“I was … You took me off guard. I didn’t think you liked me that way.”
She pressed both hands against her hot cheeks. “I obviously didn’t not like you right then. But, to be honest, I did hate you a little bit after you walked out.” Again, she wanted to add.
“I was confused. I wasn’t sure why you … why you…” He made a vague hand gesture.
Her internal thermostat ticked up a few more degrees. She had been the one to jump his bones. Admitting that she thought he was the sexiest thing this side of the Mississippi and couldn’t control herself when she was within three feet of him wouldn’t do.
“Look, what happened had nothing to do with the inspection. It was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment. That’s it.”
“A lapse in judgment. Right.” He swallowed and kept his gaze averted. If she didn’t know better, she might wonder if his feelings were a little bruised. He pulled the bag of food toward him. “Why don’t you get cleaned up while I reheat the food?”
She raked a hand through her hair and looked down. She was wearing the same shirt he’d seen her in the day before at Walmart. The only addition was a splotch of sauce from the last reheated piece of pizza she’d eaten for lunch. Mortification stiffened her walk while pride had her chin in the air as if a little powder on her face would fix everything. “Thanks, I’ll be back down in ten minutes.”
She flew up the stairs, but once in her room, she slowed and stared at herself. Shadows smudged her eyes, and her nose was red from her too-frequent crying jags. As infuriating as he could be, he was here. Relief poured into the hollow void in her chest as the hot water of the shower turned the mirror steamy. Something about the determined set to his mouth made her believe he would stick it out with her if things played out like a bad Lifetime movie. Tonight, he emanated honor and dependability.
Which was the opposite of the image of him she’d cultivated since college. Granted, the pendulum had swung in the other direction at first. She had followed his first two years at Alabama like a boy-band groupie. He was from Jasper, the town up from Falcon, and she had heard Logan rave about his arm. Talk of the Heisman and a first-round draft pick already dogged him by his junior year.
The University of Alabama fit her like a pair of someone else’s shoes. She wasn’t sorority material and felt lost in the sea of freshmen. Loneliness fed her harmless infatuation with the school’s star quarterback. It wasn’t until her roommate had dragged her to a frat party one Saturday night after a big win that her infatuation turned dangerous.
Alec had been standing in a corner with a red Solo cup, surveying the room. A blonde girl on his right had a mouth that moved nonstop, yet he’d seemed isolated as if a wall separated him from everyone else.
She’d worked on building her courage with alcohol, but it turned out unnecessary. He’d approached her, pulled her to his corner, and didn’t take his eyes off her. His damnable eyes had hypnotized her, and she’d followed him willingly into a bedroom smelling faintly of dirty clothes and pizza.
They’d had sex—mind-blowing, toe-curling sex. Afterward, she’d pressed kisses against his neck, the future streaking through her head in milliseconds. Cheering for him from the family section as his girlfriend, pictures taken together, her jealous friends when he came to the dorm to pick her up for dates.
Her future crumbled as quickly as she’d imagined it. He’d rolled off her and she’d watched him grab his pants and yank them on while she lay with her legs still spread. She’d never forget his parting words. “That was fun, sweetheart, but you’d better clear out before my buddy brings his girl back to his room for the night.”
The humiliation brought a lump of tears to her throat even now. Yet, the truth was she was as much to blame for their disastrous hook-up in college as she was for their current situation. She hadn’t tried to get to know the real him in college, she had wanted the hero quarterback. She wasn’t sure what he was now, but maybe she should give him a chance to show her this time.
She showered, dried her hair, and pulled on yoga pants and a Falcon football T-shirt. It was tighter than what she normally wore, but he’d already seen her embarrassingly big bust up close and personal. No need to hide from him.
Whether it was due to the shower, the promise of something to eat besides pizza, or his presence, her natural optimism made an appearance, and she quickstepped down the stairs to the kitchen. Food-laden plates sat side by side in front of two bar stools. He was picking utensils from her silverware drawer.
He hadn’t noticed her yet. Obviously, having a baby would affect her more, but he probably wasn’t jumping for joy at the possibility. Nevertheless, he’d manned up. The decade-old resentments she’d nurtured blurred like a ruined watercolor painting.
He walked back toward the food, separating the forks and knives. Finally looking up, he stopped short, half the kitchen still separating them. The same wide-eyed, mouth-agape expression she’d dealt with since she’d hit puberty came over him.
She crossed her arms half under, half over her breasts. “Seriously? They’re not freak-show big. And you’ve seen them already for goodness sake. Mostly naked even.”
He snapped his mouth shut, and his eyes darted back to hers. “Sorry. You usually wear … I mean, I never imagined … and now.” The silverware jangled as he gestured toward her. “I’m acting like an asshole again, aren’t I?”
She dropped her defensive posturing and sat down in front of a plate. “Pretty normal response actually. It’s why I tend to wear baggy shirts.”
He joined her, his eyes almost comically averted, fumbling to give her utensils and jabbing her with the fork tines. “Jesus, I can’t seem to act like a functioning adult.”
His reaction tickled her. She’d never seen him be anything but calm and serious, even on the sideline of big games. Now, he was a stuttering mess. That was usually her shtick.
A giggle snuck out. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. The uniform I had to wear when I was bartending in New York had to have reinforced buttons. On the up side, my tips were double the male bartenders.”
She took a bite, and he followed suit. After a few minutes of silence, he asked, “I thought you were in school up there.”
“I stayed after I graduated. I worked to pay for a crappy apartment I shared with three other girls, painted when I could, and sold just enough to keep my hopes alive I was close to getting a gallery opening. It never happened though.” She didn’t elaborate on why it never happened. Her fear of judgment was a hurdle that tripped her up every time she got close to success.
“Why did you come back to Falcon?”
“Daddy died.” The simple words offered a simple explanation, but the reality was complicated. A sense of responsibility had warred with the disappointment of allowing her demons to win, but also relief at giving up the battle. Nevertheless, a sense of failure dogged her.
“You could put this place on the market. Some developer would bite. Hell, I might even be interested.” He half-turned toward her, his eyebrows up, and took a bite of his spring roll.
Her guard went back up. “I’m a Hancock of Hancock County. This is our homeplace. It’s been in the family since the early 1800s. If I sell to you or any other developer, I’d be the family pariah.”
“You can’t spit in Falcon and not hit a Hancock. Sell out to one of them.”
“No one in the family can afford to buy it from me. I could leave it and let it rot, but…” She kept her gaze averted and took another bite of lo mein, the noodles tasting like strings of paste. If she failed the old house, what was next?
“Is your dream really to run a B&B? Based on what I saw in your bedroom, you should be pursuing art.”
“Ever heard of the old adage ‘starving artist?’ It’s frighteningly real. I like to eat, enjoy having a roof over my head, a clean bed to sleep in. My hope was to get the B&B profitable, and I could paint when I had time.”
Alec pushed his plate away and turned the swiveling bar chair
to face her, his long legs spread wide. “I’ve overseen several projects in B&Bs around north Alabama, Lilliana. It’s a lot of work and not much profit. A labor of love.”
She turned too and his legs shifted to encase hers, her knees brushing his inner thighs. Anxiety knotted the lo mein in her stomach. “What are my options besides selling out?”
She stared in his eyes, and the longer she stared, the softer his eyes appeared. His mouth twisted into an ironic smile. “You could burn it down.”
The unexpected bite of dark humor startled a slight laugh out of her. A sigh transformed his smile into a long, serious contemplation that made her squirm. She ran her tongue over her teeth searching for anything stuck.
“I could help,” he said finally.
“You got a gallon of gasoline in the back of your truck?”
“Not that. I mean get the wiring up to code in your defunct bathroom. I’m a sought-after contractor, you know. And, I happen to know the inspector pretty well.”
When she’d had hopes of hiring out the work, she had checked his rates and had a good laugh. Sure, he did excellent work, but he was expensive. Which is why she’d taught herself to handle the basics. She could put up drywall, replace washers and gaskets in her plumbing, install tile even, but wiring was beyond her.
She huffed a laugh and pushed back from her chair, staking their plates. “I can’t afford to hire you, Alec.”
“You don’t have to pay me. Consider it a favor.”
Her heart accelerated and her lungs churned air as if she’d sprinted to the sink. She dropped the plates from too high, and they clattered against the old stone of the sink. “You’re only offering because you feel guilty about maybe knocking me up.”
Silence. She wanted him to say ‘no’ with a desperation that unsettled her. For a few minutes, she’d forgotten about the possibility. They’d been two people having dinner. Maybe not friends, but it had been pleasant.
“Yes.” His gruff answer cut into her.
“Thanks for the food. You should leave.”
“Lilliana…” He threw his hands up and let them fall, his fingers curling over the metal armrests.
“Look, I appreciate the food, but right now, I want you to leave.”
He pushed back and stood. His mouth worked as if he had something else to say, but she walked past him, opened the front door, and waited. With one foot out the door, he pivoted toward her, his normally bland expression dented by worry. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “When do you think…”
She focused her gaze over his shoulder on the long line of oak trees lining the street. “I don’t keep track, but I’m pretty regular. I’ll pick up one of those early-detection tests in a few days. That way we can both get back to hating each other as soon as possible.”
“Unless you’re pregnant,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“It was one time.” Her voice skewed high, panic joining the tumble in her stomach. Everything would become exponentially more difficult with a baby.
He stopped halfway down the porch steps, his back to her, but his face in profile. “For the record, I don’t hate you, Lilliana. Never have.” With his parting words ringing in her ears, he strode toward his white double-cab pickup with GRAYSON CONSTRUCTION emblazoned on the side and drove off.
The faint aroma of burning leaves tickled her nose. Dusk had fallen. Bugs flew around the buzzing streetlight, and a chorus of frogs rose. Her stomach settled. Evening was her favorite time of the day, and she often lay out on the front porch swing, watching the sun fall below the trees, listening to the teeming life around her even this close to the city. Tonight she felt like curling up into a tiny ball under her covers and crying.
She took a last deep breath and closed the door. Gathering the leftover Chinese food, she walked toward the fridge, her office flashing in the corner of her eye. She stopped and turned slowly as if something big and hairy might jump out at her.
While she’d been showering, Alec Grayson had been busy doing more than heating up the food. Papers were stacked, not with precision but not exploded over the desk as usual, and a brand-new black surge protector was tucked to the side of her computer monitor. Instead of looking like tossed spaghetti, cords and wires had been zip-tied and organized.
She wasn’t the same naive, star-struck girl that had followed him that night in college. Maybe he wasn’t the same guy either. Maybe she should let him help her with the bathroom. Pride and hurt feelings drove her knee-jerk reaction, but she couldn’t afford pride these days, and after his actions tonight, her hurt feelings over something that happened a long time ago seemed childish. There was no question she needed help.
Hancock House had become more than a pile of wood and stone to her. It was like a living entity, and they had a love-hate relationship. To the outside world, she defended the old house, even as she cursed it alone when something else broke. The sense of isolation that had been dogging her since moving home had eased with him in the house.
But, she had to remember that he was motivated by guilt, and guilt alone.
Chapter 5
At practice the next afternoon, Alec studied Hunter. The boy seemed distracted. Worry etched away his ready smile and usual jokes. His body was tense. He got confused on which route the receiver was running and overthrew his receivers time after time. With what Logan had told him forefront in his mind, Alec kept his voice even, trying to stay encouraging even as the boy’s performance deteriorated. Dalt’s final whistle put them out of their misery.
After cleaning up, Robbie Dalton caught Alec’s eyes and jerked his head toward his office in an unspoken request. Alec closed the door behind him and dropped into a chair across the metal desk from the head coach.
“What’s up with Hunter?” Dalt asked.
“Not sure, but his head wasn’t in practice today, that’s for certain.”
Dalt propped his feet on the edge of the desk and leaned back in his chair, transferring his gaze to the ceiling. “I assume you’re aware of his home situation.”
“Just what I’ve heard. Brother deals drugs. Dad isn’t around. Mom doesn’t care.”
Dalt leveled a stare at Alec. “I’d guess his mom cares plenty, but she’s working to keep food on the table, clothes on their backs. Look, you’re the closest with Hunter. I need you to check in on him.”
When Alec had volunteered to coach the Falcon quarterbacks, he had done it selfishly. Football had been the center of his life until that life came crashing down. Every decision he’d made from middle school through his brief NFL career had put football first. One dirty hit took everything away, and he’d foundered. After his knee blew out, three years passed before he could even watch a game on TV.
Bored and sick of his own company, he’d dropped by a Falcon High School game the season before Robbie Dalton took over. They had been a mediocre squad at best, but the youthful energy of kids playing for the love of the sport and not money or fame pumped through his system like antibiotics killing the resentment and depression that had infected him.
But he’d never allowed his attachment to the game to transfer itself to a player. “I’m really not that close with Hunter. It’s more a teacher-student relationship.”
“Exactly. He respects you.”
“If this is about Friday night’s game, I’ll have him focused and ready.” His protest was half-hearted. The walls he’d spent years erecting had weakened under the seismic shift of the events over the past week. Two people needed him to step up in very different ways, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the urge to walk away.
Dalt dropped his feet, jotted a few lines on a piece of paper, and pushed it toward Alec. His blue eyes seemed to say more than his words. “Coaching is about more than what happens on the field.”
Alec flashed back to Hunter and the booming car in the parking lot, to the yoke of worry and responsibility, to a familiar cast of loneliness separating the boy from his peers. He grabbed the paper, saw it was an address, and head
ed for the door.
“I’ll check on him.”
He didn’t wait for Dalt to acknowledge him but headed straight for the parking lot. Hunter’s beat-up car wasn’t there. He fingered the paper in his hand. Hunter lived in Mill Town, a neighborhood of cookie-cutter homes built by textile factories that were long gone.
Dusk was falling when he pulled onto Hunter’s dead-end street. The one streetlight looked to be shattered, and the trees that rose up at the end blocked the setting sun. Warning, maybe a zing of fear, shot accelerant into Alec’s body, spurring his heart and dampening his palms on the steering wheel.
Blocking the sidewalk, the bass-booming car from the day before sat directly in front of a mailbox, the number faded but readable. It matched the address Dalt had given him. An SUV was pulled up beside the house, the grass crushed and worn but not giving up. Hunter’s car was parked on gravel toward the bottom of the street, two houses down.
Alec circled around and parked with his truck pointed toward escape. Weeds pushed through cracks in the sidewalk and rubble slid under his boots. An eerie feeling of being watched slowed his steps.
Hunter’s house was a more run-down version of the one next door. The porch floor sagged, pieces of vinyl siding hung askew revealing plywood, and termites had taken their toll, dust gathering around the rails of the porch. The windows took a beating from the pumping music inside. The house seemed weary.
A light flashed from the trees at the end of the street, close to Hunter’s car. Alec paused, his senses heightened. Nothing but the music registered in his ears, but a darker shadow of movement in the woods drew his eye. Bypassing the house, he made his way down the sidewalk toward the light.
Instinct crackled his nerves. Someone was out there, and he hoped to God he was guessing correctly. He called out softly, “Hunter?”
“What are you doing here, Coach?” The boy materialized between two thick pine tree trunks, keeping to the shadows, his words rushed.
Alec held his hands up in front of him. “I’m here to check on you, that’s all. You weren’t yourself at practice.”
Melting Into You Page 5
