The wheels in her brain started turning as he explained the amount of pain he lived with on a daily basis.  She’d had the idea that he was the key to furthering her career but until he started laying out exactly what he could and could not do, she’d been unsure of what the focus of her story would be.<br/><br/>It hit her like a ton of bricks as she pulled into the parking lot.  Kids.  His path to redemption lay with kids.  He could start working with some local Pop Warner football team, some team that desperately needed a helping hand, maybe some money.  Driving them to success could lead to bigger and better things and she would be there, helping to orchestrate and push him forward so she could be the reporter with the exclusive about Mark Windham’s epic comeback from the edge.<br/><br/>She offered a smile as they got out of the car and headed inside.  They had their pick of seats so once a booth was chosen, she slid into it across from him.  A smile and a slide of her mug toward the waitress indicated her interest in coffee.  The older woman filled her cup then did the classic disappearing waitress act.<br/><br/>Claire added four creamers and a pack of sugar to her coffee before giving it a gentle stir with her spoon.  After setting the spoon on her napkin, she lifted the piping hot beverage to her lips for that first cautious sip.  Her eyes met his over the rim of her mug as he finally asked his own questions.  To be honest, she was surprised he’d actually left his house with her before thinking to ask exactly what it was she wanted.  He was either very hungry, very trusting, or both.<br/><br/>“I’m a reporter.  I work for Seattle Magazine.  I’d like to write an article about you.  Where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing, what happened to Mark Windham after the game that changed his life.”  She took another sip of her coffee and glanced at the menu.<br/><br/>As if summoned by magic, their waitress appeared.  Claire glanced up and offered a smile.<br/><br/>“What’ll ya have?”<br/><br/>“A short stack of pancakes and a side of sausage, please.”<br/><br/>The waitress scribbled something on her pad of paper then glanced at Mark to take his order.  Once both of them placed their order, she headed off to hand it off to the cook.<br/><br/>Claire eyed the man across from her as she drank some more of her coffee.  She wasn’t necessarily known as a woman who beat around the bush and the poor guy was about to get a heavy dose of reality.<br/><br/>“But here’s the deal.  You’re gonna have to quit drinking.  Unless,” she sipped her coffee and raised a brow as she eyed him, “you want me to write about the fallen athlete who’s given up on life and is quite content to drink himself into oblivion every day.  That is what you do, isn’t it, Mark?  You wake up, you drink until you can’t remember and then when you can’t remember any more and you’re drowning in your pity party, you drink some more until you pass out?”<br/><br/>Somehow the smile she wore made the words she spoke carry that much more of a harsh bite.