Too Close to Call: A Romancing the Clarksons Novella, Page 2

  It took Kyler several gentle tugs to get Bree out on the floor, but when they finally got there, he knew it would be a moment he remembered for the rest of his life.

  Because it was the first time he’d seen her heartbroken.

  “Son, would you mind getting your ass up on the damn stage?” the announcer said in a gruff whisper, his big hand covering the microphone. “The next team is on the clock and we need to get a picture before their pick is up.”

  You don’t understand. This is all wrong. Dressed in an ironed suit beneath the television camera lights, Kyler had never been more aware that he was being swept along in the current, nowhere to grab hold. Doing his job inside the classroom and out on the field had made it easier to forget the pain. But now? His future had just been sealed. Being only than a few hours’ drive from Indiana, his absence from home—from Bree—had always seemed temporary somehow.

  Once he left for Los Angeles, it would be permanent.

  He would be permanently without Bree.

  “I, uh…yeah.” Kyler rubbed the heel of his hand against his stuttering heartbeat. “Sorry, sir. It’s all happening so fast, is all.”

  “It’s the cameras, right? Get used to them,” the announcer said out of the side of his mouth, gripping Kyler’s hand in a tight handshake, his lips spreading into a white-toothed smile for the cameras. “Welcome to the pros. Cameras and assholes are going to be in your face everywhere you go, asking you a bunch of questions you don’t know how to answer. Good news is, today all you have to do is smile, celebrate, and get laid.” He boomed a tight laugh. “Make sure there are no cameras around during that last part.”

  Kyler forced a pleased expression onto his face, holding up the jersey he’d been handed. “That advice coming from personal experience?”

  “Son, I’ve got three ex-wives in the crowd. What do you think?”

  “Right.” Kyler spotted his mother crying in the audience, his father looking bemused by the whole proceeding. No Bree, dammit. If she were there, she’d be cracking a joke to make Kyler’s father relax while handing his mother tissue, all graceful and easy. Not having her there was wrong. Everything was wrong.

  White winked in front of his eyes as more cameras went off in a barrage of blinding light. The announcer thought he’d been taken off guard by the chaotic media presence, but he wasn’t. No, he’d been expecting the cameras. Waiting for them with something akin to helpless loathing. After all, the flashes and scrutiny were a major part of what had cost him Bree.

  Perhaps what happened next could be credited to Kyler’s competitive spirit, those lenses being his opponent. Or maybe it was the love for his ex-girlfriend that had never dimmed, not one single iota. As Kyler stood there, having his image captured and replicated millions of times across computer, television, and cell phone screens, a sense of determination crept in. Slowly at first. Then it swelled and crowded his insides like rising dough.

  He’d won championships. Been named an All-American. Drafted by a professional organization. Dreams and goals being ticked off a list, one by one. But that night in the woods after prom, when Bree had tearfully ripped out his heart, he’d lost the most important battle of his life. He’d been in too much agony and shock to fight hard as he should have. Too resentful. And as a result, none of the glory that had come after losing Bree seemed real. None of it.

  Nor would anything that came after.

  No way in hell I’m going to Los Angeles without her.

  Chapter Two

  No rest for the weary.

  Bree climbed out of her truck and bent forward to touch her toes, groaning at the pull of muscles in her lower back. Who needed Pilates when she could spend the night tending a dairy cow with an infected hoof? Everything ached, she looked like a dumpster fire, and she only had fifteen minutes to guzzle a gallon of coffee before her next appointment.

  Pinning her messy curls on top of her head, she kicked her wellies against the truck tires, hoping to lose some of the caked-on mud. No dice. The nasty brown stuff climbed her weathered jeans and even dotted her T-shirt.

  The family business was thriving—which was a great thing. But her father’s advancing years meant more responsibility for Bree. More all-nighters at local barns without anyone to relieve her. More exhaustion.

  Not complaining. Bree straightened her back and marched toward the diner, knowing nobody inside would be surprised or offended by her appearance. No, the diner and a host of familiar voices would wrap around her like a warm hug, same as always. This town ran in Bree’s veins and she counted it a blessing that every morning she had the privilege of waking up inside its borders. If she ever found herself daydreaming of what lay beyond, well, she shut it down quick enough.

  The people of Bloomfield were farmers, small business owners, construction workers, teachers, all of them working honest jobs. Content with what they had, even if they struggled from time to time.

  Bree was no exception.

  Night classes had been manageable when her father was able to run the business alone, but since he’d slowed down, the workload had fallen on her shoulders. In the four years since high school, she’d completed her pre-veterinary studies degree while training constantly to follow in her father’s footsteps. She’d become a trusted animal care specialist in her own right, but even with tuition saved up, actual veterinary school seemed like a pipe dream.

  Someday.

  Right now, her most important job was paying the mortgage, making sure the business continued to thrive, and adding to her sister Kira’s college fund.

  Well worth the sore back and mud-soaked jeans.

  As soon as Bree walked into the diner, she knew something was up. For one thing, no one was sitting down. Every patron was on their feet, crowded together on one side of the restaurant, food left untouched on tables.

  She wiped her boots on the welcome mat and treaded toward the counter, hopping up on one of the stools. The clock above the grill said she only had ten minutes now to wrangle some coffee, but no one was behind the counter to take her order. A swell of murmurs and laughter went up in the crowd where they stood congregated about twenty feet away.

  And that’s when she heard his voice.

  Kyler Tate.

  Bree’s heart shot up into her throat, her fingers fluttering there, as if she could reach in and dislodge the obstruction. Oh no. Bad. Very bad. Since he’d left for college, she’d managed to avoid him almost every time he’d come home to visit. Apart from a couple quick sightings in the grocery store, she hadn’t even seen him. No matter that her eyes and chest ached with the need to catch a glimpse of him now, it wasn’t happening. Too many memories, feelings. Regrets?

  No. She refused to have those.

  How had this happened? There was always a buzz in town whenever the star football player descended. How had he snuck in without warning at the tail end of July? Very inconsiderate of him to deprive Bree of her usual method of avoidance. Whenever Bloomfield welcomed him home, she holed up in her house until he had the decency to skedaddle. If she was forced to leave the house while Kyler was in town limits, she sure as hell didn’t do it dressed like a drowned rat.

  Bree slipped off the stool and crept toward the door, praying none of Kyler’s many admirers would turn around. His deep, rich voice drifted across the separation—humble as always—causing a hesitation in her step, but she managed to keep going. Having him so close was doing terrible damage to her insides, tangling them up like gnarled tree roots. A vision caught Bree in the throat, forcing her to gasp for breath.

  Kyler, dressed in a tuxedo on that long ago prom night, bow tie loose and hanging down, his face the picture of devastation. That man. The one she’d hurt beyond repair.

  He was right there.

  It didn’t escape Bree’s notice that she was bolting like a coward, same way her mother had done all those years ago, but what choice did she have? Stick around and come face to face with her past? Or live to fight another day? It was a no brainer.


  Nearly every day of her life, she walked in and out of Nelson’s Diner. Yet somehow she forgot about the gumball machine. Her wellies connected with the red plastic base—hard. It sent a boom through the diner and a reverberation of denial coursing down her spine. “Shit almighty,” Bree muttered, squeezing her eyes closed. When she turned toward the gathering of people, every single eye in the joint was on her. “Oh. Hey, y’all.”

  Sly looks were traded, elbows were shoved not so discreetly into ribs. This was why she didn’t leave her house when Kyler came to Bloomfield. Because as much as Bree loved her small town, they were a pain in the rear end when it came to relationships, past and present. Nosy as all get out, every last one of them.

  “Funny you should stop in when you did,” called one of the waitresses, Sharon, propping hands on hips. “It’s like you knew something about something.”

  “I don’t know something about anything,” Bree sputtered, backing toward the door. “I was just stopping in to see what pie was on special. And now I know. Peach.”

  Sharon raised a gray eyebrow, all lazy-like, rolling her neck in the process. “You don’t want your usual coffee to go?”

  “Just remembered I have some in the truck, thank you.”

  “How is that?” one of the old timers called. “You’ve been out on Gamble’s farm all night. Was it them that gave you the coffee?”

  “They’re decaf drinkers,” Sharon supplied. “Did you make the switch?”

  “I don’t understand the need for specifics.” Panic and the urgency to flee gripped Bree when the crowd began parting. Any second now, she would see Kyler. They would make eye contact. Another flash of him on the creek bed, his face stark in the moonlight, made Bree bump back into the door. “You all have a good day now—”

  “Bree.” Her blood snapped with electricity at the sound of her name, said in that low drawl. Kyler stepped to the forefront of the crowd. The green eyes that still graced her dreams zeroed in, raking over her like they couldn’t help it.

  Heaven above, four years looked incredible on him. Extra inches had been added everywhere. His height. The athletic breadth of his shoulders. The corded biceps that tested the stitching of his T-shirt sleeves. Even his thighs, which were wrapped up in faded denim, were exploding with muscle; thighs she’d spent a good portion of her youth perched on since Kyler never allowed her to sit anywhere but his lap, no matter where they were or whether it was appropriate. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” she whispered. “You’re in town.”

  His slow nod was so familiar a ripple moved through her. “Here for the week. Can I get you that coffee?”

  “No.” She flushed over her own abruptness. “I meant to say, I can’t stay. I’m going to be late for an appointment.”

  “Fine. I’ll walk you out.”

  His expression dared her to say no. Challenged her. And for the first time since Kyler left, sexual awareness danced in her middle, sending a swift tremble down the length of her legs. Because her body hadn’t forgotten what often lay on the other side of those challenges. “Fine,” she breathed. “Suit yourself.”

  For all his sexual energy, Kyler was a gentleman, straight down to the soles of his feet. So Bree wasn’t one bit surprised when his long gait ate up the distance between them. He reached over her head to push open the glass door, sending his scent crashing into her senses, the combination so familiar, Bree’s nipples tightened until she winced. Grassy fields and Nautica Blue aftershave.

  Their gazes clashed, but Bree couldn’t decide if he’d worn the scent on purpose. His steady eyes gave nothing away. Before hers could betray her curiosity, Bree turned and passed through the door Kyler held open. And hell if it wasn’t the longest walk in history, his presence behind her looming larger than a mountain. Every eyeball in the diner was sure to be on them and the attention made Bree twitchy, her fingers yanking on the strings of her hoodie.

  She needed to get this reunion over with as soon as possible. Being around Kyler would only make her wonder what might have been. That kind of thinking was pointless. Destructive. Wanting more than a comfortable life is why her mother had walked out a decade earlier, leaving Bree to run the household. To care for her younger sister and heartbroken father. Bree took pride in those responsibilities now. They were what life had handed her and she would be content.

  Back in high school, the writing had been on the wall when it came to Kyler. Everyone knew he’d been destined for greatness. That he would shake off Bloomfield and put his name in the history books. She’d been selfish to stay with him for so long, absorbing his love and attention, all the while knowing she’d wave good-bye to him someday. The decision was a painful one, but it had been made and now she would stick to it.

  Bree gripped the truck’s door handle and sent a casual smile over her shoulder. “Thanks for seeing me to my vehicle. You’ve earned your Boy Scout badge.”

  Kyler kept walking until Bree couldn’t open the truck door without hitting him. Which meant he was close. Close enough to make her nerve endings sing in falsetto. “I think you’d need to be a little old lady for me to earn that badge,” he drawled.

  “Feeling pretty old today,” Bree murmured without thinking, glancing down at her muddy clothes.

  When she lifted her face again, his easy smile had slipped. “You look tired.”

  She nudged his shoulder, determined not to acknowledge it was made of stone. “Back in town five minutes and already pouring on the compliments.”

  “When I don’t like something, I say it out loud. You remember that about me, don’t you.” Not a question. “Bree looking tired is high on the list of things I don’t like.”

  “Good thing it’s my business, then.” Bree forced a polite smile, mostly for the benefit of their audience. She’d never fooled Kyler with phony smiles a day in her life and wouldn’t start today. “Not yours, Ky.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but closed it, his throat muscles shifting. “You’ve got new rain boots. What happened to the ones with the yellow ducks?”

  Was he intentionally bombarding her with shared memories? That didn’t seem like Kyler’s style, but he might as well be shooting blow darts into her chest. “I, um…” She nudged one rubber toe against the other. “I rocked them long as I could. Last time I wore them, my pinkie toe was peeking out.”

  “See now, I’m sorry I missed that.” Inching closer, he shook his head. “Always did think you had the cutest feet.”

  “When do you leave?” Bree blurted, making him flinch. “I mean, how long are you in town?”

  He stared at a spot in the distance. “Week or so. Need to report for training camp out in California in August.”

  “Yes. Training camp.” More polite smiling. She even gave a little pageant wave at the gawking row of town people staring at them through the windows. “Well. A week is a nice visit. Not too short. Not too long.”

  “I aim to take you out for dinner while I’m here.”

  “Pardon?” Bree snapped straight, her pulse flashing like erratic lightning. “What for?”

  “What for.” His eyelids dropped, then lifted to reveal…nothing. A wall. “Just two friends catching up is all, Bree. We don’t need to play this game.”

  “Game?”

  “Yeah. The one where I come home and you burrow into the ground like a gopher.”

  “Oh, fine. Now I’m tired looking and a gopher.”

  “Don’t deflect.”

  “Oh, fine. Now I’m a tired, deflecting goph—”

  “Bree Caroline Justice,” Kyler warned, using her full name, same way he always used to when his temper got riled. “We’re going out for a meal, you and I. This nonsense has gone on way too long. You broke my heart. I went away and healed it up. Now we’re going to be friends.”

  The air left her, her organs trembling. “You just put it right out there.”

  “Somebody had to.” His voice had softened, but that wall he’d built behind his eyes was still standing. “You have plans
tonight?”

  “Besides washing my hair?” They traded a quick smirk. “I’m chaperoning the church youth group dance. For Kira. She’s going to be a senior in the fall.”

  “Shit, that went fast.” His lips lifted in a fond smile, calling to mind how much Kyler used to spoil her little sister, bringing her flowers to ease the sting of being left at home while he took out Bree. “Is she the hell raiser we suspected she’d be?”

  “Yes.” Bree wrinkled her nose. “She’s got boys on the brain and goes through them like a chain smoker does cigarettes. Hence me volunteering to keep an eye on the dance tonight. Told Kira if I didn’t see daylight between her and her dance partner, I’d break out my moves.”

  “That sounds less like a threat and more like a promise.” For just a split second, his wall lowered itself. “You never could sit still for long when music was playing.”

  “Only because you didn’t let me.”

  “True enough.” He propped a hand beside her on the truck, his scrutiny thickening. “Now that you sit still instead of dancing, are you happier?”

  Dammit, she hesitated. “Yes.”

  “That so.”

  Feeling exposed, as if she’d suddenly been robbed of four years’ worth of maturing and moving on, Bree took advantage of Kyler being distracted. She curled her fingers around the door handle, opened it, and hefted herself into the truck. “Maybe I grew up,” she mumbled. “I’ll see you, Ky.”

  When she pulled out of the parking lot moments later, Kyler was watching her in the rearview, fingers hooked in his belt loops, eyes narrowed.

  For now, she’d escaped without making that dinner date. But she didn’t have a doubt in her mind Kyler wouldn’t give up after only one attempt.

  Chapter Three

  Kyler pulled his truck into the church parking lot and turned up the air conditioner, reckoning he should sneak in once the dance was already in full swing. Wouldn’t want to give a certain someone another chance to pull a Houdini, now would he?