Three Little Words Read online

  © 2015 by Melissa Tagg

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6512-8

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Eric Walljasper

  Author is represented by MacGregor Literary, Inc.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Excerpt from From the Start

  About the Author

  Books by Melissa Tagg

  Back Ads

  1

  Seven years shouldn’t feel like such a gaping span of time.

  But here under the rhythmic wink of a disco ball, cinched into a floor-length fabric concoction of midnight blue and silver, Ava Jane Kingsley felt the weight of every one of those years. Some more tragic than others. But each one a reminder of how much life had changed since she walked across that stage in the front of the room and accepted her college diploma.

  Oomph.

  She winced as Nole Borowitz stepped on her toes. Again. “Hard to believe this building won’t exist anymore on the other side of tomorrow,” he murmured in her ear.

  They had to look hilarious out on the dance floor. Nole wearing his too large suit and an overeager grin. She pushed up the dress strap that kept falling down her shoulder. Annoying thing. There was a reason she usually stuck to jeans and tees.

  As for their dancing skills?

  The judges on one of those ballroom-dancing reality shows wouldn’t hold up a scorecard so much as break into tears.

  But better to be out on the floor doing something—even if it couldn’t exactly be called dancing—than playing wallflower, with only painful memories for company.

  “Don’t you think it’s a shame they’re knocking it down?” Nole inched closer to her.

  She tilted back. “It’s an awfully old building. I can see why they’re putting up a new student center.” But it wasn’t the old center’s last alumni dance that had prompted her here tonight—not after years of skipping past reunions and alumni events. She’d made the trip from Minnesota back to her home state of Michigan solely because tonight’s event also honored Professor Lang’s retirement.

  Forty-four years of teaching. Investing in students. Changing lives.

  Changing her life.

  All those years ago, the head of the university’s English department had spotted a hurting freshman, still grieving the death of her dad, and swooped in—more fatherly guide than faculty advisor—right when she’d needed it most.

  “But it’s a historic building.” Nole’s nasal voice cut off her mental backtracking. Which was probably a good thing. Remembering her professor’s kindness was one thing. But camping out too long in the past would eventually mean hiking down trails she didn’t want to trek.

  “Sometimes we have to let history rest to make way for what’s coming next.”

  “You’re philosophical, A.J. I like that.” The whine of an alto sax from the live band up on stage drifted over the room.

  Not so philosophical. But she could probably learn a thing or two from the way her alma mater was moving on.

  Her attention roamed past Nole and around the streamer-decked auditorium. All the chairs had been removed for tonight’s dance, and stringed lights ribboned around faux marble pillars. Former classmates mingled in flocks—some near a punch table, others checking out the collage of old yearbook photos that ornamented one wall.

  She hadn’t gone over there herself. Had known what it might do to her—seeing photos of the football team, conference champions her senior year. Ryan.

  He hadn’t walked across the stage seven years ago. Had refused to even attend the ceremony.

  Ava closed her eyes. The band drifted into ballad. She exhaled, opened her eyes. Gasped.

  Seth Walker.

  Standing in the entrance. Wary slant to his roving gaze. Same longish brown hair. Same height, though he’d filled out a little in the shoulders. Same apparent lack of affinity for a razor.

  “Another dance, Nole?”

  “Really? I thought you said only one dance.”

  True. She’d given in and agreed to one dance after forty-five minutes of playing cat and mouse with the man. Revelation: She made a bad mouse. She’d finally given up dodging the guy, who apparently assumed she was the only unattached female in the building, and let him lead her to the dance floor. She tugged on his arm now, nervous laughter clanging up her throat. “Changed my mind.”

  Nole’s confusion transformed into delight. “Good enough for me.” He clasped her right hand, the overly long sleeve of his suit jacket flopping at his wrist. Their movement was more sway than dance, but no matter. The point wasn’t the dance.

  The point was avoiding Seth Walker—the Ann Landers to her Abby. She had exactly zero desire to reunite with her old rival.

  She’d get through the dance and then find a shadowed corner to call home until Professor Lang showed up. No way was she leaving without at least giving him a hug, not when he was the only reason she’d come tonight.

  Well, maybe not the only reason. There’d also been that whisper in the back of her mind. The one she hadn’t been able to shake in the weeks since receiving the invitation. Go. It’s time.

  If that was God nudging her, she couldn’t very well ignore Him, could she? And if it was her own subconscious? Well, it probably had its reasons, too.

  The band’s ballad reached its end, final note dangling before it shifted into something more upbeat. Ava glanced at the doorway as she and Nole parted. No Seth. She released her breath.

  “Want to keep dancing? Or I could get you some punch. Or we could go look at the photos and—”

  “Punch. That’d be nice, Nole. Thank you.”

  His eyes lit up, and he whirled toward the refreshment table, leaving a wave of guilt to crest over Ava. She’d shooed the man away, just like she remembered Ryan and the rest of the football team doing back when Nole used to hound them for interviews for his student radio show.

  He’s a nice man. And he hasn’t brought up Ryan yet. Least you can do is drink a cup of punch with him.

  And internally repeat the mantra that tomorrow this would all be over. She could go back to Minnesota and once again leave Michigan and all its memories where they belonged.

  “A.J.!”

  The exclamation burst over the buzz of chatter filling the room, and next thing she knew, she’d been snagged off her feet into a hug that all but knocked the wind out of her. Her ankles nearly buckled when the oaf of a man—Brian “Bo” Lowell—released her. “I was hoping you’d show up.”<
br />
  The former linebacker had barely aged—slightly thinner hair, maybe, but as much bulk as ever.

  “Can’t believe you’re here, Bo. Don’t you live somewhere out east now? Or is it south?”

  His smile stretched wide. “Both. Florida. I’m a trainer for Florida State, if you can believe it. Almost didn’t make the trip, but my wife—she’s around here somewhere—said after years of hearing me talk about the glory days, she wanted to finally see where I went to school, meet the guys, you know.” He gave her a once-over. “Wow, you look almost exactly the same as I remember. Except I can’t remember ever seeing you in a dress. Same hairstyle, though.”

  A laugh escaped despite the discomfort of the night. “If a ponytail actually counts as a hairstyle.”

  Maybe tonight wasn’t so bad. Seeing Bo again was fun. She’d been so close to all those guys on the team. Much more so than any of the girls in her dorm. Ryan’s football friends always treated her like one of them.

  “So more of the guys are here?”

  “Yup.” He turned, scanning the crowd. “Talked to several of them throughout the week. I only wish . . .” His voice faded as his gaze returned to Ava.

  He didn’t have to finish for his words to scrape over her heart. “I know.”

  “Ryan was a good guy, A.J. Regardless of how it all ended . . . a good guy. And a freakishly good quarterback.”

  Also the one to nickname her A.J. “You’re a little too tomboy for Ava Jane.”

  Although Ryan hadn’t thought her such a tomboy when they’d slow-danced right here in this room. Or when they’d climbed the water tower back in their hometown, the lights of Whisper Shore and the moon painting ripples of white over Lake Michigan in the distance. Oh no . . . Pretty sure when he’d kissed her, he wasn’t kissing a tomboy.

  “Here’s your punch.”

  Oh, yes, Nole. He’d returned to her side and now jutted out the hand holding a plastic cup. “Thanks. Uh, Bo, you remember Nole?”

  “Student radio station guy, right?” Bo’s robust handshake nearly toppled Nole’s slight frame.

  Ava took a sip of the punch, swallowed, and puckered. Sour.

  “And you were on the football team.” Nole pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped it over his forehead. “Speaking of which, I keep meaning to ask you, Ava, where’s Ryan? I always thought the two of you—”

  “Nole.” Warning hovered in Bo’s voice.

  “Obviously not all college romances last, but that was no fling you two had. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad I got to you first tonight, but still—”

  “Nole,” Bo tried again, at the same time as the sound of fingers tapping against a microphone echoed over the room. Someone up on stage was trying to quiet the crowd.

  “Anyway, in my memory, wherever there was Ava Kingsley or Bo Lowell, there was Ryan Hunziker. He should be here, shouldn’t he? Why isn’t—”

  “Because he died.”

  The words toppled from her, loud and weighty and riddled with the ache she’d hoped against hope to hold at bay tonight. They seemed to dangle in the air, hovering over the now hushed crowd. So many stares.

  And there, watching from a distance. Seth Walker.

  She jerked her focus back to Nole.

  “He . . .” Nole took a step back. “He what?”

  “Skydiving accident,” Bo filled in quietly. “Years ago.”

  Then, from up on stage, “Excuse me, everyone. If I could have your attention, please.” The microphone screeched and the woman pulled it from its stand.

  I knew I shouldn’t have come. Ava angled around Nole, past Bo, refused to look again at Seth. I can send Professor Lang a card and—

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Our guest of honor won’t be here tonight.”

  Ava stopped, looked back to the stage.

  The woman cleared her throat. “About an hour ago, Professor Lang had a heart attack.”

  “You don’t understand. I took a red-eye flight this morning to get to Detroit. I faced an entire crowd of people who dredged up memories that would make a bill-by-the-hour therapist break into song. I’m wearing heels.”

  Seth Walker turned the hallway corner and paused, gaze hooking on the sight of Ava Jane Kingsley, lifting her dress and poking out one high-heeled foot.

  If this wasn’t a hospital and if one of the only teachers who’d ever shown any confidence in Seth didn’t occupy one of this floor’s rooms, he might laugh. Not only at the way Ava shook her leg—and a shapely leg, at that—but also at how her frustration clearly ramped up her WPM.

  “All of this—the flight, the people, the shoes—because I just wanted to give Professor Lang a hug and tell him how much he meant to me. So, please, can you just tell me how he’s doing? That’s all I’m asking for—an update.”

  Seth’s amusement dissolved. Not even a hint of an urge to laugh now. Instead, rising to the surface, his second round of sympathy of the night for the woman who’d once called him a “trouble-making, blowhard miscreant.” Always the wordsmith, that one.

  They may never have agreed on much, he and Ava Kingsley, but they both cared for their old professor—that much was obvious.

  He started forward again, fluorescent lights glaring on the wax-polished speckled floor, the faint scent of bleach clinging to the air, along with the drone of quiet voices on the TV hanging in the waiting-room corner.

  “I’m sorry.” The apology in the nurse’s words didn’t reach her annoyed expression. “That’s confidential information. You’re not family.”

  “I’m like family. Or used to be. Ask his wife. I used to have lunch at their house every Sunday in college. They never had their own kids and they kind of took me in and . . .” Ava seemed to realize she was rambling and broke off. “I’m not asking to see him. I just want to know before I leave town that he’s going to be okay. I have to be at the airport at five thirty tomorrow morning.”

  They were in the same boat, then—limited time. Ava must have made quicker work of figuring out which hospital Professor Lang was at, whereas Seth had spent fifteen minutes plying the alumni event coordinator for information. When he finally realized she didn’t know anything about the professor’s condition, he’d decided to go to the closest hospital and find out for himself.

  Apparently Ava had the same idea.

  Blond hair trickled from her ponytail now and framed her face, and as he approached, he could see the goose bumps trailing up her arms, the desperation in her pale blue eyes.

  Just like back on campus, when Nole had mentioned Ryan.

  When everyone quieted.

  When the hurt that clearly still clung to her insides displayed itself in the immediate slump of her posture and the faintest tremble of her lips. Despite the history of antagonism between them, in that moment all he’d wanted to do was come to her rescue.

  She doesn’t need saving, Walker.

  Not like Mom or Maddie or even that old bank building back home in Maple Valley. Speaking of which, he’d promised the loan officer a decision by tomorrow. He’d told himself he’d use his flight time from Iowa to Michigan to pray and make up his mind. Instead he’d spent the whole time filtering through college memories, faces . . . regrets.

  He stepped up beside Ava now, but her focus was still on the nurse on the other side of the desk.

  “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but his wife specifically requested no visitors tonight.”

  “But I’m not here to visit. I—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Seth flattened his palms on the burgundy counter surface. “Look, is Mrs. Lang here? If she is, couldn’t you at least let her know Ava’s here? Ava Kingsley. Trust me, if she knew, she’d okay a simple update for one of her husband’s favorite students.”

  Ava jerked at the sound of his voice. “What . . . you . . . ?”

  “And if Ava Kingsley doesn’t work, try Seth Walker. He was kind of like a . . . a father figure, and . . .” Now he was the one rambling, words slipping around
the crack in his voice. He swallowed the sudden rise of emotion. “Anyway, Ava wasn’t his only pet student.” He offered what he hoped was a conciliatory grin.

  It worked. “I’ll let Mrs. Lang know, and if she gives permission for me to inform you, I will.” The nurse avoided Ava’s huff of annoyance as she rounded the desk and disappeared through a set of swinging doors.

  Seth turned to Ava, leaning one elbow on the counter. “And that’s how it’s done, Kingsley.”

  Those frosty blue eyes of hers narrowed. “I’d almost talked her into giving me an update.”

  “Right. And there’s life on Mars.” He plucked a mint from a dish on the nurse’s station and twisted off its wrapper.

  Ava stuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Actually, there might be life on Mars. I read this article the other day. It said—”

  He shook his head. “Don’t believe it.”

  “They’re saying they might’ve discovered this microorganism . . . Stop shaking your head, Walker. It’s for real.”

  He plopped the mint in his mouth. “Ah, arguing with Ava Kingsley. Just like old times.”

  Only back in college they’d argued in print—weekly. It’d started with his own innocent letter to the student newspaper, a diatribe against how much money the school spent on its football program.

  Or maybe it’d been less than innocent. He’d gotten a kick out of stirring the pot back then, ruffling feathers just for the heck of ruffling feathers. The week after the letter printed, there’d been a response from another junior—Ava Kingsley, defending sports programs and detailing how many funds athletics brought into the school.

  Just for kicks, he’d shot off a rebuttal. Which she’d responded to.

  Eventually their written bickering got so popular that Professor Lang, the campus newspaper’s advisor, had turned it into a weekly he-said/she-said column. Somehow they’d never run out of topics to argue about.

  They weren’t mortal enemies or anything. They’d simply had a knack for annoying the other, getting under each other’s skin, and amusing readers in the process.

  Ava had turned away from him, begun messing with her phone, when the nurse returned. She directed her apologetic answer at Seth. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lang is asleep in the chair beside Mr. Lang’s bed. I didn’t want to wake her. Mr. Lang is sleeping, as well. You could wait around, but visiting hours are over.”