From the Start (41 page)

19

F
our months ago Kate had called this big green house magical.

And she just might be right.

“Which color, Colton?”

Raegan pointed to three streaks of beige paint on the otherwise white wall of the oversized living room. Or what would be a living room once he’d bought furniture and restained the hardwood floor and filled it up with people. “What do you mean which color? They’re all the same, aren’t they?”

Seth passed between Colton and Raegan, carrying two cans of varnish.

“No, they’re not the same.” Raegan rolled her eyes and pointed from brushstroke to brushstroke. “This one’s On the Rocks. This one’s Buff. And this one’s Creamy Beige.”

“I still say they all look the same. You pick.”

She turned back to the wall with an overdone sigh. “Men.”

He grinned and turned a full circle in the room. Seth and Ava were varnishing the ornate wooden banister leading upstairs, and Bear was sanding away the last of the grooves in the floor—while managing to avoid Raegan.
Hmm, wonder what that is about?

And somewhere Webster was supposed to be collecting dinner orders. It was the least Colton could do, provide an evening meal for the people who’d given up yet another winter weeknight to help him renovate the house on Water Street.

Parker House.
A home for young men transitioning from foster care to independence.

Had such a good ring to it.

He’d asked God for his eleven inches.

And in reply had been given the gift of a calling.

“You know, one of these days you’re going to have to let us tell Kate.”

Raegan. She’d abandoned her wall and now stood beside him, arms folded. He’d been surprised when he returned to Maple Valley in early January to see the streaks of pink gone from her hair. She’d seemed subdued at first—and not entirely overjoyed to see him.

He couldn’t blame her. Not after the way he’d left. Not considering the thread of family loyalty that wove the Walkers together.

But once he’d explained his reason for coming back, his plans for this house, each member of the family had come to embrace his vision. Not only that, they’d helped him make it happen. Were helping him still. At that moment, Case was at a city council meeting to find out how the council was going to vote on Colton’s zoning request.

“Hello. Earth to Colton.”

He blinked. “Tell Kate. Right. I’ll get on that right now.” Or not.

And clearly Raegan wasn’t buying. “She’s going to find out eventually. You asked us to keep it on the down low, and we won’t tell her, but we’re not the only people she keeps in touch with. She talks to Megan at least once a week.”

“If she finds out, she finds out. I’m not trying to keep a long-
term secret here, Rae.” He just . . . He hated the thought of intruding on Kate’s life again. Would he love it if she showed back up in town—somehow forgot about all the hurt he’d caused her, the way he’d just left her in that hospital—and jumped into his open arms?

Sure.

But with everything that’d happened, the months of silence, he couldn’t expect that. Besides, what had she said that night when he brought her here on a date?

“I’m just not sure there’s anything
for me in Maple Valley.”

The heady smell of the varnish Seth and Ava were using carried through the room.

“On the Rocks.”

He glanced down at Raegan. “Huh?”

“We’ll go with On the Rocks. It’ll look good with the woodwork.”

So she was letting it drop. Good.

“Hola, people. Your friendly neighborhood reporter is here.”

He turned to see Amelia Bentley traipsing into the room. She stopped in front of Colton. “After weeks of rumors, I had to come see for myself what you’re up to here.”

“Chasing a story?”

She laughed. “Something like that. And I found that guy on my way.” She pointed over her shoulder to a man standing in the archway between the living room and dining room. Metro suit. Faux hawk.

“Don’t recognize him.”

She shrugged. “Neither do I, but he was at Coffee Coffee looking for you when I stopped in. I need to chat with Raegan for a second, and you should go figure out who Mr. Cosmopolitan is, but afterward, how about a little interview?”

“Sure thing.”

“Really? No argument?”

Not at all. It’s about time the rest of the community knew what he had planned for the old house. Hopefully, they’d welcome him and his new dream. It’d taken a couple months of thinking. Praying. But he’d finally done what Norah suggested. Pinpointed where what he had to give met what someone else needed.

And as soon as the seed of an idea had dropped into his mind, it’d developed roots, taking hold of his passion in a way nothing had since football.

Well, save the woman he still couldn’t stop thinking about.

The stranger in the doorway moved forward and held out a hand. Couldn’t be older than twenty-four or twenty-five. “Either you’re Colton Greene or you’re an amazingly accurate hologram.”

Colton accepted the handshake. “Real thing, not hologram. I don’t know you, do I?”

The man shook his head. “Not yet, but I have high hopes. Everett Corgin. Sports agent. Full disclosure: I’m new. I’m a junior agent with Glass & Drury, and neither Glass nor Drury know I’m here.”

Colton rubbed the dust from his hands—leftover from helping Bear with the sanding, hoping the movement hid his skepticism. “If you’re scouting for a client, I’m sorry to tell you, you’ve wasted a trip. But hey, we’re getting dinner here in a bit. Since you came all this way, feel free to join us.”

“You aren’t even going to hear me out? I did spend six hundred dollars on a plane ticket and another couple hundred on a car rental.”

Colton stifled an impatient sigh. “You have to know I’m not playing anymore. Can’t.”

“I know that.” Everett pulled off his suit jacket and draped it over his arm. Apparently he didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon.

“I do have a lot of work to do—”

“Five minutes. That’s all I ask.”

Fine.
“All right. Let’s go in the dining room. It’s quieter there.”

They backed into the dining room—just as stripped of furniture as the living room but with a fresh coat of paint on the walls. The room faced the house’s sprawling back lawn, which edged up to a cornfield mantled by white snow that sparkled under moonlight.

“I had a whole speech worked up,” Everett said as he halted in the center of the room. “But seeing as how you’re busy and there’s nowhere to sit and—”

“Sorry about that. There’s a guy named Lenny, owns a woodshop in town, and he’s making a table for me. It’s going to be worth the wait, I think.”

The guy—Everett, had he said?—only nodded uncertainly. “Like I said, I had a speech, but basically what it boils down to is this: You’re not washed up.”

Colton couldn’t help a grin. “Uh . . . thanks?”

“You might think you are—”

“Used to. But I’ve had a perspective shift lately.”

“—and Ian Muller might’ve thought so. But I disagree. He was so far off, it’s not even funny.”

Colton folded his arms. “Ian Muller is one of the best agents in the business.” They’d mended their fences before Colton left LA. Colton had met up with him back in December, apologized for the way things ended, thanked the man for all his years of support. Thankfully, he’d had a chance to patch things up with Lilah, too.

“But I’ve got something Ian doesn’t.”

There was no hiding his skepticism any longer. “What’s that?”

“Youth. And more time than Ian and his overflowing client
list will ever have.” Everett smoothed back his gelled hair. “No disrespect, but Ian was doing everything backward. Probably told you to stay out of the limelight, right? What does that do other than get people to forget about you? You should be out doing commercials, traveling the interview circuit, going to fundraisers and galas and whatnot. And whatever happened to that book you were doing?”

Webster walked in then. “Got everybody’s order but yours, Colt. We’re ordering from the Mandarin. What do you want?”

“Kung Pao chicken. You want anything, Everett? This Scottish guy—weird, I know—runs the Mandarin. Best Chinese you’ll ever have. I promise.”

Everett only shook his head, traces of irritation in the move.

“Thanks, Webster. Let me know before you leave to pick it up. I’ve got cash.” He turned back to Everett. “I really appreciate you coming all this way. But honestly, I’m done with that kind of public life.”

“But why? I know you’re not Michael Jordan on a Wheaties box—”

“Thanks for pointing that out.”

“—but you could still be something. Your career could still go somewhere.”

Colton glanced over the man’s shoulders to the living room—the people painting and sanding and varnishing. Someone had started music, and the upbeat rhythm of a southern rock song drifted through the house. “It is going somewhere. It’s going exactly where it’s supposed to.”

Everett must have heard it then—the resolve in Colton’s voice—because he only nodded, resignation in his long exhale. “Well, then. Guess I’ll head back to the airport.”

“Unless you want to stick around and help us paint.”

The man looked down at his suit.

“Right. Well, have a safe trip. And sorry I couldn’t make it worth your while.”

He saw the guy to the door, then reentered the living room. Amelia found him the second he walked in. “Interview time. I’ve caught hints of what you’re up to, but not the full story. You’re not just fixing up this house for yourself—that’s for sure.”

“Oh no. If I just wanted a place to live, I wouldn’t have picked a place with four bathrooms. All of which need to be gutted and redone. Hope you’ve got your tape recorder handy.”

Amelia held it up. “Always.”

And then Raegan’s voice piped in. “Just so you know, Colton, Kate subscribes to the
Maple Valley News
.”

“You have to let me shop it, Kate. It’s the best thing you’ve ever written.”

Marcus’s voice rose above the hum of an early February wind gusting over the sidewalk leading up to the Willis Tower entrance. Kate held on to one of Breydan’s mittened hands, mimicking his stance—neck craned and eyes on the tower’s stretched-out grasp for the sky, stomach close to somersaulting at the thought of riding its elevator all the way up.

But Breydan had insisted. And since it was not only his birthday but also the one-month anniversary of the day the doctor said the word they’d all been waiting for—remission—she’d have taken an elevator to the moon if he asked.

“Let me send it to a few editors.”

With her free hand, Kate held the top of her coat closed, Chicago cold burrowing through her and gaze still tilted upward. “I need to polish it first. I’ve barely proofread the thing.”

“So polish it.” Marcus rubbed his hands together, blowing
into them. “But don’t for a second think I’m going to let you get away with hiding it. I’m serious about it being your best.”

“Lay off her, honey,” Hailey said from Breydan’s opposite side. “Didn’t you promise no business today?”

“Yeah, no business today.” Breydan broke free and hurried toward the building’s glass-heavy entrance, bright blue letters spelling
Skydeck
overhead. So hard to believe a few months ago he’d been lying in a hospital bed, pallor the color of the sidewalk underneath her winter boots, fighting for his life.

Breydan was still small, peach-fuzz hair and bony frame telltale signs of all his body had been through in the past year. But the joy he’d somehow never lost showed through even more now. And the excitement in his eyes reached into the still-tender corners of her heart like a soothing balm.

Breydan waved them through the entrance and plopped into place in the line for elevator tickets. The lobby looked exactly like she remembered—cordoned-off lines, brightly colored walls and posters displaying facts about the structure, built-in monitors offering trivia while visitors waited.

“He’s right, you know.”

Kate turned to Hailey as Marcus caught up with Breydan. “About?”

“About the novel being the best thing you’ve written.”