From the Start (28 page)

Kate was the only one he’d ever caught in the act. She’d waited until he was deep into a conversation on literary versus commercial fiction with another student to reach into her messenger bag, wrap her fingers around the can . . .

And then he’d turned just as she pulled it out. His glance hooked on the can before traveling to her face, smile stretching enough to convince her maybe being caught wasn’t such a bad thing. And soon she was completely under his spell.

Just before she graduated, he’d told her he’d taken a job at Northwestern University. He’d also just been contracted for his first Heartline script and begged her to move to Chicago so they could write together. With hardly a thought she had followed him, and soon they were brainstorming together at what would eventually become their favorite coffee shop.

Her fingers now closed around her ice-cold glass.

“Kate.” Gil’s voice was quiet and strained, as if he’d followed the trail of her memories. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything. It was a thousand kinds of inappropriate, the way I acted. My marriage was in a bad place. I was pretty sure it was over. But even so, I was wrong to lead you on the way I did.” He reached up to lower his glasses and rub the bridge of his nose.

“You told me not to take the internship.”

His forehead wrinkled.

“That internship in DC. The one at the nonprofit. You told me not to take it, to move to Chicago so we could write together. Who knows where I’d be now—” She cut herself off.
Stop it. Stop playing the accuser. You’re
in a hospital, for goodness’ sake. It was years ago.

But instead of shrinking under her words, Gil sat straighter now, firm set to his jaw. “I have a lot to apologize for—I know this. But I’m not sorry I told you to skip the internship. I introduced you to the editor who eventually acquired and published your book, Kate. And co-writing that first script with me—that kicked off your career. If it’s not the career you wanted, you could’ve switched direction anytime. But a six-month internship in DC was never going to be the thing that set you up for a glorious future. If you’re still asking what-if about that . . . then I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Gil . . . ” She tried to find words to respond, but they were lost under the sharp truth.
He’s right.

It stung to admit, but she had made her own choices. It had simply been easier blaming the man who hurt her.

He shook his head now, a sigh tailing the movement. “Look, I didn’t want to dredge any of this stuff up. I just wanted to apologize and to ask your permission to continue with that last script we started. It was your story as much as mine, so I won’t move forward if—”

“Go ahead.” She pulled a napkin from the holder and wiped away the puddle around her glass. “Do whatever you want with it. I don’t mind.”

“At least fifty percent of that writing is yours.”

“I’m not going to sue you or anything. Promise.”

He folded his hands on the tabletop. “I think it could be a great story. And I need to do something great before . . .”

She could only nod, emotions too snarled to separate.

Not long later, they were standing and saying good-bye. She walked Gil as far as the elevator, stopping with him as he pressed the Down button.

“Gil, I . . .”

Understanding rested in his eyes. “Thank you for meeting with me, Katie. And for giving me the freedom to move forward with that story.”

The elevator opened, and he stepped inside. The doors began to close.

Kate jumped to block them. “Thank
you
, Gil.”

Surprise landed in his expression.

“You inspired me. You made me a better writer.” Something freeing washed over her. “And everything you said back at the table . . . You were right.”

Gil held out his hand, and she placed her palm in his. “Bye, Katie Walker.”

Somehow the handshake was filled with warmth. “Bye, Gil.”

And then she stepped out of the elevator and watched its doors close.

“Whoa, is that who I think it was?” Hailey’s mystified voice sounded behind her.

Kate turned. Hailey stared at the closed elevator, bag of M&M’s in hand.

“Yep, that was Gil. Long story.” She held out her hand for Hailey to pour in a few M&M’s. “Actually, it’s not. He wants to finish a script we started years ago. I said okay.” No need to tell Hailey the rest—not with her son battling the same disease as Gil.

“Tell me you laughed in his face.”

“Uh, no. I said yes, and that’s that.”

Hailey popped a handful of M&M’s in her mouth, studying gaze never leaving Kate’s face. “You’ve changed.”

“Not really.”

“You have. A few weeks ago, just talking about Gil would’ve had you stress eating your way to a stomachache.”

She reached for the bag of candy. “Well, I am eating all your M&M’s.”

“It’s Colton.”

Kate choked on chocolate, swallowed. “How’s the weather out there in left field?”

“I’m serious, Walker. He’s the only new element in your life since I saw you last. Thus, he must be the reason you’re suddenly all zen about the Gil thing.”

A nurse’s voice on the intercom called a doctor to a patient’s room. “I don’t think so, Hail.”

“He dropped everything to drive you here. I saw the way he held you when you were crying beside Breydan’s bed—the way he refused to leave the hospital without you that first day. He’s called you every day since he left. Texted constantly.”

“Probably because he’s worried I won’t finish writing his book.”

Hailey stiffened. “Don’t do it, Kate.”

“Do what?”

“Lock up before you even consider that maybe, just maybe, this guy back in Iowa means something to you.” Hailey sighed. “Would it be so bad to admit there might be a little spark there? To try?”

“You think I don’t try?”

“I think sometimes you close doors before you know what’s on the other side . . . because it’s easier or safer.” She shook her head.

Kate’s gaze traced the pattern of the gold flecks in the hard floor. “Even if there is a . . . a spark, like you said, how do you know I’m not just some rebound girl? There was another girl not that long ago. And he’s still getting over not being able to play. So how do I know—”

“You don’t.”

Her focus snapped up.

“It’s called taking a risk, Kate. Think about the characters in your movies. When they finally realize how they really feel—usually at the end—they act on it. The hero goes after the girl, or vice versa. Stop letting your characters be braver than you are. Be the girl who takes a risk.” She paused before speaking once more. “It’s okay to admit what you want. When you do, you might finally get brave enough to go after it.”

Silence stretched between them, only the hum of the vending machines in the corner and the dinging of the elevator filling the silence, until finally, Kate looked up.

“You know, tonight’s the homecoming game back in Maple Valley.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “If I left now . . .”

Hailey grinned. “Go. Now.” She reached for her M&M’s. “But not with my candy.”

You walked out on the Sports Circle interview.

A gust of cold air that felt more like November than the last day of September whooshed over Colton as he read the text message on his phone. He didn’t have to hear Ian’s voice to pick up on his manager’s ire. He’d probably done it for good this time.

No “probably” about it.

The only thing that didn’t make sense is why it’d taken Ian this many days to confront him. Almost a full workweek since he’d blown the interview in Chicago. And while he felt bad for letting down Ian, he couldn’t bring himself to feel much remorse over the job itself.

He wouldn’t have been any good at it—he just knew it.

Halfway across the bleachers on the home side of the Mavericks’ field, the marching band played their third or fourth pep song of the night, brass tones and drumbeats merging with laughter and voices and the rattling of metal underfoot. The buzzing stadium lights flickered occasionally, almost-dark sky cluttered with stars that seemed to watch in anticipation.

Anticipation
. It was the perfect word for those elastic minutes right before a game, when time stretched right alongside your excitement until the moment the ref blew the whistle and the center snapped the ball.

Too bad Ian had to pick now to needle him about the failed interview. He glanced at his phone again. The last thread between them had finally frayed to its breaking point.

“Bad news?” Raegan must’ve read his face.

“Uh yeah, kind of.” And he was the one delivering it. He typed a quick reply.

Yes, walked out. Extenuating circumstances.

“Letting my manager know that job in Chicago is a no go.”

“Because you came back for Webster? Can’t you explain? It’d be
awfully hardhearted of them not to understand that kind of thing. I’d think they’d give you a second chance.” Raegan pushed a streak of bright green hair—in honor of the Mavericks—behind her ear.

He tipped up the collar of his jacket. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already had a second chance.” And a third and a fourth. Honestly, it was amazing Ian had held on this long. “I don’t foresee a career in television in my future.”

Didn’t know what he saw anymore. Or wanted to see.

“
I think God might have eleven more inches for you.”

A month ago, Colton might’ve brushed of Case’s words, countered the thought that he’d in any way limited himself in the past. All he’d wanted for months was a return to his old life.

Now?

Eleven more inches.

Well, if God had eleven more inches, Colton sure didn’t know what they held. All he did know was he would’ve made the same decision about walking out on that interview all over again, even knowing Webster was okay. The look on the kid’s face when Colton showed up at the Clancys’ house that night, when it dawned on him that Colton had dropped everything to come back to Maple Valley, it was worth losing the job.

He’d spent the evenings since then training with Webster. Running plays and finding moments to talk in between.

On the field, the Mavericks now broke from the lines they’d formed to warm up and jogged over to the sideline. Some gathered in clumps, others took a seat on the lone long bleacher running parallel to the near fence.

Colton’s phone dinged again.

We need to talk. Call me.

Ian’s clipped words signaled what Colton had known for days was now coming.

And maybe the best thing to do would be to make it easy for Ian.

Can’t call now. It’s been good working with you, Ian. I understand.

He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of nachos and popcorn, cold air and energy. It’d be okay. He’d figure out what to do next tomorrow. Tonight was about the game, about supporting Webster.

The bleachers shook with movement, and Colton looked over to see Case returning to their seats. He held a cardboard cup holder with three covered cups. “Hot chocolate for fellow game watchers.”

He handed out the cups, then took a seat on the other side of Raegan and propped his feet on the bleachers in front of him.

“I wish Kate could be here.” Raegan took the lid off her cup and blew over the steaming liquid. “After all the time she’s spent talking football with you, Colt, I think this is probably the first time she’d actually get into the game.”

He wished she was there, too. The phone calls and texts the past few days, emailing back and forth about the chapters she’d written, none of it was the same as seeing her in person. Although the calls had been great. Hours long and relaxed—conversation always starting at his book but wandering to so many other places.

When had he gotten so used to her presence in his everyday life?

His gaze drifted to the scoreboard. Six minutes to kickoff. He looked back to the team. Where was Webster?

There.

His focus hooked on the 73 on the back of a jersey at the end of the bench,
HAWKS
splayed above the number. Webster was hunched and alone.

As if reading his thoughts, Case leaned over Raegan. “Heard your boy might get more playing time than planned tonight, Colt.”

“Really? Did you talk to Coach Leo?”

“No, but the mom of one of the starting receivers was working at the concession stand. She told me her son looked almost green when he left the house. Thinks it’s the stomach flu. He insisted on trying to play anyway, but she said she had a feeling he wouldn’t make it past the first quarter.”

Which probably accounted for Webster’s posture on the bench. Oh, he knew the kid wouldn’t admit it for the world, but more than likely, anxious nerves were running a sprint inside him right now.

Eyes to the scoreboard again. Still five minutes until kickoff.

“Rae, could you hold my cocoa for a sec? I’m going to go have a talk with Web.”

He shuffled past the people on the bleachers until he reached the aisle, then hurried down the metal steps. Several people tossed out greetings to him as he passed—Sunny from the hardware store, the Clancys, Seth and Ava, Bear.