Trapped and Tackled (Knoxville Coyotes Football #3)

3. Leni

Chapter 3

Leni

“Don’t get any ideas about my players now that you’re back,” Dad warns, pointing a French fry at me. “And single.”

He’s baiting me.

I don’t fall for it. “Mom says you need to lay off the fried food.”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not.” I flick my fingers at him before popping one of his fries into my mouth. “You needing to prioritize your health is a fact.”

He glowers. I grin.

“And,” I reassure him, “I’m not going to suddenly fall for one of your players when you’ve been warning Linc and me away from the team since we were like fifteen.”

“My rules stand,” Dad carries on. “Just because you’re an adult now?—”

“I’ve been an adult since I turned eighteen,” I remind him, pausing to take a swig of my Diet Coke.

“You’re still living under my roof. And my rules stand.”

I smirk, loving how much he cares. While Craig’s interference in my personal life came from a place of control, Dad’s comes from a place of love. “I know, Dad. I got it.”

“Good,” he grunts. And then, “How torn up are you over Craig?”

I sigh, letting my shoulders slump. “Mom told you to ask, huh?”

Dad nods in confirmation. “But even I know when you’re hurting, Leni Lou.” He uses the nickname my parents used to call me as a kid to soften the blow this topic delivers. “I know you’re putting on a brave face.”

I nod, blinking to keep my tears at bay. The truth is, I’m not that good at putting on a brave face. Or pretending everything is cool when it’s not. Or acting like my heart isn’t shattered and my dreams aren’t splintering. But are they? “I thought I was going to marry him.” My voice cracks and Dad winces.

“I know,” he murmurs, reaching across the table to place his large, rough hand on mine. “He seemed like a good one. What happened anyway?”

I sigh, biting my bottom lip. My parents don’t know how many hours Craig worked. How some nights, he wouldn’t come home until three a.m., reeking of booze, his eyes too bright.

They don’t know how controlling he became, commenting on my choices of clothing and inspecting my makeup to ensure my lipstick was demure, not bold.

The more he worked, the more he drank. And the more he drank, the more a mean streak emerged.

But I can’t tell my father that. He’d head up to the city and beat the piss out of Craig.

Besides, my hurt over things going sideways also stems from my guilt in staying with Craig for as long as I did. I naively hoped things would change. I thought that if I could be enough for him, he would fight for me. For us.

I wanted to be the reason he got help and got better. By conjuring that mental fantasy where my love for him would be enough to inspire a change, I allowed myself to stay in a dangerous situation.

But the gash on my arm and the bruises on my neck were the last straw. The one that broke the camel’s back, buckled my knees, and nudged me to call Mom.

I don’t want to share that with Dad. I don’t want to admit that I stayed with Craig through the shouting matches and the night he threw a bottle of scotch against the wall. The time he slapped me across the face. I don’t want to tell him how I started cutting off my friendships, ignoring Marlowe, and sending Lincoln’s calls to voicemail. Or growing unbearably homesick and not knowing how to vocalize it.

I’ve failed at everything I pursued in the city and now I’m back home, with my tail between my legs. I don’t know where to go from here.

In response to his question, I shrug. “We…grew apart,” I reply lamely, layering my lie with a tiny morsel of truth.

“Hm,” Dad murmurs, watching me closely. “That happens sometimes.”

“Yeah.” I take a bite of my steak. I know it’s delicious, but I hardly taste it. Not with my stomach in knots and my knee bouncing beneath the table.

Dad wipes his mouth with a folded napkin and regards me carefully. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right, Len?”

I nod, tears burning the backs of my eyelids. “I know.”

“I won’t judge you.” Dad pauses. “Too hard anyway.”

I snort. “I’m sure.”

He grins, then shakes his head. “We all make mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them. But Craig, he seemed solid. A smart, ambitious, reliable man.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, my throat tightening. “He seemed like a lot of things.”

Dad stares at me curiously before polishing off his T-bone.

Before he can press me further, I blurt out, “Marlowe’s celebrating her birthday at Toby’s parents’ place on the lake in a few weekends.”

Dad quirks an eyebrow.

“Your house, your rules…” I prompt, letting him know that I’m looking for him to give me the go-ahead even though I hardly need it.

He sighs and wipes a palm over the lower half of his face. “She’s still with Toby, huh?”

“On and off,” I confirm.

Dad nods. “Let me think about it.”

“Dad—”

“I know you don’t need my permission, Len, but I appreciate you checking in anyway. Just, let me think things over, okay?”

“Okay,” I agree as the server stops at the end of the table.

Dad asks for the check and settles the bill.

We ride home together, listening to some throwback music and talking easily. When we enter our house, Dad kisses the top of my head and disappears into his office.

I find a note from Mom that she joined a friend for dinner since Dad and I went out for a bite.

Sighing, I plop down on a barstool at the kitchen island and pull out my phone. Life here is quieter…simpler…than it was in the city. There, I felt a need to keep up appearances.

My evenings were spent preparing for Craig to return from work. I used to cook his favorite meals and try my hand at crafting cocktails. I would set the table with a different aesthetic or play with my makeup and hair.

I kept thinking that if I could get it right, be what he wanted me to be, things would get better.

I practically burned out from trying so hard and things only worsened.

This is a fresh start. A new beginning.

I drop into my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I always wanted to be an event planner, a wedding planner, specifically. To help create a vision for two people on the brink of creating one life. To celebrate their love.

My friends used to tease me for being a hopeless romantic.

These days, I just feel hopeless.

Sighing, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

“Wake up, Leni Lou!” Mom tugs the curtains in my room wide open, letting the sunlight stream in.

“Mom!” I groan, clapping a hand over my face.

I sit up groggily and glare at her.

She beams and claps her hands together. “I have the perfect project for you to get out of this funk.”

Funk. I wince, absently rubbing along my collarbone where Craig’s nails bit into my skin. Where the tightness of his hold on my throat left bruises. “What is it?”

“The Clarke Country Club Debutante Ball!” Mom squeals.

Oh, gosh. My mouth drops open. “Mom! That’s an actual event,” I hiss. It’s one my mother participated in years ago, when she was seventeen years old. Since then, she’s faithfully served on the organizing committee. But when she asked Lincoln and me to participate in the debutante ball, we both respectfully declined.

It was too…serious for me then. And now, with my life in shambles, I’m even less qualified to participate in an event of that magnitude. Even as a member of the planning committee. Even as a volunteer.

“I know.” Her smile softens. “I had dinner with Marylee Picolin last night and she told me that Claire Tipton?—”

“The Claire Tipton,” I repeat, emphasizing Tipton . The Tipton family has hosted and organized the event for as long as I can remember.

Mom sits on the edge of my bed and reaches for my hand. “Claire is expecting her first baby and was just put on bedrest. She’s in no shape to oversee the event and needs her mom and sisters to help her over the next few months. As a result, the organizing committee is taking on new members. And here you are—with a wealth of New York City experience under your belt.”

“It was one year,” I remind her.

“Plus a year of interning.” She holds up two fingers. “It could be a great opportunity for you, Len. You’d network with so many of the town’s families. And with weddings becoming more and more popular in Tennessee…”

I sigh, knowing she’s right. I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Do you really think I have anything to offer?”

Mom’s eyebrows tug together and her smile slips. “Of course I do. The question is why you don’t? Leni, you are talented, creative, and compassionate. There’s nothing you can’t do.” Spoken like a true mother.

I arch an eyebrow.

“The committee’s been planning for months. Now, it’s more about final details and execution.” Mom taps my hip. “Come on, get up. We’re meeting the ladies at the country club in an hour.”

“You agreed that I’d join?!” I gasp.

Mom tilts her head, studying me. Then, she stands. “A year ago, you would have jumped at the chance.”

Disappointment swirls in my stomach as my fingers clench the hem of my sheet. Mom’s right. A year ago, I would already be in the shower, mentally creating a vision board for the event. Table decor and flower arrangements. Table layouts and a menu.

But…the debutante ball is a big deal. What if I suggest an idea and it flops? What if I disappoint the Tiptons? What if?—

“What’s going on, Len?” Mom’s tone is softer. Her eyes…worried.

Guilt expands in my chest, traveling up my throat until I feel sick. The last thing I want is to worry my mom. To disappoint her.

“Nothing.” I shake my head, swinging my legs to the side of my bed. “I’ll shower and get ready to go.”

I stand and my knees nearly buckle beneath me. I dash into the bathroom, slamming into the vanity as soon as the door is closed behind me.

Black dots flicker in the periphery of my vision and the taste of adrenaline floods my mouth.

Bracing my arms on the ledge of the vanity, I suck in deep breaths. The edge of a panic attack shimmers around me as my heart rate skyrockets.

I hold the ledge of the vanity tightly, forcing myself to get a grip on reality.

Everything is fine. I’m fine.

I’m not going to fail at this. I’m not a failure.

“Leni.” Mom knocks on the bathroom door.

Shit. I meet my wild, unfocused eyes in the mirror and wince. Working a swallow, I turn and flip on the showerhead. The running water soothes me as much as it drowns out the sound of my ragged breathing.

What if I ruin the ball? What if I have no ideas? What was Mom thinking?

“Yes?” I heave over the sink.

“I left a dress on your bed. I think it will look beautiful on you.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I pull in air. “Thanks, Mama.”

I haven’t called her mama in years, and I know the moment she hears it because her gasp is audible.

Silence hangs between us and I can feel her presence, standing, waiting, just outside the bathroom door.

I take in another breath, get my thoughts under control, and slowly pull myself together. Then, I step into the shower and scrub until my body and mind are clean once more.

“Leni Strauss! You look amazing!” Marylee Picolin announces.

I blush under her praise and kiss her cheeks in greeting. “How are you, Marylee?”

“Wonderful, darling.” She lowers her voice. “But you must tell me your secret. You must be a size two now!”

I drop my chin, forcing a smile.

Anxiety, guilt, and failure will do that to a woman. Not a weight loss cocktail I recommend.

Of course, I don’t say that. I just titter a laugh and let her lead me to the waiting table of women.

“Welcome home, Leni! We missed you.” Anna Louise Shreider waves.

The warmth with which the women receive me eases some of my panic. Mom and I sit down at the table with the perfectly coiffed society ladies. We exchange greetings, fix our tea, and get down to business.

As Marylee explains the event, the vision, and their current plans, I begin to relax. The debutante ball—while a staple in our town—isn’t as elaborate as some of the weddings I helped bring to life for Manhattan’s high society.

When we start to discuss the design aesthetic, I jump in with suggestions that the women gobble up. Beside me, the tension Mom was holding in her shoulders and back ease. Beneath the table, I reach for her hand, and she finds mine, squeezing my fingers reassuringly.

I press my thanks into her palm and know that she operated with my best interests at heart.

I can do this; I can help plan Knoxville’s debutante ball.

Craig: I miss you, Leni.

My heart rate ticks up at Craig’s text message, and I grip my phone tighter. I scan the thread of our exchanges, noting that my last reply was before that night. Before I left. And still, he continues to message me.

He’s relentless.

Shaking my head, I try to brush off the panic that sparks with any mention of Craig. There are hundreds of miles between us and I’m safe, here in my hometown, in my parents’ house.

After a busy day and a leisurely lunch with Mom, I feel more like myself than I have in a year. I’m more relaxed, less on edge, and filled with energy.

There’s no way I’m letting Craig—and the memory of what was—ruin it.

In my room, I tug on my swimsuit and toss a towel, goggles, and an old swim cap into a backpack.

“Dad!” I call out, knowing he’s busy at work in his office. “I’m heading to the pool to get some laps in. I’m taking your truck.”

“Drive carefully!” he yells back.

I swipe his keys from the hook by the door, fingering the little AirTag attached to his keyring for all the times he misplaces them, and make my way to his truck.

I blast music on the ride to the community pool, singing along at the top of my lungs and laughing to myself. When was the last time I felt this carefree?

This…happy and excited for the future?

After stowing my items in the locker room, I make my way out to the pool, snag an empty lane, and dive into the cool water. It sluices over me as I come up for air, inhaling deeply. Then, I swim laps, allowing myself to get lost in the comfortable, monotonous strokes. My mind clears, my breathing evens out, and I settle into a steady pace, relishing the feel of my body cutting through the water.

At least, until I take a break at the wall, look to the left, and come face-to-face with Talon Miller.

“Sunny Leni.” He grins.

Sunny Leni? My heart rate increases as I grip the side of the pool.

Does he have a nickname for me?

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Same as you,” he says, gesturing toward the pool. His eyes—more green than gray in the pool water—spark with amusement. “Swimming laps.”

I force myself not to look down and check him out. Which is harder than it should be.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve never seen you here before.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Haven’t you only been home a few days?”

I dip my head, feeling my cheeks redden.

I’ve never seen you here before. What a dumb thing to say!

“Stevens added more pool time to my schedule,” Talon explains.

“Oh,” I say, feeling embarrassed.

“You look good out there, Len.”

Surprise fans out in my chest, mixing with disbelief. “I do?”

I expect him to flip a joke my way. Instead, he regards me seriously. “You’re a strong swimmer. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

My throat dries at the sincerity in his gaze, and I work a swallow. “Oh. Um, I?—”

One side of Talon’s mouth ticks up as he grips the wall beside me and hoists himself out of the pool. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“No, you’re not,” I sputter, unsure what to say.

Besides, any words I was capable of speaking have fled my mind. Because now I’m looking up at Talon. And, my God, is he a sight.

Water droplets slide down the length of his strong, hard body. His quads are thick and his wet bathing suit sticks to them, outlining his muscles. His abs ripple, the droplets of water tossing the reflection of the fluorescent lights. Broad shoulders flex as he reaches for a towel. He drags it over his hair, closing his eyes, and I fight the moan that climbs up my throat.

Is he doing this on purpose? To tease me? He must know how hot he is… He must know the effect he has on people in his immediate vicinity. He’s striking without trying to be.

And what is wrong with me, ogling this man like he’s up for grabs. Like I’d ever be in his orbit to grab him.

He’s strong enough to crush me and while that should warn me to stay away, I find myself mesmerized by him.

I press my thighs together, relieved he can’t see as I hug the pool wall. I clear my throat. “I’m done too.” I push up, hoisting myself out of the pool.

My one-piece bathing suit is simple. Black with thin straps.

It’s one Craig made me purchase when he learned about my early morning swims at the gym.

But Talon Miller stares at me, drinks me in, like I’m rocking a string bikini.

Awareness spikes through my body and desire beckons. My nipples pebble from the cold—or maybe his attention?—and his gaze drops to my chest.

I wrap my arm around my middle, unsure what to do next. Do I reach for my towel? Yank off my swim cap?

Talon puts a stop to my spiraling thoughts by scooping up my towel and holding it open before wrapping it around my shoulders.

“Thanks,” I say as I pull off my swim cap, gripping it in the same hand as my goggles. My other hand tugs out my hair tie and my damp hair tumbles around my shoulders.

Talon makes a sound in the back of his throat, and I look up.

His eyes are darker than they were a second ago. The green has been eaten by slate and steel.

I blink and he looks away, gripping the back of his neck.

“You need a ride home, Leni?” he offers, his voice huskier.

I shake my head. “I have Dad’s truck.”

Talon clears his throat and tosses his towel over one shoulder. “Okay.”

He moves to turn around and suddenly, I don’t want him to go.

Today was a good day, the best day I’ve had in a while, and I don’t want to go home and be alone. I don’t want to think about the past or wonder when Craig will text again.

“I’m going to get some ice cream,” I sputter, feeling like a dolt the second the words are out of my mouth.

Talon pauses and glances at me over his shoulder. His gaze is intense, his eyebrows pulled together with a little line forming in the center. “I like ice cream.”

I work a swallow, shuffling from one foot to the next. “Do you want to…get an ice cream cone with me?”

My God. I cringe at how desperate I sound. Pathetic. Childish.

Talon turns to face me fully and my eyes drop to his chest. To his washboard abs. To his golden skin.

He steps toward me, and I watch as his feet near mine.

His finger curls beneath my chin and he gently lifts my face to his.

I forget to breathe as Talon studies me. Searches my eyes. Digs beneath my expression. Looks at me and sees more than I want to show. He drops his hand, and I wince, preparing myself for his rejection.

What the hell was I thinking? It was stupid.

“I—” I begin to backtrack.

Talon’s expression softens and his eyes spark with flecks of moss green. “Yeah, I’d love to take you for an ice cream cone, Sunny Leni.”

He would? The pressure in my stomach eases as I let out an exhale brimming with relief. A smile slowly spreads across my mouth as my new nickname registers.

Sunny Leni. He said it again and even though I don’t understand why he chose that nickname, I like that he gifted it to me.

I like that he equates me with sunshine. I haven’t felt like that woman in years but being around Talon, even these brief encounters, reminds me that a long time ago, I was positive and hopeful. Sunny.

Talon shakes his head before reaching for my hand. He tugs me toward the locker rooms.

“Come on,” he says, pushing the women’s door open for me and holding it while I slip through. “I’ll wait for you out front.”

“Okay,” I agree. The swinging door closes behind me.

Then, I rush to my locker, relieved I brought shampoo and conditioner. I shower quickly, pull on the summer dress and sandals I packed, and finger comb my hair before blasting it with a blow-dryer so it’s not soaking wet. I braid it quickly, swipe lip gloss across my lips, and study my reflection.

It’s hardly a date since I’m not ready to date. Besides, I could never be with one of Dad’s football players. But it’s the cherry on top of today and right now, I’m holding on to this feeling of lightness with both hands.