Page 25 of Trapped and Tackled

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.

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