The Bad Boy Bargain (Suttonville Sentinels #1)(56)

“Can’t. I’m running sound for the musical. We perform in two weeks, so I have rehearsal all the freaking time. How about next Sunday?”

He gave Cade a fist bump. “Sunday’s good.”

He started to go, but Cade stopped him. “Are you going to the musical?”

Good question. “Not sure.”

“I think you should. She’d want you there. Really.”

Kyle nodded and headed downstairs and out to his car. After he climbed in, he sat for a minute, letting his thoughts settle. He caught sight of the box Mrs. Gladwell had given him. He’d shoved it in the backseat on Saturday, and hadn’t opened it. Cade’s tough talk about trust and fear convinced him to stop avoiding it.

He pulled off the lid. Inside was a bunch of candy.

And a ticket to the musical on opening night.



When he got home, he went into the living room, feeling bruised all over. Whoever said mental pain doesn’t hurt as bad as physical pain was an idiot. He flopped on the couch, his brain too scrambled to settle down. Cade had warned him—he had to be hurt to get better.

He’d been sitting there for twenty minutes before Grandpa came to find him.

“What’s got your goat?”

Kyle stared into the gas fireplace in their living room, still in his workout gear. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit, kid.” Grandpa flopped onto the leather couch next to him. “You’re practically comatose. And I hate to break it to you, but you smell like a yak.”

Kyle didn’t even crack a smile. “You don’t know what a yak smells like.”

“I was stationed in Vietnam for two years. I know a yak when I smell one.”

Kyle closed his eyes and counted to ten. Sometimes that was the only way to deal with the old man. “Fine. I had another blowup with Faith earlier. I keep screwing things up.”

Plastic rustled and Grandpa handed him an Oreo. “Eat that. You’ll feel better.”

“This is a bribe.”

“Damn right. And I have more. I’ll give you the whole package if you move of your own volition.”

“I’m just feeling messed up is all.” Kyle ate the Oreo even though he wasn’t hungry. “I went to Cade’s. He gave me some advice. About Faith mostly, but about other stuff, too.”

“He’s a smart kid. You gonna listen?” Grandpa asked.

It took him a minute, but Kyle nodded. “I’m beat. I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Good plan.” Grandpa stood and brushed the Oreo crumbs off his lap onto the good Persian rug.

“Rosanna’s going to kill you.”

“She won’t have a chance.” He grinned. “I asked Maven to go to San Antonio with me. We’re leaving tomorrow. There’s a Kansas reunion tour going through there Wednesday night, and I bought front-row seats, thought we’d make a trip of it. That’s why I need you to start moving, so I don’t have worry about you being alone for a few days.”

Kyle jerked in surprise. “Alone? Where’s Dad?”

“He’s leaving for Chicago, first thing. Some board meeting.” Grandpa’s expression turned shrewd. “You’ll have the place to yourself until Friday afternoon. Use that time to get right with yourself, kid.”

Grandpa gave him a bracing pat on the shoulder and wandered back toward his den, whistling “Carry on Wayward Son.”

Kyle sank back against the couch. Could he do this? Could he patch things up with Faith? He wanted to, and he knew what it was going to take. At some point, he had to figure this out, and right now seemed like a pretty good time, given the carnage of the last few days.

He’d do anything to erase Faith’s hurt expression from his brain and replace it with a memory of her smile. A plan started to form in his mind, but he was going to need some help.

Time to see if he could actually let himself trust.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Cade, who answered with a barrage of cursing that left Kyle impressed. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Kyle? Shit, I thought you were someone else.”

Kyle frowned. “Someone giving you trouble?”

“Oh, some jackass on the debate team, talking smack. Keeps calling me, and I was too pissed to check caller ID before letting loose.” Cade made an annoyed sound. “It’s only been an hour. Already having second thoughts?”

“No.” He scooted to the edge of the couch, ready to stand and face what was in front of him. “What time is rehearsal tomorrow?”

“Five thirty. We’re working on the nightmare scene. Why?”

“I might need your help with something.” His game started at five. This was going to take some work. “The nightmare scene…as in Laurey’s nightmare? Or as in ‘it’s a nightmare working on this scene’?”

“Both.”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

Kyle stood and stretched. He had some things to do before bed. “For everything.”



The next morning, Kyle left for school early after Dad gave him the “no parties, young man” lecture, and Grandpa gave him a hundred bucks. “For pizza,” he said.

“For an army?” Kyle asked.