The First Time Again: The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 3

by Barbara Meyers

  Matty was messy like a lot of teenage boys, but he wasn’t slovenly. Diana wouldn’t have stood for it. He’d retained at least some of what she’d instilled in him, Baylee thought sadly. But she’d be hurt if she’d lived to see his frequent brushes with the law. Which hadn’t started until after her death.

  “Okay,” Jack Frost said. He indicated his inspection was over and followed Baylee back to the living room. Lisa had escaped to the kitchen with her sons. The murmurs of their conversation were barely audible.

  “You know an unexcused school absence is a violation of his probation.”

  “I know.”

  “I need to speak to your father.”

  “I know.”

  “And to Matty.”

  “Yes.”

  They’d been through this routine so many times before, Baylee had it memorized. She wasn’t Matty’s guardian. She had no control over him. Therefore, she was powerless. Her father, though legally responsible for Matty, had been unable to deal with his disappointment when Matty first started getting into trouble after Diana’s death. He drank before then, too, but since the loss of his wife, he found solace in a bottle and seemed to have given up on their adopted son.

  “How have you been?” Frost asked.

  He’d relaxed his stance somehow and looked slightly less official in his capacity as Matty’s probation officer.

  “Me?” Baylee asked in surprise.

  “Yes. You.” He almost smiled. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile before.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” He did smile. He had a nice smile even though he looked like he could break somebody’s neck if he wanted to.

  “Yes. I am.”

  “How are things going around here in general?”

  They’re falling apart, Baylee wanted to say but didn’t. “We’re doing the best we can,” Baylee told him, which was the truth.

  From his shirt pocket he withdrew his business card and handed it to her. “I’m sure you have one of these, but take this in case you don’t. My private cell number’s on the back. Call me if there’s anything I can help with. Or if you want to talk. For any reason.”

  Baylee stared at him. Was he flirting with her? Her twisted radar where men were concerned made it hard to tell. She accepted the card. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t forget to have both your father and Matty get in touch with me.”

  “I will. Goodbye.”

  She closed the door behind him and turned the card over to see the handwritten phone number. She dropped the card in her purse, trying to think why she would ever need to call him.

  Chapter Four

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Trey!” His mother’s delight came through the phone. “I was going to call you later, see if you got in okay.”

  “Yep, I’m here.”

  “You should have let me stock up for you. Did you get to the store?”

  “I’m heading there, now, as a matter of fact.”

  “You’re coming for dinner, though, right?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. How’s Dad?”

  “He’s fine. You’ll come.”

  Trey ruminated for minute. He wanted to see his mom. Wanted her comfort and acceptance. But that meant he’d also be sitting at the table with his father. You can only do what you can do. Brad’s advice again. Avoiding people or unpleasant situations wouldn’t make them go away. The bad feelings they brought up wouldn’t go away either. His father would have to get used to having Trey around because for the foreseeable future he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I’m roasting a chicken,” his mother wheedled. “Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Baby peas.”

  “Are you making biscuits?”

  Lynn Christopher laughed. They both knew his agreement was a foregone conclusion. “Of course. Want to know what’s for dessert?” she teased.

  “Chocolate chip cookies?”

  “It’s a surprise. We’ll see you at six.”

  “I’ll be there.” Trey disconnected. If his mom knew about him getting pulled over last night, nothing in her manner now gave it away. More likely his dad would hear something at the hardware store today and he’d be the one to break it to her. Or one of her friends might get wind of it and tattle.

  “Great,” Trey muttered under his breath as he maneuvered through the traffic in Hendersonville. “Just great.”

  In this small-town environment there were few secrets. Reputations were built on good deeds or bad. There never seemed to be any in-between. Parents were judged by their children’s behavior from infancy on. Andy Christopher had enjoyed the admiration of his peers while Trey had been the hometown hero on his way up. But he’d also shared their disappointment when Trey’s downward spiral began and possibly a certain degree of shame when he’d hit rock bottom.

  One day at a time. Rehab drilled that phrase into the heads of everyone who went through it. There was no other way to live. He had control of the choices he made leading up to the present moment, but he couldn’t undo the past.

  Recovery had taught him to be more reflective, something he’d never had time or interest in before. But the sleepless nights, the endless cravings, the actual withdrawal from painkillers and booze gave him lots and lots of time to contemplate. His physical mobility had been drastically limited due to his knee. As an inpatient he’d been forced to keep a journal. Reluctant at first, he found rambling on paper helped clear his head and deal with his emotions. Even after his release, he’d kept at it. He’d learned to meditate as well. He wasn’t exactly enlightened, but he was more at peace with himself than he’d ever been. He’d never be able to explain this kind of stuff to his dad, who was a no-nonsense kind of guy. Andy didn’t believe in psychological mumbo jumbo. He expected men to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and deal with whatever came their way. How many times had he told Trey to suck it up, rub dirt on it, walk it off, be a man?

  Trey ambled through the Super Walmart in Hendersonville. He hadn’t thought about such things as obtaining milk and cereal, meat and fresh produce, for a long time. Miriam had done the food shopping. Or, he supposed, Hayley had.

  Now he was on his own and he’d have to fend for himself. He supposed he could learn to cook simple meals. How hard could it be? His mom did it all the time. She wasn’t a gourmet by any means, but everything created in her kitchen tasted good and filled a man up. He sincerely hoped she’d made chocolate chip cookies and she’d send some home with him after dinner.

  He stocked up without regard to nutritional value. If it looked good, he bought it, making sure to get staples like salt and flour and sugar.

  By the time he got home and put the groceries away, he had some time before he needed to leave for his parents’. Time to meditate, clear his head, center his thoughts.

  He found his grandparents’ back porch the perfect place to do this. He couldn’t manage to sit cross-legged on a mat, nor did he think it was necessary to achieve what he wanted. He sat at the table in one of the cushioned chairs and used another for a footrest. He’d loaded the kind of soothing music he liked onto his iPod, the kind without words, filled with chants and sitars.

  He got comfortable, closed his eyes and let his mind wander.

  He woke an hour later and knew he was going to be late. He yanked the ear buds out of his ears, got himself together, located his keys and called his mom.

  No excuses. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m on my way.”

  “That’s fine, sweetie,” she assured him. “We’ll see you when you get here.”

  His mom was used to holding meals, heating leftovers and eating on the run. She’d somehow managed to keep him and his father fed that way from the time he was in the peewee league right up until the last game of his senior year in high school. There was always a practice, a game, a camp, something to chauffeur him to. If his dad couldn’t do it, she did. She always managed to feed him before, after or on the way.

  He pulled to a stop in his parents’ driveway, spewin
g gravel. Their arthritic golden retriever, Bo, hauled himself up from where he’d been lounging on a rug on the front porch and offered a hoarse bark.

  “Hey, Bo,” Trey greeted him, pausing to rub him behind the ears.

  He opened the screen door and home greeted him. Nothing much had changed since his visit last year for his grandmother’s funeral. He strode through the living room with its comfortable furniture to the kitchen, where his mother was at the stove, dishing up food.

  Lynn turned and her face lit up. She set down the spoon and the bowl and hugged him.

  His mom was all soft curves. He dwarfed her, but she didn’t seem to mind. When they separated she smiled up at him. “How’s my boy?”

  “I’m good, Mom. It’s good to be home.”

  His father stomped in from the mudroom off the kitchen. They eyed each other for a moment. Trey stuck out his hand. “Dad. How are you doing?”

  Did he imagine it or did his dad take his hand reluctantly? He knew there’d be no hugs. There never had been. Dad was tough. Cold. Hard. Where his mom was soft, his dad was all sharp angles. Maybe that’s why they were still together. Each made up for what the other one lacked. Not just physically, but in personality. His mom’s warmth somehow balanced his father’s sternness.

  “Glad you could finally make it,” Andy said. Trey wasn’t going to apologize. His mom was okay with it, and she was the one cooking dinner, wasn’t she?

  “Me too,” he answered. He turned back to his mother. “Can I help? Want me to put those on the table?” He nodded toward the bowls and platters.

  “Yes. Here. You take these.” She thrust the platter of sliced chicken at his dad. “Andy, if you wouldn’t mind.” If Trey remembered right, his father wasn’t usually expected to help with dinner preparation or clean up afterward. But Andy took the platter and followed Trey to the table in silence.

  “I poured iced tea for everyone,” she informed Trey as she set a basket of biscuits next to him. “But if you’d like something else…”

  “Tea’s fine, Mom. Everything looks good.”

  “Well, then.” She reached for his hand. Trey reached for his father’s. For as long as he could remember, they’d always done this when the three of them were at the table about to share a meal together. They joined hands and his mother offered a simple blessing and thanks for food and family. Andy clasped his fingers around Trey’s whether he wanted to or not. He might be the tough one, but Trey had no illusions as to who was in charge around this house. Their tactics might differ, but Lynn had a way of bringing Andy around to her way of thinking that still amazed Trey. She also knew how to soothe his temper and make him see reason when the situation called for it.

  As they passed bowls and Trey filled his plate, he wondered if she’d had to do that today, so his father would agree to sit at the same table with him for a family meal.

  His mother hadn’t held any of his transgressions against him, even though he knew he’d hurt her with his careless behavior. She’d told him one of the hardest things was to see how much damage he’d done to himself, watching his life fall apart when she’d been powerless to stop it.

  Moms, he guessed, loved their kids no matter what.

  He supposed his father still loved him too, but he didn’t forgive and forget easily. Trey didn’t know what else to do except get in his father’s face on a regular basis, get him used to having his son around again and see if they couldn’t find some of the common footing they’d lost these past couple of years.

  “Heard you got pulled over last night,” his father began once they’d started eating.

  His mother’s fork clattered to her plate. “Oh, Trey, you didn’t.”

  “Speeding, Mom. It was no big deal.”

  “Thought they cited you for DUI too,” his dad put in. “And a couple other charges.”

  “It wasn’t for DUI, and it was all bogus, Dad, except for the speeding ticket. A bunch of bullsh—” He glanced at his mom. “BS. This cop Spoley has a hard—er, is overly zealous. Probably has a quota or something.”

  “Trey you weren’t—you weren’t—”

  Trey saw the distress in his mother’s eyes. He hated that expression, hated to be the one who caused it. “No, Mom. I wasn’t drinking. I don’t drink. I don’t take anything for pain except over-the-counter stuff. This cop wanted to give me a hard time is all.” He shot a look at his father. “You don’t have to believe everything you hear about me, Dad.”

  His father fixed him with a stare out of blue eyes the same shade as his own. “Seems like most times what I hear about you is true, whether I want to believe it or not.”

  “Yeah, well, that was the past. Maybe next time you could come and ask me before you listen to the crowd down at the store.” His father owned Hendersonville Hardware, where the local tradesmen gathered each morning for coffee and bits of local gossip. Most of what they gossiped about was based in fact, sometimes a truer version than got printed in the Hendersonville Herald.

  Trey planned to toe the line now that he was home. He’d be Trey Christopher: Upstanding Citizen. Maybe that’s why he’d come back. Because here, with his parents, extended family and the locals watching, he wouldn’t be able to get away with much. They’d make him accountable for everything he did. Maybe he never should have left in the first place.

  “Justin Spoley’s had it in for you since that last championship game,” Andy allowed. “Man, that was some game, wasn’t it? Everyone thought we’d lost it after you threw that interception. But you charged down the field after Spoley and recovered his fumble. I don’t think I’ve ever been so—” The light in Andy’s eyes dimmed when he looked at Trey. He cleared his throat and spoke to his plate of food. “Hard to believe he could hold a grudge that long. Your best bet is to steer clear of him while you’re here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Dad,” Trey said. “Ryan Reagle told me the same thing about Spoley.”

  “Did you show him the card from Hayley?” Andy asked Lynn.

  “No.”

  Trey glanced from his father to his mother, noticing the signal she was sending with her eyes, the tightness around her mouth.

  “What was it? The wedding announcement?” he asked, striving for a neutral tone and honestly believing he achieved it.

  “You knew?” his mother asked.

  “She sent me one. We’re still friends, Mom. Even if we’re not married to each other anymore.”

  Andy snorted from his end of the table.

  Trey switched his attention to his father. “What?”

  “Friends. I’d think you’re the last person Hayley’d want to be friends with.”

  “I’ve talked to her a couple of times. She doesn’t hate me anymore.”

  “That doesn’t make her your friend.” Andy forked up another bite of gravy-drenched chicken. “Not after what you did to her.”

  “It’s in the past, Dad. We all know I screwed up, okay? I can’t go back and undo it. Believe me, I tried. I squared things with Hayley as best I could.”

  “That girl was the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  Trey could see Andy didn’t want to let it go. “I know, Dad.”

  “Andrew.” His mother’s tone held a note of warning. The same voice she’d used with Trey when he was a kid and stepped over the line and she included his middle name. Rarely did she call Andy “Andrew”. When she did, there was trouble ahead.

  Andy fixed her with a perplexed look. “What? Why shouldn’t I be able to say what I think at my own table in my own house with my own son? Why shouldn’t you?” He set his fork deliberately on his plate and rested clenched fists on the edge of the table. “You think he doesn’t need to know what it did to us? Sitting on the sidelines helpless while he threw his whole damn life down the drain? You think he doesn’t need to know you cried yourself to sleep night after night worrying about him?”

  “Andy!” His mother stared at her husband as if he’d grown two heads.

  “What?” he s
houted back. “Hayley was like a daughter to us. We loved that girl like she was our own and everybody at this table knows it. Including him.” He jerked his thumb in Trey’s direction.

  “Okay, Dad, okay. I get it.”

  His father turned on him, his eyes ablaze. “No, son. I don’t think you do. What scares me the most is I don’t think you ever will.”

  “Looks like Justin Spoley’s got company when it comes to holding grudges.” Trey pushed back from the table. “Mom, thanks for dinner. Dad.” He nodded in Andy’s direction. “Thanks for the insights.”

  He could hear his mother calling after him as he strode through the house and pushed through the door. He didn’t go back. He couldn’t. He flew out of the driveway, spraying up more gravel than he had pulling in. His temper pulsed beneath a thin layer of self-control.

  Breathe.

  He made himself do it. Counting. Inhaling. Exhaling. Until he reached his house. It didn’t do much to still the wild beat of his heart, but it cleared his mind. Slightly. Enough to remember he hadn’t had even one chocolate chip cookie. He’d also left behind the foil-covered plate of them his mother planned to send home with him.

  Chapter Five

  Baylee’s father stumbled in after ten, which meant he’d spent most of the afternoon and evening on a bar stool. Although she knew better than to confront him when he was under the influence, lately there was never a good time to approach him about anything. Matty still hadn’t come home, and technically, at least, Matty was her father’s responsibility.