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“Trent, Jaden and I were just working on the three Ps,” Chris offered.
Trent ticked off his fingers, remembering. “Pressure, push, pull.”
“Yeah.” The boy’s smile stabbed through him, because part of Trent wanted the smile to be aimed just at him. Deep down, he hated that he was standing alongside his son, his boy, and the kid had no clue he was shoulder-to-shoulder with his very own father.
But the smile soothed as well, the boy’s obvious well-being and good adjustment a huge balm to Trent’s tattered soul.
“I’ll take center,” he offered. Trent exchanged a look with Chris. “I’ll snap to Jaden and then you can give him the lowdown on what to do next. What to watch for.”
“Good deal,” Chris said.
“Hey, guys! Can we work with you?”
Two boys roughly Jaden’s age straddled worn bicycles at the field’s edge, their looks hopeful. Chris arched an eyebrow toward Trent. “You mind?”
“The more the merrier.”
A smile eased the tension he’d noted in Chris’s jaw, just enough to tell Trent the other man knew the score, and that raised a question in his mind. Did Chris know because it was that obvious or had Alyssa told him?
The former, Trent decided. He was pretty sure that Alyssa would keep this under wraps as long as she could, but with the striking resemblance between father and son, people would know. That thought was confirmed the first time he saw Jaden lob a spiral that hit his targeted receiver dead-center, the ball’s spin textbook-perfect.
“You played before moving here?”
Jaden shrugged. “Not like on a team or anything.”
“No?” The boy’s reluctant admission raised Trent’s ire. “Really?”
“I just practiced a lot.”
“Well.” Trent mentally chalked the boy’s response on his check-this-out-later list and nodded. “It worked. You’re solid. Try this, though, when you fade right.” Easing back, scanning down field, Trent appeared to be heading right but ended up to the left.
Jaden laughed appreciation for the move. “Do it again. I was too busy watching you to see what your feet were doing.”
Trent demonstrated again, noting how Jaden studied his foot moves as if committing them to memory. “That totally jukes the other team.”
“Until they figure it out,” Trent admitted. “But it’s a good move to have in your arsenal.”
Jaden nodded. “I’ll practice it at home. I like learning new things.”
That statement said a lot about the boy’s nature. Open. Eager. So much like him. Another knife stabbed Trent, regret twisting within. How he would have loved to guide the boy’s first step, his first pass, his first no-training-wheels two-wheeler ride.
But it hadn’t happened, and there was no recouping time. Trent’s childhood made him understand that better than most.
Three more middle school boys came along and joined the impromptu drills. Studying Jaden’s moves, seeing his easy leadership among the other boys, Trent shoved regret aside more than once. Chris left the group with a quick nod of understanding to Trent about an hour later, just minutes before Alyssa pulled to the curb. She stood alongside her car watching, not interrupting Jaden’s session, the cool evening breeze making her draw her yellow hoodie tighter.
Trent left the boys to their own devices and trotted her way, pretending not to notice how his approach hiked her anxiety. But her body language spoke volumes. She tightened her stance, shifted her gaze and nervously bit her lip. He couldn’t read her full expression because her eyes were shaded by inexpensive sunglasses, the setting sun blinding the east side of the field.
“How did it go?”
“He’s amazing.”
A tiny smile of agreement softened her clenched mouth. “He is.”
“He says he never played formally. Is that right?”
A frown replaced the smile. “That’s right.”
“Who taught him?”
“He’s self-taught mostly. I had a DVD of old Super Bowl games and he’d watch that thing again and again, studying the moves of the players, the teams. And then he’d practice in the backyard, or in his bedroom. He’s been running plays since he could walk. So much like you.”
Her last words were spoken on a breath of wind, light and soft, wafting away, almost as if she didn’t want him to hear them.
But he did.
“Does your husband work with him?”
Her jaw tightened before she shrugged. “He did. Some.”
Anger mixed with envy shimmied upward, grabbing Trent somewhere around his throat. He couldn’t imagine having a kid as smart, bright and capable as Jaden and not working with him, not coaching him, not spending every moment he could to help the boy develop skills that opened doors of opportunity. What kind of man shrugged off a kid with Jaden’s capabilities? Was it because he was the boy’s stepfather?
Trent’s defense mechanism clicked into high gear just as Alyssa tried and failed to stifle a yawn. She shook her head. “Sorry.”
Something in the way she said that, the way she tried to cover her move, tugged Trent forward. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
She wasn’t. He could see it. Feel it. But, hey, not his business, right?
She yawned again, then looked downright aggravated beneath the dark lenses. Surprising both of them, Trent reached out and tipped her shades up.
“Hey.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Guilt edged away a corner of anger. “Is worrying about me keeping you from sleeping?”
The look she slanted him had “duh” written all over it.
Growling, he strode two steps away, ran a hand through his hair, turned and came back. “Listen, I—”
She forestalled whatever he said with a shake of her head. “The last thing I want or deserve is your sympathy. Or your apology.”
Her choice of words tweaked the protector within him. Deserve?
Jaden’s voice interrupted them. “Hey, Mom. How’s Cory?”
“All right. No fever right now.”
The boy moved closer, his demeanor reflecting the struggle of leaving a great evening with new friends. Football-loving friends at that. “Do you want me to stop now so you can get home to her or can we stay a few minutes more?”
Trent added considerate to the list of Jaden’s qualities.
“Grandma said she’s sound asleep, so we’re fine, honey. Keep playing.”
Despite her weariness, she was willing to let him have time with new friends, learn new skills. Trent tried to find fault with that and couldn’t, then put two and two together. “Somebody’s sick? Besides your dad?”
“My little girl. She’s three and I think the move wore her out. She caught back-to-back colds and it’s taking a toll.”
“On her and you.”
Lyssa shrugged.
“Will she sleep tonight?”
“Who knows? Coughing kept her up last night. Hopefully tonight will be better.”
“What’s the doctor say?” he pressed.
Alyssa’s hesitation said more than her easy words. “It’s just a cold. Runny noses and coughs are part of childhood.”
She didn’t quite pull off the matter-of-fact attitude, but Trent left it alone. Not his problem. Still, he knew it couldn’t be easy to come back east, move in with her parents, step into Gary’s shoes at The Edge and deal with a sick kid.
And him.
But that was her fault for keeping him out of the picture for so long. He refused to feel sorry for that. So why did her next yawn punch a sympathy button he thought long-since buried?
It didn’t, he assured himself. No more than it would for anyone else.
Darkness pushed the kids toward home a short while later. Trent met Jaden’s look as the boy trotted their way, his easy lope inherent. “Tomorrow night?”
Jaden shook his head. “I work with Mom on Thursdays at the restaurant. Fridays, too. But I’m practicing with Coach Russo on Saturday afternoon. Can you come?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” His words hurt Alyssa. He saw that and did nothing to soften their blow. He’d already missed nearly a dozen years, time gone, irretrievable. Even if he’d planned something for Saturday, he’d forgo it to spend time with Jaden.
“Ready?” Addressing the question to Jaden, Alyssa ignored Trent.
So be it.
He nodded Jaden’s way, headed to his car parked just in front of hers and shrugged off guilt that his words had been hurtful. After all, Trent figured it didn’t even come close to evening the score in the retribution column. He started his sporty black coupe and headed away, trying to push the image of her tired eyes from his mind. The fact that he couldn’t just intensified his anger.
Chapter Six
Dead.
Trent scowled at the Internet posting, sat back, then hunched forward again, his brain not comprehending what his eyes read in the two-year-old web clip from a southeast Montana newspaper.
A one-car crash on Mueller Road claimed the life of an East Brogan man early Sunday morning. Vaughn Maxwell, 33, of Cuylerville was found dead in his vehicle during a routine patrol by the Cuyler County sheriff’s office. Maxwell’s car appeared to have veered off the road at high speed, hit a tree, rolled over and came to a sudden stop against another tree. Attempts to resuscitate the driver were unsuccessful. The Cuyler County coroner’s office will conduct tests to see if alcohol use contributed to the crash.
Maxwell is survived by his wife, Alyssa, stepson Jaden, and infant daughter Cory.
Shame coursed through him. He’d never checked Lyssa’s status before coming back to Jamison, just a cursory look to make sure she was still in Montana. And she had been, at that time. Obviously Gary’s health concerns brought her east at the very same time he’d returned to help jump-start the job market.
But he’d stopped his query there, not wanting to be intrusive. Reading this Internet excerpt, he realized not only had she been alone for years, but she’d also been alone with two kids and not much family to speak of. He’d met Aunt Gee a long time ago. A sweet lady, lots of fun, but not big on family values. Although that may have changed, too, for all he knew. Obviously he was out of the loop where Alyssa’s life was concerned.
Another thought occurred to him. Alyssa had no health insurance. That explained her hesitation the night before, the look of resignation when he questioned her about a doctor.
Would she be eligible for Social Security? Survivor benefits? And this Maxwell guy was old enough to be worth something before he died, wasn’t he?
A series of government reclaim notices in the Cuyler County files told a different story. Vaughn Maxwell’s property had been seized months after his death for failure to pay taxes and water rights violations. The official county claim gave no details about his displaced family, but from the figures he found on eastern Montana, hard times had fallen worse than they had in Jamison.
I’m glad she’s here.
The thought both startled and comforted him. Better she be here among family and friends than so far away with no money, no home and no good prospects for employment.
Despite their history and her choices, he’d never wish her harm. Couldn’t wish her harm. And the thought of how tired she looked bothered him.
But it shouldn’t. She had her family now, her parents, their friends. A home. A place of her own.
Not exactly, his conscience prodded. Living with Mom and Dad at age thirty probably isn’t a cakewalk.
Because Trent hadn’t had the opportunity to live with a mother or father in nearly thirty years, the concept was lost on him. He’d never experienced that dream, to be part of a loving family he was actually related to.
He loved his foster parents, a kind family who’d relocated to North Carolina years ago. Their two children, both older than him. But despite their kindness and goodness, it wasn’t the same. He knew that. Felt it. Always a tad different, set apart.
But now he had Jaden. For the first time in nearly three decades Trent had a living, breathing, bona fide member of his family nearby, a dream come true.
He stared at the online image of Vaughn Maxwell, trying to determine the kind of man he’d been. High speed, possible alcohol use…
That combination said a lot about a man in his thirties with a wife and two kids.
He hoped he was kind. Nice. The thought of this guy barreling down a country road under the influence made that seem unlikely. Either way, the man was dead and buried, leaving Alyssa and two kids with a pile of bills that couldn’t be paid. She lost her husband and had her house taken from her in the space of a few short months. Rough time line.
She could have come back. Her parents would have helped.
Trent paused.
He knew Gary. Lyssa’s father might resemble a teddy bear, but his grizzled manner soon set a person straight. Pragmatic, tough and focused, he took a bulldog stance when approaching a problem. Effective in business, not so much in family. Was that reason enough to stay away?
The phone rang. He answered it, one eye on the screen. “Trent Michaels.”
“Tom Dewey here, Trent. How soon can I expect your bid?”
The phone call he’d been prepping for. Tom Dewey was NWAC, Naval Warfare Air Command, a military man and commander who fully appreciated Trent’s upgraded magnetron design for this radar system. A good man who wasn’t afraid to go out on a limb.
“I’m finishing up the specs and overnighting it to you first thing in the morning. Soon enough?”
