Trapped and Tackled (Knoxville Coyotes Football #3)

11. Leni

Chapter 11

Leni

Marylee clears her throat beside me, and I flinch.

“Pardon?” I ask, my cheeks flushing. I spaced out and didn’t catch a word Sarah said.

Sarah leans forward. “The main flower in the centerpieces. Roses or peonies?”

“Oh.” I sit up straighter, shaking my head to clear it. “Peonies.” I tilt my head, mentally running through the color palette. “Cream and peach.”

“Great,” Marylee agrees, making a note in her binder.

The conversation resumes—canapés selection and the signature cocktail—and my thoughts wander again.

The way I clung to the material of Talon’s shirt.

The warmth of his hand on my cheek, the brush of his thumb over my lips.

His lips—full and parted—arcing over mine.

Stormy gray eyes, brimming with emotions.

A kiss I lost myself in. A man who makes me feel too many things I yearn for.

I shouldn’t have kissed you.

The words I knew all along, but it took Talon saying them for me to remember.

He’s off-limits.

And I’m a terrible judge of where to draw the line.

The months I stayed with Craig. The apologies I accepted when I should have packed my bags.

My fingers skate over my collarbone—a memory that won’t fade even though the bruises did—and other thoughts infiltrate.

The scent of scotch.

Craig’s wild eyes, edged with anger. The twist of his mouth and tightness of his grip.

The condescending words that fell from his lips.

And the messages. A whole thread of unanswered texts.

Craig: Leni, are you ready to talk yet?

Craig: You can’t avoid me forever, sweetheart. I know we argued but moving out was a mistake. Breaking up was a mistake.

Craig: I need you, baby. Give me the chance to fight for us. Call me.

Craig: Leni, come on now.

Lincoln: Leni, stop avoiding me! I miss you! Call me, please.

Craig: What game are you playing? Do you think you can win?

Craig: You know I’ll come for you, right? I won’t let you leave me, Leni. Not forever.

Craig: You belong to me, baby. You’re mine. And you better not fucking forget it.

Talon: Need me to grab anything for this weekend?

Argh! It seems like my MO is indecision. I can’t respond. Can’t react.

Can’t focus on the conversation unfolding around me.

A headache forms, pinching at my temples and gathering over my eyebrows.

My knee bounces beneath the table and my heart rate thrums in my eardrums.

Failure. Not enough. What the hell am I doing with my life?

I glance around the group of women I admire and wonder what they would say if they knew.

Knew that I stayed with a man who put his hands on me.

Knew that I was lusting for one of my dad’s players.

Knew how fucking scared and confused I feel most moments of most days.

I’m not a role model for young women. I’m not a woman who has her shit together—despite the credibility I’ve gained by living in New York City. I’m not marriage material. Or girl boss vibes.

I’m floundering. Making one mistake after another and harboring so many damn regrets, I’m drowning in them.

Faltering spectacularly. Incapable of answering a damn text message. Of putting Craig in his place. Unable to press charges the way I know I should.

I shouldn’t have kissed you.

I’m a fraud. A fake. A fucking joke.

And I can’t take it anymore.

Jumping up from my chair, I gather my belongings.

“Leni?” Sarah asks.

“I’m so sorry,” I stutter, my hand wrapping around the base of my throat.

Nausea churns in my stomach.

“I suddenly don’t feel well,” I admit, relieved I don’t have to add “liar” to my list of faults. Right now, I feel terrible.

Like I’m coming apart at the seams.

“Oh, no. Take care of yourself.” Marylee’s eyebrows pinch together. At the concern in her gaze, I know I must look ill. “John?” she calls out to a member of the club’s staff. “Can you retrieve Ms. Strauss’s car?”

“Absolutely, ma’am.” John scrambles toward the exit.

Anna Louise packs up my binder. She passes it to me with an understanding, compassionate squeeze to my forearm.

And their understanding—their care—makes me feel worse. I don’t deserve them. I don’t deserve this position on the organizing committee when I’m sure there was a list of more qualified candidates.

I don’t deserve anything.

Certainly not Talon.

I shouldn’t have kissed you.

I mutter my thanks and wave away the extra sets of supportive hands as I make my way to the main entrance. I’m so relieved to see my car, I almost hug John.

I dump my belongings in the passenger seat, slide behind the wheel, and point my car toward home.

But I only make it two streets before I pull to the shoulder of the road. Sobs wrack through my body and the dam finally breaks.

I crack and I cry.

My chest heaves and my shoulders shake. Dropping my forehead to the steering wheel, I clutch it with both hands. Everything I’ve held on to for months comes pouring out of me in a deluge of tears, snotty sighs, and then, hysterical hiccups.

Anger and pain.

Betrayal and hurt.

Frustration and confusion.

Uncertainty over the future.

And so much fucking shame.

It pours out, tracks down my cheeks, drops onto my bare thighs.

It’s ugly and messy. Honest and heartbreaking.

I don’t know how long I cry. Only that my cell phone lights up several times in the cupholder it sits in. I can’t bear to read any more messages I’ll most likely ignore so I don’t bother checking.

Instead, I sit on the side of the road until I’m calm enough to lift my head. The blood rushes there, leaving me dizzy. I wipe my fingers over my cheeks and take a deep, cleansing breath.

God, what the hell is wrong with me?

Flipping down the sun visor, I wince at my reflection. I really do look ill. I snap it shut and lean back, pressing my head into the headrest as my breathing regulates.

And the exhaustion hits.

By the time I park in my parents’ driveway, I’m drained. I grip my purse and phone but don’t have the bandwidth to read the messages on screen. Instead, I make it to my room, drop my purse, strip out of my clothes and tug on comfy pajamas, and collapse on my bed.

Pulling the covers over my shoulders, I drift into a weightless sleep that clears my mind, numbs my emotions, and allows my muscles to unclench and my body to relax.

I sleep hard.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Marlowe says, shaking my shoulder gently.

I stir, blinking slowly as her expression comes into view. “Mar?”

“Hey,” my best friend says, leaning against the pillows propped up along my headboard. “You were out cold.”

“Yeah,” I agree, stretching silently. Marlowe’s had a key to Mom and Dad’s house since the fourth grade. It’s not uncommon for her to pop by unannounced, but it’s been a long time since she’s done so since I’ve been away for two years. “What’s going on?” I frown, noting the uncertainty in her expression.

Marlowe sighs and shakes her head as I pull myself into a seated position.

“Marlowe?” I press. Did something else happen with Grandpa McIntyre?

My best friend sighs. “Something’s going on with my family.”

I inch closer to her, laying my head on her shoulder. “I heard about your grandfather.”

She shakes her head. “It’s more than that, Leni. Adi is so stressed about the debutante ball; my grandfather is awful. Poor Samantha. But my parents…”

“What?” I whisper, nervous. Marlowe’s parents aren’t as involved in her life the way my parents are in mine, but they’re present.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Something is going on. They’ve both been acting differently…around me, around each other. Whenever I ask, they say it’s just the stress of dealing with Grandpa, but I think it’s something else.”

“Oh, Marlowe. Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, wincing as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

Marlowe shifts and looks at me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Len, but you haven’t really been around lately. And I don’t mean physically. When you first moved to New York, we still talked all the time but after you moved in with Craig…”

“Things changed,” I fill in the blank. Of course, she’s right. The more controlling Craig became, the more I tried to mold myself to be the woman he wanted, the more I pulled away from my family and friends. The more distance I put between myself and Marlowe. “But you have Toby,” I add, trying to diffuse my guilt.

“It’s not the same thing,” Marlowe says, her green eyes glinting. “And you know it.”

I sigh and nod. “I’m sorry.”

“I am too. Besides, things with Toby are…”

I wait for her to continue. When she doesn’t, I press my shoulder lightly against hers.

“Rocky,” she finally says. “Whenever we’re together, we drink. Usually, I drink too much and…things are different with him too.”

“For how long?” I wonder.

She snorts. “I don’t know. We’ve always been complicated.”

“Yeah,” I agree, thinking of Craig. Were we complicated from the beginning, and it took me too long to realize it? There were red flags that I ignored, mentally coloring them beige instead.

“What the hell happened with Craig anyway?” Marlowe asks, reading my mind. This time, there’s a glint to her eyes, an understanding, that wasn’t there the first time she asked me when I arrived home.

I close my eyes and snuggle against her shoulder. “It was bad, Mar,” I murmur, my voice scratchy.

“How bad?” She squeezes my hand, a silent show of strength. And one I need if I’m going to admit all the things I’ve been bottling up for months.

“I had to leave.” My fingers twist together, my nails cutting into my hands. “Craig was…complicated. Controlling.” I hold my breath the second the words pierce the air.

Marlowe wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I snuggle closer. She doesn’t say anything and her acceptance, her lack of judgement, encourages me to continue speaking.

“When things became stressful at work, he would drink. And when he would drink, he’d get mean. Violent.”

Her hand tightens on my shoulder, her fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt. “Did he ever hit you?”

I nod, my eyes welling with tears. “It was only?—”

“Don’t do that,” she cuts me off. “Even one time isn’t a justification, Leni.”

I close my eyes as a tear slides down my cheek. “I know.”

“But you left. You came home,” Marlowe points out.

“I should have left sooner.” I sound miserable. But how could I not? Admitting this, even to my best friend, is like shining a glaring spotlight on all my mistakes. On all the times I should have spoken up but didn’t. Should have left but stayed.

“You got out, Leni. Don’t look back and beat yourself up. The truth is you’re here and you’re safe. You’re back.”

I pull in a deep breath, hold it in my chest for several heartbeats, and release it. “I’m back.”

“Have you talked to anyone? Like, a professional? Or the police?”

“No,” I admit, feeling defeated.

“You still can.” Her voice is gentle.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll think about it.” But will I?

“You seem more like yourself than you have in over a year,” Marlowe comments. “Calmer. Happier. Just…more you.”

I nod, smiling softly. “I feel more like myself too.”

Except for Craig’s messages, which continue to light up my phone, I feel stronger too. More in control of my future. More capable of making life decisions.

While a small part of me wonders, and worries, if Craig will show up in Knoxville, a larger part of me knows I’m safe. Dad and his entire football team would have my back and knowing that some of the strongest, fastest, and biggest men in the country would show up for me eases my mind. It’s something Craig knows too and I imagine that’s why he’s still sending me texts instead of knocking on Dad’s front door.

“Does Talon Miller have anything to do with that?” Marlowe wonders and I hear the curiosity laced in her tone.

I’m silent for a long beat before a tiny chuckle falls from my lips.

“Oh my God!” Marlowe swats at me. “Are y’all dating?”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “Nothing like that.”

“But you want to?” she presses.

“We kissed!” I squeal. Then, I smack a hand over my mouth. Fresh tears well in my eyes and Marlowe’s gaze studies my face. “Marlowe, what is wrong with me? I just got out of a terrible, dangerous relationship. And I’m giddy because one of my dad’s football players has been tasked with chaperoning me next weekend.”

Marlowe grins slowly. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Leni. You just forgot what butterflies feels like. It’s no surprise that Craig stopped making you feel anything but fucking nervous. He strikes me as a dude with a small dick who needs to overcompensate by being fucking evil.”

I roll my lips together before another laugh erupts. “He did have a small, limp dick!”

Marlowe’s eyes widen at my outburst and then, the tension, the past year of space, the heartache and hurts, shift. Crack. Implode. Erupt.

And we both start howling.

Sobbing.

Reaching for each other, hugging and holding on, like our lives depend on it.

The soft cotton of Marlowe’s thin T-shirt absorbs my tears. Her long nails tangle in the ends of my hair. And our laughter, bordering on hysterical, mingles in the space between us. Around us.

Everything is a fucking disaster.

Marlowe’s family is falling apart.

My romantic life is in fucking shambles as I lust after one of my dad’s players even though my abusive ex-boyfriend is blowing up my phone.

But one of the missing pieces of my life snaps back in place, moving the puzzle closer to completion.

I have my best friend back. Really, truly back. Without the awkward silences. Without being confused about how much I can confide. Without wondering if she’ll judge me for being weak, pathetic, na?ve.

“We’re back, Leni,” Marlowe confirms my thoughts, and I hug her harder.

“I’m sorry I allowed so much time and space to pass.”

“Don’t do that either,” she reminds me.

I snort, she laughs, and then, we cry.

It’s cathartic and necessary. It’s a homecoming I never knew I needed but cling to with both hands.

I have my best friend back and knowing that fills me with lightness.

With courage.

With hope.

My growling stomach interrupts our reunion.

“You need to fucking eat,” Marlowe admonishes. “You’re too damn thin.”

“It’s the nerves,” I share, not holding anything back anymore.

Marlowe’s brow furrows. “But you’re home now.”

“He’s still texting me.” I unlock my phone screen and shove it into her hands.

“Leni!” Marlowe shrieks, waving around my phone. “This is serious.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Do you think? He could just be?—”

“No. Craig is fucking unstable. He put his hands on you.”

“Shh!” I interject, slamming my palm over her mouth. The last thing I need is for one of my parents to overhear that truth.

Marlowe rolls her eyes, and I remove my hand.

“Your dad is still at work and your mom went to Pilates. I saw her on my way inside,” Marlowe explains. “But you should tell them, Leni. This isn’t something to take lightly.” She passes me back my phone. “I don’t trust him and neither should you. My parents made that mistake and if Samantha wasn’t the woman she is, my grandfather could have very easily ended up hurting Adi.”

I suck in a sharp breath, recognizing the truth in her voice. It could have been Adeline—a point I wasn’t willing to consider until Marlowe said it.

“I’m sorry, Marlowe.”

She sighs and drags the back of her hand over her eyes. “So am I.”

“Want some pie from Annabelle’s?” I offer, remembering Talon’s parting gift.

I shouldn’t have kissed you.

Hurtful words but at least he gave me the pie to eat my feelings.

Marlowe quirks an eyebrow. “What kind?”

“Buttermilk.”

She grins. “Why the hell are we still sitting here, crying, when we can be inhaling pie and divulging every detail about your kiss with Talon?”

“Shh!”

Marlowe laughs and slips off my bed. “I want to hear everything.”

“It’s not that exciting. He said he shouldn’t have kissed me afterwards.” I flick a hand dismissively even though I hardly feel indifferent about it.

“Well, of course, he did. He could fuck his entire career and he knows it. But clearly, knowing he shouldn’t kiss you and being able to keep his lips off yours are two different things.” Marlowe fans herself and shoots me a smile.

I gape at her. In a handful of sentences, she’s managed to reframe the entire scenario that led me to go to bed early. “Do you really think so?”

“Totally.” By the sincerity in her tone and the flicker in her eyes, I know she’s being truthful. She really believes that Talon wanted to kiss me.

Another sliver of hope flickers to life in my heart and while I know I should shut it down, I don’t.

It feels too good. Right.

Hm. Is that how Talon felt too?

“I want all the details with my pie,” Marlowe reminds me.

“Right.” I slide off my bed and jam my feet into fluffy slippers. “Are you excited for your birthday weekend?”

“I am now that you and Talon are coming.”

I glance at her over my shoulder as we descend the stairs toward the kitchen. “Toby?” I ask the obvious.

She shrugs. “Things have been weird lately. Just…different. I don’t know, Len. I have this feeling that everything is about to change. And even though I can’t pinpoint what or how, it’s unshakeable.”

I flip on the kettle for our tea and stack two plates on top of the pie box. “Would that be the worst thing?”

She looks at me, her expression curious. Not upset or scared. Just unsure. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you know you can talk to me about anything,” I remind her as I slice two pieces of pie.

“And you too,” she says seriously. “I can’t do this again.” She gestures between us before sitting down at the kitchen table and reaching for her plate. “I need you too much, Len. You’re my best friend.”

I pass her a fork. “Marlowe, you’re like my other sister. I’m sorry.”

“Speaking of sisters, you need to reach out to Lincoln.”

“She called you?”

“Twice,” Marlowe confirms.

I sigh. “I miss her too.”

“She’ll understand, Leni. She loves you. We both do.”

“I love you, too.”

Marlowe smirks and lifts her fork in the air. I tap it with mine. “We’re back, baby.”