Trinity Falls. Regina Hart

      CHAPTER 3

      Ean locked the front door, using the menial task to steady his mind. What was his mother doing in the arms of his former high school math teacher and football coach?

      He leaned against the door and faced his parent. “What’s going on?”

      “Ean.” Doreen spoke haltingly. “Leo and I . . . are in a relationship.”

      His gaze flew to his former coach as the man stood beside his mother on the other side of the family room’s thick, dark pink sofa. He was older. But then, it had been more than fourteen years since he’d quarterbacked Coach George’s football team at Heritage High School.

      Ean’s gaze challenged his mother to take back her words. “You’ve been dating Coach George?”

      Leonard answered for her. “We’ve been seeing each other for some time now.”

      “Please, Leo.” Doreen touched his shoulder. “Let me handle this. There’s no need for you to be here.”

      “I won’t let you face this alone.” Leonard took her hand from his shoulder and held on to it.

      Ean wanted to drag the other man away from his mother. He fisted his hands to control the impulse.

      His coach couldn’t be more different from his father. Whereas Paul Fever had been tall, lean and an introvert, Leonard George was average height, bulky and a clown.

      “How long has this been going on?” Ean worked the words through his tense jaw.

      Doreen held her son’s eyes. “For a couple of months now.”

      Months? “Dad’s only been gone a couple of months.”

      His mother’s features softened. “It’s been a little longer than that, Ean.”

      His father had died Friday, February 8. It was now Monday, October 14, less than nine months later.

      Ean swallowed hard to dislodge the lump of grief from his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d started dating?”

      Why hadn’t you told me my father was dying?

      Doreen’s gaze dropped to the thick rose carpet. She seemed to brace herself before looking at Ean again. “I thought it was too soon to tell you about my relationship with Leo. And, since you were in New York, I didn’t think there was a rush to address it.”

      Was that also the reason she hadn’t told him his father had cancer? Because he’d been in New York?

      Ean struggled with his feelings, chief among them resentment. “My decision to return to Trinity Falls must have sent you into a panic.”

      Why are you dating so soon after Dad’s death? Why did you choose my former coach?

      Ean’s thoughts came to a skidding halt. He couldn’t handle them. Maybe his mother was right about it being too soon to talk about this.

      “We did want to tell you.” Leonard’s voice further agitated Ean.

      Doreen continued. “When you told me you were coming home, I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”

      “We weren’t deliberately trying to hide anything from you,” Leonard added.

      Ean’s temper snapped. “This is a private conversation between my mother and me. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop talking.”

      Leonard’s eyebrows rose. “But this—”

      Doreen put her hand on Leonard’s shoulder again. “It’s all right, Leo. I’ll call you later.”

      Ean held Leonard’s gaze, willing his former coach to leave. He couldn’t stand to see or hear the other man right now.

      “All right.” Leonard kissed Doreen’s hand before circling the sofa.

      Ean flinched.

      As he crossed to the front door, the high school coach inclined his head toward Ean. Ean didn’t respond. He pulled the door open for the older man and waited for Leonard to walk through.

      Ean locked the front door again before facing his mother. “What was he doing here so early?”

      “He didn’t spend the night, if that’s what you’re asking.” Doreen went to the kitchen. “He usually stops by on his way to school.”

      Why didn’t you look at me when you answered?

      Ean followed his mother. “So if I’d stayed in New York, I still wouldn’t know about you and Coach George?”

      “Have you told me about every woman you’ve dated?”

      “That’s different.”

      “How?”

      “I’m not a grieving widow.”

      Doreen poured a cup of coffee. “Don’t judge me, Ean. I’m your mother, not some witness on the stand.”

      “I’m not judging you.” He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and two fingers. “I’m trying to understand why you kept your relationship with Coach George a secret from me.”

      “I didn’t want to have this conversation.” She leaned back against the kitchen counter with her coffee mug in hand. “I didn’t want you to make me feel guilty about my feelings. I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

      “But you are different, Mom.” Ean started to feel chilled in his damp jogging clothes. Or maybe it was from the awareness that his mother had changed. “I came home because I didn’t want you to be lonely and sad with Dad gone. Obviously, I was worried for nothing.”

      Ean spun on his heels. He left the kitchen to shower and change, but the question kept playing in his mind. What other secrets were left for him to discover in this town?

      Ean wasn’t the only one awake in his mother’s house at six o’clock the next morning. He followed the light from the foot of the stairway to the kitchen and discovered his mother sitting at the table. She was drinking coffee and reading the daily newspaper, The Trinity Falls Monitor.

      Doreen’s still-dark hair swung in thick waves above her shoulders. She was dressed in a lightweight pinkish sweater and dark blue jeans. When had his mother started wearing jeans?

      They’d settled into a brittle truce yesterday after their argument about Leonard George. He wasn’t happy his mother had a boyfriend—he wouldn’t explain why—but he was hoping they could put the unpleasantness behind them and start over today.

      Ean halted in the doorway. “Why are you up so early?”

      Doreen’s smile seemed forced. Her warm brown eyes were wary. “I have to get to work.”

      Ean froze. “You have a job? Since when?”

      She lowered the Monitor. “I told you I worked in a bakery. It’s been almost six months now.”

      Ean rested a shoulder against the doorjamb. “I thought all you did was bake.”

      “It’s a bit more than that.”

      “How much more?”

      She