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He met her gaze, expressionless, refusing to be drawn into her mollifying tactics. She’d cheated him, she needed to pay. Easy concept.
“But we can’t destroy him with this. We have to think first and go slowly. Step by step.”
“You’re worried what he’ll think of you,” Trent observed, standing firm. “Honey, that’s the least of my worries right now. Best-case scenario? He realizes his mother is a liar and asks to stay with me. At his age judges are willing to consider the child’s wishes.”
His words hurt her. He saw that and didn’t care. No, scratch that, he tried not to care, but her look of pain hit him hard and low.
Because that’s how you attacked, his conscience prodded. And that whole thing about judges? Not very Solomonesque. Try Kings, chapter three, verse one. Solomon offered to divide the child to appease the quarreling women. The true mother stood back, refusing her rights to save the child’s life. You might want to rethink your options.
He didn’t want to.
But the inner voice cast doubt on his absolutism. He stared into space, seconds ticking like minutes, until he finally shifted his gaze back to hers. “What’s he doing right now?”
She hesitated. “Practicing football. With Chris Russo.”
“He likes it?” Thinking of that, a tiny piece of Trent’s heart went out to the boy, a speck of realization that a part of him lived on in someone else. A hint of hope stretched upward.
Lyssa’s expression softened, a ghost of the girl coming through the woman. “He loves it.”
“Where are they practicing?”
“Behind the middle school. Chris saw his talent right off and asked if he could work with him before the season gets under way.”
“I’ll work with him.”
She looked startled, then frowned. “But—”
“No buts.” He leaned in again, refusing to notice the pale points of light in her hazel eyes, how the hint of green to gray sparked amber fire when she laughed. The memory stabbed. He ignored it. “When are they practicing again?”
“Tomorrow, but…”
He shook his head and moved toward his motel room door. “I’ll be there. Evening?”
Lyssa stared, gnawed her lip, then nodded. “Yes.” She stepped forward, her expression pleading. “You won’t tell him, right? Not yet?”
Like he was about to make a promise like that. He’d already been cheated out of a dozen years, give or take. She had no right to set the rules, none at all.
She’s his mother, his conscience tweaked once more. You’d have given anything to have a mother who loved you, remember?
Oh, he remembered. Too well. A kid doesn’t forget when his very own mother equated him with disposable trash, something to cast out, toss by the wayside. Eyeing Lyssa, he saw the difference and wanted to ignore it. Needed to ignore it.
But something in the winsome look of her gaze, a mother pleading for her child, touched him, despite his disdain. He hesitated, worked his jaw and gave a curt nod. “I won’t tell him. Yet.”
Her look of gratitude evoked guilt within him, and that just made him angry. Why should he feel guilty about anything?
But when she nodded and whispered, “Thank you,” it was all he could do to keep from stepping toward her, the voice and expression recapturing times long past, memories of the girl he loved.
Instead he moved backward, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. “Good night.”
Chapter Five
“You’ve looked better.” Cat made the observation as she walked into work Wednesday afternoon, her glance skimming Alyssa’s face. “Did you catch Cory’s cold or have you spent the last forty-eight hours in tears?”
“Most of ’em.” Alyssa checked the preset front dining room for table alignment and seating, then turned Cat’s way.
“Have they met yet?”
Alyssa hauled in a breath. “Tonight.” She tweaked a floral arrangement that didn’t need it and sighed. “Trent’s going over to the middle school where Chris and Jaden practice. He wants to help.”
“Awkward.”
“Tell me about it. I told Chris he was coming and he looked at me like I had two heads.”
“Chris was a little older, but he knew Trent,” Cat reminded her. “Putting two and two together is fairly easy in this case.”
“So it would seem.”
“And you’re worried about what might happen?” Cat mused.
“If by worried you mean scared to death, then yes.”
Cat smiled in sympathy and hugged her shoulders. “You can’t stop time from moving forward, Lyss. Let go and let God.”
“I’m fairly certain God gave up on me somewhere around Jaden’s second birthday.” Memories swept her. At the time she considered her options free and unfettered. Now she realized they were just outright selfish. And stupid.
“Honey, we all make mistakes at nineteen. Eventually we get a clue and grow up. You think God holds that against you?”
“Reasonably certain.”
“Nonsense.” Something in Cat’s certainty snared Alyssa’s attention. She turned and met her gaze. “Lucky for us, God’s better than that. ‘As far as the east is from the west I have removed your transgressions from you,’” she quoted. “He’s not out to punish us but to embrace us. Sunday school 101.” She grabbed Alyssa into a big sister–type hug. “Kiddo, if I thought God turned his back on me, I’d have headed for the hills long ago. He’s there. He knows. He loves.”
Did he?
Cat’s hug felt good. Real good. Alyssa knew enough of the waitress’s history to know she’d raised three kids on her own after divorcing an abusive husband, a man who’d used every means in his disposal to keep his wife and kids under his thumb.
But Cat had gotten out. Moved on. With her kids nearly grown and doing well, she’d changed a made-for-TV drama into a success story.
Cat would understand what she’d gone through with Vaughn, how he deliberately robbed her of something precious and pure. For just a moment Alyssa was tempted to tell her, but the phone rang, interrupting them.
Cat sent her a look that offered understanding, then answered the phone. “Good afternoon, you’ve reached The Edge, Jamison’s place for fine dining. How can I help you?”
She raised a brow, nodded toward Alyssa and said, “She’s right here, Trent. Just a moment.”
Fear gripped Alyssa. Had he changed his mind? Was he calling to let her know he’d decided to tell the boy everything?
Reaching out, Alyssa accepted the phone. “Yes, Trent?”
“I didn’t ask what time they were meeting tonight.”
“Six-thirty.”
“Do you want to pick him up or have me bring him to your parents’ place? That’s where you’re staying, right?” His crisp, clear voice stayed businesslike while hers fought emotion and lost.
“I’ll pick him up.”
“See you then,” he said.
Click.
Dread flooded through her. In two short hours Jaden would come face to face with his father. Would he know right off? Sense the similarities? See the resemblance?
Alyssa had no idea.
Cat read her mind, not that it was all that difficult if the fear claiming her heart was reflected in her face.
“It’s not like he’s wearing a T-shirt that says, ‘Luke, I am your father,’” Cat quoted in a really bad Darth Vader–like voice. “Jaden will see what an eleven-year-old boy should see. A great football player showing him the tricks of the trade. He’s looking for a coach. Not a father.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Cat shrugged. “I know I’m right. We see Trent in Jaden because we knew Trent at that age. Jaden will see a cool guy who loves football like he does, a guy who wants to teach him stuff. Give him a leg up. Until someone tips him off, my guess is that’s all he’ll see.”
“Really?” Alyssa wanted to cling to that commonsense hope. Cory’s coughing had kept her up half the night, breaking sleep into minute stretches of time and she felt like the fragile threads of her life were at snapping point.
She needed coffee and she needed it now.
“Really,” Cat affirmed. She raised her chin as a small group of people walked in the door. “Time to get to work. It’s hard to worry when your mind’s filled with salad dressing choices and the evening specials.”
“Thanks, Cat.”
“Don’t mention it. And think about what I said. Let go and let God.”
Cat’s commonsense directive seemed too easy. Her trusted confidante wasn’t stymied with layers of guilt on top of a generous serving of self-loathing. On top of that, Alyssa had been raised in a strong, caring family. Sure her dad was tough, but never mean or deliberately hurtful. He was just a dad with high expectations, a goal setter who’d taken a hillside hamburger joint and turned it into one of the area’s most sought-out dining spots.
She’d let him down, and instead of learning from her mistakes, she’d repeated them until they cost her more than she cared to admit.
Shame slashed deep.
She believed in God. Always had. But it was hard to imagine the wealth of grace and forgiveness Cat alluded to when Alyssa recognized her role in a host of bad choices.
He’s there. He knows. He loves.
Cat’s words swirled within her and for just a moment Alyssa wondered if it could really be that sweet, that attainable. Then the image of Trent’s face reappeared, lined with anger and disappointment, her betrayal darkening his features. That thought laid to rest any notion of slates swept clean. Penance was part and parcel to life and she obviously hadn’t paid up quite yet.
Trent thought it would be simple to walk up to the kid and the coach, reach out a hand and say, “Hey. My name’s Trent and I’m here to help.”
But to do that he’d have to be able to move his feet forward and for the life of him, Trent stood trapped alongside his car, watching his son dodge and move under Chris Russo’s guidance.
The boy’s grace was notable. Sure his height added advantage for a junior high player, but more than that Jaden had an inner ability that shone through. Shoulders back, head high, the boy was clearly invested in the coach’s advice, nodding agreement all the while.
Trent hesitated.
Should he interrupt this?
He’d been so sure of himself last night, so downright eager to push his presence on the boy, but now he second-guessed himself.
Was he pushing in to punish Lyssa or build rapport with his son?
Jaden.
The name slipped off his tongue like butter on warm bread.
Chris turned, noted him and waved. “Trent. I heard you were stopping by. Come and meet my friend Jaden.”
No backing out now. Trent eased forward, keeping his pace even and his face neutral, not an easy task when what he wanted to do was examine everything about the boy, top to bottom. Talk to him, get to know him.
Give him time.
Lyssa’s breathy voice came back to him, a woman pleading for her son.
He shoved that aside as he drew near and stuck out his hand. “Jaden, hey. I’m Trent.”
The boy nodded amiably. “Good to meet you, sir.”
Polite. Straightforward. Nice, good qualities. Lyssa had done well.
“Trent, Jaden and I were just working on the three Ps,” Chris offered.
Trent ticked off his fingers, remembering. “Pressure, push, pull.”
“Yeah.” The boy’s smile stabbed through him, because part of Trent wanted the smile to be aimed just at him. Deep down, he hated that he was standing alongside his son, his boy, and the kid had no clue he was shoulder-to-shoulder with his very own father.
But the smile soothed as well, the boy’s obvious well-being and good adjustment a huge balm to Trent’s tattered soul.
“I’ll take center,” he offered. Trent exchanged a look with Chris. “I’ll snap to Jaden and then you can give him the lowdown on what to do next. What to watch for.”
“Good deal,” Chris said.
“Hey, guys! Can we work with you?”
Two boys roughly Jaden’s age straddled worn bicycles at the field’s edge, their looks hopeful. Chris arched an eyebrow toward Trent. “You mind?”
“The more the merrier.”
A smile eased the tension he’d noted in Chris’s jaw, just enough to tell Trent the other man knew the score, and that raised a question in his mind. Did Chris know because it was that obvious or had Alyssa told him?
The former, Trent decided. He was pretty sure that Alyssa would keep this under wraps as long as she could, but with the striking resemblance between father and son, people would know. That thought was confirmed the first time he saw Jaden lob a spiral that hit his targeted receiver dead-center, the ball’s spin textbook-perfect.
“You played before moving here?”
Jaden shrugged. “Not like on a team or anything.”
“No?” The boy’s reluctant admission raised Trent’s ire. “Really?”
“I just practiced a lot.”
“Well.” Trent mentally chalked the boy’s response on his check-this-out-later list and nodded. “It worked. You’re solid. Try this, though, when you fade right.” Easing back, scanning down field, Trent appeared to be heading right but ended up to the left.
Jaden laughed appreciation for the move. “Do it again. I was too busy watching you to see what your feet were doing.”
Trent demonstrated again, noting how Jaden studied his foot moves as if committing them to memory. “That totally jukes the other team.”
“Until they figure it out,” Trent admitted. “But it’s a good move to have in your arsenal.”
Jaden nodded. “I’ll practice it at home. I like learning new things.”
That statement said a lot about the boy’s nature. Open. Eager. So much like him. Another knife stabbed Trent, regret twisting within. How he would have loved to guide the boy’s first step, his first pass, his first no-training-wheels two-wheeler ride.
But it hadn’t happened, and there was no recouping time. Trent’s childhood made him understand that better than most.
Three more middle school boys came along and joined the impromptu drills. Studying Jaden’s moves, seeing his easy leadership among the other boys, Trent shoved regret aside more than once. Chris left the group with a quick nod of understanding to Trent about an hour later, just minutes before Alyssa pulled to the curb. She stood alongside her car watching, not interrupting Jaden’s session, the cool evening breeze making her draw her yellow hoodie tighter.
Trent left the boys to their own devices and trotted her way, pretending not to notice how his approach hiked her anxiety. But her body language spoke volumes. She tightened her stance, shifted her gaze and nervously bit her lip. He couldn’t read her full expression because her eyes were shaded by inexpensive sunglasses, the setting sun blinding the east side of the field.
“How did it go?”
“He’s amazing.”
A tiny smile of agreement softened her clenched mouth. “He is.”
“He says he never played formally. Is that right?”
A frown replaced the smile. “That’s right.”
“Who taught him?”
“He’s self-taught mostly. I had a DVD of old Super Bowl games and he’d watch that thing again and again, studying the moves of the players, the teams. And then he’d practice in the backyard, or in his bedroom. He’s been running plays since he could walk. So much like you.”
Her last words were spoken on a breath of wind, light and soft, wafting away, almost as if she didn’t want him to hear them.
But he did.
“Does your husband work with him?”
Her jaw tightened before she shrugged. “He did. Some.”
Anger mixed with envy shimmied upward, grabbing Trent somewhere around his throat. He couldn’t imagine having a kid as smart, bright and capable as Jaden and not working with him, not coaching him, not spending every moment he could to help the boy develop skills that opened doors of opportunity. What kind of man shrugged off a kid with Jaden’s capabilities? Was it because he was the boy’s stepfather?
Trent’s defense mechanism clicked into high gear just as Alyssa tried and failed to stifle a yawn. She shook her head. “Sorry.”
Something in the way she said that, the way she tried to cover her move, tugged Trent forward. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
She wasn’t. He could see it. Feel it. But, hey, not his business, right?
She yawned again, then looked downright aggravated beneath the dark lenses. Surprising both of them, Trent reached out and tipped her shades up.
“Hey.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Guilt edged away a corner of anger. “Is worrying about me keeping you from sleeping?”
The look she slanted him had “duh” written all over it.
Growling, he strode two steps away, ran a hand through his hair, turned and came back. “Listen, I—”
She forestalled whatever he said with a shake of her head. “The last thing I want or deserve is your sympathy. Or your apology.”
Her choice of words tweaked the protector within him. Deserve?
Jaden’s voice interrupted them. “Hey, Mom. How’s Cory?”
“All right. No fever right now.”
The boy moved closer, his demeanor reflecting the struggle of leaving a great evening with new friends. Football-loving friends at that. “Do you want me to stop now so you can get home to her or can we stay a few minutes more?”
Trent added considerate to the list of Jaden’s qualities.
“Grandma said she’s sound asleep, so we’re fine, honey. Keep playing.”
Despite her weariness, she was willing to let him have time with new friends, learn new skills. Trent tried to find fault with that and couldn’t, then put two and two together. “Somebody’s sick? Besides your dad?”
“My little girl. She’s three and I think the move wore her out. She caught back-to-back colds and it’s taking a toll.”
“On her and you.”
Lyssa shrugged.
“Will she sleep tonight?”
“Who knows? Coughing kept her up last night. Hopefully tonight will be better.”
“What’s the doctor say?” he pressed.
Alyssa’s hesitation said more than her easy words. “It’s just a cold. Runny noses and coughs are part of childhood.”
She didn’t quite pull off the matter-of-fact attitude, but Trent left it alone. Not his problem. Still, he knew it couldn’t be easy to come back east, move in with her parents, step into Gary’s shoes at The Edge and deal with a sick kid.
And him.
But that was her fault for keeping him out of the picture for so long. He refused to feel sorry for that. So why did her next yawn punch a sympathy button he thought long-since buried?
It didn’t, he assured himself. No more than it would for anyone else.
Darkness pushed the kids toward home a short while later. Trent met Jaden’s look as the boy trotted their way, his easy lope inherent. “Tomorrow night?”
Jaden shook his head. “I work with Mom on Thursdays at the restaurant. Fridays, too. But I’m practicing with Coach Russo on Saturday afternoon. Can you come?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” His words hurt Alyssa. He saw that and did nothing to soften their blow. He’d already missed nearly a dozen years, time gone, irretrievable. Even if he’d planned something for Saturday, he’d forgo it to spend time with Jaden.
“Ready?” Addressing the question to Jaden, Alyssa ignored Trent.
So be it.
He nodded Jaden’s way, headed to his car parked just in front of hers and shrugged off guilt that his words had been hurtful. After all, Trent figured it didn’t even come close to evening the score in the retribution column. He started his sporty black coupe and headed away, trying to push the image of her tired eyes from his mind. The fact that he couldn’t just intensified his anger.
Chapter Six
Dead.
Trent scowled at the Internet posting, sat back, then hunched forward again, his brain not comprehending what his eyes read in the two-year-old web clip from a southeast Montana newspaper.
A one-car crash on Mueller Road claimed the life of an East Brogan man early Sunday morning. Vaughn Maxwell, 33, of Cuylerville was found dead in his vehicle during a routine patrol by the Cuyler County sheriff’s office. Maxwell’s car appeared to have veered off the road at high speed, hit a tree, rolled over and came to a sudden stop against another tree. Attempts to resuscitate the driver were unsuccessful. The Cuyler County coroner’s office will conduct tests to see if alcohol use contributed to the crash.
Maxwell is survived by his wife, Alyssa, stepson Jaden, and infant daughter Cory.
Shame coursed through him. He’d never checked Lyssa’s status before coming back to Jamison, just a cursory look to make sure she was still in Montana. And she had been, at that time. Obviously Gary’s health concerns brought her east at the very same time he’d returned to help jump-start the job market.
But he’d stopped his query there, not wanting to be intrusive. Reading this Internet excerpt, he realized not only had she been alone for years, but she’d also been alone with two kids and not much family to speak of. He’d met Aunt Gee a long time ago. A sweet lady, lots of fun, but not big on family values. Although that may have changed, too, for all he knew. Obviously he was out of the loop where Alyssa’s life was concerned.
Another thought occurred to him. Alyssa had no health insurance. That explained her hesitation the night before, the look of resignation when he questioned her about a doctor.
Would she be eligible for Social Security? Survivor benefits? And this Maxwell guy was old enough to be worth something before he died, wasn’t he?
A series of government reclaim notices in the Cuyler County files told a different story. Vaughn Maxwell’s property had been seized months after his death for failure to pay taxes and water rights violations. The official county claim gave no details about his displaced family, but from the figures he found on eastern Montana, hard times had fallen worse than they had in Jamison.
I’m glad she’s here.
The thought both startled and comforted him. Better she be here among family and friends than so far away with no money, no home and no good prospects for employment.
Despite their history and her choices, he’d never wish her harm. Couldn’t wish her harm. And the thought of how tired she looked bothered him.
But it shouldn’t. She had her family now, her parents, their friends. A home. A place of her own.
Not exactly, his conscience prodded. Living with Mom and Dad at age thirty probably isn’t a cakewalk.
Because Trent hadn’t had the opportunity to live with a mother or father in nearly thirty years, the concept was lost on him. He’d never experienced that dream, to be part of a loving family he was actually related to.
He loved his foster parents, a kind family who’d relocated to North Carolina years ago. Their two children, both older than him. But despite their kindness and goodness, it wasn’t the same. He knew that. Felt it. Always a tad different, set apart.
But now he had Jaden. For the first time in nearly three decades Trent had a living, breathing, bona fide member of his family nearby, a dream come true.
He stared at the online image of Vaughn Maxwell, trying to determine the kind of man he’d been. High speed, possible alcohol use…
That combination said a lot about a man in his thirties with a wife and two kids.
He hoped he was kind. Nice. The thought of this guy barreling down a country road under the influence made that seem unlikely. Either way, the man was dead and buried, leaving Alyssa and two kids with a pile of bills that couldn’t be paid. She lost her husband and had her house taken from her in the space of a few short months. Rough time line.
She could have come back. Her parents would have helped.
Trent paused.
He knew Gary. Lyssa’s father might resemble a teddy bear, but his grizzled manner soon set a person straight. Pragmatic, tough and focused, he took a bulldog stance when approaching a problem. Effective in business, not so much in family. Was that reason enough to stay away?
The phone rang. He answered it, one eye on the screen. “Trent Michaels.”