by Erika Kelly
“There’s nothing wrong…” Coach pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right now, I could be in my shorts, toes in the sand, listening to my grandkids playing, but no. I’m babysitting the captain of the offense.” He blew out a breath. “I’m going to ask again, and this time answer directly. Do you know what turned Tyler Cavanaugh around?”
Of course he did. “His wife.” His mentor had undermined his potential by partying. Drugs, booze, women. And then he’d met Joss Montalbano, a super model in the Eighties, and he’d quit screwing around and started breaking records.
Coach held up a thick finger. “Yes, but it was one question she asked that changed his life. They met working on a set, some endorsement they were doing together. I think it was Adidas. He used every trick in the book to get her to go out with him, and she refused. Wanted nothing to do with him. On the last day of filming, the cast and crew went out to dinner, and he sat down next to her, thinking he could charm his way into her pants. Instead, she asked him what he wanted out of life, and he said, ‘I’ve got a great life. What more could I ask for?’ And she said, ‘So all you want out of life is to be the joke of the NFL?’”
The comment pierced his brain like a spike—rendering him senseless. It took a moment to fully process the message.
Coach thinks I’m a joke?
Sure, stories popped up all the time about him being a playboy, living the high life with his extravagant gifts and trips. But, for fuck’s sake, he never got drunk, never did drugs. He’d seen the pictures of Tyler, sloppy, stumbling, passed out.
I’m not like that. “I don’t do drugs, and I rarely drink. I lead a clean life.”
“But that’s not your reputation. Do you understand that? The public doesn’t see you eating vegetables and lifting weights and taking the offense on team-building events. They don’t see the way you live the game, analyzing tape and discussing strategy. They see you partying and having threesomes and dating models.” Coach scratched the back of his head with a beefy hand. “The point is, that one question hit Tyler hard. He’d never seen himself like that. He thought he was living the dream. I’ll never forget the day he came to me, sober for the first time in…I don’t know how long, and he asked me, ‘Am I the joke of the NFL?’ And I said, ‘Pretty much.’ He said, ‘Why? I’m a damn good player.’ And I told him the truth. He was the player people saw drunk and surrounded by women. When the media talked about him, it wasn’t about his plays or his stats, it was about his exploits. And now, twenty years later, I’m saying the same damn thing to you.”
Cassian had been in detention when Tyler Cavanaugh had walked into the classroom. Calamity had a lot of celebrities, and Cassian had known this guy was one of them, but he didn’t care. When he was fourteen, football didn’t mean shit to him. He’d been stabbing holes into the desktop with a pen, vaguely aware of Tyler whispering to the teacher, when he heard, “Cassian?”
He’d looked up sharply. Me? What the hell did Tyler Cavanaugh want with him? He’d gotten up, taking his time zipping his backpack—really drawing it out, like a true jerk. He’d never forget the screech his desk had made on the Linoleum floor.
But, mostly, he’d never forget following Tyler out of the room, into the empty hallway, and having the man turn to him and say, “You want to be the asshole who sits in detention or you want to be the quarterback of this school’s football team?”
It wasn’t the quarterback part of the sentence. It was the asshole part. Up until that moment, he’d been lost without his parents, pissed at having to live with an aunt and uncle and five cousins he barely knew, and filled with anger that he had to share a bedroom with a kid determined to make his life a living hell.
He’d seen himself as the cool rebel. But, right then, this big legend of a man calling him an asshole? It made all his sarcastic cracks in class, his whole loner persona, seem immature and lame. Especially when he held it up against the image of him on the school’s football team.
And now it’s happening all over again. He wasn’t Cassian Ellis, top quarterback in the league. He was a joke.
“I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to give it some thought,” Coach said. “What’s your goal?”
He jumped to answer. “I—” But his jaw snapped shut. Because he’d been about to say he wanted to be a great quarterback, but he knew that wasn’t what his coach meant. He didn’t mean something vague. He meant something specific.
Cassian had nothing. Because he’d never thought that far ahead. Now that he’d made it over all the hurdles—making the high school team, getting recruited to a Big Ten school, getting drafted—he devoted all his energy to making it to the play-offs.
And the continuous quest to win over the fans and his teammates.
“Yeah, I thought so. Give it some thought and get back to me. Your answer matters. In the meantime, cut the shit out. Let me tell you the difference between you and Ben. He didn’t give them strippers and yachts. He gave them leadership. He didn’t treat them to parties with coke and booze. You want to know why? Because we don’t win games when we’re loaded. Everything with Ben was about the game. He had good relationships with his teammates—but they were teammates, not buddies. They respected him because he led by example.”
He gave Coach a terse nod. “Okay.” He’d tone it down. Work harder to stay out of the press.
In any event, he was grateful Coach had only come out to lecture him. It might be embarrassing, but it wasn’t the end of the world. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here, and I’ll make sure to stay out of trouble in the press—”
Again, he held up a finger. “Because if you don’t…I’m going to have to trade you.”
Cassian’s world went dark. Lights out, silent. Cold.
Yeah, he’d had a rough start with this team, but he’d worked his ass off to earn his place with them.
They were his family.
But then, underneath the fear, pulsed anger. “Traded? For what?” He really wanted to tell Coach the truth about what happened last night, but it could cost Amie her job. She’d already gotten kicked off the TV show that meant so much to her. “I wasn’t drunk. My teammates weren’t out of control. We didn’t trash hotel rooms…”
But Coach gave him a hard look. “This comes from the top. Chuck’s talking to me about the moral turpitude clause in your contract. If you don’t clean up your image, he wants you traded.”
“I have never violated my contracted in any way. I’ve done nothing immoral.”
“The league’s gotten too much bad press lately, and he wants the focus to be on his winning team. Not on whatever trouble the players get into.”
“This is bullshit.”
“It’s really not. It’s a character issue.” Coach headed to the door. “Training camp starts July twenty-seventh. From this moment on, we’re not going to see anything but good press on you. I’ve talked to Tyler, and he’s putting you on his foundation’s Dreams Come True tour.” At the door, he glanced back. “Get your ass to Calamity right now, because the tour begins the day after tomorrow.”
“My camp starts on Monday. You know I can’t miss it.”
Coach turned fully and gave him a steely-eyed glare. “This trip’s nonnegotiable. And it’s only a week. After that, you can run your football camp. Are we clear?”
Obviously, Amie and Dean could handle camp in his absence. It just meant a lot to him to be there for the kids. He wanted to work with them. It was about so much more than football.
Anyways, what choice did he have? He didn’t want to get traded, start all over with a new team. It took a hell of a lot of work to earn a team’s respect. “We’re clear.”
“Now, I’m going to get back to my family.” Coach opened the door. “I don’t want to lose you, so you better make this team look proud over the next few weeks.”
Chapter Three
Headphones? Check. Bottled water? Check. Slippery elm lozenges? Yep. Licorice root…?
Wait. Crap. Had she forg
otten it? As Gigi Cavanaugh dove into her tote bag, fishing through the mess, her mind went back to the last time she’d seen them. She remembered putting the dried sticks in the baggie…AH. She’d totally left it on the kitchen counter. Dammit.
It’s okay. She could always order more. Relax.
But, of course, it wasn’t the licorice root she was worried about. It was the contract. As if being a Lollipop wasn’t a high enough hurdle to leap over when trying to reinvent herself in the music industry, now she might have to battle a bad reputation. Her bandmates had better behave themselves this month.
God knows I’m going to stay as far from trouble as humanly possible.
Settling into the comfortable leather seats of the foundation’s jet, Gigi actually looked forward to the Dreams Come True tour. She’d done several of them since her first album had gone platinum. Nothing was more rewarding than seeing the children and their families smile, knowing she was offering them a respite from their troubles—however brief.
In sunglasses and a pink pashmina shawl wrapped around her shoulders, a middle-aged woman boarded the plane. Gigi startled when she realized it was Macy Guthrie, an Academy-Award winning actor.
“Morning,” a crew member said to the movie star.
The actor nodded and made her way to a seat at the back of the plane. Gigi’s parents had given her a heads-up about the actor. She’d come on these tours before, rarely interacting with the other talent but turning it on for the patients.
“So, this was a fun surprise, waking up to see your name added to the list.” The man who ran the tour, Kevin, fell into the seat beside Gigi. “Hey, hon.” He kissed her cheek. “Thought you were in the studio?”
“I was, but…we’re taking a break to clear our heads.” Ha. Nice spin.
“Well, our gain.” Clean-cut, smelling fresh from a shower, Kevin was the most organized and amiable person she’d ever known. “First stop’s St. Louis. The hospital’s rented out a community center, and we’re going to make a whole day out of it, so you’re going to make a lot of kids happy tomorrow. I’ve got another surprise addition, too, so I’ll be adjusting the whole schedule. This week’s going to be great.”
Grant Banner, one of the biggest country singers in the world, boarded, and Kevin popped out of his seat to greet the handsome man who wore his signature black jeans, cowboy boots, and a Stetson.
Her phone buzzed, and she checked the screen. Lulu. She swiped to answer. “Hey. I’m on the plane so I can’t really talk.”
“Well, you can’t leave a message like that and then not talk to me.”
“I’m sorry. I was…I overreacted.” Since leaving the studio the day before yesterday, Gigi had been freaking out. She’d called her sister, but Lulu lived in a different country, so it was hard to connect. “I’m okay now.” Liar. “I’m just going to focus on this tour and hope my bandmates don’t mess up again.” Please let me leave Clean Beatz on good terms.
“It’s not like you can control what other people do.”
“No, I know. All I can do is make sure I don’t get involved in any scandals. Which, obviously, I won’t.”
“I know it seems scary, but the thing you have to remember is that you’ve got real talent. Not just an amazing voice, but phenomenal stage presence. No matter what happens with your label, you’re going to land on your feet.”
As more people boarded, Gigi lowered her voice. “To the people in this industry, I’m a Lollipop. I crank out the songs I’ve been given, wear the costume assigned to my character—I’m part of a package. If I try to go out on my own now, no one will take me seriously.”
And the worst part—what really scared her? She had no idea who she was. She’d dropped out of music school before she’d had a chance to discover her true style. Leaving behind Clean Beatz was scary, because the world saw her as a pop star, singing upbeat, silly songs.
The Lollipops might be an international pop sensation, but Gigi Cavanaugh on her own was nothing.
But she couldn’t get into that with her sister, not when Grant Banner had dropped onto the couch right near her. “I have to go. Talk later?”
“Call me when you settle into your hotel.”
“I will.” If she let them, the doubts would consume her. All she could do was forge ahead. Plan. Prepare. She had thirty days—that’s a good amount of time. She’d fill it writing songs, finding her voice as an artist.
Feeling calmer, Gigi settled into her seat. Had everyone boarded? If so, she might try to catch up on the sleep she’d missed the last two nights.
Closing her eyes, she heard the low murmur of conversation and the high-pitched whine of the engines. Good. They’d be taking off soon.
A stir of excitement filled the cabin, but she kept her eyes closed, hoping to drift off. Between her dad, once considered the best quarterback in football, and her mom, a former model, Gigi and her three younger sisters had grown up with famous people. She didn’t impress easily. Besides, she’d seen the list. No one on this tour rocked her world.
“Well, hell, man,” she heard the country star say in his gravelly voice. “Look who’s here. I didn’t know you were on this tour.” He laughed, and she heard some back thumping. “Can I get your autograph for my niece?”
“You bet.” That voice.
A shock of adrenaline punched through her system.
“And, if you get me an address,” America’s favorite playboy said. “I’ll send her a jersey.”
Her eyelids popped open. Cassian Ellis stood in the aisle, surrounded by the crew—even the pilots had come out of the cockpit—the country star, and a few other guests, everyone so excited to see the nation’s hottest quarterback.
For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. She wanted to sink lower in her seat. Disappear in a cloud of vapor. Her heart beat so fast it hurt.
He’s on this plane? This tour? She could not believe she’d be with him every day for a week.
No. No. No. Her dad wouldn’t do this to her. He wouldn’t. The soft leather seat had turned into a bed of needles.
She dug into her tote bag and pulled out her phone, shooting off a group text to her parents.
Gigi: Cassian Ellis is on this tour?????
Mom: Yes. He’s a last minute addition, too.
Dad: Got a problem with that?
Gigi: You know I do.
Dad: Get over it. This is about the kids. Not you and Cassian and some decade-old feud.
Feud? Feud?
For God’s sake, he slept with my best friend two seconds after I told him I wanted to be with him.
She’d done everything she could to get over him. To forgive him. To let it all go. She’d gone to college on the opposite end of the country, dated, read self-help books…you name it, I’ve tried it. But, nine years later, the betrayal had barely diminished.
She didn’t want to be this person who still hurt, whose heart still wrenched in pain every time she thought of him—of that night when he’d kissed her, then tossed her aside to hook up with someone else. He’d thrown away their friendship and the future she’d longed for.
Over the years, she’d seen him—hard to avoid when they lived in the same town, and he was close with her parents—but she always kept her distance. She had nothing to say to him.
And now the boy she’d loved so desperately had turned into a chiseled, gorgeous, elite athlete. His dark, glossy hair hit the collar of his T-shirt with a slight curl, and his biceps bulged with every handshake. Levis, nearly white with wear, molded over hard, sculpted thighs.
Like all celebrities, he intentionally didn’t look around the cabin to see who else was on board. If he did, he’d have to acknowledge them, get into a conversation. Instead, he dropped into a seat at the front of the cabin, so she’d have to see his broad shoulders and fat head the whole flight.
So much for a nap. She was too wired to sleep now. Mostly, she wanted to throw her shoe at him, maybe trip him when he got up to go to the bathroom. Anything to wipe that cocky grin off
his face.
But her parents were right. This tour wasn’t the time or place to deal with her Cassian Ellis issues. The patients came first. She’d ignore the jerk—she was an expert at that. Besides, he’d probably be banging every nurse and oncologist he could get his hands on.
Her phone vibrated.
Dad: You going to handle this the right way?
Gigi: Of course. I just don’t know why you had—
Ohhhhh. She deleted the last sentence. There could only be one reason why Cassian would join this tour at the last minute, especially considering the timing. At the start of every summer, the jerk ran a football camp in Calamity for underprivileged kids. He wouldn’t miss it for anything.
Well, he’d miss it if he’d gotten into trouble. Again.
What’d he do now? She quickly typed his name in a search engine.
Hundreds of articles and images came up and…there it is. In the very first photograph at the top of the page, Cassian held a gorgeous, naked blonde in his arms. But he wasn’t focused on her. He was talking quietly, intimately with Dean Maddox. She read the headline.
* * *
Has Ellis’s Linebacker been Receiving More than a Football from his QB?
* * *
You’re kidding me.
A threesome?
With Dean?
She tapped out a text to her parents.
Gigi: I was really looking forward to this trip. I can’t believe you’d let some guy with a PR crisis come on it.
Dad: Oh, hey there, pot.
Gigi: I’m not…
Delete. Because, yes, she very well might have a crisis of her own. What were the odds her bandmates would stay out of trouble this month? Low. So, yeah, the Lollipops getting booted from their record label would be pretty scandalous.
Okay, well. Whatever. She was here because she loved singing for the patients. She’d just treat Cassian like the stranger he’d become. She closed her eyes, shutting out the conversation.
And there she was again, that seventeen year old girl who’d finally kissed the boy she’d loved so hard.
