Something to Prove

by Kimberly Lang

  Not mad, but still pissy.

  But you still love me :-)

  Of course. I also still want to kill you a little.

  Ditto.

  That, as weird as it was, actually felt like closure—more so than anything else Tate had said. She’d hurt him, but he really was getting past it, even if his pride was still a little dented. Then we’re even?

  Guess we have to be, he answered. I miss you.

  Miss you, too. She thought for a second and then added, Come over for dinner tonight? 7ish?

  Sure.

  She sent another text to Molly, offering the same invite, and when Molly replied in the positive, Helena got a little rush of satisfaction. No wonder Shelby tried so hard to match up people: The feeling was almost a power trip—a good kind of power trip, of course.

  At least she—unlike Shelby—didn’t try it with folks who were already seeing someone, however casually. Jeez, I can’t believe how catty I am about that. She really needed to let that go and get over it. She’d just hope that was something else that would come with time. Meanwhile, she was going to quietly, unobtrusively encourage Molly and Tate to see the best in each other. She was feeling pretty pleased with herself until she realized she had nothing to actually serve for this impromptu dinner party. Cursing, she shut down her computer and started making a shopping list.

  Molly showed up early for dinner and brought a pie for dessert. When she saw the table set for four, she asked, “Is Ryan coming?”

  “No. Tate is.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is that okay?” she asked, pulling the chicken out of the bottom oven and setting it on the back of the stove.

  “Of course. Tate’s great.”

  Helena tossed the pot holders onto the counter, then leaned against it. “He is great, you know. Sweet, funny, kind, smart, good-looking . . .”

  “Yes, I know. And I think your rolls are burning.”

  “Damn it!” She grabbed the pot holders again and rescued the rolls, which were a little too brown but not destroyed. And double damn. I should just ask her. But without knowing Tate’s feelings toward Molly, she risked stepping in something Molly didn’t want. I kinda suck at this. Matchmaking wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought.

  Tate opened the door a crack and stuck his head inside. “Something smells good.”

  “Come on in.”

  Tate kissed her cheek, and things felt back to normal. Then he turned. “Hey, Molly. Good to see you. How’s Nigel Kitty?”

  “Fat and sassy.”

  He nodded, then asked, “Where’s Ryan? I figured he’d be here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you two are . . . ,” Tate began, but he trailed off when Helena shot him a look.

  She’d known the question would come, but that didn’t make it easier to brush off. “We had a couple of dinners together. We weren’t going steady or anything.”

  Molly and Tate exchanged a pointed look. “‘Weren’t’?” Molly asked. “As in past tense?”

  Nonchalant was impossible, but casual was doable. “Yeah. We decided it was better all the way around to just be friends.” As Tate and Molly gave each other that look again, she added, “Anyway, I wanted to have my two besties over for dinner and an enjoyable evening. Is that a problem?”

  “Of course not, but . . . Are you okay?” Molly asked.

  “Yes. Totally.”

  “Are you sure?” That was from Tate, whose eyebrows knit together like he was planning on avenging her in some way if she said no.

  “One hundred percent. We had a good time while it lasted, and we parted on good terms. No worries.”

  “But—,” Molly started, but the sentence never got finished because Grannie came shuffling carefully into the kitchen. Tate jumped up to offer her an arm.

  “Thank you, Tate, but I’ve got it. I’m slow, but I’m stable.”

  “Physically, maybe,” Helena muttered under her breath.

  “I heard that, young lady,” Grannie said, causing Helena to busy herself at the sink while Molly stifled a laugh.

  “Let Tate get your chair, Ms. Louise, and I’ll get you a glass of tea while Helena finishes up,” Molly said as she passed on her way to the fridge. “Tate, do you want some, too?”

  It was a ridiculously normal evening. She and Grannie hadn’t entertained much when Helena was growing up, and when they had on the rare occasion, it was normally one of Grannie’s friends. That had tapered off as Helena got older and in more trouble, and Helena regretted denying Grannie that simple pleasure now. Of course, of all her friends, only Tate had ever eaten dinner with them. Grannie had summarily banned the others from the house. Not that Helena really blamed her.

  “So,” Grannie asked, “who is Magnolia Beach playing for homecoming?”

  Helena shrugged and looked to Tate who rolled his eyes at her ignorance. “Baldwin County,” he answered. “Mack Raider is the head coach over there now, so it’s a bit of a grudge match between him and Ryan. It should be a good game.”

  Grannie turned to Helena. “If you’re wanting to go to the game, sweetheart, I’m sure Margaret will check in on me.” Grannie had been the first to notice she and Ryan weren’t seeing each other, and her disappointment had been palpable. But it seemed Grannie wasn’t giving up without a meddle or two first.

  “That’s okay. I’m still not much of a football fan.”

  “Aw, come on Helena, go to the game with me,” Tate coaxed. She shot him a “shut up” look, which Tate ignored. Grinning, he added, “It’ll be fun.”

  Helena nearly choked on her green beans. “What makes you think that?”

  Tate grinned. “Because you always have a good time when you’re with me. Please? For old time’s sake?”

  “You should go,” Molly added.

  Helena swallowed and pretended to think. “Only if you’ll come with us.”

  It was Molly’s turn to choke. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. If we’re doing it for old time’s sake, then we need to do it old style. And if I remember correctly, that means going as a group.”

  “Three is not a group. Three is a couple and a fifth wheel,” she said.

  “Then we need to find Molly a date,” Grannie said. “That way she won’t feel like a fifth wheel.”

  Molly blinked and turned an interesting shade of pink.

  “Fine. I’ll go. Stag,” she added emphatically before rolling her eyes.

  “Great,” Tate said. “Kickoff’s at six, so I’ll pick Helena up about quarter after five, and then we’ll come get you, Molly. By the way, we just had a litter of kittens dropped off at the clinic. Anybody want an adorable tabby?”

  Helena wanted to kiss Tate for adeptly changing the subject away from relationships and football with the allure of kittens. As Grannie and Molly debated the best way to keep kittens from shredding the furniture, Helena shot Tate a grateful look. He just shrugged.

  After dinner, Tate helped Grannie get settled in the front room while Molly helped clear the last of the dishes off the table.

  “By the way,” Molly said, “Mary Ellen Mackenzie is looking for some part-time work. She’s a good kid, nineteen, and going to cosmetology school over in Pensacola. She used to nanny for the Jones family until their youngest started school this year, and they speak very highly of her. I told her you were going to need someone to come help cook and clean for Ms. Louise once you went back to Atlanta, and she asked me to give you her number.”

  “That’s awesome. Thanks.” Helena dried her hands and stuck the piece of paper with Mary Ellen’s name and number on it on the fridge door with a pig-shaped magnet.

  “You think you’ll be heading back soon?” Molly asked.

  “Probably, barring any backtracking on Grannie’s part.”

  “Well, I think Mary Ellen would do a good job. A
nd Ms. Louise knows her already, so it’s not like bringing in a stranger.”

  “Oh, I’ll be calling her.”

  “Hey, she might be at the game tomorrow night. I can introduce you.” Molly rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re making me go, too, by the way.”

  “Are you kidding me? I can’t believe I’m going to the game.”

  “I don’t even like football.”

  “Neither do I, and I didn’t want to suffer alone.” Now that the kitchen was tidy, Helena grabbed her drink and backed up to the kitchen door. “I was kinda hoping I’d still be banned from the premises or something,” she admitted.

  Molly perked up. “Are you sure you’re not?”

  Helena laughed at the hopeful note in Molly’s voice. “Short of asking the principal, no. And you’ll have to pardon me if I don’t wave a red flag at the bulls unless I have to.”

  “And Ryan?”

  “What about him?”

  “Are you really okay?”

  “Yes. I really am. I appreciate the concern, though.” Then, to change the subject, she added, “I’m more concerned about surviving three hours at the game. Do they sell beer at the concession stand?”

  “I don’t think so.” Molly took a deep breath and put a smile on her face. “You know, maybe it will be fun. It’s just a game. How bad could it actually be?”

  Opening the door, she let Molly pass through to the hall. “You know, I’m almost afraid to find out.”

  * * *

  Well, that sucked.

  It was a good game, well-played and close—until Magnolia Beach’s defense got cocky and let Baldwin County run the ball through a hole the size of Texas to score a touchdown in the last three seconds of the game.

  The boys had gone off to the locker room dejectedly, but Ryan knew the traditional bonfire on the shore would blaze on regardless of the game’s final score.

  Amid the handshaking and fifth-quarter coaching taking place on the sidelines, he looked up and saw Helena in the stands. Helena at a football game? Someone must be holding her hostage. But there was no masked bad guy at her side, only Molly and Tate. They were animatedly discussing something as they made their way down the stairs to the field, and they seemed to be having fun with the topic.

  He’d been mad the other night, smarting from the hit Helena landed on him. Being told he wasn’t worth her time or effort had hurt—and he hadn’t seen that coming. It had been a one-two punch, in that not only did she not feel the same way about him, but she’d left without even a second glance back. He’d been left hoping that a couple of days to calm down and recover from the shock of his confession might have her feeling differently. Needless to say, that hope had been fading fast, only to be rekindled at seeing her here now.

  She wasn’t heading in his direction, though, so he wound through the crowd until he was right at the bottom of the stairs.

  Tate noticed him first and came over, Helena and Molly in tow. At least Helena wasn’t avoiding him. “That was just heartbreaking. So close . . .” Tate shook his head.

  “It’s a tough way to learn the lesson,” he said, “but the boys now know the danger of celebrating too soon.”

  “Still . . . ,” Molly said.

  “Yeah, it’s a bit of a bummer for them.”

  “How many laps will they be running on Monday?” Tate asked.

  “I’d assume as many as Coach Hopper can get away with legally.”

  That made Helena smile. “They should just let Coach Hopper retire and let you take over,” she said, finally joining the conversation. “You’re a great coach. Those boys really look up to you. They respect you and want to make you proud. And you’re really good with them. You yell at them, but it’s not mean-spirited, and it’s easy to tell that you believe in them. They’re lucky to have you. Especially since the other voice yelling at them is Coach Hopper.” She made a face.

  The praise meant a lot coming from Helena. It also meant she’d been watching him, not the game, the whole time. That improved his mood considerably.

  “Uh-oh, speak of the devil,” Tate muttered. Ryan looked over to see Coach Hopper approaching. As one of the football team’s boosters, Tate was getting respect from Coach these days, but it seemed Tate was still holding a grudge from high school when he’d been scrawny and an easy target for Coach during gym class.

  “Well, Hell-on-Wheels, I heard you were in town, but I’m surprised to see you here, of all places.”

  Helena’s smile turned fake. “No more than I am, Coach Hopper. Believe you me.”

  “I trust you’ll stay away from the equipment shed this time?”

  Helena didn’t even blink. “Of course, Coach. I learned my lesson.”

  “Good.” Coach Hopper slapped Ryan on the back. “Good game. I’m going to go talk to the boys. Tate, Molly.” He nodded at the pair.

  “Go yell at the boys is more like it,” Tate muttered as Coach walked toward the locker room.

  Helena rolled her eyes. “Let it go, Tate. He has every reason to dislike me, and I’m not worried about it at all.”

  “I’ve got my own reasons to dislike the man,” he reminded her.

  “Coach is mellowing in his old age,” Ryan said. “Plus, times have changed, and so have the rules about how we have to treat students.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Tate said.

  “Amen,” Helena added.

  “So, what do grown-ups do after a game?” Molly asked. “I doubt our presence would be welcomed at the bonfire.”

  “I say we go grab a drink,” Tate offered. “The Tackle Box should be open.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Molly said. “Ryan? You in?”

  He jumped at the invite, even as he saw the look Helena shot Molly. “Sounds like a good idea. Let me finish up here, and I’ll meet you guys by the gate.” He might not be totally back in Helena’s good graces yet, but she hadn’t objected outright, and that was a start.

  Helena groaned as she rubbed her back. “I’m going to need more than one beer. I’m too freakin’ old to sit on bleachers.”

  “Quit talking about how old we supposedly are,” Tate grumped. “Jeez, Helena.”

  “Well, we are old.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Molly said.

  Ryan watched them as they disappeared into the tunnel under the stands, bickering good-naturedly.

  It took him about ten minutes to get his stuff together, and the stands were still full with people milling about as he walked out.

  He spotted Tate’s head first over the crowd, and as he got closer, he noticed the three of them were surrounded by a decent-sized group. All were faces he recognized, most from high school. Popularity and notoriety were often hard to tell apart, and Helena’s notoriety had always attracted attention, if not a crowd. She had her hands stuck in the pockets of a battered leather jacket, and leaning against the fence like that, in jeans with her hair loose around her shoulders, she looked like she was still in high school.

  But while Helena looked relaxed, if not particularly engaged with the group, something seemed off even as she spoke with Anna Grace from the post office. Her body language was all wrong, like she was trying to look relaxed, but not succeeding very well. It wouldn’t have been noticeable if he hadn’t gotten to know her so well recently, and seen how she interacted with Tate and Molly when she was comfortable and relaxed. This wasn’t exactly an excited reunion of peers, full of hugs and squeals, but it wasn’t a mob, either—very reserved with a veneer of friendliness across the surface. She wasn’t being ignored outright, but she certainly wasn’t in the midst of everything. The tension was noticeable, even from the outside.

  He’d known that Helena would have a hard time settling in—or even fitting in, for that matter—but that didn’t make it easier to witness, and the full realization hit him hard in the gut. Even worse, he’d quit
thinking about it, even when Helena mentioned it; once he’d gotten to know her, he had arrogantly assumed that everyone was getting past her past simply because he had.

  He couldn’t decide whether that made him an idiot or an ass. Or possibly both.

  She’d made some headway—that much he knew just from the chatter around town—but it obviously wasn’t enough. No wonder Helena constantly planned for the day when she’d leave Magnolia Beach again. He couldn’t blame her for that. There was no real way to start fresh from a clean slate when everyone knew exactly what you were trying to leave behind and judged who you were now solely by who you were then. In that scenario, there was no real way not to come up lacking.

  And it made him mad. As he got closer to the group, he was greeted by the same “tough game” comments—like he’d actually been playing it—and hindsight quarterbacking, along with the usual polite questions about the general health and well-being of himself and his family. Completely normal and banal, but made strange by standing near Helena, when it was obvious no one really cared about the family; they really wanted to know about him and Helena, but were too polite to ask. Which was good, because he sure as hell didn’t have any answers.

  And while Helena had acknowledged him when he arrived, she kept a good twelve inches of distance between them—a respectable gap for someone who didn’t want to give gossip legs. Despite the distance, he felt the sudden change in her attitude—a tiny stiffening of her body, a swing in her mood. A moment later, he heard someone call his name, and he turned to see Mike Swenson coming toward them. Julie was nowhere to be seen, but Mike’s residual high school posse was still backing him up.

  “The whole defensive line should be running laps after that giveaway, Ryan.”

  He really didn’t want to hear Mike’s opinions on anything, but he forced himself to be polite. Mike owned several small businesses in Magnolia Beach, and Ryan would need his support as president of the Chamber of Commerce for both the historic overlay and an upcoming rezoning plan. “It happens. They’re probably feeling bad enough as it is.”

  “They should feel bad. There’s no excuse for that kind of sloppiness.”