A small coffeepot stood on a black metal cabinet in a corner behind Quincy’s chair. Two wall-to-wall bookcases faced each other from opposite sides of the office and were stuffed with books on African and African-American history. On the shelf above his computer, writing references, a dictionary and a thesaurus shared space with framed photos of family and friends.
Ean spotted a photo of him, Quincy and Darius in their grass-and-dirt–stained high school football uniforms. He remembered mugging for that photo. Quincy’s father had taken it shortly after their championship game. Ean had kept a copy of that same picture on his desk at the law firm. The school had nicknamed the friends “the Terrible Trio”: quarterback, running back and tight end. An unstoppable o
ffense.
That picture hardened Ean’s resolve to repair one of the most important relationships in his life. “When I was in New York, we e-mailed or called each other a couple of times a month. Everything seemed fine. Now that I’m back, you’re acting as though I’ve stolen from you. What’s changed?”
Quincy crossed his arms over his chest. “Things can’t go back to the way they were.”
That was a familiar theme in Trinity Falls. “Why not?”
“We aren’t the people we used to be. We’ve grown up. We’ve changed.”
Ean assessed his friend like any witness on the stand. Whatever was eating at him, Quincy wouldn’t give up the information easily. “What are you afraid of going after?”
“What are you talking about?” Quincy’s words snapped with impatience.
“At the bookstore Tuesday, Darius said I’m not afraid to go after what I want. What does he think you’re afraid of?” Ean caught the shift in Quincy’s gaze. A moment of uncertainty that revealed Ean was on the right track.
“I’m not afraid of anything.” Quincy’s mouth tightened as though he didn’t want to divulge more than he already may have.
“We’re all afraid of something.”
“What are you afraid of?”
Ean clenched his teeth. Why had he opened this door? “Right now, I’m afraid I waited too long to come home.”
“Maybe New York is your home now.”
Those words coming from his friend hurt. “What do you want? Maybe I can help.”
Quincy’s expression grew mulish. “I don’t need your help.”
They were at an impasse. Ean stood. “Let me know if you change your mind. Your friendship means a lot to me, Q. It’s one of the reasons I came home.”
Surprise relaxed Quincy’s tight features. Ean turned to leave the office. But he wasn’t calling the game. This was only a time-out. He’d come home to return to the people and the things that mattered most to him. But had he waited too long?
“Dracula is drunk.” Megan chewed the words like rocks in her mouth.
“Stan? Are you sure?” Ramona tapped Megan’s shoulder with the wand she used as part of her witch costume. “Perhaps you should check again.”
“I’m. Positive.” Megan could barely breathe through her anger. She imagined breaking Ramona’s wand into bits.
Ramona waved the wand dismissively. “What do you want me to do about it?”
Megan’s eyes stretched wide. “You hired Stan Crockett—the town drunk—to read Halloween-themed children’s books to our customers’ kids.”
It was the third Saturday of October, the day Books & Bakery hosted its annual Halloween costume party and children’s story time. Megan heard the virtual flushing of her afternoon event as it plunged down the figurative toilet. Ramona either couldn’t hear it or didn’t care.
“Nice costume party, Megan.” Quincy’s comment was barely audible above the angry buzzing in Megan’s ears and the laughter of children enjoying the Halloween games arranged around the store.
Megan turned to find Quincy standing in a semicircle with Darius and Ean. The Terrible Trio reunited and standing in her grandparents’ bookstore. She’d stepped back in time. However, each man had donned the bare minimum to be considered in costume. Quincy had pulled on a football jersey and a pair of faded blue jeans. Darius wore a gray stitch fedora. The name tag on his teal sweater read: MEMBER OF THE PRESS.
Megan stared at Ean’s blue jeans, black jersey and the white bandanna tied around his head. “What are you supposed to be? A pirate?”
Ean adjusted the bandanna. “Not what, who. Deion Sanders.”
Did he truly believe the bandanna alone pegged him as the Hall of Fame former football player? Megan feared her eyes would burst from her head. “Is this the best the three of you could do? Seriously?”