Trapped and Tackled (Knoxville Coyotes Football #3)

7. Leni

Chapter 7

Leni

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask after taking a long pull of my Diet Coke. I ease back in my seat, smiling as Talon takes a swig of his Coke.

When he ordered it—and didn’t opt for a beer, the way Toby always does or a scotch, the way Craig always did—tension drained from my shoulders. Tension I didn’t realize I was carrying until that moment.

“Blue. You?”

“Green,” I admit.

“What’s your favorite band?” he wonders.

“The Burnt Clovers,” I reply.

He chuckles. “You know West has an in with them, right?”

“Stop!” I nearly gush, frowning as an old memory filters through my mind. “I know Derek Reiner was at the Super Bowl but…” I trail off, trying to recall the rest of the story Dad—or was it Lincoln?—shared.

“Yeah. Nova’s best friends with his girlfriend, Allegra.”

I snap my fingers and point toward Talon as it clicks. “That’s right. Lincoln told me that.”

“They play in Tennessee sometimes,” he continues.

I nod. “I’ll remember that. I’d love to see them live.”

“I haven’t been to many concerts,” Talon admits.

“Really?” I lean forward. “Lincoln and I went on a trip to Ireland a few summers ago. There was live music everywhere, spilling out of pubs and onto the streets. It was wonderful,” I sigh, recalling the ease of that summer. The simplicity and the freedom and the being. Enjoying with no strings attached or expectations woven through it.

I haven’t felt like that in a long, long time. The memory of that trip makes me miss my sister. When I put space between myself and my friends and family, I nearly cut Lincoln off.

Not because I wanted to but because deep down, I knew that she’d figure it out. She always was smarter than me.

“Ireland,” Talon murmurs, pulling me back to the conversation. He squints. “I think my mom was Irish. Or maybe Scottish.”

“You think?” I blurt out, before I realize how rude I sound.

Talon shrugs one arm, brushing it off. “I was brought up in the system.”

I frown, trying to understand his words. “Like, foster care?” I ask slowly.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Like foster care.”

My chest squeezes tightly as I realize I don’t know much about Talon. Where were his parents? What happened to his family? “For how long?” I ask instead.

“From when I was three until I aged out.”

“At eighteen?” I confirm, mentally doing the math. Fifteen years.

For fifteen years, Talon was in foster care. Was he with one family? Does he have foster brothers and sisters he keeps in touch with? He doesn’t offer any more information and I don’t know how to ask.

Talon nods. Whatever he reads in my expression has him reaching over the table and tugging my wrist. “Don’t feel bad for me, Sunny Leni. It wasn’t all bad.”

“I’m…I’m not.” I hate when someone gives me their pity or compassion. I hate when people try to relate to my breakup with Craig when they have no idea what it entails. The breakup was the tip of the iceberg—and the portion below the surface was massive and wildly perilous. The last thing I want is for Talon to think I’m pitying him. Or worse, judging.

“I found football,” he continues, and I know he doesn’t believe me. His thumb drags across the skin just above my wrist and it feels nice. Safe. Not a precursor to a pinch. “I found a family in my team.”

“My dad,” I mutter.

“Your dad’s done a lot for me,” he reminds me.

“Do you keep in touch with any of your foster family members?” I ask, trying to understand.

Talon shakes his head, his lips pinched into a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.

I clear my throat, wondering how Talon navigated life for so long, found success, without family to guide him. My family has comprised my entire foundation. And here I am, pushing them away.

“Don’t pity me,” Talon whispers.

I blink and smooth out my expression. “So you might be Irish,” I say, trying to get the conversation back on track. The last thing I want to do is make Talon feel uncomfortable.

He laughs lightly, his eyes sparking with appreciation for my subject change. “Could be.”

“You need to go to a concert,” I decide.

Talon grins, his fingers closing around my wrist loosely. “And what? If I enjoy it, it means I’m Irish.”

I shrug, laughing with him. “I don’t know. It could be telling of your ancestry.” My eyebrows lift. “Have you ever done one of those ancestry DNA tests? That could be?—”

“No,” Talon cuts me off, shaking his head. His laughter is gone and in its place is a seriousness I don’t understand. “I’ve never done it.” He tempers his tone.

I roll my lips together, my eyes silently asking the question I won’t voice: Why not?

Talon sighs. He shakes his head and leans back in his chair, dropping his hold on my grip. A beat passes, and the conversations swirling around us in Alberto’s grow louder as Talon remains quiet. Then, he leans forward and admits, “No one wanted me. After my mom… After my mom lost custody of me, no one came forward as next of kin. If I do the test and there’s a match…a grandparent or an aunt or uncle…” Talon’s voice trails off. “I’ve made peace with where I’m at. I don’t want to go back and have to unpack things I’ve already laid to rest.”

His tone is hard but his words drip with an honesty, a vulnerability, that surprises me. I didn’t think he’d elaborate further but he chose to share this deeply personal information with me.

What does that mean? This isn’t just a football player doing my dad a solid. This is a man confiding in me…and now searching my eyes for what? Understanding? Acceptance?

This time it’s me reaching across the table. I lace my fingers with Talon’s and press our palms together, silently letting him know that I’m here for whatever he wants to share. “I’m sorry you missed out on what could have, or should have, been. And I’m sorry if I pried. I think you’re amazing, Talon.”

He scoffs and I tighten my hold.

“I wish I could be brave enough to talk about the things I’m trying to lay to rest.”

His eyes narrow at that and a muscle in his jaw tics.

“Thank you for taking me out tonight,” I say, infusing my tone with my sincerity. This is a hell of a lot more than just dinner. For me, this is another step forward that I never thought I’d take. Talon elevating our conversation beyond surface level, him trusting me in a way I don’t deserve, heals some of the wounds Craig inflicted.

I’m not a failure at everything. In some things, I am enough.

Talon dips his head and clears his throat. Then, he tilts his chin toward our approaching server. “Here come our tacos. What’s at the top of your bucket list?”

I bite my bottom lip, knowing our conversation was heading into uncharted waters and right now, we need some levity. “Thank you.” I grin at the server when she sets down our plates.

Talon takes a big bite of his taco and groans appreciatively.

“It’s the best here,” I agree, taking a bite of mine. Perfect amount of spice. Fresh ingredients. Chef’s kiss. “See the Northern Lights,” I answer his question.

Talon looks up. “The Northern Lights? Like, when the sky changes colors?”

“Yeah,” I say, chewing another bite of taco. “There’s places above the Arctic Circle where you can stay in an igloo or dome bubble and see the Northern Lights.” I lean closer as excitement fills my veins. I’ve always wanted to see the most spectacular light show on Earth. When I told Craig my desire to see the Aurora Borealis, he rolled his eyes and commented that I sound like a girl who never had to work for my own experiences. But Talon’s looking at me with interest—maybe a bit of awe—in his irises. “You can access these hotels by reindeer-pulled sleighs or snowmobiles. You can even go skiing or wear snowshoes. And at night, you look right through the ceiling and stare up at the sky and just…take it all in. I’d love to see that.”

“Wow,” Talon breathes, his eyes steadfast on mine. “I—I didn’t know that even existed.”

I nod, taking another bite of my taco. “I think that would be incredible.”

Talon nods. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Leni,” he says, surprising me.

For a beat, I wonder if that’s good or bad.

“You like your tacos?” Talon asks, changing the topic again.

“They’re great,” I admit. Our conversation continues, naturally and organically. In fact, with a new thread of trust connecting us, it feels more like a date than two friends grabbing a bite.

It feels like the new beginning I crave.

We order dessert, share funny stories, and talk about the team and Knoxville.

Talon drops me off at Mom and Dad’s and wishes me good night with a raised hand and a crooked smile.

I bite my bottom lip when I ascend the porch steps and turn to give him a little wave before I enter the house. Part of me feels like I’m floating, the time spent with Talon making me giddy.

My parents are already asleep so I get ready for bed. When I climb beneath the covers and check my phone, Craig’s messages appear. For a handful of hours, I nearly forgot about them. About him.

At the reminder, a coldness sweeps through my limbs, replacing the warmth my evening with Talon provided.

Craig: I’m not going to wait forever, Leni.

Craig: You know I’m not a patient man.

Craig: But for you, I’m trying.

Craig: We belong together, Leni. I won’t just let you go.

Shaking my head, I place my phone screen-down and don’t bother replying. Tonight was good and I’m proud of myself for not allowing Craig to ruin in.

Instead, I go to bed feeling more fulfilled, lighter, than I have in ages.

Right before I doze off, I realize I never asked Talon about the top of his bucket list. Or if he has one at all.

“And Mr. Stanson will do the opening remarks,” Marylee shares as the other ladies look down at the their binders, taking notes.

“What about Mr. McIntyre?” Anna Louise asks.

Silence settles over the group. I sit up straighter, my curiosity piqued at the mention of Marlowe’s grandfather.

Marylee glances around the group before lowering her voice. “He’s not attending.”

Sarah Gilbert gasps.

Margaret Jeffries shakes her head, looking disgusted. “Because of the scandal.”

Scandal? I look at Mom. She looks just as bewildered as I feel.

Marlowe didn’t tell me about a scandal…

Mom leans closer and, like a gust of wind, my body follows suit.

“His granddaughter—” Marylee starts.

“Marlowe?” Mom wonders.

“Adeline,” Anna Louise clarifies. Marlowe’s younger sister.

“Caught him putting his hands on Samantha,” Marylee continues.

“That’s his third wife.” Anna Louise glances at Mom and me to catch us up to speed. But of course, I already know that. Marlowe was horrified when her grandfather married Samantha, a woman “only eight years old than me!” Marlowe had cried.

Mom’s body slouches, as if the news is a physical blow. But it is. It always is.

And for me, I feel it right through my chest. My fingers absently reach for the side of my neck, graze along my collarbone.

Craig’s ignored text messages flicker through my mind. Oh, but he must be reeling with anger.

Grandpa McIntyre hit his wife. I shake my head in disbelief, recalling all the dinners I had in his home.

Why didn’t Marlowe tell me?

“Mr. Stanson pushed him out,” Sarah offers, albeit uncertainly.

“And a good fucking riddance,” Anna Louise declares, not looking the least big chagrined for her foul language.

Not that she should. No one should.

Mr. McIntyre hit his sweet young wife and Adeline saw.

Knots tighten in my stomach and nausea rolls up into my throat.

I clasp my hands in my lap, as if pressing my palms together will somehow keep me from coming apart at the seams.

“Will Adeline still attend?” Mom whispers, most likely hoping she isn’t being punished for her grandfather’s fuckup.

“I didn’t realize Adi received an invitation,” I murmur.

Marylee smiles gently. “You’ve been gone a long time, Leni.”

Beside me, Mom reaches for my hand and I let her take it. Things are different now.

“Old McIntyre wanted to ship her off to boarding school immediately after the incident, but Marlowe put her foot down.” Anna Louise bangs the end of her fist against the table to punctuate her words.

“Anna Louise,” Sarah says gently.

“Sorry.” Anna Louise doesn’t look the least bit sorry.

“Marlowe intervened?” I ask, wondering why my friend didn’t tell me…any of this.

Like you’ve been honest with her?

I shake the hard truth out of my mind.

“Sure did. She’s been taking Adeline to the dance rehearsals herself,” Marylee confirms.

“She’s a good sister,” Sarah remarks.

“What about—” I start to ask about Marlowe’s mother, but Mom squeezes my fingers and I swallow back the rest of my question. We’re talking about things no one speaks of in the openness of the club.

At least, not without martinis in hand.

Marylee glances at me, her eyes brimming with sadness.

How many women here have suffered at the hands of our boyfriends, husbands, or relatives? I glance around the table and hate the heaviness that hangs over it. Over us.

Because we all know someone. And in my case…my throat tightens and I curl my fingernails into my palms.

Marylee clears her throat. “Mr. Stanson will do the opening remarks.”

“Right,” Sarah agrees.

And we get back on track with the meeting. With the planned ceremony of events.

With talking about floral arrangements and table linens.

But a stone lands heavily in my stomach and stays there for the rest of the day.

It weighs down my limbs and clouds my mind. So much so that after the long meeting and lunch with the ladies, I change into my swimsuit, pack a bag, and head to the pool.

When I leave the locker room and approach the swimming lanes, two gray-green eyes meet mine and I smile.

For the first time all day, some of the pressure eases. Some of the guilt of not knowing what Marlowe’s been managing lessens.

Talon Miller grins and my heart skips a damn beat.

“Hey there, Sunny Leni,” he calls out, leaning against the edge of the swimming pool like he’s relaxing on a sofa.

“Fancy seeing you here,” I say, drawing closer.

I sit on the ledge, the pool water lapping at my toes.

Talon smirks. “I’m hardly fancy.” He says it jokingly, but I note the seriousness in his eyes.

He’s laid-back, casual, and familiar. Charismatic and fun.

And yet, his tone speaks to a regret. Or, worse, an apology.

“Fancy is overrated.” I shrug, my thoughts still caught up on Grandpa McIntyre.

He cocks his head, looking up at me. “Is it?” he murmurs, before reaching for my hand.

Before I can sort out the meaning behind his words, he tugs me forward and I half fall, half jump into the pool.

“Talon!” I snort, shaking water from my eyes and smacking his shoulder.

“You need to warm up, Leni?”

“Warm up?” I sputter. “For what?”

“You ready to race?”

“You?” I laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t stand a chance, Miller.”

He grins, flexing his muscles obnoxiously. Deliciously. “Care to back up that claim?”

I grip the side of the wall, curiosity piqued. “What are you suggesting?”

“A friendly wager.” His eyes glisten.

“How friendly?” Mine narrow.

And oh, do his spark. “If I win, you let me take you out tomorrow night.”

My heart rate doubles at his words.

Is this another friend date? To prepare for our weekend together?

Or…is this different? More.

My legs kick the water beneath me. Hope rises in my chest and I suck in a breath to temper it.

Talon quirks an eyebrow…waiting.

I clear my throat. “And when I win?—”

He laughs at my word choice and tugs on the end of my ponytail. “I’ll let you pick the restaurant.” He passes me my swim cap. “Get ready, Sunny Leni. We race in ten.”

“What?” I shake my head.

“Nine,” Talon begins to count.

Rushing, I pull on my swim cap and snap my goggles into place.

“Three, Two—” He lowers his goggles and we both get into position. “One. Go!”

I push off the wall and swim as hard as I can. But I’m not desperate to beat Talon Miller. Either way, I win.

Because it means another evening spent with him.