by Marie Harte
Mitch had tried to help his brother, but he knew seeing him only reminded Deacon of all he’d lost. Their parents hadn’t known what to do either.
But good old Roy, Deacon’s best friend before, during, and after the NFL, had thrown Deacon a lifeline. Now Deacon was a partner in a thriving brewpub, head coach for a high school football team in a dream of a town, and had recently even dipped his toe back into the dating game.
“You know, all these women aren’t just here for me,” Mitch told him. “You’re fair game, from what I hear.”
“Ah, but I’m damaged goods.” Funny, Deacon didn’t seem too upset over the fact. “You’re rich and retired. Money, fame, fortune. You, little bro, have it all.”
“What I’ve got is a headache,” he grumbled as they passed many well-wishers. Parents from both teams shook his hand and made small talk, everyone wanting to touch the man who’d once been an MVP in the NFL. As if touching him would guarantee their kid’s own success. At least they bugged Deacon too. That made him feel a little better.
Mitch kept it together as they drew closer to the concession stand, encountering a rare moment of peace from the dispersing crowd. “God, kill me know. Deacon, don’t even think of leaving me to deal with her by myself.” He grabbed his brother by the sleeve and held on for dear life, having spotted Linda Madison’s flailing hands and bright smile.
Deacon didn’t try to hide his grin. “Mrs. Future Flash is waiting for you.”
Mitch shot him the death glare.
“Look, I’ll do my best to block for you,” Deacon conceded. “But you’d have an easier time saying no if you actually said no.”
“I did.” Mitch groaned. “The woman is like a pit bull, and her friends are just as bad. I tried to tell them I’m not interested. Yes, them, because all of them have made some not-so-subtle moves. It’s not funny,” he snapped.
Deacon continued to laugh.
“Hey, it’s not as if I’m out screwing half the town. I don’t want to date some pushy yokel so she can tweet about having landed the ‘Amazing Flash.’” He grimaced. “I have standards.”
“And so do we,” a husky voice muttered from behind him. “Come on, Simon. Let’s get away from God’s gift to women before I accidentally throw myself at him. I suddenly feel nauseous.”
He turned to see Simon grinning widely before the kid hurried to accompany two pretty, dark-haired women away. Mitch couldn’t be sure which one had insulted him, but tired, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Wow. You really do come across as a huge ass,” Deacon said. “Simon’s mom is right.”
“Up yours.”
“Huge.” Deacon dragged him faster toward the gaggle of women standing with Linda and Davey. “Hey, Linda. Look who I have with me? Flash wants to talk to you.”
Should totally have drowned him in third grade when I had the chance.
Chapter Two
Wednesday afternoon, Becca rang up another customer and realized they needed to place a new order for the Earl Grey she’d started selling. A crème blend, it did remarkably well both as loose leaf and when they sold it in the twenty ounce pot as a latte.
“Hey, Nora, can you take over out here? I have to reorder a few teas.”
“Sure.”
“And have I thanked you yet for stepping in for Zoe?”
“Not yet, but you will when you make me a few batches of your famous sticky buns.”
Becca hadn’t gotten around to that yet. It was a family tradition her mother had started, making the gooey treats to celebrate the fall season each year. When her mother had passed, Becca had carried on the custom. And Nora, ever the opportunist, jumped on the bandwagon.
“Halloween’s almost here. Can you believe it?” Nora wiped down the front counter.
“No, I can’t.” Becca moved into the back to hide her sadness. It hit her like that sometimes. Out of the blue. Neal had been dead for seven years, but near Halloween, the anniversary of his passing, she felt the loss most keenly.
Neal Bragg—her soulmate. She’d had Neal for a blessed seven years. He’d been able to see his son born, take his first steps, say his first words. But he’d never see Simon drive a car, graduate high school, marry…
She took a deep breath and let it out, wondering when she’d stop mourning the man, if she ever would. They’d told her that time healed. That as the years passed, she’d miss him less. But Becca held onto memories of Neal’s hearty laugh, of his big strong arms surrounding her, making her feel safe. He’d been her first boyfriend, her first true love, and the last man she could imagine spending her life with.
A few years after losing him she’d tried dating. But the magic had never been there. She’d been fortunate to have Neal for as long as she had, and she tried to hold onto that gift. Nora had yet to find a man to love like that. And from the stories she told of her social life, Becca doubted she would any time soon. Hadn’t the last one tried to show off his doll—no, action figure—collection?
With a grin, she shook free of her melancholy and, after reordering from her suppliers, restocked from the back. Then she used the small kitchen to make a new batch of sticky buns and a few trays of her favorite ginger-molasses cookies.
Simon loved them, and after the week he’d already had, the boy deserved a treat.
Speaking of which… She checked the time. On Wednesdays school released early, so she expected to see him at any moment. He’d have a few hours until football practice.
Odd, but he seemed to enjoy going to practice more than he had in the past. Simon had always been into sports, but since the seventh grade, he’d become partial to football in particular. She was just glad he had sports to turn to, because lately he seemed to be veering on a path toward an uncertain future. Like falling under a barrage of nagging and maybe even strangling at the hands of his frustrated mother.
She snorted, wondering if she’d need a ladder to reach his neck.
That boy. He had a wonderful heart and a terrific sense of humor that held a twisted edge, much like his father. But his need to have the last word, to always be right, grated.
“Hey, Becks, could you come out here, please?” Nora sounded odd.
Becca wiped her hands on her apron. “Be right out.” She hurried to wash them, noted the timer on the sticky buns, and made a note to put the cookies in soon after.
Once back up front, she took over when Nora stepped back form the counter. “How can I help… You.” And now her day was complete.
Mitch stared at a feminine version of Simon Bragg. A few inches shorter than her behemoth son, she had long, dark-brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a frown that would do Simon proud.
A subtle glance and he catalogued her feminine assets. Check, check, and check. A stunner if not for the scowl on her face. Her assistant, the other pretty brunette he’d seen with Simon at the game, just grinned at him before hustling away.
“Hello. Mrs. Bragg?”
“Yes?” Cool and collected.
Funny, but his heart was racing. Mitch had been with supermodels, actresses, professional athletes. Some had possessed the same qualities Rebecca Bragg did, that essence of attraction that sparked something in his brain…and in other places. But Mitch didn’t do married chicks. Ever. Best to remember that.
He cleared his throat. “I’d like to talk to you about Simon.”
Her frown deepened. “Is he okay? What happened?”
Mitch had debated how to broach the subject. After talking to Deacon, they’d decided Mitch should be the one to talk to her. He still wasn’t sure how they’d come up with that, other than that his brother was a scum-sucking wimp who’d rather face a firing squad than an irate mother.
“As far as I know, Simon is fine. I wanted to talk to you about his attitude though.”
She snorted.
Just like her son.
“And before you say this is somehow about me not understanding him because I’m the new guy, you need to know that Simon has been acting
out and is pretty much annoying most of the team.”
She studied him in silence.
He wondered what she saw. Did she see the regular guy who’d rather be running down a field or hiding out in his home, reading history books and watching movies? Or did she see the confident, laughing playboy everyone thought him to be?
“Come with me.” She turned and walked into the back of her teahouse.
He followed her toward the sweet smells coming from a small kitchen. Entranced by the scent of vanilla and cinnamon, he took a big sniff. “What are you making?”
“Sticky buns, my version of cinnamon rolls. Hold on.” She took a few steps toward the doorway and shouted, “Nora, can you watch the front? I’m in a meeting.”
Nora laughed and said something he couldn’t make out but apparently Rebecca could.
She flushed and returned, putting the center island between them. He wondered if her husband had a hard time dealing with her moods, then thought the lucky guy probably didn’t much care. A woman who could bake and looked like her? A win-win…until she opened her mouth.
“Well?” She waited.
He just stared.
“What?”
“I’m trying to figure out how to say this without you getting offended. I would have called your husband, but Simon wouldn’t give me his number.”
Something that looked like pain flashed across her face. “My husband is dead. Now what did you want to talk about?”
Wow. Talk about stepping right into it. Might have been nice if the kid had explained his father was no longer alive when Mitch had mentioned the guy. “Sorry. Simon didn’t tell me.”
She sighed. “So what has my son done that brings the ‘Amazing Flash’ to my lowly shop?”
He ignored the heat on his face. “You know, if you’d heard the whole conversation, you might not be so quick to judge.”
“You’re here to talk about Simon?”
Fine. He wouldn’t explain himself to this sexy, stuck-up viper. Wait. Where had sexy come from? Rebecca Bragg was more girl-next-door…with a side of sexy. Damn her full mouth.
She cleared her throat, and he dragged his gaze back to hers.
“Look, we both know your kid is an exceptional athlete. He’s a natural. Knows how to move, how to read the defense, and he’s good with his hands. I think if he wanted to, he could go far. Like, college scholarship, pro ball, far.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah, that’s if he can keep his smart mouth shut.” At her glare, he hastened to explain himself. “I’m not saying anything the other coaches haven’t. Simon started out a terrific team player. But now he’s trying to tell the other boys what to do. He’s pointing out everyone’s faults and coaching the coaches.” Personally, he’d found it amusing…until the kid had done it to him. “Worst of all, between you and me, he’s right about most of what he’s saying.”
She groaned. “That’s Simon.”
“But he’s making more enemies than friends, and coaches, especially high school football coaches, don’t like to be told what to do by their fourteen-year-old players.”
“Simon can be a stickler sometimes. But his father died close to Halloween, and it’s a tough time for him, especially now.”
For us, she should have said. He could see a suspicious shine in her eyes and had to fight the urge to offer comfort she clearly wouldn’t want. Instead, he gave her some space and studied the confections on the metal table in the center of the room.
After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry for that. But if Simon doesn’t watch himself, he could find himself sitting the bench, or worse, off the team. I’m just helping out this season. I’m not really a coach. My brother asked me to handle Simon’s issue because it’s not official yet. I’m just a guy mentioning what might help the kid.” He paused, noticed her recovery, and added for good measure, “He’s smart but sarcastic as hell.”
She didn’t look surprised. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Rumor has it he’s been cutting classes.”
“What?”
At that moment, Simon waked into the kitchen, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked from Mitch to his mother and, scowling, stepped closer to Rebecca. “What are you doing here?”
Protective. Mitch liked him all the more for it. Knowing Simon was probably acting out because he missed his father softened Mitch toward him even more. Hell, the kid reminded him of himself at his age. Young and stupid and thinking he had all the answers.
The oven beeped. Rebecca removed a tray of mouthwatering sticky buns. Then she popped two trays of cookies inside.
Mitch had to check himself for drool. Between the treats and the woman, he was surrounded by mouthwatering goodness.
The kid hadn’t blinked, glaring at him.
Rebecca set her oven mitts down and turned to her son. Mitch didn’t know what he expected, but her poking the kid in the chest surprised him. She hadn’t seemed the violent type.
“Ow. Mom.”
“Don’t you ‘ow’ me. You’ve been skipping school?”
Mitch wondered that all of Portland, three hours away, didn’t hear her.
The kid winced. “Um, not exactly, see, I—”
“Coach Flash here thinks you have what it takes to go pro someday.”
Mitch hated that nickname. “It’s not Coach Flash, it’s—”
Simon gaped at him. “You do?”
She continued, “But if you’re cutting classes and mouthing off to the team, you’re going to be cut. Permanently.”
“I am?” Simon looked horrified.
“Now I didn’t say that.” He tried to get a word in edgewise. “I—”
“Exactly what he said. That you could be good enough if you’d shut up for two seconds and stop telling everyone how to do their jobs.”
Simon frowned.
Rebecca frowned back.
They looked like matching bookends, and Mitch had to work not to smile, which would definitely piss them both off. “Well, it seems like you’ve both got some talking to do…”
“How come you’re here?” Simon asked him, ignoring his mother.
“What?”
“Why are you here, bugging my mom about me?” His eyes narrowed.
Mitch could see where this was going. “Try again, genius. I’m not here hitting on your mom. I came to talk to her about your attitude. You keep up the trash talk and one of our nearly two-hundred-pound linemen is going to slam you into the field and stomp your head into the turf.” He’d tried to warn the boy at practice, but Simon didn’t want to listen.
“Look, Romeo, I know—”
“Jack shit,” Rebecca interrupted, causing both Mitch and the kid to gawk at her.
Mitch hadn’t expected the swearing. Neither had the kid, by his expression. Oddly, it made Rebecca less girl-next-door and more mouthy-goddess he’d like to kiss into a melting woman he’d slide into— No, no. Not kiss. No sliding. She’s the boy’s mother, for God’s sake!
“You shut up and listen, Simon Neal Bragg. I know your father wouldn’t stand for this kind of talk. What makes you think I will?”
To Mitch’s horror, Simon teared up.
“Oh, that’s just great. Bring up Dad, why don’t you?” Simon slammed out of the kitchen with Rebecca chasing after him.
Mitch heard nothing but silence. Oh yeah. That went well.
Rebecca returned with a somber expression. “Sorry about that. Between puberty and missing his dad, he’s become a real handful.”
What could he say to that? “Yeah.”
She stared at the floor a moment, getting back her composure. When she lifted her gaze to his, he saw that familiar spark of attitude her son wore. “If he gives you any more lip, let me know. I’ll handle it.”
“You going to beat the sass out of him?”
“What? No.”
“Then good luck getting him to relax. Look, I don’t have kids, but I remember being a teenager. All those hormones, the n
eed to prove myself. Add to that emotional issues with his father, and he’s a powder keg about to explode.”
Great. Now she looked stressed out. Way to go, Mitch.
“I don’t know what to do with him right now.” Then she glared at him, as if it were all his fault. “And this is not your business. I’ll handle it, Coach Flash.”
“Just Mitch, okay?” He rubbed his hand over his hair. “I’ll talk to him at practice, man-to-man, about football and school. Nothing else. I can help if you’ll let me.” Keep your distance. This boy is not your problem. Focus on football, damn it.
But her wounded gaze pulled him in, made him want to help. Rebecca Bragg was different. Real. Not bowled over by his wealth or fame. In fact, she didn’t seem to like him much.
Was that why he felt so pulled toward her? A perverse need to make her like him?
She gave him a stiff nod. “Fine. Talk football to him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” She paused. “Romeo.”
He groaned. “Yeah, I can see it’ll be a piece of cake to get him to respect me.” But he’d been a smartass in his younger days too. “Then again, he mouths off, I’ll bench him. Don’t worry. We’ll get Simon back on the straight and narrow.”
It was like someone else had taken command of his vocal chords, because Mitch found himself saying things he’d had no intention of saying. He’d come down here to ask her to talk to her son, because clearly Simon had something going on. But offering to help settle a grieving kid was way beyond his paygrade.
Then she smiled at him.
His heart raced. His palms sweated. And the Amazing Flash felt something in him respond. Something foreign, scared, and excited at the same time.
“Okay, Mitch. You get my son to listen and straighten up in school, and I just might be able to keep Linda Madison off your tail.”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “You did hear me talking about her at the game.”
