by Jill Kemerer
“What if you don’t care about yourself, either?” The breeze blew the hair around her face, and she tucked it back behind her ear.
“Then you end up living with a bunch of potheads and working at a gas station because you’re so mad at the world, you can’t handle living in it.” He checked his watch. “I didn’t realize the time. I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got to pick up Wyatt.”
“No problem.” They turned around and started walking back to her apartment. “Do you ever miss playing football?”
“Miss it? I still play.”
“When?” Skepticism laced her tone.
“Me and the guys throw the ball around whenever possible. You should see us when football season starts. We watch all the college and NFL games, and we split into teams to play outside, too. Well, we did back in Detroit, anyway.”
Her smile lit her face. “So I assume you’ll be coaching a rec team for Wyatt this August, huh?”
“Unfortunately, no. Chase made me promise I wouldn’t let Wyatt play.”
“Why not? Isn’t he the big football star?”
“That’s part of the problem. He blames the celebrity lifestyle for coloring his decisions. Like I said, he wants Wyatt—”
“To have a normal life.”
“Yep.”
They crossed the street at a traffic light.
“Hmm...” She appeared deep in thought.
“What’s the ‘hmm’ for?”
“I guess I was thinking no one really has a normal life.”
Drew opened his mouth to refute it, but she had a point. What was normal?
His job was normal. He loved being a firefighter. Craved the adrenaline rush of his duties. Didn’t mind the danger.
Lauren’s complexity intrigued him. What about that last case had made her lose her faith in herself? What had her life been like in Chicago? Why did this golden girl, who seemed to have it all together, not view herself the way he—and everyone else—did?
The questions would have to wait. They reached the parking lot, and he stopped in front of her building’s back door. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For giving me the time of day. For letting me talk to you.”
A blush spread across her cheeks. Whoa. He couldn’t help staring at her and wishing things were different.
“Listen, I’m taking Wyatt to the fish fry at Uncle Joe’s Restaurant Friday night. Why don’t you join us? Say, six thirty?”
She bit the corner of her lower lip and averted her gaze. “I’ll think about it.”
At least she hadn’t said no. It would have to be enough. “You know where the restaurant is?”
“Everyone knows where Uncle Joe’s is.”
He nodded and jogged to his truck. As he started it up, he looked back, but she’d disappeared inside.
For a firefighter, he wasn’t being smart. He knew better than to light matches near a dry forest. What was he doing, thinking about beautiful Lauren Pierce? He ran his palm over his cheek. Just because he’d made peace with his past didn’t change the fact that he’d made big mistakes.
She’d been too good for him then, and she was too good for him now.
One thing had changed, though. She’d grown sassy enough to tell him off.
Maybe this was life’s funny way of getting back at him. Because that sass only made him like her even more.
* * *
Lauren didn’t bother changing out of her work clothes after Drew drove away. Instead, she poured a glass of sun tea, selected an adult alternative radio station to play over the wireless speaker on her shelf and stretched out on the couch. What was she going to do now? Babysitting Wyatt no longer felt like an absolute no. But what about the tumbling class or researching a cheerleading academy? Wouldn’t either be the smarter move?
Zingo, her Maine coon cat, jumped on her stomach. “Oof. Watch it, big guy.” He circled on top of her legs three times before curling into a purring ball. She reached down to pet him. “Love you, too.”
Staring at the ceiling, she tried to empty her mind, but it churned with all the things Drew had told her. About Wyatt. About himself.
Hearing about Wyatt’s parents hadn’t shocked her, and she sniffed at how Drew thought it was the saddest story. Yes, it was sad, but so was the destruction she’d witnessed over and over in her life.
Physical abuse, parents giving drugs to their small children, molestation, death—it horrified her. She’d dealt with it all, seen it all, and she wished Wyatt could have been spared. At least he had been able to rely on Drew all this time.
A laugh escaped her lips, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Where had that thought come from? In one day she’d flipped from thinking Drew a complete waste of time to an upstanding guy?
He’d been honest. Open. Bared his soul, not knowing if she’d retaliate or not.
She was surprised she hadn’t. Well, she kind of had. Her angry outburst earlier had come out of nowhere. The venom still puzzled her.
What had Drew said about being mad at the world? She closed her eyes, trying to remember. They’d been discussing her getting too close to the kids, and he’d said something—something important.
Being so mad at the world you couldn’t handle living in it. That was what it was.
She sat up. Zingo glared at her in protest, then resettled on her lap. Mindlessly, she stroked his fur.
Was that why she couldn’t move forward?
Was she so mad at the world she couldn’t handle living in it?
No. She shook her head. Of course not. She wasn’t angry. She was protecting herself from a job that wasn’t good for her anymore.
She could move forward. She would move forward. The idea of helping the local cheerleaders had sparked something inside that had been dormant since high school. “Sorry, baby, but I have to get up.” She cradled the huge gray tiger-striped cat and kissed his head before setting him back on the couch.
She’d call Angela Duke, the foster mom who owned the cheerleading academy in Chicago, and find out what was involved with starting her own. She hoped she still had Angela’s number. Where had she put the files with her Chicago contacts?
Rummaging through her bedroom closet, she found a box of old purses, a bag stuffed with receipts from the past five years, stacks of books, a jar full of change and two suitcases. Three boxes sat on the top shelf, so she located her step stool and dragged them down.
One looked like the box where she’d thrown the file with her personal contacts. She pawed through it. Appliance manuals. Why did she keep them? She tossed one over her shoulder, unearthed an old trophy and kept digging.
The purple duffel bag.
She dropped it like it was covered in battery acid. Taking two steps back, she fell to her knees.
A home movie of her earliest memories played through her mind, stealing her breath, stinging the backs of her eyes.
She’d kept the dirty, ripped purple duffel bag packed with every one of her belongings from the time she was three years old until she was eight. She’d been living with the Pierces for more than a year before she finally believed they were her forever family.
Creeping forward, she took it in her hands and held it to her chest. Emotions rushed through her. Remembering the fear of being placed in a new foster home. Five different homes in four years. Some had been good, others not so good, but none had lasted.
She’d been unwanted.
The purple duffel bag had been the only thing she’d owned. Every night before she went to bed, she’d fold her clothes and zip them into it.
Always ready. Always prepared to move.
One of the boys at the third home tried to steal it from her, and she’d grown blind with rage. Six years old. Already too street-smart for the world. T
hat night she’d snuck into the kitchen, grabbed a paring knife, went into his room and waved the knife, demanding he give it back.
He had.
And she had been placed in a different home two weeks later.
The look in Wyatt’s eyes yesterday, the one questioning if he was worth anything, roared back. Wyatt hadn’t lost all his hope yet. Not the way she had so early on. And he wasn’t living in a hovel with his meth-addicted mom on a notorious gang’s street like Treyvon and Jay had been.
Drew thought she’d be good for Wyatt.
She clutched the bag tightly and almost laughed. He had no idea that six-year-old Lauren had threatened a kid with a knife to get this bag back. Her nicknames had been “Prude” and “Do-Gooder” and “Prim Pierce,” and they were so far from the truth, it was laughable.
She wasn’t a wild, angry little girl anymore. Her adoptive parents had given her more than a home. They’d given her faith in a loving God. They’d given her a baptism, a new person to replace the old, rotten, unwanted one.
And she’d promised herself she would be worthy of their love, and she’d help kids like her, the way they had.
She uncurled her legs, set the duffel bag on top of the box and sat on the edge of her bed.
Lord, I’ve been avoiding the hard prayers lately, the ones where I ask You to show me Your will. I was afraid—I am afraid—You’ll ask me to do something I can’t handle.
Could she babysit Wyatt and not have her heart broken?
Who would help Wyatt if she didn’t?
At least he had Drew.
The longing she’d sensed in Drew before he left earlier had drawn her heart, unbidden, to him. He’d given her a peek of who he’d become, and she had to admit, time and experience had turned his drive into something less selfish than it had been in high school.
Could she say the same about herself?
She’d consider meeting him and Wyatt at Uncle Joe’s Restaurant Friday night. In the meantime, she’d find the Chicago file.
Chapter Three
“Hope you’re ready for the tastiest fish fry you’ve ever eaten.” Drew glanced over at Wyatt next to him in the truck Friday night. Daylight was sticking around longer—a nice change from the short winter days behind them. He wondered if Lauren would join them tonight.
“I hate fish.”
“Well, you’re going to love this fish. It’s covered in batter and deep-fried. Ask for double the tartar sauce. Just a tip from me to you.”
Was that an eye roll? Drew grinned. An eye roll was better than dead silence. At least the kid was showing signs of life. He’d been subdued, shrugging and grunting yesterday when Drew asked him about school. Drew had met with his teacher earlier, and she’d assured him Wyatt, though quiet, was settling in fine.
He wasn’t so sure.
If Lauren didn’t show up tonight, he would take it as a sign he needed to find another babysitter. In fact, he should find someone else, no matter what. After she’d told him about leaving Chicago and not being able to handle the emotional pain of her cases anymore, he understood. It would be unfair to ask her to help, knowing she was still upset about whatever had made her quit her job.
What had made her quit her job?
The parking lot was ahead. The building must have been remodeled. It looked bigger, newer than it had when he was in high school. One thing that hadn’t changed? It was packed.
All his peppiness about the fish fry wasn’t fooling his roiling stomach. This was the first time Drew would be out in public, and he dreaded what was coming. How did people greet a fallen hometown hero? He supposed he was about to find out.
Parking the truck, he studied the entrance. Did any of his old friends still live around here? Would they treat him the same? He hoped not. He wasn’t the same. Didn’t ever want to be that guy again.
“Aren’t we going in?” Wyatt asked.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Drew said a silent prayer as they crossed the lot. Lord, whatever happens, help me take it like a man in there.
“Hey, Uncle Drew, isn’t that Lauren?” Wyatt tugged on the sleeve of his shirt.
Just hearing her name flooded him with relief. There she was—long blond hair waving down her back. Her jeans, bubblegum-pink T-shirt and athletic shoes made him smile. She couldn’t have been prettier in a ball gown.
“Lauren,” Drew called. She turned, a smile spreading across her face when she spotted them. She waited near the door until they joined her.
“So, Wyatt, is it okay if I sit with you two?” Her eyes twinkled.
Wyatt’s tongue must have frozen because all he seemed able to do was nod.
“Good to see you.” Drew opened the door for her.
She entered the restaurant. “Let’s find a table.”
Drew stopped at the hostess station. The girl behind the stand held a stack of menus. “It’s a thirty-minute wait inside, but we have a few tables open on the deck.”
He looked at Lauren. “Do you want to eat outside, or is it too cold for you?”
“Outside is fine. It’s a beautiful night. What do you think, Wyatt?”
Wyatt was eyeing the fish and deer heads mounted on the pine walls.
“Wyatt,” Drew said.
He flushed. “Huh?”
“Do you want to eat outside?”
He peered at the crowd. Large windows displayed views of the lake. “Yeah, sure.”
They weaved through the tables on their way to the patio doors. Drew didn’t look left or right. He concentrated on following Lauren’s graceful movements.
“Gannon?” A voice boomed over the lively conversation. “Gannon the Cannon?” The man leaped out of his chair and stood between Drew and Lauren. Wyatt instinctively huddled closer to Drew. He kept his arm around the kid’s shoulders.
“It’s me, Mike Schneider. Man, I haven’t seen you in ages. How’ve you been?” Mike clapped him on the back, his face beaming.
Drew’s inner serenity crumbled faster than a week-old cookie. Mike Schneider had been a linebacker on the team, one of the guys he ran around with. Someone who had thought he was above getting in trouble. The same way Drew had been.
“Good to see you, Mike.” He nodded, hoping to bypass the reunion and get to the deck ASAP.
“So what brings you to town? You visiting?”
“I’m actually moving back. I start at the fire station next week. You still live here?”
“Just visiting my folks with my wife—you remember Tori?” He pointed to the corner of the table, where Tori waved above several empty beer glasses. Another vaguely familiar couple sat across from her. “My sister, Paige, joined us. This is her husband, Brent.”
“Good to see you, Drew. You’re looking good.” Tori winked. He gave her a tight nod. Tori James had flirted with Drew throughout high school and, if his memory served him correctly, had never had a nice thing to say about Lauren. The same way he hadn’t.
The ladies began to whisper as Mike continued. “Hey, remember sneaking out to the Flats with Brittany? Man, did we have fun. Late-night swimming has never been the same.”
Shame lit a bonfire in his gut. Drew stepped forward. “Yeah, well, we’re holding up traffic.”
Mike ran a calculating gaze across Drew over to Lauren, and his eyes about bugged out. “Am I seeing things or what? Is that Prim—”
“It’s Lauren Pierce.” Drew frowned. Lauren’s face was a polite mask—nothing was getting through it.
“What? Are you two together?” Mike chortled as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Is this your kid?”
“This is my godson, Wyatt. Good to see you.” Drew clenched his jaw and propelled Wyatt forward. His veins felt like they were going to explode. Every table they passed seemed to be staring, p
ointing and whispering, but maybe it was his imagination. The patio doors were merely a few yards away.
“What’s wrong, Uncle Drew?” Wyatt rubbed his biceps as soon as Drew let go when they made it to the deck.
“Nothing.”
“Are you mad?” Wyatt sounded worried.
“I’m fine.” Drew studied the people seated outside but thankfully didn’t see anyone familiar.
Lauren led them to the most secluded table. She patted the chair next to hers and smiled at Wyatt. “Drew hasn’t been home in years.”
Wyatt didn’t look convinced. He began to nervously chew his fingernail. “Let’s go home.”
What was bothering him? He’d been okay when they had arrived.
“Do you want to go home?” Lauren asked, her voice calm and reassuring.
“I don’t know.”
His face looked pale. Drew ticked through possible reasons Wyatt had gone from excited to jittery so quickly. Was he getting sick?
“Are you sure you’re not mad, Uncle Drew?”
“I’m not mad,” Drew said. “Like Lauren said, it’s been a long time since I’ve been here, and I guess I’m nervous.”
Lauren tapped Wyatt’s arm and pointed to the lake. “The water is so shimmery tonight, and, look, there’s a duck and her babies.” Slowly Wyatt’s color returned, and he seemed to relax. A waitress stopped by for their orders, and a family came outside with a young girl and a boy about Wyatt’s age.
“Hey, Wyatt.” The boy waved and sped over to their table. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight. Want to go try to win a prize with the claw?”
Yearning and fear collided in Wyatt’s expression. Drew hitched his chin. “Go ahead. I thought I saw the claw machine inside those doors. You can see us from there.”
“I’d better stay here.” Wyatt shrank into himself.
Lauren smiled at the other boy. “Why don’t you pull up a seat? You two can talk a bit and play on the claw machine a little later if you feel like it.”
“Okay, let me tell Mom and Dad.” The boy ran off.
Wyatt straightened, clearly happy with her solution. A round of Cokes arrived, and the kid returned, taking the seat next to Wyatt.
