FLY BOY
Tobin Tribe Book 2
Caitlyn Coakley
Table of Contents
Title Page
About Fly Boy
Also by Caitlyn Coakley
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
EPILOGUE – LATER HALLOWEEN NIGHT
Coming Next Month | Lone Wolf | Tobin Tribe Book 3
About the Author
About Fly Boy
Dangerously premature, BJ Tobin nearly died four times before he was two months old. If the cool cat truly had nine lives, he’d be damned if he would spend one of his remaining five tethered to the same woman. Besides, what he had to offer cried out to be shared. Tall, good-looking, intelligent, and damned near richer than God, no one woman was going to put a noose around his neck.
Megan Smith scratched her way out of the psych ward for one reason: her son, Pete. After his father had been killed by a drunk driver, she was all her precious little man had left. Pete was her whole world. She didn’t need anyone else. She didn’t want anyone else. Until she agreed to be godmother to her beautiful niece, Kegan, and ran smack dab into the most infuriatingly arrogant man she had ever met. BJ Tobin, Kegan’s godfather.
Also by Caitlyn Coakley
For Pete’s Sake – Tobin Tribe Book 1
Fly Boy © 2020 Caitlyn Coakley
Published by Love Knot LLC
Cover Design by Cover Couture
www.bookcovercouture.com
Photo © Shutterstock/Volles
Photo © Shutterstock/Preecha Juntapin
Editor – Margo Bond Collins
Beta Readers – Shari Jahn and Teresa Hild
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
These are works of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
With love, respect, and deep admiration, I am honored to dedicate this to the best friend I never met. Thank you, Janie Crouch for mentoring me, encouraging me, and kicking me in the butt when I needed (and deserved) it. You rock, lady! Dear Reader: If you aren’t reading her Linear Tactical Series, you should!
CHAPTER 1
BJ Tobin maneuvered the long gentle slope, downshifting to get a feel for the clutch in his new Jag. The engine’s powerful purr morphed into a deep whine as the tachometer inched toward the redline. He’d blown engines before, but never on the first day. So what? She was as temporary as the one he’d dropped off at the dealership a few hours ago. If he had to replace her before her time, no big deal.
Short-term and replaceable described most of the shes in BJ’s life. Was there any other way to roll?
The grade evened out. The sole of his right foot itched to find the floorboard under the accelerator. It went against his nature not to scratch an itch, any itch, as soon as it manifested. Delayed gratification? Not in this lifetime.
He worked his left foot in perfect sync with his right hand as he put his new baby through her paces. Zero to sixty in five point five seconds? It would have to do. Gentle G-forces nudged him into his seat as the speedometer lurched past seventy—and kept climbing. Familiar landmarks alerted him to the trap that surely awaited him around the next curve. He let the car slow to an acceptable speed. A mature, responsible, law-abiding BJ honked and waved at the sheriff’s deputy hiding behind a copse of trees on the east side of the road. Had the man moved at all in the past fourteen years? Probably not. It was the perfect, and most profitable, spot for the guy to perch. That’s how he’d nabbed BJ doing 145 in his first Jag on the way to practice for his high school graduation ceremony a few miles farther north.
Good old Baby Blue, his favorite graduation gift from his favorite grandfather. Being the oldest grandchild had its perks. And those perks had included a wink and a nod and a fistful of cash to the local constabulary to reissue BJ’s speeding ticket at substantially less than the one hundred over he had been guilty of. Ten over, one hundred over, what’s a zero among friends?
Welcome to Tobinville, where no matter what the calendar said, it was always a balmy seventy-two degrees. Well, it was a suburb of Philadelphia.
Except for a few special occasions, BJ hadn’t traveled this road since graduation day, but being the loving, caring, oldest brother he was, he’d warned the others about the speed trap. Through the years, they’d all learned how to have their fun without paying the high price of bribery and their old man’s wrath. The former was no big deal; the latter was way too costly.
The rolling lawns of the large, perfectly landscaped estates flooded him with pleasant memories of parties, contests, and conquests. Mostly conquests. If the inhabitants of the grand mansions knew BJ was in the neighborhood, they would hustle to lock up their women. It wouldn’t matter if they did; he’d find a way to get to them. Or they’d find a way to get to him. It always seemed to work out that way. He couldn’t suppress the grin that tickled his ears.
His grin faded as he neared his destination. His left hand tightened around the wheel into a white-knuckled fist. His right hand formed a ball and bounced off the shift knob. With a smack, he downshifted to ease into the turn, slowing to a creep as he pulled into the parking lot to prolong the inevitable.
A violent shudder rocked him as he surveyed the church looming in front of him. The sprawling limestone monstrosity, punctuated with elaborate stained-glass windows and i
ntricate carvings, had been the family parish for the past five generations. Why did it always affect him this way?
BJ gasped for breath as an invisible noose tightened. His hand massaged his neck to loosen the tightly buttoned shirt and knotted tie that wasn’t there.
Not much had changed since the day he’d marched out of that church with the rest of his graduating class, clawing at the starched shirt and hideous tie he’d been forced to wear for thirteen long, tortuous years. Buttons flying, he’d yanked that tie from his neck and dropped it to be trampled on by those who followed. He should have kept the damned thing and held a cremation ceremony like his youngest brother, Shane, had.
He pulled into a parking space near the back of the lot far away from the cluster of cars waiting for their drivers to leave Saturday afternoon mass. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of freshly mown grass and the old-rose aroma wafting from the garden his mother had commissioned in memory of his grandmother Clausen. His visceral reaction to the church subsided as he surveyed what had once been the center of his universe.
The boys’ academy to the east and the girls’ academy to the west had been sandblasted. They looked fresher, newer, but still as foreboding as the day his nanny had walked him into his kindergarten classroom carrying his brand-new backpack. What kind of sadistic monsters gave homework to five-year-olds? The ones who ran this place. And it had gotten worse over the years.
He cranked up the tunes to test his new sound system and lost himself in the music that had always helped him conquer his demons. Because God knew—if there was a God—these piles of rocks hadn’t been able to.
CHAPTER 2
Megan Smith paced the length of her porch, paused to pound the handrail with both fists, then turned to pace some more.
“Where are they?” she muttered to herself. It wasn’t like Ethan to be late. Her brother and sister-in-law had taken her precious son, Pete, to the zoo with their daughter, Kegan, and they’d promised to pick her up at five for their appointment. And Ethan had had the nerve to warn her to be ready on time. What was she? Six? Unfortunately, in her brother’s eyes, six would be generous.
With shaking hands, she checked her phone, no messages. They were fifteen minutes late. She slipped the phone back into her pocket and wrapped her arms around her middle to quell the roiling in her stomach. Short, shallow breaths echoed in her head.
I sound like a panting dog.
Her breath grew more ragged. This was not the time for another panic attack. “Breathe in through your nose.” The sound of her own shaky voice increased her anxiety. Megan forced herself to continue inhaling until she felt her stomach expand. She paused, mentally counting to three before pushing her breath out through tightly pursed lips, struggling to force her facial muscles to relax. Repeat.
She sent a quick, silent prayer into the universe, to anyone or anything that would listen. Her entire family, her entire life was in that minivan. She couldn’t lose anyone else. She had already lost so much.
She jerked toward the sound of an approaching car. Finally! Grabbing her purse, she bounded down the stairs and crossed the lawn in three long strides. With too much force, she jerked open the door and burst inside. “It’s about time you got here; I was worried sick!” She slammed the door behind her and crawled in between the sleeping babies before buckling herself into the back seat.
“You do know that’s an automatic door, right?” Ethan asked.
God, she wanted to smack her brother, but her sister-in-law, Stephanie, got to him first. “We’re sorry. We should have called to let you know we were running late.”
Yeah, the woman was extending an olive branch. Another one. Megan glared at her. There was still too much left unsaid between them, but for now, they’d declared an uneasy truce for Ethan’s sake. She bent to kiss her sleeping son’s head, then turned to kiss her beautiful, perfect niece. What would Kegan’s twin have looked like? Would it have been a boy or a girl? Stephanie had come so close to dying, and that would have destroyed Ethan.
Stephanie had been through as much heartbreak as she had. Maybe it was time to cut her some slack. For Ethan.
Megan still couldn’t believe Mr. I’m-Done-With-Women had traded in his luxury sedan for a family-mobile, but that transition had started the day Pete had been born. Trying to fit an enormously pregnant woman in labor into his tiny Dodge Viper would have made the Keystone Kops proud. Slapstick comedy at its finest. The next day, Ethan had traded his Viper for a more practical car.
“Do we get to add MBA after your name on Foster Buddies’ letterhead?” Ethan asked.
“I don’t need an MBA to run the charity. I’ve been doing fine for years without one.” She stared out the window.
“Nice deflection,” Stephanie snorted. “You’ve been hanging around Ethan too long. There’s no shame in revisions. Old man Brewster made me rewrite my thesis three times. He’s kind of a sexist.”
Ethan adjusted the rear-view mirror to watch her face. “Did you get your thesis finished?” Ethan asked.
“Yeah, finished, emailed, and Dr. Brewster signed off on the revisions, and yes we get to add MBA after my name, as if it makes a difference. Everything was great until you ruined it by being late.”
That felt so mean and petty. “I’m sorry. You know how I get. I’m sure I’ll feel a lot better once I hug my little guy.” Unfortunately, that would have to wait.
She ruffled Pete’s mop of dark, curly hair. He was fast asleep, clutching a new stuffed zebra, which he would undoubtedly insist on calling a horsie. Pete loved his horsies. And hugs and kisses and helicopters. Megan smiled as she brushed an errant coffee-colored curl off to the side.
At one time in her life, it would have been impossible for her to imagine that she could love another human being as much as she loved her son. Now, there was no way she could imagine her life without him. He’d been the glue that had held her together all those nights she’d rocked him while she’d cried over Smitty—first his death and then the discovery that her husband had been a bigamist. She’d spent countless hours desperately trying to figure out how she’d gone from holding the world in her hands to having it slip through her fingers. Pete had been the goal she’d focused on as she’d scratched her way back to sanity. Pete was her whole world now. He was all she needed.
Megan’s eyes met Ethan’s in the rear-view mirror. Those knitted brows meant one thing: he was concerned. He shouldn’t be. Regardless of what he thought, she wasn’t a little kid who needed his constant care and protection anymore. “I’m fine. Stop worrying. Seriously, thank you, but I can take care of myself and my son. You have your own family to worry about now.”
Ethan shook his head. “You’re my original family. I’ll always worry about you.”
Megan sighed. That was never going to change. They had survived worse; she would survive this. She turned to stare out the window to hide the sadness that always lurked at the edge of her mind.
***
“This place is beautiful,” Megan said as they pulled into the parking lot. The impressive gothic revival church looked as if it had been plucked from medieval France and dropped into the Pennsylvania countryside. She could practically see holy men and women from the past making their way to vespers.
“Construction started on it right after the Civil War,” Stephanie said. “My three-times great grandfather laid the foundation stone during the blessing ceremony. Good old G-cubed provided the lumber for the construction and made a bundle. But my family wasn’t smart enough to diversify, so once the Jordans managed to deforest the state, the money dried up.”
Well, if that wasn’t karma, Megan didn’t know what was. Still, the beauty of the spectacular building and lush gardens seeped into her.
Ethan parked the minivan near a cherry red Jaguar F-TYPE.
Megan focused on the gorgeous man sitting in the Jag’s driver’s seat. His dark blond hair, barely light enough to still be considered blond, was shot through with artfully placed highlights. An
image of him sitting in a salon, draped in a black cape, reading a gossip rag, his head punctuated with foil wraps, flashed through her head. It did nothing to diminish the raw maleness evident across the width of a parking space.
He sat door open, stereo blasting, singing at the top of his lungs while using the steering wheel as a drum set. He waved as Stephanie hopped out of the passenger’s seat, not one bit self-conscious at being caught performing.
A flash of envy crossed her brother’s face but disappeared as soon as he turned to free his sleeping daughter’s car seat from its confines. She reached out to stroke his arm. “Buy yourself one if you want. Your garage holds six cars; there’s room.”
Ethan cocked his head. “I might do that.”
But Megan knew he wouldn’t. He was a doting father and husband now. He’d had his toys, and they hadn’t soothed the pain in his heart. But his wife and daughter had, and she was going to have to accept it.
She unbuckled Pete from his car seat and held him for a good long cuddle as he roused from his nap. She settled him on her left hip and kissed the top of his little head. “Your papa would be so proud of you,” she whispered.
She struggled to hold her late-husband’s image in her mind as a breeze pushed a seductive, earthy scent mingled with the unmistakable aroma of new car in her direction when the gorgeous blond man unfolded himself from behind the wheel. He gathered Stephanie in a brotherly hug, keeping her snuggled against his side as he reached out to shake Ethan’s hand.
He was barely taller than her sister-in-law, barely taller than her, but somehow his presence made him seem larger than life. He had a tall personality and the most intense indigo blue eyes she’d ever seen. He turned to her and thrust out his hand. “Hi, I’m BJ Tobin. I’m Nana Deb’s oldest,” he paused to preen, “and best-looking son.”
Of course, he was. How was it they hadn’t met? Nana Deb had practically adopted Pete during that little vacation Megan had endured and was in and out of the house all the time dropping off gifts and begging to take Pete on special outings.