Slow and Steady Rush: Sweet Home Alabama

by Trentham, Laura

  “Can I talk to him?”

  She gestured him into a homey den. Pictures were everywhere. Baby pictures, family pictures, vacation pictures. The worry and love in the woman’s eyes stabbed at Robbie’s gut. Maybe Tyler’s family couldn’t afford the biggest flat-screen TV, but they were rich in other ways.

  “Last door on the right.” She pointed down the short hallway.

  Robbie knocked. No answer. Undeterred, he eased inside and assumed the 230-pound blanket-covered lump in the twin bed was Tyler. Skirting a pile of dirty clothes heaped in the middle of the room, he dumped a stack of sports magazines off the only chair in the room and sat.

  “I understand some of what you’re dealing with, you know,” Robbie said, his voice low.

  The lump curled into an even smaller ball. “You can’t understand. I saw you kissing Miss Darcy. You’re normal.” His voice strained high, childlike.

  “Normal,” Robbie chuffed. “Dude, I’m more screwed up than you can imagine.”

  His words got a reaction. Tyler’s head popped from under the covers. Matted hair emphasized swollen, red eyes. His face looked as if he’d scrubbed an entire layer of skin off.

  “What do you mean? The guys on the team idolize you. Miss Darcy sure has a thing for you. I only wish—”

  “Don’t wish yourself in my place.” Robbie dropped his elbows to his knees and rubbed a hand over his jaw. After a decade, he’d confessed a portion of his pent-up memories—that morning. He wouldn’t, couldn’t do it again.

  Except, one look at Tyler’s face told him he had to.

  Robbie shifted. The chair’s protesting squeaks broke the silence. “I walked into your house tonight, and do you know how I felt?”

  “Horrified?” A tiny spark of humor in Tyler’s voice gave Robbie the strength to continue.

  “Jealous. I’m jealous of a seventeen-year-old kid.”

  The boy sat up against his headboard. “Why?”

  “You have a home. A mother who obviously loves and cares about what happens to you.”

  “If they knew . . .”

  “They’d what? Disown you? No. They might struggle to understand, but I think—”

  “You don’t know what it’s like to feel so ashamed you want to die.” Tyler’s chin wobbled, and a tear escaped. He looked to the wall and wiped knuckles roughly along his cheek.

  “I know exactly what that’s like.” Robbie waited until he’d snared Tyler’s attention. “I grew up in foster care. I didn’t have a home like this. I didn’t feel an ounce of love or welcome when I walked through the door. I was kicked, punched, slapped. I hid the bruises, hid the shame. For years. I didn’t tell a teacher or a social worker.”

  “But that wasn’t your fault. You didn’t bring it onto yourself. You were a victim.”

  “And you brought this onto yourself? I thought if I could be a better person, I wouldn’t get hit. If I could stop talking back, I wouldn’t get hit. If I somehow wasn’t me, but someone better, they would love me.”

  Tyler dropped his gaze to where his fingers picked strings out of his blanket.

  “Can you make yourself like girls?” Robbie asked.

  “No,” Tyler answered in a small voice.

  “Being gay is who you are and nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “You’re not disgusted?”

  “Of course, I’m not. Listen, did any of those rednecks touch you, or . . .” Robbie wasn’t sure how to ask the question that had to be asked.

  “No. They were big talkers, but I don’t think they would have actually done anything.” He flushed red and hugged a pillow to his chest. “I can’t believe she saw me like that. What did she say?”

  A glimmer of humor shot through Robbie. “Believe me when I say, she’s very open-minded. Ask her about Oscar Wilde next time you see her.”

  “Is that her grandpa or something?” Tyler’s puzzled question made Robbie swallow a guffaw.

  “I’ll let her explain. What do you want to do about the team? Do you want to tell them, not tell them? I’ll support you no matter what.”

  “There’s no way I can face them, Coach. Rumors are probably flying already. If those rednecks knew, it’s only a matter of time before everyone does. I’ve been waiting for the cops to show up. I heard my dad talking about what happened this morning.” Tyler buried his face in the pillow he clutched like a teddy bear.

  “No one knows you were there except me and Darcy and those boys. I kept your name out of it with the cops. I hope that was the right thing to do.”

  Tyler’s shoulders deflated with his relief. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Did you recognize any of those boys?”

  Tyler’s silence answered the question.

  “I can guarantee those boys look like hell. If they step out, I’ll know. But, I want names. Where are they from?”

  “A county up. The dude with the blond hair is Jeremy something, but they call him Whitey.”

  “Has he caused you problems before this?”

  Tyler’s gaze shot to Robbie’s and back down a couple of times. “No, but . . .”

  “It’s okay. You can trust me.”

  “There was a party awhile back down in Tuscaloosa. A cousin invited me. I met a guy there. I don’t know how, but he could sense what I am, and he was really cute.”

  They looked away from each other. It was hard enough talking to his players about girls. Robbie had never imagined advising one about a cute boy. Feelings of inadequacy caused sweat to pop out on his forehead.

  “We talked all night and went outside. It was dark, and I was a little buzzed. We kissed. That’s all we did, I swear.” Tyler bumbled out the last, clearly ashamed. “I didn’t think anyone saw, but Whitey was at the party too.”

  “It’s completely normal to be attracted to someone at your age. I’d be shocked if you weren’t. No shame. Promise me.” Robbie used his best don’t-give-me-shit coach’s voice.

  “No shame,” Tyler repeated half-heartedly. “There’s something else. I was over on Maple Street when they jumped me. At first, I thought they dragged me under the bleachers to be symbolic or something—maybe Miss Darcy’s lessons rubbed off—but then, nothing happened. It’s like they were waiting for you.”

  Every muscle in his body tensed, shooting pain from his cuts and bruises. “I remember one of the boys saying something like that to Whitey.”

  “After they tied me up, they stood around and hyped each other up. I didn’t catch on until you walked up.” Tyler shook his head.

  “I had a run-in with Whitey when all the rumors were circulating about me,” he said absently. His first encounter with Whitey at the convenience store had been by chance. The boy had been ill prepared and full of misplaced bravado. The second encounter was different. Organized and with bait, reinforcements, and weapons.

  Maybe it was time to talk to the police. Only it would be difficult to keep Tyler out.

  “Coach, I don’t want anyone else to know about me. Not yet. My parents can’t afford college. You said I might be able to get a scholarship, but I’m not an idiot. Will scouts recruit a fag?”

  Robbie recognized the pain in Tyler’s voice. He laid a hand on Tyler’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t demean yourself. You are a great player and even more, a great young man. You have nothing to be ashamed of, but I won’t say anything. This is your secret until you decide to reveal it.”

  “I’ll never tell anyone.” Tyler stared at the wall, his face set with innocent teenage determination. Robbie hoped one day Tyler would find someone to trust.

  He glanced to Tyler’s alarm clock. “I have to pick up Avery from the vet. You okay?”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “You’ll do more than survive.” Robbie got up, stiff and sore. With his hand on the doorknob, he added, “I expect you at school tomorrow and at practice. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Tyler saluted crisply.

  After reassuring Tyler’s mother her son was on the mend, Rob
bie slid behind the steering wheel and was on to the next duty of the seemingly interminable day.

  The always-rumpled vet met him at the door. “Come on in, Dalt. How’re you feeling? You look a little pale.”

  “Tired but ready to see my dog.”

  Dr. Martin led him through a wide hallway to a room lined with cages of varying sizes. A low woof and scrabbling against a metal cage door drew Robbie.

  Avery looked like hell with his fur shaved off, old and new wounds marring his exposed skin. However, the bright gleam in his eyes and his lolling tongue emanated cheer and energy. He sat on his haunches and waited.

  Love and relief overtook Robbie. He’d felt something similar in Afghanistan when they’d rolled him into Avery’s recovery area after the bomb. But everything seemed sharper and closer now, as if the lid he’d kept on his emotional stew had cracked.

  The door closed, and Robbie sensed they were alone. He lifted the latch. Avery didn’t bound out but walked with an extra hitch in his already awkward gait.

  “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we, boy?” Robbie squatted and winced at the pull on his stitches. Avery licked and pressed his muzzle into Robbie neck and along his wounded arm, sniffing. He barked softly.

  “I’m glad you’re okay too.” Robbie cupped the dog’s head and rubbed him behind the ears and under his chin. His tail went into a wild thumping. Robbie buried his face in Avery’s ruff where the fur was soft and unshaved. Avery’s tongue lashed at his ear with a soft, sighing whine.

  Robbie’s one constant through the storm of war had been Avery. On the days when all hell had broken loose, when all he could see were the faces of the dead on both sides, Avery had been his rock, his comfort, innocence in the evil.

  If Avery had died . . . the thought of going home to an empty house filled him with a similar desolation he’d felt as a child. Now that he knew companionship, the solitude seemed as scary as the beatings he’d received.

  “Ready to head home?” Robbie’s voice was embarrassingly rough and, not for the first time, he was glad his dog loved him no matter what. Avery limped at his side, and Robbie slowed his pace so Avery didn’t have to struggle to keep up. He offered to settle his bill, but the vet waved him off with an appointment card to get the stitches out.

  At the truck, Robbie picked Avery up and set him on his favorite blanket. Warmth gushed at his side, and a sharp pain had Robbie breathing hard. A busted stitch would have to wait. They were going home.

  * * *

  Darcy stirred the dumplings and checked the clock for the thousandth time. Almost seven. She had invaded Robbie’s house, and he would have every right to be mad as hell and kick her out. He was so resistant to help. Probably from some inane, misplaced sense of manly pride.

  At the very least, he needed to eat. Unless he’d stopped somewhere already. Maybe that’s why he was so late. She was an idiot. She should take her pot and go home. Yep, it was the only sensible thing to do. She slid on her oven mitts.

  The sound of wheels on gravel drew her to the window. She tortured her bottom lip with her teeth. They faced another fork in the road. He’d revealed something to her not even Logan knew. Something no one else knew. And last night, she’d admitted to herself she wanted their casual football-season fling to turn into something more serious.

  His footsteps on the porch sent her to the middle of the foyer. The door swung open, and their gazes locked. Her hand rose to brush self-consciously at her hair before she realized she still had on oven mitts. The heat emanating from her body would start a forest fire.

  “What are you doing here?” He didn’t sound mad, so she took a step forward.

  “I made dinner. Thought you might need some help.” She gestured toward the kitchen with her flowered, padded hand. Ripping off both mitts, she fisted them behind her back and waited for a response, her stomach full of butterflies. No, butterflies were gentle. Her stomach was full of chattering, fighting squirrels.

  He closed the distance and hauled her against him. The mitts fell to the floor, and she grabbed under his shoulders. He lifted her until she was on tiptoe, her face in his neck. His chest rumbled, his rough words skittering between them like a landslide. “You didn’t have to come over. We would’ve been okay.”

  The tight hug compressed her lungs. She could only hope it signaled the last of his walls coming down. His arms loosened, but she stayed flush against him, enjoying his warmth and solidness. Her lips found his jaw and against the stubbly skin, she said, “I know you would be okay, but I wanted to make things easier for you and . . . wait, where’s Avery?”

  “He fell asleep on the ride, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I could carry him in by myself.”

  “See, you do need help.” She skimmed her lips along his jaw toward his ear. A shudder cascaded through his body.

  Between the two of them, they carried a sleepy Avery to the doggy bed in Robbie’s bedroom. After he had settled into the warm cocoon, Darcy got the last thankful lick on her cheek.

  “Are you trying to steal my man?” Robbie teased, following her back into the kitchen.

  She tossed a wink over her shoulder. “You’d better watch out. I might.”

  She spooned out generous helpings of chicken and dumplings in two bowls and took the bread out of the warm oven. He ferried huge spoonfuls to his mouth and made caveman-like grunts of satisfaction.

  Between smaller bites, she studied him—a purple bruise colored one cheek, dark circles under his eyes, and his skin tight from pain or exhaustion or both.

  Another car approached too fast, spitting gravel. Darcy rose and laid a hand on Robbie’s shoulder to keep him seated while she checked. Moonlight reflected off the blue-and-red lights perched on top even though they weren’t flashing.

  “Police,” she said, walking back into the kitchen. “Probably Rick. Do you remember him questioning us at the hospital?”

  “Vaguely. I want to keep Tyler out of this. Have you told anyone?”

  Her outraged harrumph was answer enough. At the hard rap on the front door, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Rick walked past her into the foyer. “I need to speak with Dalt.”

  “In the kitchen.” She pointed.

  Rick took off his patrolman’s hat and smoothed his dark hair on the way down the short hall. He took the seat she’d vacated at the table, and while he and Robbie exchanged polite greetings, she cleared the bowls and glasses. Normally, she’d offer Rick the hospitality of at least a drink, but the waves of animosity rolling off Robbie made her hesitate. Best get this interview concluded quickly.

  “I’ve called you a half-dozen times,” Rick said.

  “My phone’s broken. Didn’t get your calls.”

  “You were pretty out of it last night. Need to ask you two some questions.” Rick took a notebook and a stubby pencil out of his back pocket. “Darcy, you stated last night that there was no one else besides Dalt and the boys who attacked him there. Sticking by that?”

  She gripped the counter at her back with trembling hands. “Why would I lie?”

  “Don’t know. To protect someone?” Rick’s head rotated back to Robbie. “What about you, Coach?” Somehow, Rick conveyed disrespect with the use of Dalt’s moniker. “You recognize any of your attackers after a day to reflect?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. One of them jumped me at a convenience store at the end of summer.”

  “Did you report it?”

  “No need. I flattened the little turd. This stunt was probably out of retaliation. He’s pale with white-blond hair. Name’s Jeremy aka Whitey.”

  Rick’s face stayed blank, but he hadn’t been so careful the night before. “Anyone else?”

  “Nope.” The two men locked gazes.

  Rick worked his jaw. “I’ll look into things.”

  “If—when—you find him, I want to talk to him, but I’m not ready to press charges.”

  “Robbie—why?” Surprise drove the question out of Darcy. Rick’s eyebrows r
ose as well.

  “It’s the Christian thing to do.” Considering Robbie hadn’t attended church one time to her knowledge, his platitude was weak. “Anything else, Rick?”

  Rick stayed seated a beat too long. “I’ll be in touch.”

  The chair teetered on two legs before it clattered back to settle on all four. He shoved his hat on, shielding his eyes, and Darcy saw him out the door. She wasn’t one to worry about locking up usually, but tonight she shot the deadbolt before Rick was off the porch.

  Robbie stood by the kitchen sink, his shirt off and his fingers tugging at the taped gauze over his side. A brownish-red bloom of color marred the pristine white. She brushed his hands away and took over.

  “Did I rip the stitches?”

  She pulled the first aid kit over and cleaned the dried blood away with a medicated wipe. “No, but you overtaxed yourself.” After taping a fresh bandage on his side, she checked the cut on his bicep, which looked improved even from that afternoon. She daubed antibiotic cream over the area.

  Once she’d finished, he turned and leaned back against the counter. She naturally gravitated to stand between his splayed legs. He tugged her close, and she fell into him. His bare chest kindled a heat that wasn’t all about temperature.

  He rested his chin on her head. “As much as I would like for you to rip my pants off and take advantage of me, I’m so tired I can barely function.”

  She pulled away, hands braced on his shoulders. “If I can’t use your body, what’s the point? I might as well pack up and go.”

  With all tease gone from his voice, he whispered, “Don’t go.”

  She swallowed past a lump that materialized in her throat. “I’m going anyway.”

  His shoulders slumped with his gusty sigh. After making sure Avery was comfortable, he shucked down to his boxer briefs and collapsed on the bed. “Grab a T-shirt if you want.”

  Her heart stuttered. She flipped the light off but felt the heat of his eyes as she opened the drawer and pulled out another white T-shirt. Overcome with modesty, she turned her back, took off her shirt and bra, and pulled his shirt over her head. Her shorts hit the floor.