Page 7 of Something Reckless

EASTON

“ I just don’t see why we need to leave the house so damn early.” Lincoln’s still yawning as he yanks open the driver’s side door and climbs inside. “Your appointment isn’t for another two hours. And it’s not like there’s traffic around here or anything.”

I shake my head from where I’m already buckled up and ready to go in the passenger seat. “I can’t miss this doctor’s appointment. They already did us a favor by squeezing me in this week, and I’m freaking thrilled at the possibility of getting off these crutches.”

My grumpy chauffeur snorts a chuckle. “Oh, I believe you. I’d bet you’re so done with those death sticks.”

“That’s an understatement,” I confirm with a grunt. “My underarms are sore and achy as hell from hopping around on those damn things for all these months.”

I flip down the sun visor and peer into the mirror.

I groomed my beard and I ironed my shirt and I may have possibly put on a tad too much cologne.

In my defense, not looking and smelling like a homeless person is important to me today.

Today’s probably the day I’m getting off my crutches, after all.

But the moment the car pulls out of the driveway, I realize that it’s not the crutches I’m so anxious about. I’m anxious because we’ll be driving by the church.

The local hospital is right down the street from the old chapel where some of my classmates and I used to volunteer every Wednesday evening. Those were some good times. Somehow, I’ve got a feeling that visiting the church will give me a hint or two about what is going on with Alba.

Why the hell was she so weird around me yesterday? A bunch of scenarios run through my head.

Does it have something to do with her father?

Back in the day, Coach Anderson made it no secret that he didn’t want me putting my filthy hands on his golden child.

But Alba and I are adults now. Things are different.

She wouldn’t let her old man keep us from being friends—or possibly more—would she?

I weigh another explanation in my mind. Maybe she’s angry that I gave her little boyfriend a bloody nose a few days before I left town .

In my defense, Christopher The Fuckface was talking a whole lot of misogynistic crap behind Alba’s back the night of my farewell bonfire.

He was talking about her like she was just a piece of meat he couldn’t wait to stick his peanut-sized dick into.

He deserved to be put in his place. Hell, I’d be glad to put him in his place all over again, any day of the week.

I’m pretty confident that if I could just explain the situation to Alba, she wouldn’t hold it against me now.

Or what if, she found out that I hooked up with her sister on the night of the bonfire?

Shit. My blood runs cold at the prospect that Alba found out about that.

But even if she did, why would she care?

She and I were just friends. Plus, she was in a serious relationship of her own.

So technically, she’d have no reason to be mad that something happened between Raya and me.

Still, I’d hate for her to think that I’m some kind of slutty sleaze ball.

I always wanted Alba to have a positive opinion of me.

I run through all those scenarios again and again.

Damn. I did some shitty things in the weeks before I left Fairy Bush.

But in the present moment, I try not to beat myself up too much about those mistakes I made.

I was a hormonal teen from a broken home.

I was doing my best to navigate my way through a world where the odds were all stacked against me.

I’d say I did a pretty good job, all things considered.

In any case, I’m anxious to figure out the reason for all the weirdness between Alba and me now.

My impatience grows as we enter the heart of town, cruising past the quaint store fronts on Sunflower Avenue.

But as the car rolls further along, confusion rises, clouding my head.

Because there is now a big, modern coffee shop on the corner where the large brick church building once stood tall.

Lincoln notices, too. “Hey. Looks like they demolished the old church,” he remarks, casually sliding on his sunglasses.

Meanwhile, panic ignites in my chest. What the hell is going on here?

When we pull into the small hospital parking lot, I frantically gaze around. “Are you sure this is the right spot?”

Lincoln gives me a funny look. “This is the one and only hospital in town.”

“But…” I look around again. “Where’s the church?”

He hops out, stretching his legs as he gazes at our surroundings. “Everything looks different, huh?”

Eyebrows pinched together, I get out of the car, too. I’m so confused. I unlock my phone, double-checking the address. But the online map confirms that we’re at the right spot.

“You’re being weird, bro. What’s going on in that big head of yours?” Lincoln asks, and I realize he’s been staring at me since he parked the car.

“Nothing,” I lie. “I just need some caffeine. We’ve got some time. Let’s stop in at that coffee shop.”

My older brother nods. “Just keep an eye on the time.”

“Yes, Dad .”

I crutch across the street, with Lincoln at my side. When we make it to the coffee shop, he holds the door open, and we step inside.

I stare around the place. Everything is foreign. Obviously. This whole place didn’t even exist the last time I was in town. But damn, it sure makes my head spin. It’s just hard to wrap my mind around all these changes.

One question echoes in my head. Where did the damn church go?

Lincoln’s phone starts buzzing and a grin flashes across his grumpy face.

“Cam?” I ask. My brother can be a temperamental bastard most of the time.

But there’s one person on this planet always guaranteed to put a smile on Lincoln’s face—his seven-year-old son, Cameron.

He nods. “Gotta take this.” He waves his phone in the air between us. “Grab me a coffee?”

“Got it. Tell kiddo I miss him already.” Cameron’s a rockstar. I love that little boy, and I’m his favorite uncle. I don’t care what Rocco and Oliver say.

I watch as Lincoln wanders off to answer his call, leaving me on my own.

After a brief wait in line, I step up to the counter. The barista’s eyes go wide when they land on me. Shit—she recognizes me. But I pretend to be oblivious.

I try to place my order but she excitedly changes the subject. “You’re that famous football player on the wall!” She points past my shoulder.

My eyes swing in the direction she’s pointing in. On the far wall, there’s a large framed photo of me, all decked out in my hockey gear. Then there’s a set of hockey sticks hanging above it. Judging by the looks of them, I would bet good money that they’re my old sticks from high school.

I give the barista a thin smile. “Hockey,” I correct her, keeping my voice low and even. I’m not trying to cause a scene.

“ Ohmygodohmygod ,” she squeals, immediately freaking out.“I remember you. You used to read stories to us at youth group when I was little!”

My ears perk up, my mood shifting instantly. I sense an opportunity, a link to my past. “Do you know what happened to the old church?” I ask, after giving my coffee order and putting a ten dollar bill on the counter.

The barista shrugs. “It closed down a while back.”

I’m hoping she’ll give additional details. But the girl is too busy rambling excitedly about how freaking cool it is to see ‘a famous person’ in real life.

“Hey, it’s no biggie,” I say, desperately trying to calm her down.

I want to ask if she has any more information about the church. About Alba . But now, she’s jumping up and down behind the counter. It wouldn’t be so bad, but her excitement is starting to draw attention from others around the shop, as heads are turning in our direction.

“I’m kind of trying to keep a low profile, if you don’t mind,” I say gently, trying to rein her in and get her to focus on the situation at hand. “Do you know why the church closed? Do you know what happened?”

When I slide an additional twenty dollar bill across the counter in her direction, that finally calms her the fuck down.

She eyeballs the money with glee.“Oh! Right. The church.” She pockets the tip and cocks a hip, ready to give me the gossip.

“Well, the church fell behind on all their bills and then the board of directors started an internal investigation and they discovered that the pastor’s wife was stealing the donation money so she confessed that she and the hockey coach had planned the whole scheme together and then it came out that the two of them had been having an affair all along then the hockey coach drained his family’s bank accounts and tried to get away but the police caught him and tossed his ass in jail and then the bank seized the church building and sold it off at auction so they could get their money and by the time the court case was over, the pastor’s wife spent a few months in prison and the hockey coach got put on house arrest.”

The woman is breathless by the time she’s done uttering the longest run-on sentence in modern human history.

“Or something like that.”

I blink, trying to process what I’m hearing. “ What …?”

She shrugs. “That’s just what I heard. It was a whole big scandal around town. ”

I’d always had my suspicions that something shady was going on at that church.

Still, I never expected the rabbit hole to run this deep.

I’m struggling to put the pieces together in my mind—but shit—this farfetched story has more twists and turns than those crazy story times I scroll past on my TikTok feed all the time .

Before I can verbalize a coherent response to all this information I just learned, someone taps me on the shoulder and asks me for a picture. I look around, finding that nearly every person in the coffee shop is now approaching the counter where I’m standing.

I hold in a groan. So much for keeping a low profile.

Excited chatter begins to rise up in the room.

“Holy crap! It’s Easton Raines!”

“Welcome back to town, dude!”

“Hey! Can I get an autograph for my brother?”

“My kid would just kill for a photo with you.”

As the crowd grows, I paste on an uncomfortable smile, my brain still trying to wrap itself around all the new information I just learned.

Normally, I don’t mind the pictures and autographs thing. Actually, I usually enjoy meeting hockey fans. But this is terrible timing. Between my injury and my current quest to figure out what happened with Alba’s family, my head’s not quite in it.

Still, I scribble out a handful of autographs, slap a few high-fives for the kids, and then I duck out as quickly as possible on my crutches, pulling my hood up over my head.

I don’t even realize that I forgot about my coffee until I’m outside.

Not that it matters. I’m too keyed up for caffeine anyway, overwhelmed with shock and confusion as I try again and again to process the pieces of this twisted tale.

The hockey coach—that’s Alba’s father—was having an affair with the pastor’s wife—that’s Christopher’s mother.

They stole money from the church bank accounts and from the Anderson family savings.

A judge put the local Bonnie and Clyde in the naughty corner for a court-imposed time- out.

And now Alba’s running around town, peeking over fences and dressing up as a fairy.

Right. I guess that makes sense.Not.

I’m even more confused than I was before.

All I know is, I feel this incredible need to see Alba again. I’m pissed that I let her run off the way she did after she showed up on my property. With the church gone and everything being so completely weird and different, I’m left wondering how the heck I’ll track her down again.

Glancing around the hospital parking lot, I don’t see Lincoln anywhere. But my luck must be turning for the better. Because when I gaze across the street, I spot a familiar head of coppery curls and a hot little ass entering the public library.

My heartbeat speeds up instantly. Bingo!