Page 36 of Trapped and Tackled

I’m still fighting the thoughts, the memories, the panic of that night. Of several nights.

“Leni?”

I look up and hold Talon’s gaze.

“Why did you come home?” There’s a thread of hesitation in his voice and I recognize it. I’ve heard it in Mom’s tone, in Marlowe’s, and Dad’s. Hell, it’s the reason why I haven’t returned Lincoln’s calls since I returned home. She’s too close to knowing the truth; I know she suspects it. And for now, I know Mom is buying me time. Eventually, I’ll need to connect with my sister and fix the fragility of our relationship. A bond I weakened by being too damn scared.

“It was time,” I murmur, hoping the more I say it, the more I’ll believe it.

Except the statement doesn’t ring completely false. It was time to come home. It was time for…something to give. I just didn’t think it would be my relationship.

Talon swipes his thumb over my wrist before removing his hand and nodding, accepting my response for what it is. A white lie.

We resume eating.

I take a big sip of my wine and clear my throat, not wanting anything between us to be awkward. Not when this night has been so effortless.

“How do you feel about the next preseason game?” I ask, knowing Dad has been stressed about the cuts and finalizing the roster.

Talon clears his throat. “We’re playing Dallas. It’s an away game, but I feel pretty good. The extra time in the pool has helped with flexibility. I’m just trying to stick to my routine and mentally prepare for the season.” He looks up and smiles. “For me, mentally being able to tune things out, to have that type of fortitude, is half the battle.”

“You need to focus.”

“Yeah. No distractions,” he says, tilting his head.

Does he mean I’m becoming a distraction?

I can’t help but blush at the meaning behind his words.

Is that a good or bad thing?

Talon takes another bite of his dinner and moans again. “Too good, Leni.”

“You helped,” I remind him.

He laughs. “It never would have come out this well if you weren’t running the show.”

“Give yourself more credit.”

“Nah.” He polishes off his wine. “I’d rather give you all the credit. But I’ll take the credit for dessert. I got a buttermilk pie?—”

“From Annabelle’s!” I blurt out, beaming at the thought. Annabelle’s pies are the best in Knoxville but they usually sell out within an hour of opening each morning.

“Yes.” Talon laughs.

“But you must have gotten there at seven a.m.”

Talon shrugs, his eyes catching mine. “It was worth it.”

All I hear is you’re worth it.

And I smile at Talon, feeling my cheeks stretch.

He grins back, easy and familiar.

This is the best non-date dinner I’ve ever had.

Chapter 10

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