by Dorie Graham
“Hey, don’t I get a hello?” she asked. She caught him in a few quick strides. For a small woman, she moved quickly.
“Hello,” he said, keeping his attention on the parking lot. The sooner he got them to the car, the sooner they’d get home, where he could shut himself into his room and try to block out the noise.
“How was the game? I’m sorry I missed it. I had a lost shipment....”
Couldn’t she just drive them home for once and not expect him to talk?
“Look what I got,” she said. “Saw them at a yard sale earlier and had to stop. We can fit in a little golf on Sundays, before rock climbing.”
He shook his head and kept walking. What the hell did she expect him to say?
“Grey?” She touched his arm.
He twisted out of reach and increased his pace.
“Hey, what’s up?” She stopped.
He stopped, without turning around, closed his eyes and said, “I’m done.”
Mom moved in front of him, shifting the golf bag on her shoulder. “What do you mean, you’re done? Did the game not go well?”
Grey was too tired to be polite. “What don’t you get? I’m done, finished,” he said and swept his arms wide. “I’m through with all of it.”
Her mouth and eyebrows puckered like she was trying to understand. “You don’t want to play soccer anymore?”
“No,” he said. He had trouble keeping his voice level. His throat tightened. “I hate it.”
She frowned. “But you love soccer.”
“That was before—before rock climbing, before all the other stuff.” He waved his hand toward the clubs. “Before golf. I...” He shook his head. Soccer was just part of the problem, but he’d settle for this one concession. “I’m not playing soccer anymore.”
His mother met his gaze, her mouth quirked to the side. “I don’t know, Grey,” she said. “You know how I feel about idle time.”
“I’ll do stuff at home.”
She glanced away, her jaw tense. “I don’t want you to be unhappy, hon.”
“Then say I can quit. I don’t get why we have to always be doing something. We didn’t used to be like that. We used to have downtime.”
Her gaze dropped to the ground and she said, “Well, downtime is overrated.”
The urge to hit something welled up inside him. Without responding, he turned and headed again toward the car.
He glanced over his shoulder. The light had gone from his mother’s eyes. She seemed beaten down, defeated. The look struck him in the pit of his stomach.
When had that started? She’d always been tough, ever since he could remember.
Thinking back now, though, he had to admit she’d worn that defeated look on other occasions when she hadn’t thought he’d noticed. At some point, somehow, she’d changed.
And it wasn’t for the better.
* * *
A COLD WIND hit Lucas as he opened the back door of the coffee shop, trash bag in hand. Ramsey Carter, one of the high schoolers who worked part-time, pushed himself away from the wall and stubbed out a cigarette. He took the bag from Lucas.
“I was going to get that,” he said.
Lucas nodded at the cigarette butt. “I thought you were quitting.”
Ramsey grunted as he shoved the bag into the Dumpster. “I am. Maybe I should try a patch or something.”
“You’re pretty tough,” Lucas said. “You can kick a little nicotine.”
Ramsey was tough. Lucas had met him in this very spot nearly a year ago. The kid had taken a gang beat-down. Lucas had first befriended him, then eventually given him a job.
“I know,” Ramsey said. “I’ll do it. I’ll quit. I’ve just been a little stressed. You know, senior year and all.”
In spite of the cigarette breaks, Ramsey more than pulled his weight at The Coffee Stop. Lucas crossed his arms. “Have you figured out yet what you’ll do when you graduate?”
“College for sure, if I can get in. It’ll have to be in state. At least my grades should get me some Hope Scholarship money.”
“That’s a good move. Sometimes I wonder where I’d be if I’d gone that route,” Lucas said.
Would Toby have gone with him to college? Would they have stayed out of the gangs, out of the military, and kept his friend alive?
Ramsey gestured toward the building behind them. “Looks like you managed okay.”
Lucas let his gaze travel over the back of the shop. “I’m not exactly saving the world, but I am managing.”
“You saved me,” Ramsey said quietly.
“You’re smarter than I was. You would’ve eventually figured things out on your own. I think you already knew you didn’t want that life anymore.”
“I just got kind of sucked into it.”
“I know,” Lucas said. “Happens to the best of us.”
But Ramsey didn’t smile. “I don’t know if I ever said a proper thank-you for all you’ve done for me.”
“Thank me by going to college and making something of yourself.”
Ramsey nodded. “It’s a lot to figure out, you know, who I am and what I want to be. You said you joined the marines to straighten yourself out, but what made you decide to become a medevac pilot?”
“I was an EMT first. I guess I did that because I liked being able to help people.” And helping people had felt good, because he’d spent too much of his childhood feeling helpless—helpless in the face of the rage that consumed his father in the days he was still with them and drinking.
“So, why did you stop? I mean, couldn’t you still be an EMT, even if you weren’t in the marines?” Ramsey asked.
“I just wanted a change,” Lucas said. “So, do we need to cut back your hours, so you can quit stressing about college?”
“No, I’m good. I want the hours. I’m saving all I can to help pay tuition. I don’t want to put it all on my folks.”
Lucas nodded.
“I’m going to head back. Ken probably thinks I ran off or something.”
Lucas followed the boy inside, turning into his office, as Ramsey headed toward the front. Lucas settled into his chair.
So, why did you stop?
That question had haunted him for the past year and a half, since he’d bought The Coffee Stop. Helping people had made him feel useful, but when Toby died, Lucas stopped feeling anything for a while. He wasn’t really sure why he’d walked away to buy this shop, but somewhere, somehow, he’d wanted a little peace after all the trauma.
Still, had that been enough to have him turn his back on a career he’d been proud of, one that had fulfilled him? He’d had his share of people die on his watch. Each one felt like a penance of sorts, his punishment for the violence of his past. But he’d also saved lives. It seemed that after Toby, all he could focus on were the losses, though. And then he couldn’t take it anymore.
He glanced around the cluttered office. He might not be saving people here. Owning a coffee shop might not be the most rewarding occupation, but at least nobody died on his watch here. That had to count for something.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Claire frowned as Grey shuffled into the coffee shop beside her. He hadn’t given up his plan to quit soccer. Why was he acting up now when she had so little energy to deal with him?
She stiffened as Lucas Williams stepped to the counter. As his green gaze met hers, her pulse raced and her stomach fluttered. That too-familiar fear stirred in her, warring with unwanted...curiosity. Why had he been so friendly with her the other day?
Not that she hadn’t enjoyed meeting him. He had the broad shoulders and strong demeanor that made her nervous, but something in his eyes calmed her and drew her in.
“Good morning, Claire,” he said, then nodded toward Grey. “Grey.”
Grey simply waved.
“Good morning, Lucas,” she said.
Even with the counter between them, his energy seemed to reach out and touch her. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. S
he focused on her wallet, pulling out her debit card.
Her nerves couldn’t handle him this early. She said, “Large Americano, double shot, two pumps of vanilla, room for cream and a banana-strawberry sm—”
“Espresso,” Grey said and crossed his arms. “No smoothie. I want an espresso.”
Lucas grinned and asked, “Do you want just a shot, straight up, or in an Americano, like your mom, or do you prefer something else?”
Grey hesitated.
“Honey, are you sure?” Claire asked. “You’re still a bit young for coffee.”
Her son ignored her and asked Lucas, “Can’t you mix it into a drink with milk or something and some sweet stuff?”
“Hot or cold?” Lucas asked.
“Hot.”
“Do you like chocolate?”
“I’m a kid. What do you think?” Grey asked.
Lucas grinned. “You don’t have to be a kid to appreciate chocolate,” he said. “I’ve got just the thing.”
As he moved away to make the drinks, Claire turned to Grey. “So, no more smoothies and no more soccer. That’s the new plan?” she asked.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You mean you’re cool with no soccer?”
“We’re going to have to find something else for you to do. I don’t know if Becca is up to having you stay there more than you do already. I hate to even ask her,” she said. “She’s so strict about their schedule and having it quiet when your uncle Kyle gets home. And you can’t be home alone.”
“Why can’t you be at home? You used to work from home all the time,” Grey said.
She didn’t answer as they moved down the counter. The quiet and isolation of being home were too hard for her. Cranking her music merely held the flashbacks at bay. If she ever stopped to think about the quiet behind the music...
“Maybe you can stay with Gram,” she said. “She’s always complaining she doesn’t see you enough. She wants you to visit some weekend, by the way—spend the night.”
“Gram?” Grey shook his head, his voice rising. “I don’t want to stay with Gram. I want to stay with you. At home. You can work from there, like you used to.”
Claire glanced at Lucas, embarrassed the man should witness her argument with her son. “This isn’t the time or the place,” she said to Grey. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“I don’t want to talk about it later,” Grey said. He swiped his sleeve across his face. “I’ll go stay with Gram this weekend if I have to, but I’m not staying with her after school. It doesn’t make sense.”
The sun streamed through the glass front door. Claire focused on the beam of light. If only she could dissolve into the sunshine, she wouldn’t have to deal with this. She turned to Grey and touched his shoulder, but he shook her off. Why couldn’t he just be happy with things the way they were?
“Grey,” she said, keeping her tone steady. “I’ll let Gram know you can stay Friday night. We’ll talk about the rest later. I have to think about whether I can work from home with you there or see if she’s okay with having you three afternoons a week. It’s a lot to ask.”
Grey stood stiffly beside her. “She won’t mind,” he said. “She likes hanging out with me.”
“Americano double shot, two pumps of vanilla, with room. I added a little whipped cream on top.” Lucas placed their drinks on the counter. “And a mocha java latte.”
With a nod, Grey scooped up his drink. He took a hesitant sip, then another longer one before saying, “I like it. Thanks.”
As Grey headed toward the door, Claire turned to Lucas. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He paused. “He’s just testing his boundaries.”
“Yes,” she said and glanced at her son, hovering inside the door, sipping his latte.
“I made it decaf. He should be okay.”
“I appreciate that,” she said. “Caffeine isn’t what concerns me, though. It’s the quitting soccer.”
Lucas glanced at Grey. “Guess that depends on why he wants to quit.”
Her gaze settled on her son, still focused on his drink. “I think...he’s just tired.”
“Tired?” Lucas asked.
What was it about the man that had compelled her to even mention it to him? “We keep pretty busy, like I said, always on the go.” She hated admitting it. “I guess it’s too much for him.”
“I know we’ve had this conversation, but everyone needs downtime,” he said. “Even you.”
Heat flooded her. She settled her purse on her shoulder, readying to bolt. “You don’t really know me and we have had this conversation.”
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to overstep. It’s just that I can see you’re a good mother, Claire. And I can’t say that I’m an expert, or that I know anything about raising a kid, but I do know it isn’t easy. I can’t imagine doing it alone.”
“I appreciate your concern, Lucas, but I’m not entirely alone. My sister takes him some days after school.” She shrugged. “There’s my mom, too, and he has a friend he stays with sometimes. I trade off with his mom.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude. It’s just that if Grey’s anything like I was—and I was raised by a single mom—I can understand your concern about him having too much free time. If his dad isn’t around, he could probably use a good male role model. Maybe someone from the Big Brothers Association could help with that.” He shrugged. “At least, I wish I’d had something like that when I was his age.”
Her gaze met his as she said, “Actually, that could be exactly what he needs. I’ll check it out, thanks.”
“Of course,” he said. “Just a suggestion.” He spread his hands and said, “I really don’t mean to butt in. I just... I was a little like Grey when I was a kid. My dad split early, thankfully, and it was just my mother and me. I might have avoided some of the...trouble I got into later if I’d had someone looking out for me.”
Something about his reference to trouble raised goose bumps of foreboding across her skin. She rubbed her arms. “I’ve been thinking about finding him someone like that. I’ll look into it.”
She motioned toward Grey. “I’d better get him to school.”
Lucas nodded, a smile curving his lips. “Okay, Claire,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
The timber of his voice saying her name again made her stomach flutter. She inhaled a steadying breath as she hurried toward Grey. She couldn’t be interested in Lucas. He was too strong, with those shoulders and arms of his. His thin T-shirt did little to hide the definition of his muscles. That much strength was dangerous.
She had to get herself together and figure out how to deal with Grey. She had way too much on her hands to think about a man for now, especially one that pushed her out of her comfort zone.
Everyone needs downtime. Even you.
If she could have downtime that didn’t make her jump out of her skin, she might be inclined to agree. But as things were, that just wasn’t going to happen.
CHAPTER FIVE
“DESTINATION ON YOUR left.” The monotone of the GPS was barely audible above the musical notes of Staind as Claire cruised along Edgewood Avenue in Atlanta that afternoon.
She peered at the building to her left. Rows of windows overlooked the street, concrete and glass in the heart of downtown. She found the entrance to the parking garage, her stomach knotting as she finally pulled into a spot.
She smoothed her skirt as she waited for the elevator at one end of the garage. When the doors opened, she saw a man in jeans standing to one side, his width taking half the space.
Her heart sped up as she hesitated, her fingers tingling. He pressed the button to stop the doors from closing. “Are you coming?”
Without speaking, she stepped in beside him, her gaze riveted on the panel of buttons, her pulse kicking up at his proximity. She hated this, how nothing more than sharing an elevator could send her anxiety through the roof. Within moments the door opened and she hurried into the lobby, t
he wide space and flurry of activity soothing her nerves.
I am safe. I am strong. No one can hurt me.
Five minutes later she stood in front of the receptionist’s counter at the Big Brothers and Big Sisters Association of Greater Atlanta. A young man with spiked hair greeted her.
“I’m Claire Murphy,” she said. “I’m here to see Doug Straighter.”
“I’ll let Mr. Straighter know you’re here.”
“Thank you,” she said, and then settled in one of the chairs in the waiting area, shaking the tingling from her hands. The quiet of the place pressed in around her and her heartbeat accelerated again. Pain squeezed up the back of her head, thudding along her skull.
A few moments later a stocky, gray-haired man emerged from a side door. “Ms. Murphy, I’m Doug Straighter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
His deep voice rumbled through her. She shivered and rubbed her arms as she stood. He extended his hand and she took it, even as her instincts urged her to withdraw.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” she said.
“Come on back and we’ll see what we can do for you and your son.”
He led her down a short hall to an open area with tables and chairs. A younger man with a wiry build moved toward the door as they entered. His gaze swept over Claire and she stiffened, the hairs on her arms prickling.
“George.” Straighter shook the man’s hand. “Good to see you. How’s life treating you these days?”
The new man nodded, though his attention remained on Claire. He said, “No complaints. How about you, Doug? How’s the family?”
“Enjoying the cooler weather,” Straighter said. He smiled and waved as the younger man continued toward the door. “You have a good one, George.”
“You, too,” the man said. His gaze swept over Claire once more before he departed.
With that, Claire stood alone with Doug Straighter, the director of the Atlanta BBBS. A big man, he stood over a foot taller than her. He pulled out a chair at one of the tables and gestured for her to sit. Once she was settled, he took the seat to her right.
“George is a great example of what we do here,” he said, motioning toward the door. “He came here as a troubled kid fifteen years ago and now he’s one of our best ‘Bigs.’”
