The First Time Again: The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 3 (3 page)

The best he supposed he could hope for was to be accepted or possibly ignored by the locals. After his encounter with Officer Spoley last night, he didn’t hold out too much hope for that, but he was here for the time being, so the townspeople would have to make the best of it. And so, he supposed, would he.

Since a sign near the entrance told him to seat himself, he chose the booth because he could angle his body in the corner near the front window and stretch his leg out beneath the table without it being too noticeable.

Within seconds a waitress appeared, coffee pot in hand. “Coffee?” She reached for one of the mugs already on the table.

Trey glanced up at her and nodded. “Thanks.”

She set a plastic-coated menu next to him. “Specials are on the board over there.” She tilted her head in the direction of a dry erase board on the far wall. “Get you some juice or something?”

“Sure. A large orange juice. And a glass of water if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” she assured him with a flirtatious smile.

She wasn’t unattractive. Probably close to his own age. Blondish-brown hair pulled up in a ponytail. Hazel eyes. A few extra pounds here and there, but nothing off-putting. But he wasn’t going to encourage her.

He opened the menu, the words blurring before his eyes for a minute before he focused on them.

Truth was, Trey wasn’t sure of himself with women any more. Or with anyone for that matter. Without the crutch of alcohol to smooth the way, to make him the life of the party, to lower his inhibitions so he could relax and pretend to be himself, he had no idea how to proceed.

He’d never had a problem giving up drinking during training or during the season. He’d been in control, never thought of himself as addicted. But after the first knee surgery, when he’d been afraid he’d never play again, he’d been all too ready to make himself oblivious of that frightening reality.

The fact that he’d come back after the first surgery, had played decently for most of that season, was, in his mind at least, a minor miracle. But he’d gotten sacked in the last quarter of the last game. If they’d won, the Jacks would have been in the division play-offs. Instead, he’d been escorted off the field on a stretcher, forcing himself to hold back the howls of pain until he made it to the ambulance.

The Jacks lost. He never played again. He had another surgery. Complications set in. Physical therapy had been excruciating. His patience and his temper wore thin. Doctors didn’t think twice about writing prescriptions for him, and there were enough of them who didn’t know what medications he’d already been prescribed by one of their colleagues.

Before he knew it, he was hooked. He quickly discovered that washing painkillers down with Jack Daniels added to their effect. Pretty soon he wasn’t feeling anything. Not the depression over the fact that his pro football career was over. Not resentment of Hayley when she tried to intervene, to get him some help. Not any feeling at all for the parade of women he screwed and dumped.

Until he got where he needed to be, he wasn’t about to start up with women again, not even one woman. Not when what he’d probably do is screw up again, hurt her without meaning to.

The waitress set down glasses of juice and of ice water. “Anything look good?”

Another come-on. Trey didn’t look up from the menu. “I’ll have the Mountain Man Special,” he told her. “Eggs over medium. Bacon.” He chanced a glance up at her. “Can I get biscuits and gravy instead of toast?”

“Sure thing. You want grits too?”

“That’d be great, thanks.” He closed the menu and set it at the edge of the table, aware of her lingering next to him longer than it took her to write down his order.

He pulled the newspaper toward him and finally she took herself off.

He doctored the coffee and took a sip. It wasn’t Arabian Mocha Sunani, but neither was it expired discount store decaf.

He opened the paper and leafed through it quickly, checking the ads for local professionals. On page six he found two ads for attorneys. One of the names caught his attention. Ryan T. Reagle. As kids they’d called him Reagle Beagle. Trey smiled to see Ryan was still using that nickname.
Ryan T. Reagle. Legal Beagle.

That’s who I need, Trey decided. He remembered Ryan as a serious kid, a good student. He’d desperately wanted to play sports. He’d tried them all. Unfortunately poor eyesight coupled with a complete lack of coordination and limbs that grew so fast he couldn’t keep up with them prevented that.

In high school, if Trey recalled correctly, Ryan had found the track team. His long legs and thin frame were built for jumping hurdles and running marathons. He bet if he looked in his yearbook he’d find Ryan had lettered in track all four years.

Trey made note of the address near the courthouse a few blocks away. He’d stop in after breakfast and see if Ryan was available.

Must be my lucky day, he thought as he pulled out a special health care section. He leafed through it and found the physical therapists as well as the other kinds of therapist listed by specialty. He didn’t recognize any of their names, and he’d much prefer to see someone who had no connection to him at all.

“Here you go, sugar.” Trey set the paper aside as the waitress set plates before him. “Want me to warm that up for you?”

Trey flickered a glance her way and said, “Sure.”

She refilled his coffee cup. Again she hesitated, but when he picked up his utensils, she stepped away.

He glanced around the restaurant in time to see one or two patrons sending speculative looks in his direction.

He piled everything except the grits onto one plate and mixed it all together. He’d loved doing this as a kid and now there was no one to stop him. He’d been taught manners, but he couldn’t see what difference it could possibly make to anyone if he liked to chop up his bacon and shove it into the eggs until they ran all over the plate and into the hash browns. Who would care if he added biscuits and gravy to that mess?

He read the rest of the paper while he ate. The waitress stopped by one more time, but he declined her offer of another refill.

He threw a generous tip on the table and went to the counter to pay. She was there, too, and took his money. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

He looked at her full-on then, since it didn’t seem like he could avoid it. What could he say? “No, can’t say that I do.”

“Terry Miller. We went to high school together. You were a year ahead of me. I sat behind you in World History my sophomore year.”

“Did you?” Trey racked his brain for a memory, any memory of a younger version of this woman, and came up blank.

“Yeah, well, you never noticed me back then, either.”

Trey fought the urge to apologize. He didn’t owe this woman anything other than civility and the tip he’d left on the table.

She handed him his change. He smiled at her. “Great to meet you, Terry. I’ll probably see you again.”

He decided to walk to Ryan’s office. He needed to use his leg, keep the muscles moving, even if it pained him to do so.

The law office of Ryan T. Reagle was a step above what Trey expected for a small-town lawyer, decorated in muted tones of gray with burgundy accents. An opaque window on a far wall slid open as soon as he closed the door. A chubby redhead smiled in his direction and asked if she could help him.

“I don’t have an appointment, but I was wondering if Ryan’s available.”

“Does he know what it’s regarding?”

“No, but it’s a legal matter.”

“What’s your name? I’ll see if he can see you.”

When Trey gave her his name she showed no indication of recognizing it. He remained standing after she slid the frosted panel closed. A minute later she held the door to the inner sanctum open for him. “End of the hall, turn left,” she told him.

The hallway wasn’t very long and was carpeted in dark gray with burgundy-and-cream-striped wallpaper covering the walls below a chair rail. The top half of the walls was painted the same cream as the stripe in the wallpaper.

He tapped on the open door to Ryan’s office, but the other man was already on his feet and coming around his desk. Ryan hadn’t changed much. He was still tall, thin and bookish. He offered his hand.

“Trey Christopher, as I live and breathe. Back in town for less than twenty-four hours and in trouble with the law already.” He grinned when Trey’s mouth dropped open and then indicated the chairs in front of his desk. He went back to the other side and dropped into a burgundy leather swivel chair. The furnishings were cherry, the upholstered pieces carrying through the same color scheme as the outer office. “Come on, have you forgotten how small towns operate? Word of mouth. Gossip on the street. Better and more accurate information than that newspaper will give you.”

Confounded, Trey could only stare at Ryan. “Are you saying—?”

“That I know Justin Spoley pulled you over last night and threw a whole bunch of citations at you? Sure. As soon as he logged them in, they became public record. Clerks over at the courthouse are all abuzz with it.”

“Damn. I hope that doesn’t mean my mom and dad already know he cited me for indecent exposure.”

“They may not know the particulars, but I’d be willing to bet by now your dad knows you got pulled over for speeding inside the Edna Falls town limits.”

“Great. That’s just great.” Trey let himself stew in that information for a minute.

“So. Is this a social call? Or are you looking for a lawyer? Because I make it my business to stop assholes like Spoley from overstepping their legal boundaries.”

“You know him?”

“Hell, yes. You remember him. Or the name at least. He played defense for Forest City. Senior year? Last game of the season? A shot at the state championship on the line? Justin intercepted your pass—”

“—and started running with it.” Trey could see it all, the field, the other players. For a moment he felt his own dismay, knowing it was his last shot at quarterbacking a high school championship. He could almost feel the way adrenaline shot through him. He had to
do
something.

“You took off after him, and to this day, I’ll never know how you caught up with him.”

“He made a fatal mistake. He looked back to see who was there,” Trey put in with a grin.

Ryan nodded, his eyes alight with the memory. “He tripped. Fumbled. You recovered.”

Trey nodded. He’d scooped up the ball and reversed direction. Somehow he’d managed to elude the rest of Forest City’s defense. His team had rallied around him, blocking for him as he zigzagged his way up the field to score as the final seconds ticked away.

Hendersonville had gone on to win the state championship instead of Forest City. Was it even possible that Justin Spoley had never gotten over it?

“I remembered him after he let me go,” Trey admitted.

Ryan grinned again. “You had no idea who he was? Oh, man, that must have pissed him off.”

“You’re not saying Justin Spoley had it in for me last night because of a high school football game?”

“It’s not a secret. Over the years he’s told different versions of the story, but yeah, I’d say he’s held a grudge against you since that game. His belief is you got the break he was supposed to have. The scouts saw you make that play and subsequently overlooked him. You got the offers from the best schools and he got the ones from the second tier. You went on to play pro. He sat on the bench in college. You married a gorgeous cheerleader, went to the Super Bowl a couple of times. He’s stuck here making traffic stops. He pulled you over, identified himself, and you had no idea who he was. No wonder he gave you a citation for every charge he could think of.”

“It was
high school
for Pete’s sake. I can’t believe he hasn’t gotten over it and moved on.”

Ryan opened his middle desk drawer and withdrew a small cloth. “We could sit here and analyze Spoley’s victim mentality and discuss his motive for carrying around this kind of baggage for ten years, but it’d be a waste of time. Not to mention boring.” Drawing off his wire-rimmed glasses, he polished first one lens and then the other before dropping the cloth back into the drawer.

After he put his glasses back on he drew a blank legal pad toward him and picked up a pen. “You want to tell me what happened last night and we’ll go from there?”

Trey related the events of the previous evening. Ryan made notes and asked a few questions.

“I’ll cop to the speeding ticket. Everything else is bogus.”

“Technically, maybe not bogus, but also not provable. Refusing the breathalyzer could be a problem given your past, uh, very public history.”

“I haven’t had a drink in over a year,” Trey grated out. “I wasn’t drinking last night. If he thought I was driving drunk he should have arrested me.”

“True. Still, his behavior does seem extreme. He could have started with a roadside sobriety test rather than a breathalyzer. Made you walk a straight line, close your eyes, touch your nose. He didn’t, though. You’re sure he didn’t suggest it ?”

“I’m sure.”

“The expired tags? Hard to make that one stick, either, especially if, as you say, you had the new tags in the car.”

“I had a whole pile of mail to go through. I put the new tags on this morning.”