Hometown Hero

Hometown Hero

by Cate Cameron
Hometown Hero

Hometown Hero

by Cate Cameron

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Overview

In the new Lake Sullivan romance from the author of Just a Summer Fling, a young woman’s homecoming becomes an invitation to rediscover her past, reinvent her future, and redefine the meaning of family, forgiveness, and love.

Zara Hale escaped Lake Sullivan, Vermont, as a teenager and never planned to return. But a decade later, when her brother Zane is released from prison, she leaves her life as a Mixed Martial Arts champion and heads north, both to support him and to lend her golden-girl status to the opening of a new community center.
 
Cal Montgomery knows he let down the Hale family ten years ago, but this is his chance to make it up to them. Zane is his best friend. And Zara? She’s stubborn, frustrating, strong, beautiful—irresistible. Once she’s back in town, it isn’t long before their professional relationship turns into something much more intimate.
 
Though Zara’s hometown celebrity is as surprising as her feelings for Cal, she’s only there for the center and for her family. But as she soon discovers, Cal’s not that easy to leave, and neither are the unexpected comforts of Lake Sullivan.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780698198333
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Publication date: 02/02/2016
Series: A Lake Sullivan Romance , #2
Sold by: Penguin Group
Format: eBook
Pages: 304
File size: 932 KB

About the Author

Cate Cameron is the author of the Lake Sullivan Romance series, including Just a Summer Fling. Her life path may not be a straight line, but it has definitely zigged in some interesting directions. With a work history that ranges from historical interpreter to garden designer, office manager to school librarian, she's had a lot of experiences and tries to bring them to life in her writing.

Read an Excerpt

Praise for Just a Summer Fling

Berkley Sensation titles by Cate Cameron

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Special Excerpt from Just a Summer Fling

One

“HE’S CALLED THREE times,” Bonita said. “I’m your roommate, not your secretary. Call him back, even if it’s just to tell him not to call anymore.”

Zara buried her head farther beneath the throw pillows on their comfortably ragged sofa. If she could just stay there in the soft darkness a little longer, maybe it would all go away.

But Bonita wasn’t giving up. She lifted Zara’s feet and slid onto the couch, then let Zara’s feet fall into her lap and started massaging, her strong hands working through the calluses and tension.

“Or if he really is stalking you,” Bonita said softly, once she had Zara nice and relaxed, “you should call Terry. The company has a security department for a reason.”

Zara pulled her feet away peevishly at the mention of the company’s CEO. He’d been a Mixed Martial Arts fighter back when the sport was just beginning, and he deserved a lot of the credit for bringing it to the mainstream. But he was driven, and expected his fighters to be the same. “I don’t want to talk to Terry. And Calvin Montgomery’s not a stalker,” she grumbled into the cushions.

“Good, then,” Bonita said. “So you can give him a call and deal with whatever it is.”

“We’ve always e-mailed before.” Zara pulled her head out from under the pillows and squinted through the late afternoon sunshine to see Bonita’s face. “That’s rude, right? If you set up a system of e-mailing, you shouldn’t just switch over to the phone because you feel like it. Right?”

“Really rude. You should call him up and tell him so.”

“I’m injured. When someone’s injured, they don’t have to talk on the phone.”

“Actually, you’re supposed to avoid looking at computer screens,” Bonita corrected. “So the phone would be better than e-mail. Maybe your friend knows that.”

“He’s not my friend. And since when are you an expert on concussions?”

“Since my darling roommate keeps getting them. And if he’s not your friend, what is he? He’s got a pretty sexy voice. Nice and low . . . I bet I could get him to moan real nice. . . .”

“Yuck. Stay away from him. He’s an asshole.”

“Really?”

Bonita sounded like she was asking for the truth, so Zara took a moment to try to provide it. “I don’t know. Probably. I mean, he definitely was an asshole. But he’s been good ever since then. You know, good to Zane.”

Bonita already knew that story, so Zara didn’t have to explain what she meant. Except maybe an elaboration on just how very good Calvin Montgomery had been to Zara’s brother. “He visits him more often than I do. He doesn’t travel as much as me, and he lives closer, so it’s easier for him. But still . . . he really stepped up. And Zane says he was good during the trial and everything, too.”

“So you’re not returning his calls because . . .”

Because Calvin was part of Zara’s old life in Lake Sullivan, and she needed to keep a bit of distance from that world. She’d moved on, she’d grown up, but it was still easier to deal with it through the remoteness of e-mail rather than the immediacy of a phone call. Besides, Zara had a pretty good idea of what Calvin wanted to talk about, and she didn’t think she was ready for that conversation. Zane’s impending release was exciting, of course, but also terrifying. What if he couldn’t cope? What if Zara couldn’t give him the help he needed?

But Bonita didn’t need to hear all that angst. So Zara shrugged and said, “I’ll call him. I just haven’t yet.”

And of course that was when Zara’s phone rang. She made a face. She could just let it go to the message system, but then she’d have to either listen to the message or erase it without listening, and both options seemed a bit overwhelming right then. “One more time?” she said pleadingly.

Bonita sighed dramatically. “Absolute last time, you baby.” She leaned over and pulled Zara’s cell phone off the coffee table. “Zara Hale’s phone.” She listened for a moment, then said, “Oh, hi, Andre, it’s Bonita. I think Zara’s around somewhere . . . let me just try to find her, okay?”

She held the phone out to Zara, who reluctantly took it. Andre was her manager and, at least in theory, was in her corner. Not someone she should be blowing off. “Hey, Andre,” she said, making sure she sounded chipper and bright. “You just caught me—I was on my way out for a run!” She ignored Bonita’s raised eyebrow.

“Did the doctors clear that?” Andre sounded skeptical.

“Yeah, of course.” They’d said she could start phasing in her normal routine again. She was pretty sure they’d meant, like, taking showers instead of baths, and getting dressed in real clothes instead of wearing sweats all day, but maybe they’d meant exercise. She couldn’t be sure.

“Well, okay,” Andre said reluctantly. “But you’re looking after yourself, right? You’re not pushing too hard?”

“Nope. I’m pushing just hard enough.”

“Okay, good. You need to come back strong and ready. You’re a major investment and you need to make sure you act that way.”

Funny, she’d thought she might be something that wasn’t purely financial. How naïve. “Yeah,” she said. “Strong and ready. Got it.”

“Okay. So in the meantime . . .” Andre paused, and Zara could totally picture him leaning back in his chair, stroking his goatee, ready to drop the next line as if he was some sort of master of manipulation. “We have a new opportunity.”

“Yeah? What? Not more modelling—that was a disaster.”

“No. Not in entertainment, exactly . . .”

“Oh my God, Andre, do they want me to be an astronaut? That’s so exciting! I mean, it’s a surprise, sure, but I really think I can handle it!”

He gave her his best long-suffering sigh. It was more effective in person, and even there, it had long since lost its power against Zara. “No. Not an astronaut. But something almost as inspiring, really.”

“Porn?” she guessed.

“No. You’ve made your feelings on that perfectly clear.”

She shouldn’t have had to make her feelings on doing porn clear to the manager of her Mixed Martial Arts career, but at least he’d finally gotten the message. “So . . . what?”

“You like kids, right? You’ve been looking for a chance to work with them more closely?”

“No, not really. Kids are pretty annoying, aren’t they? I mean, I don’t know that many, personally. But they don’t seem good.” She thought back over her very limited experience with people younger than herself. Loud, undisciplined, out of control. “Yeah, I think kids suck.”

“No,” he said with exaggerated patience. “You like them. You’ve been looking for an opportunity to give back to the community. You had a tough start and you still have some rough edges, but people have been understanding about that and given you chances, and now you want to help some other disadvantaged kids get a chance. Right?”

“Okay, first off, nobody gave me a damn thing. I earned my chances.”

“Fine. You earned them. And other kids should earn them too. But they shouldn’t have to fight quite as hard as you did. They should get a bit of help. A hand up, not a hand out. Right?”

“Maybe?”

“Work with me, Zara. You’re at a crucial juncture of your career here. Two concussions is not good. Your opponents know to go for the headshot now. I know you’re fast and you usually take them out before they can land a good hit, but obviously that’s not always the case, or you wouldn’t be injured right now. Right?”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, you need to take a break until your brain is solid in your head again. The company isn’t going to let you fight anytime soon, even if we push for it. Their insurers and the PR department do not want their headlining female fighter pulling a Million Dollar Baby.”

“She was a paraplegic, not brain damaged.”

“Whatever. The point is, you’re valuable healthy, and you’re a damn disaster if something goes permanently wrong. So they’re not going to let you back in the ring until their doctors say it’s safe. So unless you want to be looking at a layoff, we need to find ways to improve or at least maintain your value while you’re recovering. It can’t be physical. But it can be PR.”

“With kids?”

“Not just any kids. This guy hasn’t contacted you? This . . . Calvin Montgomery? He said he’d get in touch directly.”

Zara’s grip on the phone got a little tighter. “What the hell does Calvin Montgomery have to do with anything?”

“It’s his idea. And he’s got the company on his side, too. I thought Terry was going to pass out he was so excited about it all.”

“All what?”

“He really didn’t get in touch with you. Damn, he said he was going to.” Andre sounded a little disillusioned with Calvin Montgomery, but charged on anyway. “He wants you to help him start up a community center, back in your hometown. What’s it called? Lake Sullivan? Whatever. They’ve already got the place built and mostly staffed, but they’re looking for a few more people. He says there’s loads of disadvantaged kids there and they need some hope and someone to inspire them, and he wants you to be that person, and I swear, Terry just about came in his pants. Thinks it’s a good way to improve the MMA image. He’s throwing serious funding at the project. Some for you, some for the facility. It’s excellent.”

Andre paused for breath, and maybe Zara should have taken the opportunity to interrupt, but she was a bit too dazed by it all. “Montgomery wants your brother involved, which . . . I’m not so sure about. But whatever, we can negotiate on that. But seriously, making you into some sort of Ripley character, like from Aliens? You’re a fierce warrior woman with a soft spot for kids. It’s brilliant. Just couldn’t be any better. You work there for a while, you do whatever the hell people do when they start up community centers, none of it hurts your brain, you train enough to stay fit but don’t bring yourself right up to the peak . . . I honestly can’t think of a better way for you to be spending your time. Can you?”

The list of better things was so long Zara wasn’t sure where to start. Should she organize the options alphabetically or in order of preference? Best to keep it simple, probably. “Anything but that.” Anything but going back to rural Vermont and getting involved with the Montgomery family and dealing with a bunch of annoying children. “Maybe I could become a nun or something. They like kids, don’t they? Some of them?”

“Nuns can’t have sex, Zare. You still want to consider that option?”

“Maybe something else.” Her sex life might be a bit slow, but she wanted to at least keep the option open. “I mean, there’s plenty of messed-up kids in New York City! I can stay right here! And, you know, you can figure out photo ops or something, right? I don’t have to spend a lot of time with them, do I?”

“People aren’t as gullible as they used to be. It takes more than a few snapshots with some raggedy kids. We need testimonials from concerned locals, recorded tears from your protégés, poignant anecdotes about how much you’ve learned. We need more than a photo op, Zara.”

“This is bullshit. We don’t need any of that. I’m a fighter, not a humanitarian. I’m the MMA champion! I’ve got the damn belt—I’m looking at it right now. How is messing around with a bunch of kids going to make me fight better?”

“It’s going to make you look better,” Andre said, not entirely patiently. “You know how it goes. You get fights based on what the fans want to see, and right now . . . well, as long as you’re defending the title, you’re fine. But if you’re out for too long and lose the title, or if you come back and aren’t quite up to speed yet and lose it, you’re going to need the fans on your side. And it’ll do great things for your endorsements, too.”

“I’m so tired of that crap. The men are allowed to just fight. They don’t have to look pretty and flirt with reporters and work with damn kids!”

“Simple question, Zara. Because, I don’t know, maybe I missed something. So let me just check . . . are you a man?” Andre paused, just long enough to pretend he was waiting for an answer. “Oh, no, you’re not? Okay, next question. Do you live in a fantasy world of total equality, or do you live in this world?” Another pause for effect. “Oh, you live in this world? Then stop wasting my time with your whining and help me manage your career as a female fighter in the current universe. Okay?”

Zara was pretty sure she was out of arguments, but that didn’t mean she liked the idea. “By working at a community center? Seriously?” She paused. “Why the hell is Calvin Montgomery interested in making me work at a community center?” And the worst part, “In Lake Sullivan? They don’t want me in Lake Sullivan, Andre. They practically kicked me out.”

“They want you now. Being on the cover of both Sports Illustrated and Maxim will change a lot of minds.”

“This whole thing is stupid.”

“Give it some thought,” Andre said soothingly. “It’d be good for your career, and like I said, Terry’s willing to pay for it all.”

“What does that mean, exactly? How much money?”

“We’ll have to negotiate the details. But it’ll be a hell of a lot more than you’d make lying around on your couch feeling sorry for yourself. And I’ll talk to your sponsors, too, see if we can milk some extra out of them.” He waited for her next objection. When it didn’t come, he said, “Okay, then. Think about it. I’ll talk to Terry and figure out some of the details. And look after your brain, okay?”

“Okay,” Zara said grudgingly. She hung up, then looked at Bonita, who’d been listening to Zara’s half of the conversation with obvious interest. “Fine, you’re right. I need to phone Calvin Montgomery. Did you write his number down somewhere?”

*   *   *

“MR. Montgomery?” Allison’s voice stopped Cal on his way out the door. “Zara Hale is on line three for you.”

It was tempting to keep walking. He’d called the little brat three times and she’d ignored him until he’d gone ahead and talked to her boss? Now she wanted to talk to him, but maybe he was too busy to talk this time.

Yeah, tempting, but not appropriate. He was the responsible one, after all. “I’ll catch up,” he told the people he’d been walking with. They were on their way to The Pier for lunch, so it wasn’t like he was going to be missing a meeting or anything. “Order for me—whatever the special is.”

That taken care of, he turned back toward his office. “Line three?”

Allison nodded from her desk outside his door. He hadn’t liked the setup originally; Allison had been with the company since he’d been a toddler, and he was pretty sure she’d been assigned as his assistant largely to keep an eye on him. Having her stationed by his door made it feel even more like she was his sentry. His jailer. But he’d gotten used to her, just like he’d adjusted to the rest of it. And having her so intent on running his business life was actually a good excuse to delegate a lot of his work to her, so he’d started to think of her presence as a perk.

And there were other advantages to the job, he remembered as he sank back into his luxurious desk chair and swivelled around so he could look out the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the lake. Yeah, his work was boring and he had a babysitter assigned to him, but he made good money and worked in a pleasant environment. It could be worse.

He picked up the phone and said, “Zara? Thanks for calling back.” He didn’t bother to mention how long it had taken. No point in starting off with her on the defensive. “I guess you’ve probably been told about the plan by now?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” It had been a long time since he’d heard her voice, but she still sounded about the same. Totally pugnacious and looking for trouble. “What the hell are you up to?”

“Zane’s out in less than a month,” Cal replied calmly. “He’s going to need a job, and some stability.”

“What? I mean, yeah, okay, but what’s that got to do with me and a community center?”

“He can work there, too. He likes kids, and he told me he wants to find a way to start giving back.”

“He’s a convicted felon! You really think he’s going to be allowed to work with kids?”

“His crimes had nothing to do with children, and there was only peripheral violence. I don’t think there’s any reason we can’t trust him around young people. With adequate supervision, of course.”

“Adequate . . . you don’t expect me to supervise him, do you? He’s my big brother! He’s not going to listen to me. And it’s not like I know anything about any of this!”

“No, not you. We’ve got a professional manager in mind. Good experience, relevant education, the whole package. She’ll be in charge of supervising you and Zane.”

“Okay, well . . .” He could practically hear her recalculating. “Okay, if this is what Zane wants and you can find a way to make it work, then, great, it sounds like a good plan. For him. But why am I getting dragged into it?”

“Because I can’t find a way to make it work, not without some help.”

“I really don’t understand how I’d help anything.”

“Two ways.” Cal kicked his feet up onto the windowsill and leaned back in his chair. He was pretty pleased with himself on this one, but he tried not to let that come out in his voice. “One, you make the town more likely to accept Zane. You may not believe it, but you’re a golden girl up here now. A celebrity. Local girl made good. Pick the cliché, and you fit it. So people who might object to just Zane working at the center will be okay with it if you’re involved.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe it.”

“Well, if you ever came by, you’d know. As it is, you’ll have to trust me.”

There was no answer, not right away. Finally, Zara said, “That was one way. What’s two?”

“Two . . .” This one was going to take a bit more finesse. “You being involved makes it easier for Zane to accept the job. He’s a proud guy, Zara. You know that. He’s never wanted to take favors from me, not if they involved money. So he won’t want to take this job, not if he thinks it’s me giving him a handout.”

“You think he’s going to be more willing to accept help from me? His baby sister? You’re delusional.”

“Well, no, I’m not. As a matter of fact, once I explained how you’d be involved, Zane agreed to go along with it.”

“Bullshit.”

Cal grinned. He wished this meeting could have been in person so he’d have been able to see the expression on her face, but at least a phone call was better than e-mail. “It’s not bullshit at all. When I told him about his baby sister getting two concussions in one year and maybe facing permanent brain damage if she didn’t stay out of the ring for a while? When I told him how you were pushing to get back too early because you had nothing constructive to do with your time? When I said I’d love to get you involved in this project, but didn’t think I’d be able to persuade you if he wasn’t involved?” Yeah, this had been a good plan. Cal was proud of himself. “He knew what he had to do. He’s taking the job so that you’ll take the job.”

Damn, it would have been great if he’d been able to see her as she processed it all. Finally she said, “Okay, you don’t know shit about my career, or my health. So you’re lying, really. And you’re playing us off against each other, for each other? You’ve set it up so he’ll take the job to help me, and I’ll take the job to help him.”

“Exactly.”

“Why? Why is this any of your business?”

Interesting that she was the one asking that question, when her street-smart brother hadn’t. But Cal had the answer already figured out, ready for when he’d been talking to Zane, so it was easy to use it now. “Because I want the community center to succeed. I want it to target kids who need it. Sure, everyone’s welcome, but you know what I mean. The middle-class kids getting dropped off by their loving parents for an afternoon of basketball or crafts or something? They don’t need it. But there are kids who do. A lot of them. And I think you and Zane will be good at reaching those kids.”

“Why, because we’re poor, downtrodden trash? We can speak to our people?”

“You’re not trash. But, yeah, because you grew up without money and without strong parenting. Because you struggled with finding your places in the world. I think Zane should be involved because he can be a good lesson on what goes wrong if you don’t make the right decisions, and also a good lesson about it never being too late to change. And you? Obviously a success story. The kids need to see more of those. Probably the girls especially. You didn’t get knocked up and start a family way too young because you didn’t know what the hell else to do with your life. You broke free. The girls definitely need to see that.”

He let her ponder for a moment, then said, “It doesn’t have to be a long-term commitment. Just give it an honest try. See if it works for you. Okay?”

“I’ll think about it. And I’ll talk to Zane about it. This is my week to visit him.”

“Are you safe to drive? With the concussion?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew they’d been a mistake.

“You don’t know shit about my health,” she growled. “Remember? And I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “Sorry. I’ve been talking to Zane too much—you know how protective he is.”

“How protective he wants to be, maybe. But he hasn’t been able to do much for me for the last decade, and I’ve been just fine. I don’t need him or you thinking you’re in charge of my safety. No way.”

“Absolutely,” Cal agreed. And he did agree, at least in theory. A bit harder to convince his instincts about it, but his brain was certainly aware that Zara Hale could take care of herself, and then some.

“Okay,” she said grumpily. “I’ll talk to Zane about it.”

“It’s not that terrible, Zara. We’ve got a good facility, and the town has changed. Seriously, they love you here now. There are posters of you all over the place, and they sold tickets and did a huge event at the bar for your last pay-per-view fight. It sold out fast.”

“That fight lasted twenty-three seconds.”

“And the cheering went on for hours. Every time they showed a replay, I thought the roof was going to lift off.”

“You were there?”

“Of course. Everyone who’s anyone was there. It was the social event of the season.”

“Yeah, I’m sure your whole family showed up, furs and pearls and all.”

Well, that was a good point. But he chose to ignore it. “You should come by,” he said. “I think you’d be pleasantly surprised.”

“I’ll think about it. Maybe. After I talk to Zane. But if he’s not really into this, there’s no way I’m doing it.”

“Fair enough.”

They ended the call, and Cal sat and looked out his window. Zane and Zara Hale, back in Lake Sullivan. Back where they’d always belonged, before things had gone so wrong. He hadn’t been able to save either of them then, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help them out now. He’d been raised with every privilege, all the financial and the emotional support he could have ever wanted, and it had made him strong. It had also given him a pretty good dose of liberal guilt, and helping Hales and disadvantaged kids was a great way to soothe his conscience.

Yeah. He was doing the right thing. He pushed out of his chair and strode out of the office with the energy that always made Allison frown suspiciously. Things were coming together. It was about damn time.

Two

EVEN AFTER ALL these years, driving past the tall, windowless walls of the Clinton Correctional Facility still made Zara shudder. She’d first visited her brother here when she was sixteen, defying her aunt and hitchhiking all the way from the city in order to see him. He’d been furious, of course, frightened at the risk she’d taken; she’d been more intimidated by the prison than by the trip. Walking into the building with its cameras and protocols and armed guards felt like surrendering herself to the harsh authority she’d been fighting all her life. But she’d gone the first time and she’d kept going, every other week for the last decade. Once her career had picked up and she’d started getting bouts farther from home, she’d coordinated with Calvin, making sure he could fill in on the weeks she was travelling.

It had become routine, more or less. She’d gotten to know the system, figured out not to wear underwire bras or any jewelry that would set off the metal detectors, learned the names of some of the corrections officers, gotten friendly enough that they wouldn’t be too uptight if Zane and Zara got into a particularly good card game and ended up going a few minutes over their allotted hour. Yeah, it was all fine now—everything but the long drive past the twenty-foot-tall white wall.

The wall was too big, too oppressive. And it was too hard to think of her brother stuck on the other side of it for so long, not even able to look out a window and see the life that was passing him by.

But she toughed it out this time just like all the others, turned into the parking lot, made sure she left her phone and any other contraband in the car, and headed for the visitors’ entrance.

“Nice fight,” one of the guards said as she signed in. “I had my money on you, but damn, I thought she’d make you work a little harder for it!”

Zara snorted. “It was hard enough, thanks.” She thought about the fierce elbow strike that had rocked her head back just before she’d gotten her arm lock and ended the fight. She’d barely been able to see by the time the ref raised her hand in victory, barely been able to stand as her trainers had helped her back to the change room. Yeah, she’d worked hard enough for that victory.

“Got your next fight scheduled yet?” The guard clearly hadn’t heard the concussion rumors that were starting to circulate. Which made Zara wonder how the hell Calvin Montgomery seemed to know so much about it.

She was glad to leave the guard in ignorance. “I’m taking a bit of a break. There’s no one really worth my time, you know?”

“I hear ya,” he agreed, and waved her through the metal detector. She made her way to the familiar visiting room and looked at the people around her. A lot of families. Kids here visiting their fathers, growing up thinking this was normal. Spending time at home with just a mom, who was probably too tired to give them the attention they deserved. What had Calvin Montgomery said? Something about kids needing to find their place. She hoped these ones wouldn’t think “their place” was jail.

And maybe she could do more than just hope. Maybe she could do something to help these kids, or others just like them.

Or maybe she could mess them up even worse than they already were.

Zane was escorted in, then, moving easily beside the CO, giving Zara a terse nod when he saw her. He’d been nineteen when he’d come to this place, and he’d be pushing thirty when he left. The wild, laughing boy was gone, replaced by a man who’d never existed outside the high, windowless walls of the prison.

It struck her then what a gift the offer from Calvin Montgomery was. A chance at a stable job, doing something Zane wanted to do? How many other inmates were leaving this place with that kind of future ahead of them? Zane could have a life. It would be a late start, but he could do it. As long as Zara’s stubbornness didn’t get in the way.

“Just another couple weeks,” she said as he sat down.

Zane nodded. “Yeah. Did Cal talk to you?”

“Yeah. You want to do it?”

“I don’t know. Do you?” Typical dry, expressionless Zane. Even as a boy, he’d been volatile about all the little things, but stoic when something really mattered. As a man, he played his cards close to his chest for everything.

“I don’t know. Do you—” How to ask this? Zane and Calvin had been best friends before Zane’s trouble, and that connection had never faltered. Calvin had stood by Zane through the trial, tried to use whatever connections he had to help out, and he’d kept Zane in his life ever since, even though it would have been so much easier to walk away. But still, Zara wanted to hear the words from her brother’s mouth. “Do you trust him? I mean, he’s a Montgomery. He’s—”

“He’s a good man, and a good friend.” Zane’s tone left no room for disagreement. “You hating him because of his family is no different than them hating us because of ours.”

“He left! Don’t tell me that wasn’t part of what set you off, seeing him get to go away and have opportunities while you were stuck at home. Trapped in that damn town—”

“He went away to school, Zare. That’s pretty normal behavior. I messed up because I was messed up. Nothing to do with him.”

“And you couldn’t go away because you were stuck looking after your little sister.”

“More because I barely graduated high school. Bad grades and no money do not lead to college, little sister or not.” Zane shook his head. “You know all this. Seriously, you’re still mad at him? At any of them? You’ve held on to it all this time?”

Well, yeah, she had, and she wasn’t quite ready to let it go yet. If she wasn’t blaming the Montgomerys for Zane’s downfall, maybe she’d have to blame herself. “So maybe it wasn’t his fault you did what you did. But it was his fault you got caught! He turned you in!”

Another head shake, this one combined with an expression of frustration. “He did me a huge favor, Zare. You never should have followed me; you should have been safe at home.” He ignored her eye roll. “And when I needed someone to get you out of there, I called the one person I knew I could trust. I’m not going to blame him for doing exactly what I asked.”

“You asked him to call the cops on you?” She could still remember Calvin’s strong arm around her waist as he’d dragged her away from the motel room where Zane had been hiding. The fear and anger at being forced away from her brother. And underneath it all, the relief at having an excuse to leave, a chance to get away from the raving, bewildering mess her brother had somehow become. But she’d never admitted to the last part, and she wasn’t going to do it now. “He called them as soon as we were out of the parking lot. Told them exactly where you were.”

“I know.”

“He turned you in.”

“Of course he did,” Zane said levelly. “What else could he have done?”

Helped you!”

“He did help me. He got you somewhere safe, and he did what he could to make sure I didn’t get in more trouble.” Zane looked at the ceiling for a moment, then cut his eyes back to her. “I can barely remember parts of that week,” he said, his voice so quiet Zara had to lean in to hear him over the buzz of the crowded room. “Not just the parts when I was drunk or high . . . other parts. Parts where I was just . . . just gone. I don’t know what I was doing when you got there.”

She did. He’d been sitting in a ragged old armchair, staring at the duck painting hanging crookedly on the wall, holding a hunting knife. He hadn’t heard her say his name, not for a long time. Not until she’d moved around and gotten between him and that stupid duck painting. She didn’t want to think about that, not ever. “But once I got there, you got better.”

He shook his head again, then shrugged. “I got—I got it under control. I held it together, so you wouldn’t get hurt. I tried to, at least. Just like I’d been trying back home. But I knew I couldn’t hold on. That’s why I called Cal.”

“And when he got there, he should have helped you.”

“How?” The question was short and simple, but there was an intensity in Zane’s expression that made it clear the answer would be much more complicated. “I still don’t know what was going on with me, not really. And as soon as he got there, as soon as I knew he’d keep you safe, I let myself go again. You remember that, don’t you?”

She made herself nod. She remembered it far too well.

“He called the cops because he was afraid I was going to kill myself. Or hurt someone else and then attack the cops and get shot. Something bad. Something I couldn’t make up for just by doing some time in prison.”

“Some time? Ten years, Zane!”

“He didn’t know all the stuff I’d done, and he didn’t know how they’d sentence me. But still—I’m still alive. And I don’t have to go through the next fifty years of my life knowing I hurt somebody. Killed somebody. I don’t have to do that, so, yeah, he helped me.”

“You could have gotten shot by the cops right there at the motel. He took a huge chance.”

“Yeah, he did. But he did what he could to make it safe. He called his dad first, did you know that? And got his dad to call a judge, and the judge to call the cops. Just so the cops knew there was someone watching them, someone who expected things to go peacefully. So they called in a psychologist and a negotiator and all kinds of crap they wouldn’t have done if they’d thought I was just another backwoods hick going crazy. Cal did what he could. And he helped at the trial, too. Being in New York meant his family didn’t have much pull, but he was there, every day, and he testified for me at the sentencing.”

“Lot of good that did you. Ten years?”

“Could have been worse,” Zane said dully.

It was probably the longest conversation Zara and her brother had ever had on the topic, or on much else, really. Zara wasn’t absolutely convinced that Calvin was innocent, but she supposed it didn’t matter what she thought. This wasn’t about her. And it was the present, not the past. So without holding a grudge, and thinking about what Zane needed now, what made sense?

“I think maybe I want to try it,” she said. “The community center thing. It might be interesting. If it works with your plans.”

“I can fit it into my schedule,” Zane said dryly.

And that was that. It was decided. Zara would e-mail Calvin the next day to let him know.

She’d committed. She was going back to Lake Sullivan. Summer vacation spot for the wealthy, claustrophobic hellhole for Zara Hale. Yeah, she was going back. But it was strictly temporary, and Calvin Montgomery had better understand that.

*   *   *

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Michael said. He was Cal’s older brother, the favored son, the responsible one who was committed to his family and ready to contribute to the dynasty. Normally he was fun to torment, but on this occasion Cal was a bit too tense about the situation to really enjoy himself.

“I hope so, too,” he replied.

“You’ll need to keep a close eye on things,” their mother said sternly. She’d been against the idea to start with, but now that Cal was committed, she wanted him to succeed. “The challenge of opening a new center is enough without having to worry about a convict on parole and a . . . what is she again?”

“A savage?” Cal’s father suggested dryly. He’d also been against Cal’s plan, and he didn’t seem to have changed his opinion as completely as his wife had. “That was certainly my impression of the young lady when she lived here. She was completely out of control.”

“Well, she’s got a lot of control now,” Cal said. “It’s called Mixed Martial Arts, Mom, and Zara’s known as one of the most disciplined fighters in the business. Intense, focused, driven, smart. No mistakes.”

“Well, maybe she gets the mistakes out of her system outside the ring,” his father suggested. “Now, Michael—we need to talk about the golf tournament. Have we contacted all the sponsors from last year?”

Cal let the conversation wash over him. He wasn’t much of a golfer. And while the tournament was an important annual event, raising funds for the local hospital and officially closing out the season at the local golf club, there really wasn’t much that needed to be discussed. The town was full of money in the summer, tourists and cottagers pumping cash into the local economy, and a lot of them were happy to come up for a weekend in the autumn to enjoy the foliage and play a little golf. They weren’t hard to recruit. Michael was chairing the committee this year, but he’d passed almost all of the responsibility on to his very capable assistant. Cal would make his donation and show up and play eighteen holes, just like everyone else in the family, and that would be that. There wasn’t much to talk about. At least for him.

But his family clearly disagreed, so while they chattered, he ran the community center business over in his mind one more time. The ribbon cutting the next day, the plans for ongoing fund-raising, the staff and volunteers they’d already found, the people they still needed to recruit. And, of course, the Hales. The wildcards in all this. He thought back to the kids he’d known. A bit rough, both of them, but not a mean bone in either of their bodies.

But now that it was too late to change anything, Cal had started having second thoughts. Zane had spent the last ten years in a maximum security prison. Even if half the stuff Cal had seen on TV was true, Zane had surely been living among animals for a decade—would they have driven the goodness out of him?

And Zara? Cal had seen her fight. Every one of her pro bouts, mostly on pay-per-view but twice in person, without her knowledge. She was . . . his father wasn’t wrong maybe. There was something savage about her. She was a fighting machine. What had she done to turn herself into that? When she’d gained all that strength, what had she lost?

Damn it. Cal had seen this as an opportunity to help two people he cared about. But what if he was about to mess this up just as badly as he’d messed things up ten years before?

Three

ZANE WAS TREMBLING, and Zara had no idea what to do about it. She’d been ignoring it for a while, hoping the problem would solve itself, but that didn’t seem to be working, and really, “ignoring it” seemed like a pretty shitty way to deal with her brother’s emotional—whatever this was. But he’d already said he didn’t want to go anywhere to celebrate his release, just wanted to get home, so she was doing her best to give him what he wanted.

“Okay, we’re almost there! Not much farther!” Even to her own ears she sounded like a demented cheerleader. Still, she’d started, so she kept going. “I’ve only seen the place online, but it seems pretty nice. There’s two bedrooms upstairs, two bedrooms in the basement—it’s a walkout, so it’s not dark or damp or anything—so we can both have some space when we need it, and then we’ll share the main floor. Kitchen, dining room, living room, a pretty nice deck . . .” What else, what else? “There’s no view or anything—well, there’s trees. I don’t know if that counts as a view, really. But there’s lots of them. Lots of space. It might be a bit too quiet but it’s just a rental. Just temporary.”

He nodded jerkily. “Sounds good,” he managed.

“It’s close enough to town that we can get pizza delivered. So that’s good. But we can pick up some groceries today, too. Or I can. You know, if you don’t feel like it.” If he’d rather stay at home and shiver. “You could make me a list. And you’ll need clothes, too. I just bought those things for you to start with, but obviously you’ll want to pick out your own stuff. We can go into the city—not New York maybe—well, we can go there if you want—but I think you’d have to get permission from your parole officer, right? We could just go over to Burlington maybe—whatever works for you. Or we can order stuff on the Internet. You can order everything on the Internet now. I know you don’t like computers, though. Wait, do you still not like computers? I’m not crazy about them, but they’ve gotten a lot better. We could get you a tablet, if you want. They’re like—I don’t know, you just poke the screen and things happen. You don’t have to type. That might be—”

“Shut up,” Zane finally said, and it sounded more like a plea than an order.

Zara swallowed her next words. They’d been pretty stupid anyway. There was no need for her to say anything, she just—damn it, she really wanted Zane to stop shaking. She wished he’d committed his crimes in Vermont instead of New York State so the drive home wouldn’t be so long, but if she’d had the ability to make wishes come true, she supposed she’d use it to wish he’d never committed the crimes at all. Never felt so alone, and so desperate. She’d wish she’d been a better sister and given him the support he’d obviously needed.

She reached over and turned the heat up in the car. It was a beautiful early fall day, still warm enough not to need a jacket, but maybe Zane was used to a different temperature. Maybe behind that cold white wall, the prison had been hot as hell.

But Zane reached over and turned the dial back to the left. “I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t have to boil us alive.”

“Okay. Do you want—” She stopped herself before she could start on some new, random speech about places they could go to eat. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m fine.”

They drove silently for another few miles, Zara fretting, Zane still shaking.

It wasn’t like she’d never gotten the shakes herself. Adrenaline was both a friend and an enemy, and sometimes your body just had too damn much of it with no way to burn any off. “Do you want to get out and walk around maybe?”

“Jesus, Zara, I’m fine.

“You’re shaking like a junkie! You’re acting like something’s wrong, but nothing’s wrong! Everything’s finally right, after way too damn long, and you’re acting like you’re scared!”

“Leave it alone! I’m—”

“Fine. You’re fine. I get it.” They drove quietly for a while longer. As they left the interstate, Zara said, “I’m driving through the McDonald’s in St. Albans. If you want something special, let me know. Otherwise, you’re getting a Big Mac meal.”

He didn’t answer right away. Finally, though, he sighed. “Aren’t you, like, an elite athlete? Are you allowed to eat that crap?”

“I’m an elite camp counselor, from the sound of things. When I get cleared to fight again, I’ll get in shape. For now, though, a little fast food won’t kill me.”

He was quiet for another moment, then asked, “The menu about the same?”

Shit, she hadn’t really thought about that. “I don’t know. They have more salads now. Wraps. They’re trying to be healthier, you know?”

“You going to get a salad?”

“I’m getting a Big Mac and fries.”

“Okay.” He leaned back into the seat and relaxed at least a little. “That’s good. That’s what I’ll get, too.”

She wondered when he’d last had a choice about what to eat, and wished she’d found somewhere better for his first meal as a free man. But there’d be many others, she reminded herself. Start small, build to something better.

“Cal said he might come by tonight,” Zane said. “We might go out for a bit.”

Now it was Zara’s turn to tense up. “Is that okay? I mean, for your parole?”

“Yeah. I can’t get shitfaced or anything, and I’ve still got to go see the probation officer—got to ‘report’—tomorrow. But I can go out for a bit. That’s kind of the point of not being in jail anymore.”

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