Trapped and Tackled (Knoxville Coyotes Football #3)

1. Leni

Chapter 1

Leni

“I’m so happy you’re back home!” my best friend Marlowe squeals. As her tone reaches peak pitch, my cell phone skitters across the dashboard of Dad’s truck and drops to the floor beneath the passenger seat. “Leni?”

“Sorry!” I call out, reaching over to grope for the phone. “I dropped you,” I explain as I right myself and slam on the brakes. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” I shout, horrified, to the elderly man, cursing me for nearly colliding with him.

After two years of taking the New York City subway, I may have forgotten how to drive.

I ease around him slowly. He leans on his horn, and I wince, feeling my cheeks flame. Another mistake.

“Don’t you have Bluetooth?” Marlowe asks. “Your phone should automatically sync when?—”

“I’ve got Dad’s truck.”

“Ooh,” Marlowe breathes out. “You should definitely pay attention to the road.”

She’s right. The last thing I need is to wreck Dad’s truck and cause his and Mom’s concern for me to skyrocket higher than it already is. Sighing, I resume my drive to the football training facility where Dad’s conducting training camp. “He caught a ride with some players. He called it team bonding.”

“Which players?” Marlowe interjects, her tone teasing. She likes to flirt with other guys—especially if it will make her boyfriend Toby jealous. Don’t ask me why. Toby’s her high school sweetheart who never should have made it past high school.

“Probably Cohen and Avery,” I offer, mentioning two of Dad’s oldest players. The charismatic wide receiver and celebrated quarterback make up the foundation of the Knoxville Coyotes Football team.

“Meh. I was hoping you would say West Crawford,” my boy-crazy friend replies.

I roll my eyes. Last season, Knoxville’s rookie West helped win the Super Bowl, and it catapulted him to instant fame. But… “He’s having a baby!”

“I know,” Marlowe laments. “And his girlfriend has a closet to die for. I swear, they’re couple goals.”

West Crawford and Nova Martin are more than couple goals. They’re…life goals. Fact.

“How long is your car in the shop for?” Marlowe asks.

“Just a few days. Dad’s turned it on every now and then, but no one’s really driven it for the past two years. Dad wants to check everything before I’m allowed back on the road.”

“Good! So you’ll be all set for my birthday bash in a few weekends!” Marlowe cheers.

I try to smile, but it falls flat, and shame sweeps through me. I should be excited to celebrate my best friend’s birthday. But I’m not in the mood to raise a glass for anything. Or anyone.

Since Craig and I broke up five days ago and I made the tough decision to leave New York and move back home, I have felt like a failure—an epic failure. I’d rather hide than socialize.

I’ve been home in Knoxville for four days—having returned to my parents’ house the night after everything went sideways—and this is the first time I’ve left the house.

Part of me wonders if my car is fine, and Dad is making me pick him up just so I see blue sky and breathe some fresh air. It’s plausible.

“You are coming, aren’t you?” Marlowe asks, and I hear the hurt layered in her tone.

The pit in my stomach expands outward, making me feel nauseous. I clench the steering wheel and roll my shoulders back. “Of course, I’m coming.” Thank God my voice doesn’t shake. In fact, I sound convincing.

“Good!” Marlowe squeals. “You’ve missed the last two,” she reminds me, unintentionally piling on the guilt.

“I’ll be there,” I promise.

Marlowe hosts a weekend bash every year at Toby’s parents’ lakefront home, about an hour and a half from Knoxville. The sunny days are spent out on the lake, the evenings are spent barbecuing, and the nights are spent partying—lots of partying.

“Are you and Freddy grabbing dinner, or do you want to meet Toby and me for pizza?” she asks, switching topics. Except her calling my strict, protective, larger-than-life football coach dad, Friedrich Adler Strauss, her usual nickname Freddy doesn’t make me laugh. All I can focus on is that she’s inviting me to another outing in which I’ll be public-facing.

Forced to smile and talk and act normal.

I swallow, feeling ill at the thought. Gah! I hate how helpless—weak—I am.

It was just a stupid breakup!

It’s more than that , my conscience whispers back.

“You wouldn’t be third-wheeling it,” Marlowe continues before I respond. “Keller’s coming too,” she mentions her cousin and one of our closest friends.

I clear my throat. “Thanks for the invite, but I’m having dinner with Dad.”

“No worries. Now that you’re home, we have plenty of time to grab dinners, drinks, and hang out. Ooh, we can even double date!”

I slam on the brakes at her words, causing the guy behind me to swerve around the truck. He honks loudly and flips me the bird.

Shit! I ease the truck to the side of the road and drop my head to the center of the steering wheel, sucking in a gulp of air.

“You know who’s hot? Brandon Hensil. Remember him? He was in your creative writing class sophomore year. He’s gotten really fit since graduation. Toby’s friends with him and can put in a good word. He works at?—”

“I’m not ready to date,” I manage through clenched teeth.

“Well, maybe not this week since the idea of Craig is still fresh, but…”

I tune Marlowe out as the pit of my stomach slicks with nausea, and my throat closes. The last person I’d let set me up on a date is Toby, but it’s the mention of Craig that cuts. Just hearing his name makes the backs of my eyelids burn with unshed tears.

We met the month after my college graduation, and I fell for him instantly. It was one of those sappy, love-at-first-sight connections I always dreamed would happen to me. And then, it did.

The same week I started my full-time employment at Henley Events,I moved in with Craig.

Those first six months were pure bliss. I guess we were playing house, but nothing had ever felt more real to me.

Safe, steady, and reliable.

He was a finance guy who worked on Wall Street. Nothing like the rowdy, good-time football players my dad warned me to stay away from.

Craig may not bench-press two hundred twenty-five pounds or throw the perfect spiral, but he’s a business-minded visionary who prefers stability—at least, I thought he did.

It’s funny how athletes get the party-guy reputations, but the Wall Street bros who swirl scotch and casually snort cocaine are viewed as “clean-cut.” Either way, things began to spiral until, five nights ago, it all went horribly wrong. I called Mom early the next morning and came straight home.

And since I’ve been back, the harsh reality of life with Craig has trailed after me. The memories and his random text messages that continue to set me on edge—reminding me that even though I’ve left New York, I haven’t escaped him. Not entirely.

Mom and Dad know there’s more to the story than my being homesick, and I’m still unsure how much to confide in them.I’m unsure how much to confide in anyone, which is why I haven’t said anything to Marlowe either. Instead, I put space between us.

As Marlowe continues to chat, I ease back onto the road.

I’ll have to decide quickly because dinner with Dad promises to be an inquisition. In fact, I’m surprised he’s given me four days to adjust to being home. I’m sure that was at Mom’s urging to allow me some time, but Coach Strauss isn’t a patient man when it comes to his daughters’ well-being.

Physically, I’m talking to my best friend.

Mentally, I’m preparing for dinner with Dad.

Emotionally, I’m teetering on the edge.

Should I have left Craig sooner? Am I a failure for leaving New York and a job at a top agency in the city? Was I too na?ve and trusting, and should I have known better from the start?

“Ooh, I gotta go! That’s Toby!” Marlowe interrupts herself.

I blink back unbidden tears. “No worries, Mar,” I mutter. “I’m nearly here anyway,” I add as I turn into the parking lot of the training facility. “Talk to you later?”

“Yes, I’ll call you. Say hey to Freddy, and don’t forget to tell him about my birthday weekend.” She disconnects.

I navigate Dad’s truck into his designated parking spot.

Turning off the ignition, I breathe out a shaky exhale and try to shore up some resolve. Some gumption.

I used to live for dinners with Dad. And the truth is, I miss him and hate the distance that’s grown between us since I moved away. It wasn’t the city that caused the space… It was Craig.No, it was the version I became from being with Craig.

Grabbing my purse, I slide from the truck and call Dad.

“Hey!” his deep voice answers.

“Hi, Dad. I’m here,” I say.

“Good, good. I’m just wrapping up a few things.”

Of course, he is. My dad is fully committed to this team, and he’s always “wrapping things up.” It could mean another ten minutes or another two hours. “No problem.”

“I’ll send a player out to bring you up.”

“Okay,” I agree, my nerves rattling at the thought of interacting one-on-one with a big, burly football player.

I’ve been gone for two years, and save for a handful of the older guys, the Coyotes boasts a newer roster. If he sends a player I don’t know, what will we talk about? What will I say?

And when did I forget how to make small talk?

“Head to the main entrance, and I’ll see you soon.”

“See you.” I click off and turn in the direction of the main entrance.

It’s hot outside, but I relish the sunshine on my skin. For years, New York City was my dream. Fast-paced bustle, high-profile events, and big rewards. Bright lights and shimmering possibilities.

But somewhere over the last two years, I realized I didn’t quite fit, and I didn’t care. I missed blue skies and sunshine, flowy dresses and flower crowns, tailgates and Friday night lights.

I missed my home and my family and the familiar.

My Wall Street boyfriend, the job at the fancy agency, and the apartment with a view of Central Park started to pale in comparison to my hometown.

I’m still struggling to admit that out loud. Somewhere in my mind, I hear Craig scoff at my being “basic.”

I reach the main entrance, and the glass door swings open as a guy steps outside.

I look up and freeze as I come face-to-face with Talon Miller. He’s the Coyotes star kicker. A fun-loving, smirking, wild player who seems to be the life of every party. He made some headlines after the Coyotes won the Super Bowl, and while Dad grumbled about it, he did so with a grin, letting me know he thinks Miller’s all right.

I’ve seen him several times but don’t know him—not how I know Cohen Campbell and Avery Callaway. Miller’s newer to the team, playing for two or three seasons, and I’ve been gone for most of them.

Still, I recognize every Coyotes player on sight and can probably rattle off their stats since my father’s job tends to appear in most of our conversations.

Even more so as I ran out of things to tell him on our weekly phone calls. But if I confided in Dad, he’d be on the next flight to New York.

While most, if not all, of the Coyotes players are good-looking, something about Talon Miller makes me catch my breath.

He’s tall and lean, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. He has reddish-brown hair, cropped close to the sides of his head and left longer on top. Several days of stubble coat his jawline. His full lips quirk into a grin. And his eyes—gray with flecks of green—dance playfully.

He’s nothing like Craig, and as my heart kicks behind my breastbone, a stirring of attraction that I haven’t felt in weeks—months?—flares to life.

I breathe out a sigh of relief that I can still feel something for a man. That I’m not broken.

“I’m finally meeting Leni Strauss,” he says by way of greeting, holding out a hand.

I smile gratefully and place my hand in his, ignoring how large his palm is. His fingers are warm as they wrap around mine. “It’s good to officially meet you, Talon.”

His mouth turns up at the corners, and he releases my hand. I slip it behind my back, aware it still tingles from his touch.

“Your dad’s thrilled you’re back,” he says kindly. All it does is make me feel worse for staying away as long as I did. Talon holds the door open and glances at me. “Are you planning to stay in Knoxville for good?”

Already, the questions start. I know he means them harmlessly—he’s just making small talk. But my heart thumps in my eardrums, and my vision narrows.

Yes. I can’t go back to the city.

The words spin in my mind and sit on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t say them aloud.

I shouldn’t let a breakup keep me from a city I love. But it’s more than that, and no one truly understands.

I slip inside, and he follows.

For good. It sounds so permanent, and yet… I guess it’s the truth. I haven’t had much time to process this new life change.

“That’s the plan,” I reply, my tone too bright. Fake.

He bumps his arm lightly against my shoulder. I stiffen from the contact, a rush of nerves skittering through me. “Happy about it? Or was it hard to leave the big city lights behind?”

I glance up at him, unable to tell if he’s teasing me. His tone is too familiar—after all, we’ve never met. And yet, his questions already prick at things I’m hiding beneath the surface.

He gazes down, his eyes sincere.

“A mix of both,” I answer honestly. “It’s…bittersweet.”

He sighs and nods as if understanding the meaning behind my words. “Hopefully, more sweet than bitter.”

“We’ll see,” I breathe out.

He regards me again, his eyes studying my face, perusing my features as if he’s searching something out. What? A reaction, an emotion?

Does he know? Can he tell?

My eyebrows tug together, confused by our exchange. It’s nothing, and yet…it feels like something. I can’t figure it out. Can’t figure him out.

“Well, your timing is perfect,” he says as he presses the call button for the elevator. Lowering his voice, he quips, “Your Dad went a bit easier on us today.” He grins, and his eyes spark. He’s playful and easygoing, so different from the intensity Craig always exuded.

“Glad I could help,” I reply, surprised by how comfortable I feel around him.

The doors open immediately, and we step inside.

Talon tilts his head and presses the button for floor three. “He missed you.”

I look up, taken aback again. It’s an expected remark, yet Talon says it as if he truly knows Dad. As if he understands Dad’s joy at having his daughter back home.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I missed him, too.”

Talon nods, his grin growing. “Now, if your sister decides to return from Germany, Coach may dance in the end zone.”

I chuckle, the sound jarring as it falls from my lips. I press my fingertips to my mouth. When was the last time I laughed? About anything?

Talon grins back and widens his stance, casually crossing his arms over his chest.

His body heat skates over my skin, and his scent—soap, a hint of cologne, and mint—washes over me. Enclosed with Talon in the elevator, I realize how close we’re standing. I wrap my arms around my middle.

“I’ve always wanted to go overseas,” he offers, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“You’ve never been?”

He snorts, the sound more amused than annoyed. “Nah.”

The doors open again, and I step out slightly ahead of him.

“Never even dreamed about places like Europe before the Coyotes. And since joining the team…” He shrugs.

I want to ask him what that means. Why hasn’t he taken a trip?

“There’s my girl!” Dad’s voice rumbles over me.

Talon shuffles back a step as I turn and smile at Dad. He walks toward me, his arms outstretched, as if it’s been weeks since he’s seen me instead of at breakfast this morning.

I meet him halfway, hugging him hello. “Your truck is fine,” I assure him.

Dad tips his head back and laughs, probably relieved I’m still capable of joking. “Thank God. I was getting worried.”

“You were not.” I smack his arm lightly.

I step out of Dad’s embrace and note Talon studying us, a line pinched between his brows.

“You met Miller,” Dad grunts.

“Yep,” I say.

Talon dips his chin, his eyes still on me. “See you around, Leni,” he says easily. Casually.

And yet, something about his tone tugs deep in my stomach.

Something about him unnerves me, and I have no idea what it is.

“See you,” I reply.

Talon glances at Dad. “Until tomorrow, Coach.”

“Take it easy, Miller,” Dad replies, looking down at me. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” I admit. I’ve barely eaten today. Or for the past few days. Maybe longer.

But from the corner of my eye, I watch as Talon retreats. Even steps, casual gait, and…swagger.

For years, I’ve found my dad’s players handsome. But Talon Miller is downright hot. Sinful. Sexy.

And the realization is more than surprising.

It’s alarming.

Confusing.

“Good. A new steakhouse just opened not too far from here,” Dad continues. “Let me grab my bag from the office.”

“Okay.”

Talon pushes into the stairwell, but he glances back right before he steps through. Our eyes connect.

Stormy gray thunderclouds hold me hostage.

I suck in a breath, and that smirk tugs across his full mouth.

Then, he enters the stairwell, the door swings closed, and I remember to breathe.

Dangerous.