Reunited: A Novella Read online

  reunited

  A novella

  Helen Hardt

  Contents

  Reunited

  Preview

  Praise For Helen Hardt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Coming Soon

  Rebel

  Excerpt:

  A Note From Helen

  Also By Helen Hardt

  About the Author

  Reunited

  A Novella

  by

  Helen Hardt

  This book is an original publication of Helen Hardt

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2019 Helen Hardt, LLC dba Hardt & Sons

  Cover Design: Marci Clark, Nerdy Kat Designs

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Paperback ISBN:

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  Created with Vellum

  True love comes once in a lifetime. Will she grab her second chance?

  When Kathryn Abbott moves back to her hometown following her divorce, she doesn’t expect to run into Brett Falcone, the Italian Stallion. If possible, he’s even more appealing than he was twenty years ago when she, the nerd queen, tutored the popular baseball star.

  Brett would like to begin the relationship they couldn’t have then, but first Kathryn must face her past decisions…and risk losing the love of her life all over again.

  Praise For Helen Hardt

  STEEL BROTHERS SAGA

  “Craving is the jaw-dropping book you need to read!”

  ~ Lisa Renee Jones, New York Times bestselling author

  "Completely raw and addictive."

  ~ Meredith Wild, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  “Talon has hit my top five list... up there next to Jamie Fraser and Gideon Cross.”

  ~ Angel Payne, USA Today bestselling author

  “Talon is a sexy, intriguing leading man and Jade, our lady left at the altar is a sweet and relatable girl you just want to hug. Together they build a steaming hot relationship you really root for from the first chapter!”

  -CD Reiss, New York Times bestselling author

  “Talon and Jade’s instant chemistry heats up the pages...”

  ~ RT Book Reviews

  “Sorry Christian and Gideon, there’s a new heartthrob for you to contend with. Meet Talon. Talon Steel.”

  ~ Booktopia

  “Such a beautiful torment—the waiting, the anticipation, the relief that only comes briefly before more questions arise, and the wait begins again... Check. Mate. Ms. Hardt...”

  ~ Bare Naked Words

  “Made my heart stop in my chest. Helen has given us such a heartbreakingly beautiful series.”

  ~Tina, Bookalicious Babes

  BLOOD BOND SAGA

  “An enthralling and rousing vampire tale that will leave readers waiting for the sequel.”

  ~ Kirkus Reviews

  “Helen gives us the dark, tormented vampire hero we all love in a sensual paranormal romance with all the feels. Be warned... the twists and turns will keep you up all night reading. I was hooked from the first sentence until the very end.”

  ~ J.S. Scott, New York Times bestselling author

  “A dark, intoxicating tale.”

  ~ Library Journal

  “Helen dives into the paranormal world of vampires and makes it her own.”

  ~ Tina, Bookalicious Babes

  “Throw out everything you know about vampires--except for that blood thirst we all love and lust after in these stunning heroes--and expect to be swept up in a sensual story that twists and turns in so many wonderfully jaw-dropping ways.”

  ~ Angel Payne, USA Today bestselling author

  To everyone who believes in second chances.

  Happy Holidays!

  1

  My flesh tingled, my tummy tightened, and my heart made a mad dash to leap from my chest. My fingers, seemingly of their own accord, pushed the button to replay the message I’d just heard.

  “I’m calling for Mr. or Mrs. Abbott. My name is Brett Falcone, and it looks like Maya’s going to be on my soccer team. Practice will start next Monday at six o’clock…”

  I let the words fade.

  Brett Falcone.

  His voice had deepened just a little, but it was him—the man from my past I thought I’d never see again. Yet that glimmer of hope, that flicker of desire, had always burned within my heart.

  I hadn’t known he was still in town. Of course I’d only been back a few months. After my divorce from Danny, I’d moved back to my hometown of Columbus, Ohio. Danny still lived in Cleveland, close enough that Maya could see him on the weekends.

  Twenty years ago, I’d left Columbus and vowed never to return. I met Danny in California ten years later. Five years after that, when he received a job offer in Cleveland, I’d agreed to return to Ohio. Cleveland was far enough away from Columbus that I didn’t have to think about my former life of heartbreak and humiliation.

  When my marriage had crumbled, though, Columbus had seemed like the place to pick up the pieces. Sometimes, I’d said to myself, you just want to go home.

  Home.

  Amazing how, even after twenty years of telling myself I’d never set foot in Columbus again, it still felt like home. The townhome I’d rented had grown on me, and I enjoyed my pediatric practice at a local clinic. I’d even made a few friends, though I hadn’t contacted anyone from my high school days. I couldn’t.

  Brett Falcone.

  For twenty years I’d tried to erase him from my memory.

  For twenty years I’d been unsuccessful.

  What could I do? Call the county sports association and ask that Maya be put on a different team? Maybe. I couldn’t withdraw Maya from soccer. She was only four, and she was excited about her first chance to play a team sport. I couldn’t take that away from my daughter.

  I checked my watch quickly. Four thirty. My mother was picking Maya up at the sitter’s and taking her for the night. Danny would pick her up tomorrow morning and take her for the rest of the weekend. I had nowhere to go. Though it was Friday, someone would likely still be at the sports registration office until five. I shuffled the papers on my desk until I found the copy of Maya’s registration and keyed in the number.

  “Tri-County sports.”

  “Yes, hello. This is Kathryn Abbott. My daughter is registered for Pee Wee soccer, and I was wondering if there was any chance we could change her to a different team.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. All the teams are full. We didn’t have as many volunteers for coaching, so there aren’t any open slots. Unless you’d like to coach a team?”

  I arched my brows. Avoiding Brett Falcone might be worth learning soccer. Unfortunately, I had no athletic talent whatsoever. The sheer unfairness of all this! Brett Falcone would be a great coach. He was a natural athlete, great at soccer and football. But his first love had been baseball.

  “Ma’am?”

  I jolted back to reality.
“I’m sorry. No, I can’t coach, though I wish I could. I know nothing about soccer, about any sports. I really want my daughter to learn. To do what I never had the talent to do.”

  God, I was babbling. The teenybopper on the other end of the line didn’t care about my lack of sports experience.

  “Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “I understand. Thank you for your time.”

  I set the phone back on the cradle.

  Brett Falcone.

  The Italian Stallion.

  How he’d lived up to that name.

  I poured myself a glass of iced tea and sat down in my recliner. I took a long sip of the crisp beverage, letting it float over my tongue and coat my throat. Then another. I needed to cool off. Just the name Brett Falcone had made my entire body blaze like an inferno.

  I set the tea down on an end table, leaned back, and closed my eyes.

  Brett Falcone.

  Twenty freaking years. Well, in three days, I’d see him again.

  What would happen?

  I had no idea.

  Twenty years earlier

  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Phillips?”

  “Yes, Kathryn.” The guidance counselor motioned for me to enter his office. “Close the door and have a seat.”

  I complied. I’d never been in a counselor’s office. I was a straight A student, editor of the school newspaper, member of the orchestra, president of National Honor Society. I’d received early admission to Stanford, my dream school. Spring was here, the school year was nearly over, and graduation was just around the corner. Why was the senior guidance counselor summoning me? What had I done wrong?

  I sat, quiet, and waited for him to tell me.

  He cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re wondering why I called you in here.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?”

  He smiled. “No, of course not. You’re a model student.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

  Mr. Phillips chuckled, shaking his head, and part of his comb-over fell over one ear. “You weren’t really worried about that, were you?”

  “No. Not really, but you never know.”

  He nodded. “I called you here because I need your help, Kathryn.”

  “Of course. What do you need?”

  “We have a student who needs a tutor. I think you might be the best fit.”

  “Oh? Who is the student?”

  “Brett Falcone.”

  “The Italian Stallion?” I clamped my hand on my mouth. Not the thing to say to the senior guidance counselor.

  Mr. Phillips, however, let out a laugh. “Yes. The Italian Stallion. He’s failing math, Kathryn. If he doesn’t get his grades up, he can’t play baseball. Our team needs him.”

  “You’re kidding, right? I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but you want me to tutor Brett Falcone so he can play baseball? Why are sports so important, Mr. Phillips? Why isn’t it important that he learn math because it’s math? Math is a lot more useful in life than batting a ball.”

  I was overreacting, but still I seethed. The emphasis schools put on athletics angered me. I’d never been good at sports, was always the last picked for any team in gym class, and I’d revered the day, sophomore year, when I finished the last required physical education class of my high school career. No doubt all the jocks and jockettes had revered that day too. No longer would they be saddled with the class nerd on any of their teams.

  “Normally, I’d agree with that assessment,” Mr. Phillips said, “but he’s already been offered a scholarship to play baseball at OSU. If he doesn’t get his math grade up, he won’t keep the scholarship.”

  “A scholarship?” I shook my head.

  Brett Falcone would never make it in college. Clearly, he was barely making it through high school.

  “So you want me to tutor him and get his math grade up so he can play in college?”

  Mr. Phillips cleared his throat again and his cheeks reddened. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “I think I might be too busy. I have my own grades to think of, you know. And the newspaper and—”

  “We all know you’ve already been admitted to Stanford. Your grades at high school level no longer matter.”

  I opened my mouth, but Mr. Phillips held up his hand.

  “You’re an incredibly gifted young lady, Kathryn. Your grades won’t suffer for helping another. You know that as well as I do.”

  “Be that as it may, Mr. Phillips, I cannot help Brett Falcone. He and I have a…history.”

  “A history?”

  Mr. Phillips’s bulgy eyes bulged out even farther. No doubt he was wondering what kind of history the Italian Stallion could possibly have with Kathryn Zurakowsky, nerd extraordinaire.

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask what kind of history?”

  “Not a good one, and nothing I care to talk about.”

  “How would you have a history? You don’t run in the same crowds. Do you even know Brett?”

  Did I know Brett Falcone? Know was such an innocuous word. It didn’t describe my relationship with Brett Falcone. Granted, once we’d gotten to high school, he’d left me alone. Middle school, though, had been hell on earth, courtesy of the Italian Stallion.

  But Mr. Phillips didn’t know that, and I had no desire to enlighten him.

  “I’m afraid I have to decline,” I said. “I’m sure you can find another tutor for Brett.”

  “Kathryn, there isn’t anyone else who can tutor him.”

  “That’s ridiculous. How about Leon Bates? He’s as good in math as I am. Seth Connors might even be better. Or do you want a female tutor? How about Mary Beth Rogers? She’s pretty good. Or Amy Eckard.”

  “All fine students,” Mr. Phillips said, “however none of them are acceptable.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because”—he sighed—“Brett refuses to work with anyone but you.”

  I widened my eyes. “Me? That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. Brett hasn’t said a word to me in four years.”

  “Believe me, I’m as flabbergasted as you are.” Mr. Phillips nodded. “But Coach Henderson said Brett would only agree to a tutor if it was you.”

  My jaw dropped open. What in the world was Brett Falcone thinking?

  “Well, it just so happens that I don’t give a hoot whether Brett Falcone gets to play baseball in college, so the answer is no.”

  “Kathryn”—Mr. Phillips rose and came around to face me—“there’s more at stake than that.”

  “Oh?”

  “His family has suffered a setback. His father was injured on the job a few weeks ago.”

  “I’m very sorry, but—”

  “A scholarship would be a great help to Brett and his family. Otherwise, if Brett doesn’t go to school, he’ll probably have to get a job and help support his family.”

  “Maybe that’s his lot in life.”

  “Maybe so. But he can have so much more. Brett Falcone is not stupid. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he scored in the ‘superior’ range in the state-administered tests. The boy just needs some guidance, some hope for a future. You can help him.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then you’ll have to live with that.”

  “Mr. Phillips, I’m quite capable of living with that.” I stood and turned to walk out the door, but Mr. Phillips’s voice stopped me cold.

  “Kathryn. Please.”

  2

  His strong legs looked exactly the same.

  My pulse raced, but I steadied myself as I led Maya toward the Pee Wee soccer field. Brett stood with his back to us, talking to another parent. He was wearing sports shorts and a T-shirt, coach fare. His jet-black hair still fell to his collar in unruly waves.

  My stomach knotted. How was I going to get through this?

  I looked down at my adorable daughter, so cute in her shin guards and cleats.

  Maya. That’s how I’d get through t
his. For Maya.

  Once I was within speaking distance, I cleared my throat. “Mr. Falcone?”

  He turned, and I melted into a puddle. Age had been kind to the Italian Stallion. Streaks of silver threaded through the silky hair at his temples. Dark stubble graced his jaw line. His dark brown eyes still appeared black, and the lashes were still long and thick. Those lips—once firm and supple upon my own—were still red, full, and gorgeous.

  And his athlete’s body? Oh, yeah, there it was. I remembered as though it were yesterday instead of twenty years ago. That flat belly, those strong virile arms, the corded neck, the hard and muscled chest.

  He looked at me, cocked his head, as though he were trying to place me.

  I held out my hand, willing it not to tremble. “I’m Kathryn Abbott, and this is Maya.”

  His gaze pierced mine, and I knew the second recognition hit.

  “I’ll be damned. Kathryn Zurakowsky.”

  I smiled, my lips quivering. “Abbott now. How are you, Brett?”

  “Can’t complain. You?”

  I nodded. “Life’s been good. How did you end up coaching?”

  “My daughter’s playing. That’s her, with the dark hair.” He motioned to a little girl kicking a soccer ball across the field.