“That’s my dad’s playbook.”
Ryan, she thought his name was, looked up. “Really? It’s got some cool plays.”
“He won three state championships with them.”
Ryan nodded. Went back to the book.
Lucy stood at the sink, stirring a new batch of punch. Stirring, staring out the window, stirring.
“I think it’s ready,” Issy said, slipping her arm around Lucy. She still appeared as if someone had just set fire to her house. Drawn. Hollowed out. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I lost my parents’ business. The business that has been in our family for three generations. How could I do that?”
“I don’t think it’s entirely your fault—”
“You’re right, Issy.” Lucy turned to her, something wild, unrecognizable in her eyes. “No football players. Number three. I should have listened to you and your list. Miss Foolish Heart knows best.”
“Shh—”
Lucy opened her mouth, then clamped her hand over it. “Sorry.”
“Ix-nay on the ow-shay. There are extra ears in the room.” Her gaze darted to Ryan, still paging through the playbook. Maybe someday she’d have the strength to part with it, bequeath it to the school. After her father okayed it, of course. Until then, she could almost hear his voice in her ears when she read his plays, could see him on the sideline. No, she was far from ready to part with it.
“Sorry. I just . . . I was so stupid. Here I thought . . .” Lucy’s mouth opened again, some sort of conspiracy playing behind her eyes. “What if Bam set me up? What if he sent Seb to spy on me? What if they deliberately got my hopes up in order to watch me fail? Bam has reasons not to like me. And I’m sure he told Seb.”
“What kind of reasons?”
Lucy shook her head.
“What are you talking about, Lucy?”
“What if this entire thing was just payback?” Her voice sounded strained. Lucy closed her eyes, something that looked like real pain on her face. “Payback from Bam. And Seb helped him. I knew he never really cared for me. This was probably some joke to them.”
Issy took her hands. “Payback for what?”
“Everything okay in here?” Caleb stepped inside, too cute in his pink oven mitt. “I have some big boys outside who are willing to separate you two.”
“We’re not angry at each other,” Issy said over her shoulder. “Not ever.”
He came over to lift the cooler from the sink as Lucy moved back. “You sure?”
“Hello, the house. Are there pancakes here?” The voice came from the hallway, and Lucy froze.
Issy turned, not sure if she should smile or not. She glanced at Lucy, who turned away. Oh, boy. “Seb Brewster. It’s about time.”
The years dropped away as he walked into the room. He’d filled out, his shoulders bigger, although he still had the look and build of a quarterback, along with the Saturday morning bruises. Apparently he’d been working hard with his team, too, although he’d taken a tackle on his chin.
Seb always had a sheepish smile for her—usually when he showed up on a Saturday morning, eating pancakes at their breakfast table. He produced that smile now. “Hey, Issy.”
She walked into his arms and let him hold her.
When she broke away, she turned to the duo eyeing them. Caleb holding the punch, Lucy looking like she wanted to deliver one.
“This is Caleb Knight, the new coach . . . or, uh . . .”
“No, you’re probably right.” Seb held out his hand. “Caleb.”
Caleb set the cooler on the counter and met Seb’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Seb. You have a good team out there.”
“You too.”
“They’ll be amazing when we get them on the field together.”
“Tomorrow’s game will be good—”
“Actually, I meant when we get past tomorrow and see how they combine. I know Ryan here is looking forward to playing with his pal Samson. Right, Ryan?”
Ryan glanced at Caleb, no smile. But he’d scrambled off the floor when Seb walked in and now turned to him, held out this hand. “I’m Jared Ryan, quarterback. Great to meet you, Coach.”
Seb shot a glance at Caleb but took Ryan’s hand. “You too. I saw you out there. You look good. Can’t wait to see you play this year.”
“Hope to play for you, sir. I’ve seen every tape from the championship season—even listened to it on the radio.”
“Thanks. But it doesn’t matter who you play for—just how you play. You do your best out there tomorrow.”
Ryan’s lips pursed.
“Hey, is that Coach’s playbook?” Seb reached for the book in Ryan’s grip. “Wow, does this bring back memories.”
“I remember you sitting at the table and going over some of these,” Issy said.
“Look at this one—the Doctor. Such a great play. It’s made to look like a run, even though it’s a deep pass.”
“I know that one—Doc Dorman, who was the head coach at Upper Iowa University, was the first to use it in a game.” Caleb moved toward Seb, so much verve in his voice, Issy could nearly see him running it on the field.
“We ran it once. Beautiful play.” Seb caught Caleb’s eyes, and Issy saw the old Seb. Not only that, but for a moment, she could see Caleb in the kitchen, surrounded by a slew of teenagers, or even middle schoolers, listening to him prep them for the game. He’d be leaning over, like now, his voice intimate, rich with excitement . . .
She could be with this man. The thought caught her, swept her breath from her chest. She could be with this man because he brought her to a place she’d been before—and a place she wanted to go.
A place of safety.
“So I guess if you run that play tomorrow, I’ll know it,” Caleb said to Seb.
“I might have a few others up my sleeve,” Seb said, but his voice lacked the cocky smack talk of his youth. He glanced at Lucy, who had her arms crossed, and closed the playbook. “Can I talk to you?”
Lucy lifted the cooler of punch, splashing some onto her shirt. “Sure, talk all you want. It’s all lies anyway. I don’t know why I ever believed you.”
“Lucy—”
“Don’t. Don’t even start. I should have never let you back into my life. You’ll tell me how much you missed me, how you only thought about me the last eight years. Yeah, I’ll bet you thought about me.”
“I did.” A muscle pulled in Seb’s jaw as he held the playbook in both hands. “Just like you thought about me.”
She stared at him, and even Issy frowned at his tone.
“You want to tell me how much you thought about me, Lucy?”
Lucy’s mouth opened. “I knew it. I’m such an idiot. I should have seen you setting me up.”
“Wait one second—”
“That’s some ego you have on you; but of course you are the Sebanator. You’re used to lugging around that massive ego, the kind that doesn’t care how they trample on someone, destroy them.” Lucy slammed the cooler back on the counter, grabbed a washcloth, scrubbed at her stained shirt. “What, you think I couldn’t get over you? That you were so wonderful I couldn’t go on without you?”
Seb flinched as if her words actually bruised. He curled the playbook in his hands. “I think you got along without me just fine.”
She rounded on him. “That’s right I did. I stayed here, ran my donut shop . . . dated other guys. I’m sure you know all about it. It’s exactly the sort of thing you jocks love to talk about—you probably told the entire locker room about us. I’ll bet Bam couldn’t wait to return the favor.”
Seb drew in a breath and shook his head. “I never told anyone what happened with us. And I couldn’t care less what Bam said. I told you, I want a fresh start for us.”
Lucy and Seb stared at each other, so much in their eyes Issy had the strange urge to run from the room. What were they talking about?
“I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m sorry for hurting you, and for . . . for everything.”
Lucy looked away from him, her voice strange. “Like I said, it’s no big deal.”
Seb unrolled the playbook. It curled at the edges, warped by the strength of his hands.
Lucy wiped up the bloody puddle of Kool-Aid where it had spilled onto the counter. “I thought I was over you. I thought I could put it behind me. But the fact is, I gave you who I was, Seb. I gave you everything I had—and you threw it away. Threw me away.”
Seb flinched. “Lucy, I didn’t know Bam was going to take the donut shop from you, or I would have never shown him the proposal. But you knew I was going to show him. That was the point—to show him the donut shop could turn a profit.”
“No, your point was to prove that you were still the superstar, that we couldn’t live without you. Well, guess what?” She turned away from him, wringing out the towel. Red liquid dripped from it as she said, her voice shaking, “Get out, Seb.” She faced him again. “Get out of this house; get out of my life. Thank you for coming back and destroying me yet again. I am an idiot for ever trusting you.”
Issy actually hurt at the blitzed expression on Seb’s face.
“Do you really want that?”
“Yes,” Lucy answered. Quick, sharp. Like the fine edge of a blade. She turned on the water, let it run into the washcloth, flushing out the dye until the water ran clear.
Seb’s shoulders rose and fell as he looked at her. Finally he tossed the playbook onto the counter. “Yes, you certainly can live without me. I’m sorry I ever came back to Deep Haven.”
Seb glanced at Issy, then at Caleb. “Good luck tomorrow, Caleb.”
Caleb nodded. Issy noticed how he’d taken a step in front of Lucy.
Issy turned to Lucy. “What’s going on?”
“I’m going home.”
Issy reached for her, but Lucy scooped up her mail and dumped it into her bag. “Please, just let me go home.”
Caleb stepped outside, hollered at the boys to start cleaning up.
“This isn’t about the donut shop, is it, Lucy?”
She held up her hand. “I don’t want you to miss your show.” But she looked at Issy with big eyes, and something in her expression seemed so painfully familiar.
“I won’t. Elliot put together a ‘best of’ intro for me tonight.” Issy reached out to Lucy, but she backed away. “Lucy, I’m here if you need me.”
Lucy kept retreating, through the open door. Issy watched her cut through the yard, her bag banging against her leg.
She should go after her.
Maybe it was time for Miss Foolish Heart to make house calls.
17
“Don’t follow her.”
Caleb had watched Lucy nearly flee through Issy’s garden, and he ached for her. He knew a little about having someone break your heart. But the look on Seb’s face as Lucy took him apart told Caleb that perhaps Lucy didn’t have the entire story.
Whatever the case, she and Seb needed to work it out. Without the assistance of Miss Foolish Heart. Not that Issy didn’t have good advice, but with Lucy’s luck, Issy would list all Seb’s faults and he’d end up at a negative three.
Caleb hated to think where he might end up. Now, as Issy frowned at him, he added, “She needs to be alone.”
“She’s my best friend. And she’s hurting. You don’t know their history. She and Seb dated in high school and he broke her heart when she found him making out with Bree Sanders.”
“It looked to me like she broke his right back.”
“Hardly. He went on to win a state championship, remember?” She pushed past him onto the porch, but he caught up, stepped in front of her. “Really? You’re going to block me?”
“Just . . . hear me on this. Let Lucy and Seb work this out. They don’t need your advice. This is real, Issy, not . . . not entertainment.”
She stared at him, blinking, and he grimaced. He hadn’t wanted to tell her like this. Around him, the guys had started to collect the trash from the yard. He’d rather pick a different time and place to reveal that he was BoyNextDoor and had swindled her into this dinner.
“What do you mean, it’s not entertainment?” She backed away from him a step, and he lowered his voice.
“Issy, please, don’t. Let’s talk about this later.”
“Talk about what later?” She had reached the door, had a whitened grip around the handle.
“I have to drive some of the guys home, but I’ll come back, help you clean up.”
“What did you mean, Caleb?” Her voice had a sharp edge, and he remembered Seb’s wince.
He drew in a breath. “I’m just saying that you don’t always have to fix other people’s problems.”
“I don’t . . . I . . . Listen, you don’t know anything about Seb or Lucy or what they need. What do you mean, I don’t have to solve other people’s problems? You don’t even know me.”
He stepped toward her. “I know you better than you think I do. And you know me.”
“I don’t know you at all.”
“As a matter of fact, we know each other very well.”
She had backed fully into her house now, and he closed his eyes as she shut the door in his face.
He packed up the boys as quickly as he could and left to drive them home.
He dropped McCormick off last. The running back lived in a box house, with overgrown juniper like a carpet around his front steps. A wan light flickered by the front door.
The kid hesitated just a fraction before he opened the door.
“Everything okay, McCormick?”
He stared at the light, then finally nodded.
“You’d tell me if . . . if something wasn’t okay at home, wouldn’t you?”
He glanced at Caleb, tried a smile. Caleb too well remembered guys on his team who had played simply for the escape. “You know if you ever need to talk, I’m always around.”
“Thanks, Coach.” McCormick reached for the door. “Great barbecue.”
“Get some rest.”
He stayed, his headlights shining on the house, until McCormick let himself in.
Caleb drove by Pastor Dan’s house, grateful for the man and his willingness to carry Caleb’s secret, at least until after the game.
“My power works best in weakness.”
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
How he hated his weakness. And nobody won by admitting their limitations, did they?
He drove past the school, around the unlit field, and parked his car, then scanned the dark field and imagined tomorrow’s game. Ryan at the helm, working out the plays, Bryant downfield, pocketing the ball. McCormick rushing through the center of the pack. The boys knew their basics—at least as well as they could after two weeks of practice.
Now it was time to fight a good fight, turn the lights on the Huskies.
“It’s all about tomorrow, God. Please help me not to let You down. Please—”
It takes the washing of our feet by Jesus to be His disciple. We have to be willing to accept His love and grace. And only then are we able to turn around and do it for others.
Dan’s voice seemed to be haunting him tonight.
He wanted to be a disciple; he did. But did that mean he had to do it on his face? Couldn’t he stand up?
Still, maybe he didn’t get to call the plays. He closed his eyes. “God, I want to be Your man here, for these boys, for this town. Help me to accept Your grace in my life.” He swallowed, drew in a breath. “However You choose.”
The moonlight ducked behind the clouds as he drove back to the house. The forecast for tomorrow’s game suggested a chance of rain.
Caleb loved cool game days. And he wanted Issy there. He could see her in the stands, wearing a Huskies jacket, her long hair in a ponytail, her dark eyes shining as she cheered.
In fact, he could see her in his life. He’d watched the way she shone when he talked about her father’s playbook. She loved football. She loved this town.
And he could love her.
Maybe th
at’s all she needed to hear. He’d simply explain it to her—he hadn’t set out to deceive her. After all, who would guess that he had a talk show host living next door?
He pulled up, parked on the street, and walked to her dark house. He pressed the doorbell. Waited. Pressed it again. “C’mon, Issy!”
Nothing. No footsteps. Nothing but the light streaming out of her studio. Figures she’d run back to My Foolish Heart.
Fine. He knew exactly where to find her.
* * *
Lucy stared into her mirror, at her cropped hair, her unremarkable hazel eyes, her less-than-womanly body.
She certainly looked innocent.
But the look in Seb’s eyes tonight brought it all back. The shame. The sense that she would never be clean again.
Hence the hot shower. It had always been the safest place to cry.
She toweled off her hair—it stuck straight up as if it had been gelled—then tightened the cinch on her bathrobe and switched off the bathroom light.
I think you got along without me just fine.
That’s right I did. I stayed here, ran my donut shop . . . dated other guys.
Yes, she’d dated. Two guys, to be precise. And Bam, which she wouldn’t even count as a date, simply a horrible event during which she ended up weeping in his arms. Over, of course, Seb. No wonder he wanted payback.
Seb Brewster simply couldn’t help turning her into a fool. She closed her eyes. See, there was a reason she hung on to the donut shop. Through the eyes of her customers, she saw the woman she wanted to be. Sweet Lucy.
But thanks to Seb and Bam, she didn’t even have that anymore.
She walked down the hall, catching the blinking red light on the answering machine in the den.
She paused by the door. Then, going in, she pressed the button.
“Lucy, it’s me, Seb. I’m on my way to Issy’s house—I was just hoping to catch you. Bam told me he denied your loan, and I wanted to say how sorry I am. We’ll figure something out. Call me back.”
She deleted his message. Stood there, seeing the pain in his eyes, as another came behind it.
“It’s me. I . . . wanted to say that I don’t care what happened in the past, Lucy. I know that I’m to blame for so much of it and—”
My Foolish Heart Page 23
