The First Time Again: The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 3 (10 page)

“True. But we’re too tired to realize how much fun we’re having.”

She switched her attention to Trey. “All set? I only caught the end. You have to pay a fine and do community service?”

“He got off easy because he has such a good lawyer,” Ryan said.

“You know that guy, Spoley?” Trey asked Baylee.

A look Trey couldn’t readily interpret passed between her and Ryan. “We’re acquainted.”

Ryan glanced at his watch as they exited the courtroom. “I’ve got to get back to the office.” He and Trey shook hands and agreed to touch base later in the week.

“How about an early lunch?” Trey asked Baylee. He had a physical therapy appointment at eleven thirty, which gave them about an hour to kill.

“Is food all you ever think about?” Baylee asked as they headed for the elevator.

“Not all,” Trey returned cheerfully. “But it is one of my basic needs.”

“Are you buying?”

“Of course. Let’s get something straight. When you’re on the clock working for me, I pay your expenses. In any case, I wouldn’t invite you to lunch and expect you to pay for it.”

“Trey Christopher, chivalrous gentlemen,” Baylee teased. “Who would have thought?”

“Not too many people up until now,” Trey assured her. “I’m a work in progress.”

“Aren’t we all?” Baylee murmured.

They rode down the elevator in silence and made their way outside. Baylee clicked the Cayenne’s remote and they got in. Trey insisted she use it for shopping or errands on his behalf or to chauffeur him to his doctor and PT appointments, because he was often extremely uncomfortable afterward.

Trey thought some more about the interaction he’d witnessed between her and Spoley and about the look that had passed between her and Ryan. Something was going on there, but they hadn’t seen the need to enlighten him.

After they were seated in a booth at the Mountainside Diner and had placed their orders, they discussed Trey’s upcoming trip to New York for meetings with ESPN executives.

“You could come with me,” he suggested. “If you want.”

“Really?” Baylee looked delighted by the idea. “I’ve always wanted to go to New York City. I want to see Central Park and the museums and a Broadway play, and—”

“Whoa. Hold on there. It’s only for a couple of days. You won’t have time to do all that.”

“Oh.” He’d deflated Baylee’s enthusiasm as quickly as he’d caused it.

He tried to backtrack. “I mean, you can do some of those things. But probably not all of them this trip.”

“Do you need me to go to your meetings with you?”

“Probably not. You can be a tourist during the day. Maybe join us for dinner, though. It wouldn’t hurt for you to meet the others because you’ll probably be dealing with them on the phone and through e-mail.”

Baylee had brightened when he’d indicated there would be more trips in the future. Maybe next time, he’d tack on a few extra days and take her to a play and wander a museum with her. Come fall, he’d be spending a lot of time in New York, ESPN’s Connecticut studios or in Atlanta.

They went on to discuss the travel and hotel arrangements that Baylee would need to coordinate with the executive producer’s assistant.

After lunch she drove him to his physical therapy appointment. “Can I ask you something?” Trey began once she had parked in front of the facility. “Feel free to tell me it’s none of my business.”

“I’ll be happy to.” A smile twitched at the corner of Baylee’s mouth.

“That cop, Spoley—”

Baylee’s expression changed to a slight frown.

Trey forged ahead. “Something going on between you two?”

“No.”

Trey fixed her with a look. “That’s it?
No
. You were talking to him in the courtroom.”

“He was talking to me,” Baylee corrected.

Trey crossed his arms and made no move to exit the vehicle. He stared out the window, trying to figure out why Baylee having a conversation with Justin Spoley bugged him.

She sighed and he turned to look at her. “He’s got a thing for me, okay? I don’t know why. Every time he asks me out, I turn him down. That’s it.”

“Why don’t you go out with him?”

“I don’t like him. There’s something about him. I don’t know what it is, but he turns me off.”

“He hasn’t gotten the message, though.”

“Apparently not.”

“Is that what he did earlier? In the courtroom? He asked you out?”

The smile appeared at the corners of her mouth again. “I guess it’s too late for me to tell you this is none of your business.”

“It isn’t. But I want to know.”

“Yes. He asked me out. Again. I turned him down. Again. Happy now?”

Trey grinned. “Definitely. Spoley’s a jerk.”

“Aren’t most men?”

“Probably. But if you’re going to date a jerk, at least date one who’s trying to change his ways.”

“Ha. I’ll let you know when I find one.”

Trey winked at her as he opened his car door. “Darlin’, I’m right here.”

His physical therapist was excellent, but she was brutal. Back at the house he’d taken some ibuprofen and, in spite of his discomfort, managed to conk out. When he woke, Baylee was gone. She’d put away the groceries she’d shopped for during his appointment and straightened the kitchen. His mail was sorted, she’d left checks for his signature and arranged his e-mail messages in order of importance.

He was unaccountably bummed. He would have liked for her to still be there to share a lousy frozen dinner with him, watch TV, play cards or talk to him. Hell, she didn’t have to do any of that. He’d have been happy if she’d just
been there.
But he had no right to ask or expect her to stay.

He went inside to pour himself a cup of coffee and set his plate in the sink. Upon returning to the porch he picked up his journal and his pen. Once he set his thoughts down, he’d meditate and maybe take a long, hot shower. Maybe he could erase the thoughts of Baylee and Spoley together before he went to sleep.

Chapter Nine

Matty stepped across the threshold of his home into what felt like empty silence, even though he knew his family was there. There, but never there for him.

When he stepped inside Mamacita’s front door, however, the warmth of the small house enveloped him. Even though he had only the faintest memories of being there as a small child, he always experienced that same sense of welcome and comfort as soon as he closed the door behind him. Each time he came home the differences between the two places became sharper.

He tiptoed to his room. If he disturbed Lisa’s sleep, she’d yell at him. If he crossed paths with Baylee, she wouldn’t say much, but he could still sense her confusion and disappointment. His father, if he was here, wouldn’t notice either Matty or the time.

He shucked his clothes in exchange for baggy boxers and a T-shirt before heading to the bathroom.

How often had his biological mother dumped him with Mamacita when he was a baby? He remembered her handing him over without a backward glance or a second thought about the tears on his face. Mamacita would hug him against her ample bosom, so different from his mother’s skinny, bony frame. Mamacita dried his tears and rubbed his back.

His mother had been sick. He’d been told that many times, but he knew the truth. His mother was an addict who cared more about drugs than she did about him. One day she’d handed him over to Mamacita and she hadn’t come back. Matty didn’t remember missing his mother. He’d have happily stayed with Mamacita forever if he could. But it wasn’t to be.

A woman in a business suit and briefcase came and talked in officious tones while Mamacita held him close. Mamacita followed the woman to her car and buckled Matty into a child seat in the back. Matty had cried and fought the restraints, wanting to get back into Mamacita’s arms. She was crying too, even while she tried to soothe him.

He’d worn himself out and fallen asleep, and when he woke up he was somewhere else. He had blurry memories of that time and of the few foster families he’d been placed with before he’d arrived at the home of Dan and Diana Westring. They’d adopted him. They loved him, Matty thought. But Diana had died and Dan had crawled further into his bottles of booze. Somehow Matty had arrived back at the only place he’d ever felt loved.

He wasn’t even sure how he’d found it. He’d taken off on his bicycle one afternoon out of sheer, lonely desperation. Dan was quietly drinking in front of the television. Lisa was yelling at the twins about sneaking out of the house the previous night. Baylee wasn’t around. No one noticed when he slipped out the front door.

The bicycle was a yellow mountain bike he’d got for his twelfth birthday. He was too big for it now, but it was the only transportation he had. He’d started riding with no particular destination in mind. He’d ridden through one of the tonier sections of Hendersonville where the big houses, some of which had been converted into bed and breakfast inns, lined the street. He kept riding until he crossed the railroad tracks.

Like he’d turned a page from what had started out as a fairy tale and became a horror story, the landscape changed dramatically. Many of the houses were in disrepair. Porches sagged and boards covered windows. A few of the occupants stared at him with a lack of curiosity in their gazes as if nothing could surprise them anymore.

Hendersonville wasn’t such a big place that he hadn’t known this section of it existed, but he never had cause to come here. He passed yards filled with weeds, dirt and trash, abandoned houses and old cars that would never see road time again.

He turned down one of the streets at random and skidded to a halt before a house unlike all the others. Although it was old and in need of paint, the porch was swept and the front yard clean of debris. Instead of grass, there was a riot of flowers everywhere, including climbing up a trellis to one side of the porch. Two ancient metal lawn chairs covered with cushions sat on either side of the front door. A small picket fence, also in need of paint, surrounded the perimeter of the yard. An old Toyota pick-up was parked in a narrow drive next to the house.

A sense of déjà vu washed over Matty. He glanced down the street in each direction. The sense of familiarity became stronger. He leaned his bike against the fence and looked closer at the flowers and the porch. There were two windows facing the street. In the lower right corner of one of them was a faded decal. Matty stared at the graphic design of a turquoise hand depicted there. It was peeling up on the bottom, but he saw the few letters left. “SA” and “HAV.” Safe Haven.

A program the county had used at one time to give children a place to go if they felt they were in danger. He’d seen a few of the old stickers around town. Diana had explained to him what they were. But that was before she’d died. He hadn’t found a safe haven since.

While he stared, the screen door opened and a man several years older came out. He was of mixed race like Matty, of average height, with coal-black, curly hair and dark brown eyes. He was dressed in an army-green T-shirt and fatigues.

“Can I help you?”

Like everything else, something about the man seemed familiar to Matty, but he didn’t know why or how to explain his presence. They stared at each other while Matty tried to formulate a response, but the man asked him a second question before he could. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t know.”

The man stepped off the porch and came closer, never taking his gaze from Matty. ”What’s your name, son?”

“Matty. Mateo. Westring.”

“Matty?” The man’s face broke into a huge grin. He reached across the fence and squeezed Matty’s shoulder. “Oh, boy, will Mamacita ever be glad to see you. Come on in.”

He turned but Matty didn’t follow. “Mamacita?”

The man stopped and turned back. “She’s my grandmother. She took care of you whenever your mother couldn’t. Loved you like you were one of her own. Like to broke her heart when she had to give you up.” Matty stared at him as he went on. “You don’t remember me, either, I guess. Desmond.” He stuck out a hand and Matty automatically shook it. “She already had custody of me. State didn’t think she could handle a toddler. Come on, now. She’ll never forgive me if you don’t come let her have a look at you.”

Matty followed Desmond up the walk and through the front door into the tiny living room that, like everything else, felt familiar. He breathed in a combination of old furniture and home cooking.

“She’s back in the kitchen,” Desmond told Matty. “Mama? I got somebody here to see you.”

“Who’s that?”

A rotund woman with graying hair tucked up in a loose bun turned from the stove where she’d been stirring a fragrant pot. Oxygen lines trailed over her stout bosom from a tank on wheels next to her. She stared at Matty through the thick lenses of her glasses, her gaze going from him to Desmond and back.

“That’s not? It can’t be. Lord, Des, don’t you fool with an old woman. Matty?”

Matty nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

The woman toddled toward Matty, her arms outstretched until she enveloped him in a hug, murmuring words he couldn’t understand. He had to bend down to her because he was almost as tall as Desmond, but he didn’t mind. She smelled like flowers and whatever she’d used to season the pot on the stove, and underneath it all was something Matty must have recognized from long ago. Did caring have a scent all its own?