by Dorie Graham
“We both needed to get away.”
“Because of you. Because you dragged him into that gang in the first place.”
Lucas gripped the neck of the beer bottle. “I never meant for him to get hurt.”
“Hurt?” The accusation burned in her eyes. “He was literally broken, in both body and spirit. He didn’t walk for months. If you had left him alone, maybe we could have avoided this.”
Lucas stared at her, unable to dispute her claim. He’d gotten into some stupid stuff in high school and Toby had gone along with him, not always willingly. Sometimes he went just to keep Lucas out of worse trouble than he’d be in on his own. Neither of them had come out of that time unscathed. But Toby had been scarred in a way Lucas hadn’t realized until it was too late.
Then, in the marines, Lucas had been an EMT and medevac pilot, not a shrink. Guilt still churned in his gut. He’d missed the signs. He’d gotten caught up in a stupid love affair during that last leave. Who was the woman? He couldn’t remember her name or even picture her face.
“I’m sorry.” No matter how many times he uttered them, the words fell flat. He left, fleeing the accusation in her eyes.
Nothing had changed in the past two years. Louisa was right. If anyone could have helped her brother, it should have been Lucas.
CHAPTER THREE
CLAIRE GAZED AT her sleeping son on Friday afternoon, overwhelmed with regret. Becca and Amanda’s voices drifted to her from one of the back rooms. Claire brushed the hair from Grey’s forehead. She hated to wake him. He’d been exhausted again that morning, but now his young face had softened. Surely, she’d known such peace once. It seemed so long ago.
What she wouldn’t give to feel that again.
The quiet of her sister’s house pressed in around her. “Grey? Grey, honey, time to go.”
When he didn’t respond, she gently shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes. She folded her arms as a floorboard in the hallway creaked.
It’s only Becca.
She pressed her lips together as her son groaned in disappointment. Heaven knew he needed the rest, but they had to get out of there.
“Hurry up. We’ll be late for soccer practice,” she said and grabbed his backpack from the floor. “Did you finish your homework?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Grey reached for his bag, but she threw it across her shoulder, and headed for the door.
He hurried after her, half running to keep up. She didn’t breathe until they reached the car. He slipped into the passenger seat beside her as she cranked the engine and the radio exploded with the screeching of an electric guitar.
He winced, and then turned down the volume a notch. Claire frowned, but didn’t turn it back up. At least they’d escaped Becca’s tomblike home.
“Why don’t you like quiet?” he asked, annoyance coloring his tone.
She shrugged and said, “Quiet is overrated.”
“No, it isn’t. It isn’t normal to always crank your music, to have the TV and the DVD player and the computer going at the same time. You don’t sleep. You don’t like quiet. We’re never home. It’s soccer, or kickboxing or wall-climbing. It isn’t normal. We didn’t used to do all that. What happened? Why does it have to be so crazy now?”
She didn’t answer, just bobbed her head along to the music, her attention on the road. The “normal” Grey wanted no longer existed for her, though she’d give anything to have it back again. Why couldn’t he accept their life without all these questions? She didn’t have answers, not ones she could share.
This wasn’t easy for either of them. All Grey wanted was a normal life, a regular mom. Claire wasn’t like other moms, though. Not anymore.
And she’d never been like Becca.
Becca would never make such wild accusations.
“I want to know about my father. Where is he? What’s he doing?” Grey asked.
She strummed her fingers to the acid beat and sped through a yellow light. “You know as much as I do.”
“Why don’t I ever hear from him?”
Shit. Why now? “What difference does it make? He’s gone and you don’t need to worry about him.”
“It makes a difference to me. Why won’t you talk about him?”
She braked at a light and turned to him as the electric guitar squealed to a stop and the radio announcer came on. “There’s nothing to talk about, Grey,” she said. “I’m sorry you don’t have a dad, but we’re fine on our own. None of that matters. The past is past. Let’s focus on today. Are you ready for this game? Who are you playing tonight? Oh, and we need to talk about this weekend.”
“I don’t care about the game,” Grey said. “I want to know about my dad. Did I do something to make him leave? Did you?”
“Grey.” The knot in her stomach tightened. “It’s nothing like that. He left, but not because you did anything wrong. He just didn’t deserve you.”
“So he left because of you.”
“Yes,” she said. The light changed, so she accelerated through the intersection. “He left because of me.”
Grey turned from her, fuming. She clenched the steering wheel, hating the sick feeling in her gut, hating having her son mad at her, hating that she couldn’t give him normal, hating that he missed his dad. Hadn’t they been fine?
She provided adequately for them. Their house needed fixing up, but she gave Grey lots of attention. Why wasn’t that enough? Did it matter so much that he didn’t have a father?
* * *
ON MONDAY MORNING The Coffee Stop regulars lounged about as Lucas emerged from the back to fill his own mug. Ken talked quietly with an older gentleman at the end of the counter. Lucas stretched as he surveyed the seating area.
The sweet old couple, who’d talked him into expanding his tea assortment, sat focused on the cribbage board they’d donated to the growing stock of board games he kept under one of the big oak coffee tables. Whatever it took to keep people lingering and buying more coffee and the occasional panini was fine with Lucas. Comb-over guy slouched in the corner of the long leather sofa, his feet propped on the other table, his bony fingers curled around his pencil as he scribbled in the daily crossword.
The customer of most interest, as always, was the woman by the window, staring vacantly out, laptop keyboard silent—Grey’s mom. The boy’s bright smile flashed through Lucas’s mind and he shook his head.
Lucas shouldn’t let the kid get to him. Was he reading too much into things, or was the kid unhappy? Surely if he were, his mom would do whatever was needed to address the situation. Maybe Lucas should talk to her, surreptitiously figure out if the espresso machine might help. Maybe he should just tell her about her son’s plan.
He stirred sugar into his coffee and frowned as the woman jerked. Something in her expression, in the way she startled like that, brought back memories of Toby. Lucas’s stomach clenched. Was she experiencing a flashback or did everything remind him of Toby these days?
He should pretend he hadn’t noticed, walk back to his office and finish payroll, or maybe have a quick nap. He hadn’t slept the past few nights, not since that visit to Toby’s grave and the confrontation with his friend’s sister. All the more reason to avoid Grey’s mom.
The familiar heaviness filled his chest. He missed Toby.
He glanced again at Grey’s mother. Absolutely, he should avoid her. He had no business butting in to her life, even if he felt for her son. Yet, the memory of the hope on Grey’s face as he eyed the espresso machine carried Lucas between the tables to stand beside her. She blinked, then pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, as if waking.
“Would you like a refill?” He nodded toward her empty cup and cursed himself for not having thought of a better excuse to approach her. Leading with “Your kid thinks an espresso machine will fix things at home” didn’t seem like the best way to go, though.
She’d had her usual espresso earlier, when she’d stopped in with Grey and he’d slipped Lucas a ten-dollar bill, with a conspiratoria
l nod. Lucas had hated taking the kid’s money, but he would have hated himself more if he hadn’t. Who was he to stomp on the kid’s hopes?
“Actually, that...would be nice,” she said, her brows knotted in uncertainty. She cleared her throat. “I...didn’t realize...you offered refills...on the good stuff.” Her words came out choppy, as though speaking drained her.
“This one’s on me,” he said. “A way of saying thank you for your frequent patronage.”
“Oh,” she said, a tentative smile curving her lips. “That’s nice. I hadn’t realized...do you own this place?”
“Yes.” He stifled a laugh. She’d thought he was an employee. “I needed something to keep me out of trouble.” He grabbed her cup. “I’ll be right back.”
Ken eyed him curiously as he cleaned the filter for her espresso, but when Lucas shrugged, his employee continued his conversation with one of the customers. A few moments later, Lucas delivered the brew as the woman shoved her phone into her bag.
She took the cup with both hands, her fingers trembling. “Thanks, I need this.”
“Having a rough day?” he asked as he perched on the table beside her.
Nodding, she glanced at her monitor. “Freighter is late with a shipment.”
“You’re in shipping?” he asked.
“Strategic sourcing,” she said. “I find the best sources, run analysis, act as a liaison between the customer and shipper and negotiate freights and terms. Only I can’t always get everyone to do as they agreed. Then it gets rough.”
“But you can do it all from the comfort of a coffee shop.” He spread his hands to indicate their surroundings. “Beats working out of an office.”
“Or home,” she said, her voice a whisper as she raised her cup.
“Really? I guess I’d get tired of being cooped up in the house, too.”
“It is nice to be able to work remotely and arrange my schedule around our other activities.”
“You and your son?” he asked.
“Yes, my son, Grey. It’s just the two of us,” she said and cocked her head. “What was that the other morning?”
He frowned. Should he tell her about Grey’s plan? What if he ruined the surprise for no reason? “What was what?”
“He ran back to shake your hand.”
“Oh, that. He was introducing himself. I introduced myself, since the two of you are always in here. I like to get to know all my regulars.” All of that was actually true.
“Oh.” She stared at him a moment, frowning.
He stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Lucas Williams.”
Somehow, she withdrew without moving. He stubbornly left his hand suspended between them. With a sigh, she took it and gave it a surprisingly strong shake. “I’m Claire Murphy.”
“It’s a pleasure, Claire.”
She nodded, her gaze anchored on a spot beyond him, her smile stiff. He felt odd noticing, but she’d be gorgeous if she could just loosen up a little. Her nose was a bit small, her chin slightly crooked, but it worked for her.
He shifted. “That’s a great son you have.”
Her gaze found his. “Yes, Grey’s an incredible kid.”
Lucas stood for a moment as silence fell between them. She crossed her arms and said, “Well, thank you for the refill.”
“You’re welcome.”
He should walk away. The kid and his mother were none of his business. His curiosity about Grey’s reasons for buying the espresso machine again rose, though, and kept him in place.
“Just for the record, is it the robust flavor of our coffee that brings you here every morning, or do you just prefer your coffee on the run?” he asked.
“Both, I suppose.” She raised her cup. “You brew great coffee, but we’re most definitely on the run in the mornings.”
“During the week, at least.”
“Always,” she said, then sipped her espresso.
“Even on the weekends?” He sometimes stopped in at The Coffee Stop Saturday mornings, but always stayed in the back.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “We keep on the go.”
“What about downtime?”
Her gaze drifted to her keyboard. “I don’t believe in downtime.”
“I see,” he said. Poor Grey. No wonder the kid wanted an espresso machine. “Don’t you get tired?”
A dry laugh worked its way from her throat. “I’m always tired.”
“Why not slow things down then, catch up on some rest?”
She straightened in her seat, placing her fingers on the keys. “It wouldn’t make a difference.”
He should stop. She was obviously uncomfortable talking to him about this. He felt as if he’d just uncovered the tip of a very large iceberg, though. Should he tell her about Grey’s surprise?
“So, how’s the shipping business these days? Overall, I mean, other than today’s late freighter,” he asked, in spite of his uncertainty. Maybe she’d be more comfortable talking about her work.
Her eyebrows arched. “Not bad. Things are definitely picking up.”
“I’d think that would be a good indicator for the state of the economy.” He shrugged. “People shipping things means other people are buying them, right?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Do you do this full-time?” He indicated her laptop.
“I do,” she said.
“And do you work regular hours, like a nine-to-five job?” he asked.
He had no idea what he was babbling about, or why he was grilling her. What he really wanted to ask her was if all their running around was good for Grey, because, obviously, Grey didn’t think so. Lucas didn’t know her well enough to go there, though. He still wasn’t sure why he even cared, but the memory of the hope in her son’s eyes kept him where he was.
“Some days. Not always,” she said. She unfolded her arms, though her posture remained stiff. “I teach kickboxing a couple of afternoons a week, so I work around that. It depends on what’s happening. I work on reports some evenings.” She smiled tightly. “Depending on what time we get done with soccer or rock climbing.”
“Wow, sounds like you two do keep pretty busy. And when do you sleep?”
She gestured with her hand. “Oh, sleep is overrated.”
Bingo. She didn’t sleep. Toby had slept all the time. Neither was a good scenario.
He said, “I think sleep is very important.”
Her gaze again drifted out the window beside her. “Well, lots of things are important.”
He nodded. He’d pressed her enough. “I should get back to work.”
Her eyebrows arched again. She checked her laptop monitor then said, “I hadn’t realized it was this late. I need to finish up so I can get to my class.”
“Sure, I didn’t mean to keep you. It was nice chatting with you, Claire. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yes...thanks...Lucas,” she said and for a moment her gaze caught his.
He thought she might say more, but then her gaze flicked away. Her shoulders rounded as though a weight pressed down on her. An air of loneliness descended on her as she turned back to her laptop.
Lucas headed to his office. Why had he let the kid get to him? Was that really loneliness he sensed in Claire? Or was that loneliness a symptom of something more troubling? As much as he hated to interfere, he felt compelled to help in some way.
Did the kid even want him to? Well, maybe not him, specifically, but someone. Surely, on some level, Grey suspected something was up with his mother.
You could have prevented this.
Maybe Louisa hadn’t been right about Toby. Lucas hadn’t really understood what his friend had been going through then, but now he recognized the signs. He didn’t know Grey and Claire, but he was drawn to them. Maybe it was Claire’s isolation that called to him. Toby had pushed everyone away for weeks before he’d blown out his brains. Would there be any harm in Lucas befriending this woman and her son? What if Claire had isolated herself to the point of not havin
g anyone to talk to? If he acted as a sounding board, she might eventually admit that keeping Grey constantly on the go wasn’t the best for him.
Maybe sometimes we could have breakfast at home, instead.
Grey’s haunted plea drifted to him again as he peered out of his open office door to where Claire was packing up her laptop. Maybe the problem wasn’t complicated at all. Maybe all Claire needed was a friend.
CHAPTER FOUR
DUSK APPROACHED AS Grey pushed himself off the ground, feeling both exhausted and angry. Nate Patterson hooted his exultation over once again getting the ball past him. Hell, it was happening more and more these days. Grey should be used to it.
But he wasn’t.
Nate trotted toward him. Grey brushed the dirt from his hand then extended it, though he couldn’t bring himself to smile.
“Nice dive, Murphy,” Nate said and pumped his hand with genuine enthusiasm.
Grey pressed his lips together, for fear the anger might spurt from him in a less-than-sportsmanlike manner. He nodded and Nate sped away, whooping with his teammates as the ending whistle shrilled.
At least the torment of this game was over. After a short pep talk from their coach, Grey headed across the soccer field toward the parking lot, scanning it for his mom. Too bad she’d missed another of his magnificent fails. If she’d seen how he’d sucked throughout that game, she’d understand his decision.
He was done.
The sun streamed down, glinting off metal and drawing his attention. His mom was standing on the far hill nearest the parking lot, something bulky slung across her shoulder. As she drew closer, he groaned. She was carrying a golf bag and clubs. She had to be kidding.
When she was within hearing distance, she smiled and waved. “Hi, honey!”
He shuffled toward her, shaking his head, refusing to ask the obvious.
She waved to his coach in the distance, and then ruffled his hair. He ducked away, hurrying toward the car.
