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Angel sighed, her thin shoulders sagging slightly. “Mostly venting. But if you do have any ideas on how to get them to like me again, I’m all ears.”
He wasn’t sure if teenagers ever saw eye to eye all the time with their parents, but he had an idea for helping the boys integrate better into the community that couldn’t hurt. “What about the football team? Wes Sharrun and I coach the local team, and we could use a few new players.” He didn’t tell her that Eddie’s anger might be better channeled with the physical-contact sport.
She considered it. “I’m not sure it’s really Liam’s thing, but Eddie could definitely use an extracurricular activity that would help him channel some of his…negative energy.”
So she did see her older boy’s anger. He should have known. Angel seemed to be very intuitive with her children. She was just hands-on enough but tried to give them their space.
“Thanks, Trent.”
“Absolutely. Practice is Tuesdays at seven p.m.” He wasn’t completely convinced that he’d see Eddie there, but the best he could do was offer. Anything further would be overstepping.
Angel glanced around. “Where’s Max?”
“He went to the bartenders’ convention in Las Vegas last week and then decided to stay a few extra days to visit friends.” Trent hoped Max wouldn’t reconsider the idea of becoming part of his team. The notes he’d sent by email he’d taken at the conference had been impressive. He really had gone to learn, and Trent was happy that he’d been serious about the opportunity.
“Really?” Angel said. “He wants to become a bartender?”
“It surprised me at first, too. I wasn’t sure how long he was sticking around, but he says he’s considering it for Life: Act Two.”
“Well, that’s good,” Angel said, and Trent detected a note in her tone.
“You think so?” he asked teasingly.
She scoffed and swiped at him. “I feel safe with him manning the place, that’s all.”
He sobered slightly. He knew Angel had been through a lot, and he wanted her to always feel safe here. He reached out and quickly touched her hand.
“Hey, you and the boys are going to be okay. Things will get better.”
She stared at him searchingly, as though wanting to take those words to the bank. Her light-blue eyes reflected a glimmer of repressed tears. “Promise?”
Unfortunately, he couldn’t. All he could do was be there and offer any support the family might need. “Can they get worse?” he asked gently.
“Good point,” she said with a laugh. She climbed down from the stool and rotated her shoulders. “Shaking it off,” she said, before regaining her tough facade and getting to work.
…
Traffic was stopped on Route 1 heading south. Of all days for her GPS not to warn her about a major collision on the highway.
Whitney drummed her fingers along the steering wheel, willing the cars ahead to move faster. The car two spaces in front crept forward, but the one directly in front of her didn’t move. Whitney peered through the windshield, her gaze drilling a hole into the back of the driver’s head.
She was texting.
Whitney waited.
Now she was shuffling through songs on her iPhone.
The car two ahead of her inched forward several more feet, and it took everything Whitney had not to wail on the horn.
Patience was something she had very little of today.
Burning hot ninety-degree weather outside made sweat collect on her back beneath her white blouse despite the air-conditioning blasting through the ventilation.
Squinting, she read the time on the dash. Twenty minutes until her specialist’s appointment in San Francisco.
Despite how close it was, the license plate in front of her was impossible to read, and the exit sign in the distance…she wouldn’t even attempt.
She was more of a hazard on the highway than the texting, music-searching girl in front of her. But she needed to get to the appointment, and it wasn’t something she wanted to reveal to her friends or Trent just yet. Once she spoke to the doctor and got more clarity and hopefully a plan to fix her ailing health, then she’d tell everyone what was going on. She didn’t need them worrying about her any more than they already did.
