Let us earn your trust back, son. We don’t want anything but time w
ith you. A chance to make things right.”
Alec couldn’t bring himself to break the silence, not sure what to say. Lilliana reached for a cookie and said, “I love your sweater, Mrs. Grayson. Where did you get it?”
Alec gusted a sigh, scooting his hand to Lilliana’s knee and squeezing. His mother smoothed a hand down the totally ordinary-looking navy blue cable sweater. “I work at a sweet little clothing shop in Jasper. I enjoy it.”
“What about you, Mr. Grayson?” Lilliana took a sip of her tea.
“I’m still a licensed contractor and manage construction jobs.”
Alec was surprised. The building community in north Alabama was a small one. “Who’ve you been working for?”
“Pearson Construction. Most of my jobs have been in Mississippi.”
“Pearson … I’ve heard good things. Do you like it?” Now that they were on common if slightly stilted ground, Alec relaxed into the loveseat.
“The son recently took over. He seems smart enough. I hear your business is booming.”
“I’m doing well. I’ve had to hire out to subcontractors, but I supervise everything myself so the quality doesn’t suffer.”
His father smiled. “You were always a hard worker. It’s why you were a successful player. Always studying film, lifting weights, running. You’ve got a good team down there in Falcon. You enjoy coaching?”
“Love it. My senior quarterback is a natural.”
His mother bustled to a corner bookcase and pulled out a binder. She leaned over the back of the loveseat and plopped it in his lap. The familiar smell of her hairspray sent a wave of nostalgia washing though him. She backed away, and he turned his head to take another deep breath before the scent vanished.
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he flipped the album open to reveal newspaper clippings in clear pockets, all involving him. Some were the briefest mention of a renovation project he’d accepted or the ribbon cutting of a new building he’d constructed, others detailed the Falcon football seasons since he’d been hired as the quarterback coach. As he turned each page, the lump in his throat sprouted into his chest until the skin over his heart felt too tight.
“We’ve been so proud of you, Alec.” His mother’s voice bolstered the truth of her statement. Even though he was no longer an NFL star, they were proud. He closed the album and ran his fingers down the faux-leather spine.
He stood up and laid the album on the coffee table. “We have to go.”
Panic flashed over his mother’s face, and she pushed at her hair. “Surely not so soon. Why don’t the two of you stay for dinner?”
He was already at the door, Lilliana at his side. His mother followed him, but his father stayed seated, his gaze on the floor between his feet. Alec stepped outside and took a deep breath, the scent of burning leaves thick in the air. He stubbed his toe on the planter of pansies and turned back to his mother. “I’ll be back up here early next week for a job. Maybe we can meet for lunch?”
“Yes! Yes, we can do that. That would be wonderful.” His mother’s smile was teary, yet she seemed a decade younger than when they’d arrived. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Lilliana.”
“Likewise,” Lilliana said with a smile.
Before he could grab her hand and tug her away, Lilliana gave his mother a hug. His mother clasped her tight around the shoulders, perhaps as a surrogate for him. Lilliana extricated herself and gave his mother’s arm a pat.
Alec couldn’t bring himself to hug her. Not yet. “Bye, Mom. I’ll email you to set up a time and place.”
He and Lilliana got into his truck, and he drove off, his mother standing in the doorway of the shabby townhouse, growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.
He drove too fast, the atmosphere inside the truck thick and electric like the moment before a storm broke. Staring ahead, he clenched the wheel, the skin across his knuckles taut. Lilliana leaned over the center console and touched his forearm. The muscles jumped under her light touch.
“Your parents were really happy to see you.”
“Yep.”
“The album of clippings was really sweet.”
“Yep.”
“It was nice of you to invite them to lunch next week.”
He grunted.
“And, that family portrait. Your hair. Your teeth. Have you seen ‘Bad Paid-For Pictures’ on the internet? Hands down you would win top prize, bless your heart.” Her voice was too fast and little bit nervous, but the familiar tease centered him.
She made everything immeasurably easier to face. On his own, another year or more may have passed in the same limbo of indecision. Now, the jammed wheels of his life had begun to move, slowly and shedding rust, but moving nonetheless.
His body relaxed, and he captured her hand. Instead of the death grip he’d maintained for the visit, he brushed his lips across her fingertips and placed her hand on his thigh, covering it with his own. The truck slowed until they were only a little over the speed limit.
“Are you going to give your dad work?” she asked quietly.
He shot her a glance. “Why should I?”
“Because he needs it.”
“You heard him, he’s working for Pearson.”
“His work boots were in terrible shape, and he had a hole in one of his socks. They are living in a one-bedroom townhouse in not the best area of Jasper. The furniture was decades old. Your mother didn’t say anything about her or your father having to work when you offered to meet her for lunch during the week. Maybe she was happy you offered anything, but maybe neither of them is working full time.”
“Where did you see Dad’s boots?”
“By the door.”
Alec finger-combed his hair. He didn’t know if he was ready for that complication, but having someone he trusted full time in Jasper would be a boon. “We’ll see.”
“Let the idea percolate and go have lunch with them next week.” She rubbed her hand along his thigh. Meant to merely comfort and reassure, the motion was like rubbing two sticks together to start a fire. A warmth built.
He glanced between her and the road. “Thanks for coming with me.”
Her hand coasted along the seam on his inner thigh. “No, thank you for coming with me. I would have chickened out before I made it in the door of the tattoo parlor.”
“You were back there a while. Is it as big as mine?”
She giggled. “Not hardly. My tattoo didn’t take that long. The rest of the time we talked art.” Coming off the anxiety high of seeing his parents, he relaxed into the seat until she added. “And about you.”
His back stiffened, and he squirmed. “What about me?”
“How friendly and outgoing you were in high school. Everyone’s buddy. Joe said you were even nice to him.” Her hand continued to trek up and down the interior seam of his pants.
“Joe was intimidating as hell even back then. I was probably too scared to be an asshole to him.” He spread his legs a few more inches. “If you keep rubbing my leg like that, I might pull over and check out your tattoo right now. Especially if it involves taking off your shirt.”
“Alec Grayson.” She breathed his name like an old church biddy catching the preacher drinking the communion wine. But she didn’t remove her hand. If anything, her fingers stretched another inch toward the growing erection pressing at the zipper.
His foot twitched, easing them up another five miles per hour. She unclipped her seatbelt and leaned closer to kiss his neck, her hand finally reaching the target and squeezing him through his pants. He mashed the gas pedal to the floor. She nipped his earlobe and unbuckled his belt.
“Lilliana.” He said her name on a moan. “You’re going to make me wreck.”
She got his jeans unbuttoned and the zipper partway down. He covered her hand with his before it could burrow into his underwear. “Ten minutes, woman, and I’ll fuck you until your eyes cross.”
She laid kisses along his jaw. “Where? Against the front door? On the stairs
? In the hallway?”
Her playfulness tapped into something that had been missing from his sex life—his life in general—for too long. “I choose D, all of the above.”
“Yes,” she hissed.
He wasn’t a hundred percent certain, but his truck might have gone up on two wheels on the turn to Hancock House.
Hunter’s car was parked out front, and the boy straightened from a slump as if he’d been waiting for long time.
“Dammit,” Alec muttered.
“What? Not going to make it?” Her lips curled against his cheek, and she squeezed him again.
“Different kind of trouble, I’m afraid.” He brushed her hands away and refastened his pants.
She looked out the windshield and shimmed back in her seat, adjusting her clothes. She was out of the truck first. “What’s wrong, Hunter?”
Hunter picked at his eyebrow. “Will wasn’t at the game last night. He didn’t come home and hasn’t been around today either. I’m worried something bad has happened.”
“Do you want to go to the police?” Alec asked.
Hunter shook his head as if the word stimulated a Pavlovian response.
“Then, how about we drive around? Ask some questions.”
“You don’t go around asking questions like that in Mill Town, Coach.”
Alec tapped his fist on the side of the truck. “Come on. I’ve got another idea.”
Lilliana rubbed both her arms. “You boys be careful. Text me, Alec?”
“I will.” He was halfway in the truck when he made a decision. Sliding back out, he stepped to Lilliana, wrapped an arm around her waist, and brushed his lips over hers. “I’ll be over later. Promise.”
“I’ll leave the back door unlocked.” She pressed her lips against his in a fierce kiss before stepping back.
Chapter 20
Alec joined Hunter in the truck, pointing them toward downtown Falcon. It was late Saturday afternoon and traffic was constant. A parking spot in front of Henry Wilson’s antique store opened up in a shot of luck.
Melting Into You Page 20