Center of Gravity by Laura McNeill Read Free Book Online Page A

asked to resign, but didn’t lose my license. I could have lost everything. Mobile is my second chance. And I’m not going to screw it up. This time I’m one of the good guys.
    I take my place in line, check for my wallet. The baby in front of me catches my eye and starts to babble in my direction. He’s adorable and chubby with the sort of blush-pink cheeks grandmothers like to pinch. The woman holding him has long hair, shining gold-red in the fading sunshine.
    It hits me then. The woman and her baby. From that day in the hospital.
    It’s her turn at the counter. “Hey, y’all. One Coke, a hot dog, and a small popcorn.”
    It’s clear she knows everyone. They banter back and forth while she reaches for her purse.
    She hesitates, studying my face with wide bottle-green eyes. “Have we met before? You look so familiar.”
    â€œSpringhill Medical Center,” I remind her. “I think you crushed my foot.”
    Her face lights up and she starts to laugh. “That’s right,” she replies. “My son, Jack, was getting stiches that day. Of course he’s right back out on the field.”
    I watch as she gestures to the soccer field. She’s all-American beautiful. Delicate features, long eyelashes, and a sprinkle of freckles. Her son is a mirror image.
    â€œI’m Ava Carson and this is Sam.” The baby lifts his arm in my direction.
    I lean forward, catching Sam’s fingers. With a soft grip, I move his tiny palm up and down. “Graham Thomas. Nice to meet you, Sam. And your mommy.”
    The baby grins and chortles. Ava giggles and nuzzles the baby. “Sam, are you making conversation?”
    â€œYou bet,” I joke, wanting, somehow, to keep the conversation going. “He’s lamenting about junk food calories and the nation’s rising obesity level.”
    â€œReally?” She raises an eyebrow and grins. “You got all that from my son?”
    â€œYou should hear what else he tells me,” I joke.
    We both laugh as the girl behind the counter calls out Ava’s order. I ask for my own Coke, grab her tray and balance it on one hand.
    â€œLet me.” I pay for my drink and follow her to a set of picnic tables.
    She pauses on the end of the row and our eyes lock again. Ava looks away quickly, and I catch the flash of a huge diamond on her left hand. Right. Behave, Graham.
    â€œWant to join us?” she asks, tilting her head and pulling Sam close on her lap. She sweeps a stray strawberry blond hair from her cheek, slips it behind one ear. She wipes her hands on a napkin and unwraps the hot dog. “So, you’re new in town?”
    â€œIs it that obvious?” I remember the Advil, pop it in my mouth, and sit. Sliding my drink close, I leave space enough for her husband and Big Foot to settle in.
    She flashes an apologetic look. “Sorry. Might as well wear a sign and flashing lights.”
    While we make small talk, I notice Ava watching the parking lot. She begins to look worried, and I shift my eyes in that direction. Next to a black Range Rover, a tall, dark-haired man is on the phone, pacing, deep in conversation. He’s dressed in an immaculately pressed white shirt, red tie, and dark slacks. I glance down at my beat-up khakis, until I realize Ava’s watching me.
    She takes a dainty bite of hot dog, closes her eyes blissfully. “This is so amazing,” she murmurs, smothering a big smile. “Nothing like a big juicy hot dog. Don’t let anyone see.”
    When I move to block her from the crowd, she grins.
    â€œThanks. It’s my tiny bit of rebellion.” She pauses and presses a napkin to her lips. Her voice is soft and musical, with a touch of a honeyed southern accent. “You know, anything this good has to be horrible for me. Ladies should only eat lettuce.”
    â€œThat’s a rule?” I play along.
    â€œFor the last two hundred years,” she teases.