From the Start

  Halfway across the bleachers on the home side of the Mavericks’ field, the marching band played their third or fourth pep song of the night, brass tones and drumbeats merging with laughter and voices and the rattling of metal underfoot. The buzzing stadium lights flickered occasionally, almost-dark sky cluttered with stars that seemed to watch in anticipation.

  Anticipation. It was the perfect word for those elastic minutes right before a game, when time stretched right alongside your excitement until the moment the ref blew the whistle and the center snapped the ball.

  Too bad Ian had to pick now to needle him about the failed interview. He glanced at his phone again. The last thread between them had finally frayed to its breaking point.

  “Bad news?” Raegan must’ve read his face.

  “Uh yeah, kind of.” And he was the one delivering it. He typed a quick reply.

  Yes, walked out. Extenuating circumstances.

  “Letting my manager know that job in Chicago is a no go.”

  “Because you came back for Webster? Can’t you explain? It’d be awfully hardhearted of them not to understand that kind of thing. I’d think they’d give you a second chance.” Raegan pushed a streak of bright green hair—in honor of the Mavericks—behind her ear.

  He tipped up the collar of his jacket. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already had a second chance.” And a third and a fourth. Honestly, it was amazing Ian had held on this long. “I don’t foresee a career in television in my future.”

  Didn’t know what he saw anymore. Or wanted to see.

  “I think God might have eleven more inches for you.”

  A month ago, Colton might’ve brushed of Case’s words, countered the thought that he’d in any way limited himself in the past. All he’d wanted for months was a return to his old life.

  Now?

  Eleven more inches.

  Well, if God had eleven more inches, Colton sure didn’t know what they held. All he did know was he would’ve made the same decision about walking out on that interview all over again, even knowing Webster was okay. The look on the kid’s face when Colton showed up at the Clancys’ house that night, when it dawned on him that Colton had dropped everything to come back to Maple Valley, it was worth losing the job.

  He’d spent the evenings since then training with Webster. Running plays and finding moments to talk in between.

  On the field, the Mavericks now broke from the lines they’d formed to warm up and jogged over to the sideline. Some gathered in clumps, others took a seat on the lone long bleacher running parallel to the near fence.

  Colton’s phone dinged again.

  We need to talk. Call me.

  Ian’s clipped words signaled what Colton had known for days was now coming.

  And maybe the best thing to do would be to make it easy for Ian.

  Can’t call now. It’s been good working with you, Ian. I understand.

  He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of nachos and popcorn, cold air and energy. It’d be okay. He’d figure out what to do next tomorrow. Tonight was about the game, about supporting Webster.

  The bleachers shook with movement, and Colton looked over to see Case returning to their seats. He held a cardboard cup holder with three covered cups. “Hot chocolate for fellow game watchers.”

  He handed out the cups, then took a seat on the other side of Raegan and propped his feet on the bleachers in front of him.

  “I wish Kate could be here.” Raegan took the lid off her cup and blew over the steaming liquid. “After all the time she’s spent talking football with you, Colt, I think this is probably the first time she’d actually get into the game.”

  He wished she was there, too. The phone calls and texts the past few days, emailing back and forth about the chapters she’d written, none of it was the same as seeing her in person. Although the calls had been great. Hours long and relaxed—conversation always starting at his book but wandering to so many other places.

  When had he gotten so used to her presence in his everyday life?

  His gaze drifted to the scoreboard. Six minutes to kickoff. He looked back to the team. Where was Webster?

  There.

  His focus hooked on the 73 on the back of a jersey at the end of the bench, HAWKS splayed above the number. Webster was hunched and alone.

  As if reading his thoughts, Case leaned over Raegan. “Heard your boy might get more playing time than planned tonight, Colt.”

  “Really? Did you talk to Coach Leo?”

  “No, but the mom of one of the starting receivers was working at the concession stand. She told me her son looked almost green when he left the house. Thinks it’s the stomach flu. He insisted on trying to play anyway, but she said she had a feeling he wouldn’t make it past the first quarter.”

  Which probably accounted for Webster’s posture on the bench. Oh, he knew the kid wouldn’t admit it for the world, but more than likely, anxious nerves were running a sprint inside him right now.

  Eyes to the scoreboard again. Still five minutes until kickoff.

  “Rae, could you hold my cocoa for a sec? I’m going to go have a talk with Web.”

  He shuffled past the people on the bleachers until he reached the aisle, then hurried down the metal steps. Several people tossed out greetings to him as he passed—Sunny from the hardware store, the Clancys, Seth and Ava, Bear.

  How was it possible he’d come to know more people by name in Maple Valley than in all the time back in LA?

  He jogged to the fence dividing the bleachers from the field. “Hey, Hawks.”

  Webster turned and Colton motioned for him to come over. Webster looked to his coach, who looked to Colton, then nodded.

  Webster’s helmet swung from his hand as he walked over. He stopped in front of Colton, circles of red in his cheeks and breath white against the cold. “You came.”

  Colton flopped his hands on the top of the fence. “Of course I came. Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Webster didn’t smile, and yet, if Colton wasn’t mistaken, that was something close to gratitude in his eyes. “So look, I heard that one of the starters is sick.”

  “Yeah, if he yacks, I’m in.”

  “Well, I’m not gunning for him to go down or anything, but if he does, are you ready to move up the ranks?”

  Webster gave an exaggerated eye roll. “That’s the same thing Coach asked.”

  “So are you?”

  Webster shrugged. “Won’t know ’til I give it a go, right?”

  Colton glanced at the scoreboard. Three minutes. “Remember all those running drills we did?”

  “You mean how you made me run side to side and up and down the field ’til I yacked?”

  Colton grinned. “Yeah. You know this field, Web—all one hundred and twenty yards long and fifty-three and a third wide. You can feel it. You know your routes. Now it’s about finding open spaces. Dissecting the field and bringing that playbook to life.”

  Webster only stared at him, creases lining his forehead.

  “Which is a lot of fancy talk to get across the point that you can do this. I’m rooting for you. As are the Clancys. I passed them in the bleachers, and I swear, Laura Clancy’s so proud she’s probably passing out buttons with your name on them.”

  Webster finally cracked a half smile then. Colton held one knuckle over the fence, and Webster lifted his for the fist bump, then returned to his spot in the sideline lineup. Colton turned, gaze instantly taking in the crowded bleachers, the sea of green and white—Mavericks colors—the dark blue backdrop where the faint outline of the moon hung.

  His phone dinged once more and he pulled it out.

  It was good working with you, too, Greene.

  All right. Okay. That . . . was that. He nodded and climbed the bleachers.

  Stupid road construction.

  Kate yanked off her seat belt before she’d finished parking in the football field lot. If not for the traffic hang-up around Iowa Cit
y, she would’ve made it to Maple Valley an hour ago.

  But she’d listened to the first half of the game on the radio. It was nearly half time.

  She reached for the blue scarf and matching mittens she’d stashed in the backseat, then hopped from the car. Scarf around her neck, mittens on, she tugged the yellow knit beret she’d found in her glove compartment from her pocket and plopped it on her head.

  Not school colors, but at least she’d be warm.

  Autumn cool wisped over her cheeks as she crossed the parking lot. She’d considered calling Dad or Raegan to let them know she was coming. But wouldn’t it be more fun to surprise them?

  Maybe . . . surprise Colton?

  Somewhere between Chicago and Des Moines, she’d given up fighting the idea that it was Colton Greene, much more so than any game, that she was excited to see.

  “It’s okay to admit what you want.”

  Truth was, Hailey had made some valid points.

  Truth was, maybe curiosity and interest and, fine, the attraction she’d been trying in vain to ignore for weeks might finally be winning out over the caution and guardedness she’d made her constant companions these past years.

  Not that she had a plan or anything.

  But she just might have a sort-of hope. A yearning that, once finally acknowledged, warranted at least a little exploration. And that’s what tonight was. The chance to explore her own heart while in proximity to the first man to tug at it in a long time.

  She stopped at the ticket booth. The woman at the window glanced at the game clock. “Honey, if you wait three more minutes ’til half time, I can let you in for half price.”

  Kate looked at the field. Past the booth and the concession stand, the crowd in the bleachers stamped to the beat of the cheerleaders’ cheer. After seven hours in the car, three minutes shouldn’t sound like such a long time. But eagerness nettled her patience.

  “That’s okay, I’ll pay the full five. My contribution to the athletic department.”

  The woman nodded and handed her the ticket. “Enjoy the game.”

  Kate glanced at the scoreboard as she left the booth. Still 7–10, Mavericks trailing.

  “Kate!”

  She turned at the sound of Raegan’s voice rising over the buzz of cheers from the bleachers. Raegan walked over from the concession stand, arms full of snacks.

  “Impeccable timing, sis.” Raegan shoved a plastic tray of nachos at her. “I thought I could manage my and Dad’s food on my own, but I clearly overestimated my abilities. What are you doing here?”

  Kate stole a chip from the tray. “I came for the game, of course.”

  Raegan stopped, gravel crunching under her feet. “You drove all the way from Chicago so you wouldn’t miss the homecoming game. You. The one who stayed home to watch Casablanca with Mom the night of your own senior year homecoming?”

  “I can appreciate the sport as much as anyone.” She started walking again.

  Raegan scrambled to catch up behind her. “I’m sure.”

  She’d just choose to ignore that little morsel of sarcasm or the implication attached to it. Nothing was going to rankle Kate’s spirits tonight.

  Right as they reached the base of the bleachers, the crowd suddenly surged to their feet, cheers pitching to new levels. Kate spun around. “What’s happening?”

  The bleachers wobbled underneath them as they hurried up a few steps to get a better view. And there, Kate saw what had the crowd going wild. A player sprinting down the field with the football, the pair of defensive players he must’ve just crashed through running helplessly after him.

  Raegan gasped. “That’s Webster!”

  Colton’s Webster, apparently effortlessly edging around the last opponent who might possibly have a shot at slowing him down. The crowd went wild. Seconds later, Webster leapt into the end zone and the stands erupted. Raegan’s “Whoo!” blared in her ear, and the scoreboard flipped—13–10. She could only imagine Colton’s reaction.

  Kate abandoned the tray of nachos on the bleacher, heart thumping like the stands beneath her and scanned the seats. She saw Dad, but no Colton. “Where’s Colton?” The rumble of the stands drowned out her voice.

  “What?”

  “Colton?” she nearly shouted. “Where is he?”

  Raegan’s eyes were still on the field. “Press box.”

  “Press box? Why?”

  “Half-time interview. Lulu from the radio station talked him into it.”

  She turned to Raegan as the team lined up for the extra point. “I’m going to find Colton.”

  She raced up the bleachers, the crowd erupting once more, a signal that the kicker must’ve just added another point to the scoreboard. She caught sight of Colton through the glass of the press-box windows. He was giving someone a high five, expression beaming.

  Nerves knocked around her stomach. Go.

  She climbed over a bleacher, shuffled down a row, reached the door to the press box. Do I knock or just—

  The door flung open, and Colton stood in front of her. “I thought that was you.”

  And if he was beaming before, he practically glowed now. Or maybe that was just the stadium lights washing over him. Or moonlight. Or . . . She didn’t even care. She pitched forward the second his arms opened.

  “Webster was amazing. And that’s all you, all the time you worked with him.”

  His arms tightened around her. “No, it was all Webster. I knew he had it in him. And he needed this, you know? Something to boost his—”

  Suddenly his arms went lax. He stepped back, gaze directed over Kate’s shoulder.

  She turned, saw a woman standing halfway down the row.

  And from behind her, Colton’s voice. “Lilah?”

  13

  Hey, no loitering.”

  Kate’s whole body jerked at the call of the voice overhead. The cold of the cement step at the corner entrance of Coffee Coffee seeped through the baggy cotton pants she’d convinced herself half an hour ago didn’t look too much like pajamas.

  But here in a blast of sunlight, they were most definitely pajamas.

  And someone leaning out the second-floor window over the coffee shop had most definitely spotted her.

  She leaned away from her seated perch against the storefront wall and lifted one hand to ward off morning’s glare. “Excuse me?” She squinted in an attempt to make out the man’s face. Bear, Seth’s friend?

  “What’re you doing down there?”

  “Waiting for coffee.” Avoiding Colton. “And hoping I can get it in IV form.”

  He leaned his head out farther. Yes, definitely Bear. She hadn’t talked to him much—but he seemed to show up wherever Seth did. Raegan, too. “You don’t have coffee at home?”

  She stood now, tucking her hands inside the puff vest she’d pulled on over her long-sleeved shirt when she’d left the house. The clock in her car had glared the time as she’d slid into the driver’s seat—5:13—and for a millisecond she’d considered the ridiculousness of leaving the house so early, so barely put together.

  But all it took was one imaginary leap into the future—the thought of sitting around the breakfast table while that woman from last night smiled her belongs-on-the-cover-of-a-dentist’s-brochure smile at Colton—and she’d started the engine and wound up here. Only to find the coffee shop closed.

  “Yes, there’s coffee at home, but here there’s also pastries.”

  “Just a sec.” Bear’s head disappeared.

  Kate folded her arms and turned a full circle on the sidewalk. Maple Valley still slept this early in the morning—grass glistening under a blanket of dew. Only the Blaine River across the street showed signs of life—swirls of blue and brown reaching perilously high.

  “How do you feel about Toaster Strudels?”

  Kate turned back and tipped her head. “What?”

  Bear’s face reappeared at the window. “Megan’s been opening the shop later the past few days. You’ll be lucky if she shows u
p by six-thirty. I’ve got coffee, just found a whole box of strudels in my freezer, and my toaster works just fine.”

  He was inviting her up to his apartment? “I hardly know you.”

  “This is Maple Valley. You pass somebody on the street and say hello and that practically makes you family.”

  He had a point. Besides, he was Seth’s best friend. And Raegan’s crush on the man couldn’t be more obvious if she’d tattooed his name on her arm. Maybe Kate should take advantage of the opportunity to get an inside peek at the guy her sister liked.

  Anyway, the Closed sign on Coffee Coffee’s front door didn’t look to be moving anytime soon. And it was chilly out. And I’m not going back home. Not after she’d practically thrown herself at Colton last night—only to turn around and see Lilah Moore.

  “Promise you’re not a serial killer?”

  “Cross my heart.” He motioned to the side of the building. “Stairs are over there.”

  Moments later, she’d rounded the corner and climbed the wooden steps leading up to a side door. Bear met her at the landing, and wow, up close his size fit his name. Same height as Colton but with even broader shoulders. And unlike Colton’s cobalt eyes, Bear’s were so dark it was hard to distinguish his irises from his pupils.

  She stepped into a kitchen decorated in reds and blacks, from the towels hanging over the oven handle to the red-faced coffeepot, already gurgling to life.

  Bear moved to the counter and pressed down on the toaster. “Probably should’ve mentioned before—if I was a serial killer, I wouldn’t be inclined to tell you. That just wouldn’t be effective.”

  “Is this how you usually find your victims? You lure them up with promises of strudels and coffee?”

  Bear laughed and motioned to the table. “Take a seat.”

  She obeyed, slipping off her vest as she lowered. “Didn’t realize there was an apartment over Coffee Coffee.”

  “I heartily recommend living above a coffee shop. Always smells good. I’d show you the rest of the place, but it’s pretty bachelor-pad-y at the moment.” He pulled a coffee mug from the cupboard.

  “Your kitchen’s nice.”