Page 49 of Violent Little Thing

“I’m there,” I said. “How much time do I have?”

He glanced at his watch. “Enough time for you to eat and feed the bird.”

He looked at said bird, who watched him with hawk-like intensity. “Why doesn’t he ever talk when I’m near you?”

“He doesn’t know what to think about you.” I shrugged. “He’s only ever seen short people.”

Court snorted. “You’re telling me you haven’t brought a single man out here?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” I explained. “Ugh, I guess I’ll go ahead and bring a change of clothes so I can get comfortable before going to beg my parents to allow me to stay with them for a few weeks.”

“Why?” he asked as he picked up a cracker and held it out to Peter. “Need I remind you that you’ll be staying with me?”

I tossed him a narrow-eyed look that clearly said ‘whatever you say.’

Peter ruffled his feathers, stealing both of our attentions. He glared at the cracker like it was poison. “Peter, you can eat the cracker.”

Peter took it with one clawed foot.

He didn’t eat it, though.

“You might have more luck with the almonds,” I said. “Those are his favorite.”

He picked up the can of almonds. “Only a few, though.”

He gave him way more than a few. And Peter thought Court was the best person ever before we left.

Thirteen

You know you’re fucked when hearing her voice turns you on.

—Court’s secret thoughts

Court

The meeting with the new coach, Noe Evans, went surprisingly well considering I could hear the Cottonwoods outside throwing their weight around.

Charleigh could hear them, too, and I could tell that she was silently fuming.

If I’d looked over to see smoke coming out of her ears, I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.

Noe Evans had singlehandedly resurrected two franchises in the last ten years. He’d spent five years with the Balmorals and five with the Red Raiders. He’d done this coming directly out of the National Football League at thirty-one with a career-ending knee injury.

Not that he’d known that he was going to resurrect two franchises.

He’d gone with the Balmorals because he’d wanted a job. He’d first signed on as the offensive coach, having come from years of experience on the O-line.

But shortly after he’d first arrived, Noe had found himself as the head coach after a scandal had rocked the franchise.

From there, he’d led them to victory for two out of his five seasons.

Shortly after his thirty-fifth birthday, he’d found out that his mom had cancer and he’d moved home, asking for a coaching position with the Red Raiders. They’d given him the head coaching position and had led them from the “never going to the finals” team to “going to the finals and winning the Super Bowl” team.

After his mother had passed, though, he’d been on a quiet search for a new team and a new path.

“I would love to take the job,” he said. “I know that the offices are in Wyoming, and the team is in Wyoming, but I’d like to ask to live in Montana. Had a friend of a friend that said he’d sell me his property.”

“That’s not an issue,” I said. “That’s what we do, too.”