His voice was familiar. I narrowed my eyes, taking in his brown hair and light blue eyes. The small scar beside the right one. I recognized it because I gave him the cut that caused the scar. We were playing soccer, and I fell, my cleat catching the corner of his eye. There was a lot of blood, and he punched me, giving me a split lip. We were both ejected from the game.
Recognition hit me, and a smile cracked my lips.
“Michael Hall. What the hell are you doing here?”
Michael had been one of the few people I had liked at school. I’d considered him a friend—at least as much as I’d considered anyone outside Sunny a friend. We weren’t close, but we respected each other and were in a lot of the same classes and sporting events. He knew about Sunny and me, his girlfriend someone Sunny trusted and had confided in, but he never let on about us. He allowed us our privacy, seeming to understand the reason for it.
He was always easygoing, cheerful, and more than once showed what a good guy he was by walking Sunny home when my father interfered with our plans, or even letting me know if she needed me. He had worked at the dry cleaner next door to the diner, and one memory stood out for me of his thoughtfulness.
I had been sitting in my usual booth at the diner, eating, talking with Sunny during her breaks, when the bell over the door jangled. It was getting late, and the diner was mostly empty, so I was surprised when Michael rushed in, heading straight toward me.
“Your dad is looking for you. I heard him asking people if they had seen you.” He glanced toward Sunny. “He’s in a foul mood, Linc. You might not want him finding you here.”
I stood. “Shit.”
“Go out the back door. Leave your stuff. I’ll pretend it’s mine, and I’ll cover you and make sure Sunny gets home. Go.”
Sunny gripped the cloth she was holding. “Go,” she urged.
I ran through the kitchen and out the back door. I didn’t stop running until I got to the house. I tore up the stairs and flung myself in bed, remembering to pull off my shirt that smelled of the diner before diving under the covers.
I heard the sound of my father’s car, then the front door opening, and his voice bellowing my name as he came up the stairs. My bedroom door flew open so hard it hit the wall, and I pretended to be jolted out of a deep sleep and sat up, startled.
“What the hell?”
My father crossed the room, anger pouring off his body. “Where have you been?”
“Here.” I managed a yawn and scratched my head, hoping to look sleepy and that he couldn’t hear my accelerated heartbeat. “What’s going on?”
He leaned down, his breath laced with scotch. “I heard you didn’t make captain of the soccer team. I told you to make it happen.”
“I told you I’m not good enough.” The truth was I hated playing soccer and only did it to pacify him. I was glad to be passed up.
He narrowed his eyes. “If I tell you to do something, you make it happen.”
“I tried. Jason is a better player. A better leader. I can’t compete with his ability.” I pointed out. “It was the coach’s decision. Not mine.”
“I’m taking your car away for a month. You can fucking walk. In fact, you had better run. I want ten pounds off you. And you’re grounded for the next two weeks.”
I bit back my retort. My car, I could live without. The grounding was harder to handle, although given his schedule, I could slip out at times if I wanted. It was better than being punished by his fists.
“You’ll be captain next year, or there will be consequences.”
I knew better than to argue with him. I had gotten off lightly this time.
But I should have known better. My father straightened and I relaxed. Then he punched me in the stomach so hard, I began heaving immediately. I hadn’t even seen it coming. The milk shake I had drunk at the diner came up, spewing white all over my bed.
He eyed me with disdain. “Clean it up. Leave your car keys on my desk in the morning.” He paused at the door. “And your little slut of a waitress was hanging all over some asswipe in the diner. Didn’t take her long to set her sights on someone else.” His tone was mocking. “Not that you’re much of a catch either. Without my money, you’re nothing.”
Then he walked out.
I kept my arm around my stomach as I got up, knowing that if Michael hadn’t warned me and my father had found me in the diner, I would have been in far worse pain. I hated the thought that Sunny obviously played up Michael being there, but I knew she had done it to take the heat off of me.
I wasn’t sure why Michael had stepped in and helped, but I had never forgotten his empathy.
I grasped his hand, returning his grip. “How are you?”
“Good, Linc. I’m good. What are you doing in town?” His gaze moved to Sunny then back to me. “Or should I leave that well enough alone?”
Sunny’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. I had to chuckle at his words. “Came to settle the last of my father’s estate. I had planned on being here one day, but things, ah, changed.”
He grinned. “Is that a fact? Well, Sunny, I think I need a coffee and a muffin. Linc and I have some catching up to do.”
She scooped up the pile of linens from the counter. “What about you Linc? Are you coffeed out?”
I smirked at her—she had no idea. “Nope. Coffee and a couple more biscuits, please.”
Michael and I moved to my table, and I shut off my laptop, slipping it into my bag. Sunny slid a tray onto the table containing a pot of coffee and two plates holding muffins and biscuits. I caught her hand. “Thank you.”
She smiled and bent down, brushing a kiss to my forehead, then headed back to the kitchen. Her tender gesture did something to my chest. I hadn’t been touched with gentleness since the day I was forced to leave her. I squeezed her hand in silent appreciation. She shut the door this time, leaving Michael and me alone in the shop.
“Should I extend condolences about your father?” he asked.
“Absolutely not. The only thing I felt when he died was relief.”
He nodded, sipping his coffee. “Nasty son of a bitch, he was. The things he did to this town were bad enough, but the way he took his anger out on you was unacceptable.”
I rested my elbows on the table. “How did you know, Michael? I never spoke about it. I thought I hid it well. You were kind to me, even though we weren’t really friends. Close ones anyway.”
He took a muffin off the plate, unpeeling the wrapper and breaking it in half. He took a large bite, chewing it slowly. “We weren’t close, no, but I understood why. I understood you.”
“Sorry?”
He finished the first half of his muffin and wiped his fingers. “My god, that woman can bake.”
I had to agree. I took a biscuit, already buttered with a thick layer of jam on top, and bit into it. I would always think of Sunny when I ate one of these.
He sat back, gazing over my shoulder. “We moved here when I was young. My father was a mean, sorry drunk, and he liked to use his fists on me and my mother. She planned and saved, and one day, we were able to run. We came here—a small town where we could start again.”
“Your father never found you?”
He shrugged. “He might have tried, but a couple of weeks after we left, he got so drunk, he fell down the stairs. He never woke up. A friend of my mom’s knew where we were and let her know. She got the life insurance and total freedom to live her life again and not look over her shoulder all the time.”