From the Start

  “Rae—” Kate’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Probably Marcus. Again. He’d called at least four times in the past couple hours. Patience. She’d promised him an update on the book project this weekend. But it was still the weekend.

  “Why are you acting so annoyed? I should be the one who’s upset. I met Colton first. I should have first dibs on a crush—”

  “I don’t have a crush on him.” Great, and now her voice had gone shrill. That would go a long way toward convincing Raegan.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not mad. If you two weren’t so adorable together, I might be, but—”

  “Raegan.” She practically screeched her name.

  Kate closed her eyes. Took a breath. Angled around to turn on the water—white noise—then reversed to face Raegan. “What you’re insinuating, Rae . . . It’s not funny to me.” She spoke slowly, letting each word fall and hopefully hit its mark. “You can surmise whatever you want about Colton’s and my . . . friendship. But keep it to yourself.”

  Confusion wrinkled over her sister’s face. “Why are you reacting like this?”

  The train jerked again. “In the span of a year, Colton has lost the person he thought he was going to marry and his football career. He’s got a past that makes our own loss of a parent look like a walk in the park.” She saw Raegan flinch at that. Had she gone too far? “And he’s got a million other things to worry about right now—he’s trying so hard to focus and move on. The last thing he needs is a distraction. So forgive me if I don’t find it funny to joke about a friendship that just can’t be more than a friendship. It can’t.”

  Raegan seemed to shrink under Kate’s harsh words, the bright light over the sink highlighting each wince. The chug of the train, muffled voices from outside, and the water slapping against the sides of the sink filled the momentary silence.

  “It’s just . . . not funny to me.” She repeated the words, softer now.

  When Raegan didn’t respond, Kate reversed once more to turn off the water. She leaned over the sink, hands propped on the edge, hair flopped over her shoulders.

  “You go ahead and tell yourself all that if you like.”

  Kate’s head jerked up at Raegan’s surprising words, the hard glint in her tone. She met her sister’s eyes in the mirror. They’d emptied of remorse and turned steely. Kate pivoted. “What?”

  “Tell yourself it’s Colton and all the things he’s dealing with that you’re concerned about.”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you are. But only because you’ve trained yourself to flip the Off switch the second you recognize any romantic inkling in yourself. You’re an expert at putting up walls, Kate. News flash: Gil happened almost six years ago. I know it hurt, and I know a person’s first instinct after something like that is to do whatever they can to avoid it ever happening again, but I—”

  “Stop it, Rae. Stop doing the psychiatrist thing.” Her phone buzzed in her pocket again. Oh come on, Marcus.

  “I’m not doing the psychiatrist thing. I’m doing the sister thing!” Raegan gave her exclamation space to dangle in the air before speaking again. “And if you were honest, you’d admit the one you’re looking out for is you.”

  She couldn’t take any more of this. Kate brushed past Raegan, pushed the door open, knocking it into another passenger. She muttered an apology and glanced both ways down the train car. On one end she saw the backs of the heads of Colton’s NFL friends, a slew of ogling cameras.

  The other direction appeared empty.

  Easy decision.

  “Kate.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Rae. Not here.” Not at all.

  Her phone dinged, letting her know Marcus had left a voice mail this time.

  She hurried past the person she’d hit with the door and emerged into the light of the open space, blessedly clear of people. Sunlight streamed through the car’s windows, the beautiful scenery outside begging for attention.

  She tried. Sinking into a maroon seat, her gaze gulped in the tree-filled rises and falls on either side of the scenic bridge they now crossed.

  But the landscape did little to cool the heated emotions simmering in her. Raegan didn’t know what she was talking about.

  Kate yanked off the scarf around her neck—Colton’s scarf—and pulled her phone from her pocket. Five missed calls from Marcus. She should probably listen to his voice mail.

  “There you are.” Colton plopped down in the seat across from her. “Couldn’t figure out where you’d disappeared to, considering there’s not really anywhere to go on this train. Unless you were trying to pull some kind of Lone Ranger stunt and ride on top of the train.”

  Why did he have to talk in such easy tones, the kind reserved for friends and confidantes and people who shared inside jokes? And why did he have to be so ridiculously good-looking?

  And why are you even trying to deny what Raegan saw?

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  She blinked. “Like what?”

  “Like . . .” He drew out the word. “Forlorn. Like how I’d feel if you told me you still didn’t appreciate football, even after all my time teaching and training—”

  “We’ve gotta stop, Colt.” The words rushed out before she could pull them back.

  “Stop . . . ?”

  Her fingers tightened around her phone. “Just . . . stop. This. Whatever.”

  His brow furrowed. “I’m trying really hard not to be dense here, but you’re going to have to give me a little more to work with.”

  Instead of buzzing, now her phone trilled. Text message. She glanced down. Marcus. Of course.

  But then she read the message. Sucked in a breath so sharp she could almost feel it land with a pang in her stomach.

  PLEASE answer your phone, K. It’s about Breydan.

  10

  Why were hospitals always so cold?

  The beeping and murmuring of a collage of machines surrounding Breydan’s bedside filled the small room. The hospital bed swallowed his tiny form, the white of his skin matching both the sheets and the walls.

  Despite her long sleeves, Kate felt goose bumps rise to the surface of her skin, and she swallowed. Hard. An attempt to keep whatever was swirling in her stomach—a fast-food breakfast, an oversized fountain drink, and fear—in place.

  “The doctor is a little more optimistic this morning.” A thread of hope, frayed and bare, hung in Marcus’s voice. “He thinks . . . maybe, if his fever comes down . . .”

  Kate grasped for rigid confidence. “It will.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off Breydan. So still. If not for the lines on one of the monitors, she would’ve wondered if he was even breathing.

  “I can’t believe you got here so quickly.”

  Seven hours in the car hadn’t felt quick. It had felt like one of those dreams where you were trying to run away from something, or toward something, but weight slogged your steps.

  Marcus turned. “And I really can’t believe you brought Colton Greene with you. You should see all the nurses gawking at him.”

  It was more like Colton had brought her. He’d watched her return Marcus’s call—was that just last night?—in the dinner train. Reached forward to grasp her hand the second he realized something was terribly wrong. And when she’d hung up and explained, he’d insisted on being the one to drive her to the hospital in the east Chicago suburb.

  How he’d stayed awake as he drove through the night, she had no idea. But he wouldn’t let her take the wheel even once. Maybe sweetest of all, about an hour into the trip, as they’d turned onto Interstate 80 near Des Moines, he’d glanced over at her, hesitated only for a moment, then asked if she’d like him to pray.

  The tears she’d held back ever since the phone call had threatened once again, and she could only nod.

  It’d been a simple prayer. Short. No flowery words or drawn-out pleas. But sincere. She’d tried to sleep after that, might have dozed off once o
r twice, that scarf of his under her head like a pillow. But Marcus’s words replaying in her head made complete rest an impossibility.

  “He had a sudden reaction to one of his medications. Fever, seizures. And with his immune system . . . It’s bad, Kate. I think you’d better come. . . .”

  She leaned over to brush Breydan’s hair from his forehead. “Can you imagine how happy he’s going to be when he wakes up and gets to meet Colton?”

  “He’s going to be just as happy to see you.” Marcus squeezed her arm. “I’m going to go find Hailey. She was looking for coffee.”

  He turned to leave, but she called a question over her shoulder. “Did you see where Colton ended up?”

  When they’d arrived at the hospital, he’d dropped her off at the canopied entrance. “I’ll figure out where to park and find you. Go on in.”

  “Yeah, he’s in the waiting room. I told him he could come in, but he thought maybe you’d want some time alone.” Marcus studied her for a moment. “Want me to send him in?”

  “Only if he’s not napping.”

  Marcus nodded and left the room. Kate turned back to Breydan.

  She pulled a teal chair up to the bed and lowered, then slid one hand forward, skimming the surface of the bedsheets until her fingers connected with Breydan’s. His were limp, cold. Which didn’t make sense, considering the fever Marcus said was raging through his body.

  Nothing about cancer made sense.

  “Hey, little man.”

  Only the drone of a machine answered her.

  “I need you to wake up soon, all right? We have so many more Mario Kart races to play.”

  She traced his tiny knuckles, slipped her thumb under his palm.

  “I haven’t had much chance to practice lately, but one of these days I’m going to win a race.” A tear tracked down her cheek. “Just you wait . . . One of these days . . .”

  She was rambling now, repeating herself. But how else was she supposed to keep herself from falling apart.

  Not fair, God. Not. Fair.

  More tears now. They landed on the white bedsheet. She swiped her hand underneath her eyes. Sniffled.

  “Kate?”

  Colton’s hand on her shoulder felt as warm as Breydan’s did cold. And in less than a second she was on her feet, buried against him.

  If Colton did nothing else tonight, he’d convince Kate to get some sleep.

  He rubbed his palm over the steamed-up mirror in Kate’s first-floor bathroom. His shower had heated the little room and eased at least some of the tightness in his muscles caused by seven hours in the car and then most of a day in a waiting-room chair. Both his knee and shoulder throbbed—whether leftover pain from yesterday’s train pull or so many hours cramped in a small space, who knew.

  Worth it, though. Worth the pulsing in his knee and the exhaustion.

  Kate had needed him. And it felt good to be needed.

  They’d spent most of the day at the hospital, but finally, as Breydan continued to sleep and afternoon drifted into evening, he’d talked Kate into going back to her townhouse for the night. Her friends, Marcus and Hailey, had promised to call if anything changed with their son.

  Colton dried off his hair with the red towel he’d found in the cupboard under the sink, then hung the towel over the bar along the shower door. He’d already slipped on the black Adidas pants he’d thrown in a duffel before leaving Iowa. Now he pulled on a white T-shirt with the Hawkeyes logo across his torso.

  The ring of his cell phone sounded from his bag. He plucked it out and lifted it to his ear. “Hello?”

  “What is it with you and being unreachable these days?”

  Ian. “I take it this isn’t the first time you’ve tried calling me today?” He’d barely looked at his phone all day.

  “I know Iowa’s in the middle of nowhere, but come on, is cell reception really that bad?”

  He stuffed his car-wrinkled clothes in his bag. “I’m not in Iowa.”

  “Then where are you?”

  “Chicago.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “What part of me telling you I’m in Chicago is funny?” Why was he being so short with Ian?

  Because every time he calls, it feels like an intrusion.

  He stilled at the thought, looking back at himself in the bathroom mirror. Was that true? Had he started getting so comfortable in Maple Valley that reminders of the life he’d left behind had drifted into unwelcome territory?

  “It’s not funny, it’s ridiculously coincidental, is what it is. I’ve had a few job leads for you. One in St. Louis, one in Miami, the other in Chicago.”

  “Really.” Why couldn’t he muster up more interest? This is what he’d been hoping and praying for.

  Except not lately. Man, he hadn’t prayed about his career in days, maybe weeks. He’d prayed about that train pull yesterday—that it’d turn out well and encourage people he’d come to care about. He’d prayed about his book. Today, he’d prayed like crazy for that little boy in the hospital.

  But not about sponsorships or speaking gigs or sportscaster jobs. The things he was supposed to be caring about.

  “I was going to pursue the Miami one first, but now that I know you’re in Chicago, I say we move on it. It’s a regional sports show that’s looking for a football analyst. Called Sports Circle. Good numbers, good ratings.”

  Colton dropped onto the edge of the bathtub. “Sports Circle. Chicago.”

  “I know it’s not east or west coast, but it’s a good market. Frankly, I was going to call you lucky if we could snag you something in Kansas City or Minneapolis. Chicago was more than I was hoping for.”

  Chicago. Wind. The Bean. Bears, Cubs, Bulls.

  His brain riffled through Windy City trivia.

  Kate.

  He lurched. Hard enough that he lost his balance and thumped into the still-wet tub. But the water seeping through his pants and the fact that his legs now dangled over the tub’s rim didn’t stop the thought from completing itself.

  Kate lives in Chicago.

  Or, did, when she wasn’t in Maple Valley. And until she left for that Africa trip she’d told him about.

  “What just happened? You fall over or something?”

  Maybe realizing he might have an open door to the town where Kate lived shouldn’t make much difference. But it made all the difference.

  The bathroom’s fan rattled overhead as he pulled himself up from the bathtub. “Okay, I’m interested, Ian. So what happens now?” He pulled the shower curtain over the bathtub and picked up his duffel.

  “We get you an interview set up. Sooner rather than later. Maybe even tomorrow.”

  His bag slid off his shoulder and thumped to the floor. “Can’t do tomorrow.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re already in Chicago. If there’s a God, he’s doing a good job lining up all your ducks for you.”

  Except that God hadn’t brought him to Chicago for a job interview. He’d come because there was a kid in a hospital with cancer. He’d come because Kate needed him.

  “This kind of thing isn’t going to come around again soon, Greene. Two of Sports Circle’s last five anchors landed at the NFL Network. One at ESPN. If this isn’t fate doing some fancy footwork, I don’t know what is.”

  The sound of Kate’s movement in the kitchen clattered in—cupboards opening and a pan scraping against a burner. He’d promised to take her back to the hospital first thing in the morning. Wait with her as long as it took for Breydan to wake up.

  If he wakes up. Nobody would ever put voice to that thought, but the fear of it had to be pummeling Kate’s friends . . . and Kate. And there was no way he was leaving her to deal with that alone.

  “I’ll make the call first thing in the morning, see when they can get you in.”

  “Ian, no. Not tomorrow. Not so soon.” His voice came out gravelly and firm.

  Ian’s pause pulled taut, tension as clear as if he stood in the bathroom with Colton. “You know wha
t—do what you want. Take the interview or don’t. But if you don’t, then I think it’ll be time to rethink our working relationship.”

  Colton closed his eyes and leaned over the sink. Being dropped by his manager? That’d be the final death knell for his career. And something told him it wouldn’t do any good to tell Ian about little Breydan. Or Kate. Or why he needed to be here.

  Ian wouldn’t understand how someone Colton had met less than a month ago could be worth missing the perfect job prospect. How could he? Colton didn’t understand it himself.

  He only knew being here, with Kate, felt right. It felt right in a way nothing had since the last time he ran a ball down a field and cleared the end zone.

  He realized then that the line had gone dead. So that was that. He jerked his duffel bag from the floor and dropped it over his shoulder. Looked at himself once more in the mirror. Clean and freshly shaven, only the faintest circles under his eyes hinting at last night’s lack of sleep.

  And something else. Peace. The kind that came from making the right decision, putting someone else first.

  When he emerged from the bathroom, the aroma of food wafted over him. Breakfast food. His growling stomach reminded him now how little he’d had to eat today—vending machine food and hospital coffee.

  He padded across the living room, dropping his duffel bag on the couch, and found Kate in the kitchen. She had her back to him and apparently hadn’t heard him walk up. Which gave him time to take in her appearance—brown hair tousled and damp, baggy pink flannel pants, white T-shirt.

  He didn’t realize he was staring until she turned, shrieked. “Whoa, Colt.”

  “Sorry.” He held up both hands. “Sorry.”

  “For a big man you walk awfully quiet.” She turned back to the sizzling frying pan.

  He stepped up to the stove, stomach rumbling at the sight of the food. Scrambled eggs complete with a rainbow of vegetables. French toast on a square stovetop griddle. A bowl of grapes nearby on the counter top.

  “You didn’t have to go to all this work.”

  He caught a whiff of her hair as she reached for a spatula. And he’d thought the food smelled good.