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Chapter One
Ellie
“Mom, I’m home.”
A smile spreads across my lips as I pull the chicken out of the oven and set it on the stove top. I could have told him I knew he was home. My seventeen-year-old sounds like a herd of elephants coming up the stairs, but I keep that comment to myself. Instead, I spin around to greet him as he steps through the door at the top of the steps. “How was practice?” I ask the moment he breaches the threshold.
“Coach was a hard-ass,” he states, barely able to get the words out before he chuckles.
That’s when I spot the reason he’s giggling.
His coach, Thomas Dexter—or TD as his friends refer to him as—is hot on his heels, entering my small kitchen space and consuming it with his broad, muscular body. I’ve known TD practically my whole life. We were in the same class throughout school and hung in the same circles. For a while, I wondered what it would be like to be his girl, but life had a way of throwing you a curveball. Since high school, we’ve remained friends, with my sole focus being on raising my son.
“You haven’t seen hard-ass yet,” he quips before adding, “something smells amazing,” giving me a heart-stopping grin.
I shake my head and try to get rid of the girlish butterflies that take flight every time he sends one of his smiles my way. “Your stomach knows when dinner’s ready. I made enough. Grab a plate,” I tell him, unable to fight my own grin.
“I don’t want to impose,” he replies. It’s the same song and dance we engage in often. He knows I make enough food for my growing seventeen-year-old son, as well as him. It’s one of the ways I can thank him for all the help he gives me with Brody.
Not only is TD the head high school football coach, he’s also a full-time police officer for our small town. Nestled along the Wisconsin/Minnesota border, Pine Village, Wisconsin is home to three thousand residents who don’t mind the bitter cold winters and extra fluffy snow that seems to stretch on for months and months. For me, it wasn’t so much I enjoyed my small-town upbringing and longed to stay here, but never had an opportunity to escape it. When you find yourself pregnant at seventeen and your parents basically throwing you out on your ass, you do what you have to. That meant finishing my last year of high school, working at the diner at night, and living in the small apartment above the business, trying not to get sick on the stench of deep-fried foods hanging in the air.
“What do you want to drink, Coach?” Brody hollers, pulling me out of my own head.
“Water, please.” TD moves to the cabinet and pulls three plates down and places them on the small table, before stepping over to where I stand at the stove and retrieving three forks. “Seriously, smells amazing, El.” His voice is like smooth honey on a warm biscuit and makes my mouth water.
A blush creeps up my neck, and I quickly turn my attention to the pan of chicken to hide my reaction.
“Mom, can I have a Coke?”
“You should probably stick with water or Gatorade after practice,” I state, knowing that’s what TD recommends.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he replies with a decisive nod before grabbing a glass and filling it with bottled water.
Once we’ve sat down at the table, I give my son my attention and dish out the chicken and potatoes. “How was practice?”
“Good. I had a touchdown on a sweet pass from Dorian,” he tells me proudly, smiling from ear to ear as he cuts into his smothered chicken breast.
“It was a sweet pass and catch,” TD chimes in, holding out his fist for a bump.
I shake my head, a soft smile spreading across my lips, enjoying their camaraderie. I’ll never be able to repay TD for the friendship and guidance he gives my son. He’s been a part of his life since he was little in some respect, but their bond has only grown since Brody started high school and decided to play football. I know my son looks at TD as a friend as well as a father figure, and TD doesn’t seem to mind filling that role. That’s something I’ll never take for granted.
The entire meal is spent the way most of them are. Brody and TD talk football, and I don’t mind. At this point in the evening, I’m perfectly content sitting back and listening. In fact, it’s nice not to be forced into small talk. Not that I don’t enjoy it, but when you do it all day long at work, I find joy in just sitting back and hearing about their day.
As the meal comes to an end, Brody hops up to start the cleanup. He’s incredibly helpful around the apartment, especially with my sometimes unpredictable work schedule. As the manager of Frannie’s Diner downstairs, I’m the one who gets called in when someone no-shows, is sick, or we get busy and need an extra set of hands. I don’t mind, really. It’s what I’ve done since I was seventeen years old. I love my job, even if I go home at the end of every day exhausted, my feet killing me, and smelling like I was dipped in grease.
“How was your day?” TD asks when we’re left alone at the table.
“It was good,” I assure him, giving him a pleasant smile.
He studies me like always. Honestly, it’s a little unnerving. No one reads me the way he does, despite whatever front I put on for the world to see. TD can see past it, and usually calls me out.
Tonight, I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. Does he see the exhaustion? The extra wrinkles around my tired eyes from working five in the morning until three or four in the afternoon? Then coming upstairs to clean, do laundry, and get dinner on the stove. I wonder if he knows I lie awake at night worrying about Brody, not because something’s wrong, but simply because he’s my everything, and I fear I’ve somehow left him unprepared for the big bad world he’s going to face one day soon. I give him every extra second I have in the day, but sometimes, it still feels like it’s not enough.
I was never this much of a worrywart growing up. I actually had a pretty normal childhood. My father is a minister and my mother a schoolteacher. I had friends, played a few sports, and participated in after-school clubs and activities. When I was seventeen, I made a mistake. One my parents couldn’t forgive me for, and when I wouldn’t give up my unplanned teenage pregnancy, they sent me packing to deal with the results of my careless decisions all on my own.
That’s when Frannie stepped up in more ways than one.
Not only did she ensure I had a place of employment, but a roof over my head. She rented me the available two-bedroom apartment above the diner for practically nothing, and I’ve been a devoted employee and friend ever since.
