Swooning over the Football Billionaire Groom (Sweet, Christian Football Bad Boy Romance Series Book 1)

by Ellie Hall

  “I can’t take you where I’m going.” He spoke with finality.

  “I don’t understand. It’s a beautiful country. I’ve always wanted to visit.” She paused. “Whatever, uh, you have to deal with, I’m your coach. We’ll work through it together. This is the practical part of the training.”

  “I can’t take you into the past with me.” His voice was low, measured.

  He’d said he wanted to make her laugh and she found herself with the same desire. Likely, he’d gotten the bad news from the voicemail so maybe it wasn’t the best time, but she knew how important the team was to him and didn’t want him to screw up and blow it for the others. She also didn’t want to lose her job. And part of her felt responsible. She should’ve told him about the call right away.

  She asked, “So do you have a time machine?”

  He snorted, but his eyes crinkled at the corners.

  Her gaze didn’t leave his. “I’m going to Ireland as your coach in the present—not the past. I’m going to Ireland and will see the rolling green hills, the countryside, the cities rich with—” She was going to say history, but cut herself off because that wasn’t the direction that she wanted to take the conversation. “I’m going to see what I’m going to see and if the past, your past, isn’t part of that, then so be it.”

  He let out a long breath. “Okay, let’s go.” He lowered from the table and held out his hand.

  She took it, feeling the singe that had hardly left her palm since he’d led her to the kitchen in the middle of the night a week earlier. He led her to the exit.

  In the hallway, she dropped his hand in case anyone passed.

  “Go pack,” he said.

  “Please,” she corrected.

  “Please go pack,” he repeated.

  “We’re leaving now?” she asked.

  “Now,” he said in a low, commanding tone that was laced with a gravity that she wasn’t sure he’d ever allow her to understand.

  Chapter 8

  Declan

  Declan had been expecting a call from the doctor about Aunt Sheila at any time. She’d struggled with health issues for a few years and had taken a turn. He didn’t want to accept the reality that the last living person in his immediate family would soon pass. That didn’t account for his street family—the people he grew up with when he was in and out of care centers and foster homes. Though he was also primed for another call from Mrs. O’Malley from his old neighborhood.

  Aunt Sheila had been there for him during his roughest time. It was all thanks to her that he had his martial arts family and his football family as well.

  Upon departing the Blancbourg school in Concordia, he put in a few calls to get things prepared for his arrival in Dublin. He hadn’t returned in almost fifteen years. Was it really that long? His aunt returned to the city a few years after he’d made the Bruisers, saying it was time for her to go home. He was sure she knew that she was sick then but had hung on for several years. She’d also traveled back and attended at least two or three of his games each season.

  When the worst of his juvenile delinquencies were behind him, he realized that his aunt had the patience of a saint. She’d brought out the best in him even if he had to punch through walls to get there—literally as part of his mixed martial arts training. She’d found a way for him to take out his anger in a safe way and learn self-discipline. Not only had she and MMA saved his life, but it also prepared him for the rigors of football.

  Maggie’s profile was lit by the late-day sun as she sat quietly beside him, gazing with wonder out the window as the car bringing them to the airport maneuvered through the relatively quaint capital of Concordia—it had an old school charm, but was also populated by a few modern structures and of course the marvels of technology. The royal castle sat high on the mountainside. The tires rolled over the cobblestone streets and past the shops and restaurants.

  The driver passed through the gate at the landing strip and taxied toward the awaiting private jet. It was matte black that matched the matte black yacht and car in Los Angeles, with the matching matte black Cadillac in Boston. He was able to get his plane to Concordia but had to use their limo services.

  As they walked up the stairs and got onboard, Maggie didn’t seem the slightest bit impressed. The expression of awe widening her eyes like when they drove through the villages was gone. In its place, she was stiff and almost seemed prickly, irritated. Most women he encountered were impressed by the luxury. Getting on a private plane was a Cinderella moment for sure. Her crimped expression suggested the opposite or as though it wasn’t her first time.

  Perhaps it was because he’d forgotten his manners—he’d long been used to women fawning over him and his wealth. “Welcome. Please, make yourself comfortable. Any beverages or food can be provided by the attendant.”

  She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes as though that was the wrong thing to say.

  “Did you forget something? Did I?” he asked at a loss. “Is there something I can get for you?”

  She let out a sigh as she plunked into the leather seat.

  The interior was cream and gold, everything shiny and polished.

  “You wanted to come, right?”

  “I didn’t know we’d be using such ostentatious means of travel.” She snorted.

  “You know that I like to make an entrance.”

  “I was under the impression you weren’t all that interested in broadcasting this particular arrival.”

  She had that right. But his life had changed so much that it hadn’t occurred to him to take a commercial flight. “I like the luxuries my life affords me. I’ve worked for it and didn’t grow up some privileged, entitled goldie.” He snorted. That had been Cole’s expression. Would he find out Declan had returned? Likely. The two could sniff each other out in the dark. But hadn’t spoken since Declan had left Dublin and Cole went to jail.

  She flinched. Understanding his meaning didn’t take a degree in Irish street slang.

  Maggie gazed out the window, not saying another word.

  Memories flooded back as the plane took flight over a sunset that stood in contrast to his darkening mood.

  When Declan had lived in Dublin, he’d successfully made his reputation rough. No one would mess with him. But inside he was soft. Weak. Vulnerable. Right then, it felt like he was falling apart. He’d left Dublin years ago. And it was like a pause button had been pressed preserving all of his emotions. Freezing them in time and now with the prospect of returning, he was afraid they’d come rushing back and out, spilling onto the floor like...

  He couldn’t think it. Couldn’t go there.

  He didn’t want Maggie to see the other side of him. The side that he’d left on the streets. Any dangerous behavior that had managed to go with him abroad to the U.S., he’d beaten out of himself, during his training as a mixed martial artist and reforming his life.

  When the lights of Dublin city came into view, stretching in every direction and then ending abruptly where it met the sea, Maggie brought her attention back to Declan.

  “Ordinarily, the school arranges for our accommodations, but because we left so abruptly and this is home for you, I’ll see to it that I find a hotel. Just let me know where you’ll be so we can meet in the morning.”

  “I haven’t been home in years.” What would he even call home? A park bench? The camp under one of the bridges that ran over the River Liffey?

  She looked at him expectantly as though waiting for the address.

  “As for you, I have already made arrangements,” he said.

  “You didn’t have to go through the trouble.”

  “No trouble.”

  Outside the cocoon of the airplane, the air was damp, the memories stark, and Declan’s energy as viscous as blood. He moved slowly as though stepping through time. Forward or backward, he wasn’t sure.

  Another luxury sedan waited for them and with a hand on Maggie’s low back, Declan guided her to the door, opened it, and helped
her inside. He gave directions to the driver and then got in.

  The car soon arrived at the Merrion Hotel—a five-star, luxury property.

  Like the gentleman she expected and like she deserved, he helped her out. He motioned for a porter to bring her belongings inside. He hadn’t noticed before because someone at Blancbourg had dealt with the luggage when they’d departed, but she merely had a backpack and a shoulder bag.

  “Travel light?” he asked.

  “Generally.”

  Since leaving Blancbourg, a heavy curtain seemed to have dropped between them. It was as though they both had something to say, but refused to admit it. He knew what he was keeping from her and for good reason, but why was she acting distant and cold?

  She’d wanted to join him on the trip. In fact, it was her idea. She’d encouraged the whole thing when she found him stuffing his face with ice cream. It was bittersweet and not because of the dark chocolate rippling through. Rather, it reminded him so much of Siobhan. But instead of her, Maggie was there comforting him, saying the right things. But he didn’t want to expose her to all the wrong he’d done.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, getting back in the car.

  She wedged herself between the door and the vehicle before he could close it and speed away.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Not here.”

  “Declan, I don’t think you understand. I’m your coach. Where you go, I go.”

  “Bathroom too?” he asked, his humor filtering through.

  “No, gross. But the deal with your coach, your actual football coach and the commission is that I, basically, babysit you. I am to report your every move. And don’t ask if I mean the ones in the bathroom too. Absolutely not. Your career, and according to what you told me the careers of three other guys, is riding on this. So if you’ve made secret arrangements to meet with Brandi or whoever, it’s off.”

  He scrubbed his hand down the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

  “Then where are you going?”

  “The hospice.” His voice was almost a whisper.

  If she was surprised, she didn’t show it, but she did shove past him and back into the car.

  The driver moved into traffic. The asphalt had a sheen on it as though it rained recently. He recognized the names of the streets, the turns the driver took, and many of the stores and pubs, but a lot had changed too. Had he? He felt like he was ten, twelve, sixteen all over again and like his life was hanging by a frayed thread.

  “I haven’t been home in years either.” Her voice came from the other side of the car.

  “I take it home is not in Florida so where’s home? You never said,” he answered.

  “I don’t know anymore.”

  “Your parents?”

  Her answer was silence.

  There was a photo on her phone of a little girl with her same eyes, hazel with amber flecks, tucked between two adults who looked vaguely familiar. Perhaps she’d suffered a tragedy of her own and was as alone as he was.

  “Yours?” she asked, breaking the long pause.

  “Never knew my father. My mother died when I was a lad. Grew up...moving around. My great aunt found me. We’d never met before that, but I went to live with her in the United States. She was a flight attendant. The private plane was a gift for her, but...” He trailed off.

  “I get the sense that you’re avoiding something,” she said, turning to face him.

  As they passed under the street lights and illuminated signs, Maggie’s features moved in and out of shadow. He sensed the same could be said about her.

  “Listen, I’m here to help you manage your life. The good and bad. The tricky and easy. I’m your coach. It’s my job.”

  Fair enough.

  They pulled up in front of a nondescript brick building. The hospice. “What I need right now is a friend.”

  If he didn’t know better, Declan would’ve sworn his shoes were made of granite. He didn’t want to go inside and see his aunt, once energetic and inspiring, in bed dying. She’d worked well into her sixties, flying all over the world. She’d tell Declan about all her travels, making the planet seem like a magical place, rather than the rough, thankless life he’d experienced on the streets.

  Aunt Sheila had believed in him.

  He paused on the sidewalk. Considering turning back. She probably wasn’t awake. It was late. She was ill... He didn’t want to say goodbye.

  Maggie looped her arm around his, pulling him forward. They stood in the entry.

  “I’m not good at goodbyes,” he said.

  “You’re not good at hellos either.”

  “I thought I got a positive review from you.”

  “Water guns,” she reminded him. “But I’m here to help you work on that. Anyway, how do you know it’s goodbye?”

  “Because she’s in hospice care.”

  Maggie exhaled a long breath.

  They stood in the foyer. A few chairs were against one wall, a table with some magazines, and a desk with a single light glowing dimly. It was quiet yet peaceful.

  “What do you believe?” Maggie asked. “Do you really think this is all there is?” She eyed the cross on the wall.

  “Well, no,” he hedged.

  “Then have faith,” Maggie whispered.

  “You don’t understand Aunt Sheila is old. Sick.”

  “And what do you think is next? We die and that’s it?”

  He straightened as though standing corrected.

  “It’s easy to think of Heaven as a vague place when all is going well in life, but when faced with the pain of losing someone, it’s best to remember its promise. Whenever I’m feeling, well, anything, it’s always a good idea to pray. Easy to forget that too.”

  Without another word, her hands were around his and she bowed her head. They remained that way, each sending silent prayers up to God while they waited for the attendant to return.

  A few minutes later someone cleared their throat. “Apologies for the delay. Short-staffed this evening. Milly has a stomach bug and we can’t have her around our patients. May I help you?” The older man’s voice rose and fell like Declan’s own lilting Irish accent, bringing him unexpected comfort.

  “We’re here to see Sheila Woods,” Declan said.

  “Oh, you must be her nephew. She talks about you every day. Thank you for the generous donation.”

  “Happy to help. You do incredible work here.”

  The man nodded and then came around from the desk to lead them to the room. “Don’t tell anyone, because I’m not supposed to have favorites, but she’s mine. Sheila has the best stories.”

  Declan smirked. That sounded about right. When Declan arrived in Boston, she’d tell him stories well into the night as though catching up for the sixteen years of his life that she’d missed.

  “There’s my lad,” Sheila said when he entered. Her voice was raspy.

  Maggie followed behind him.

  Aunt Sheila was reclined in bed, the light in the room dim, but her eyes weren’t. “Who’s this lovely lass?”

  “Aunt Sheila, this is Maggie. Maggie Byrne,” he said.

  She padded closer and clasped the older woman’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. It’s been a pleasure getting to know your nephew. I’m very fond of him. Thank you for raising a rascal.” She winked.

  Pebbles raced across Declan’s arms.

  The room was silent for a moment and then Aunt Sheila started to laugh. It turned into a cough, but when she caught her breath, she said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. For a moment I thought you were going to thank me for raising a gentleman and I was going to call malarkey on you. Oh Declan, I like this lass. She’s a straight talker.” She coughed just about every time she spoke.

  “That she is.” He let out a sigh. “Also, she’s the one who’s teaching me to be a gentleman.”

  “Rightly so. This crab of a boy hasn’t visited me in ages. I had to buy tickets to his games i
n order to see him. Lucky though I can fly free given my many years as a flight attendant. The last game was when you won the Super Bowl. I don’t think I’ll be there this year though.”

  “I’m not entirely sure we’ll make it either, Aunt Sheila.”

  “Don’t be thick. Sure you will.”

  Declan had received the call that indicated his aunt was on her way out, but she seemed as lively as ever. Well, not quite, but she had plenty of humor.

  Maggie sat down while Declan lingered by the door.

  “Oh good, she’s going to say. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable too, Declan? I’d like Maggie to know what kind of tangle she’s getting herself into.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Aunt Sheila.” And as far as he knew, Maggie wasn’t getting into anything, but his aunt assumed they were a couple and he didn’t want to burst her bubble. It seemed Maggie understood this too. Then he belatedly realized that she’d said she was fond of him. His heart hiccupped.

  “If you can believe it, this lad was a pipsqueak. A scrawny boy. I only know this from a few photos and his own accounts, but after his mother passed, he learned to get along on the streets. Do you understand? A real punk,” she said to Maggie.

  “Aunt Sheila, are you getting tired?” he asked, trying to thwart her account of his childhood.

  “Not anymore. You’ve made my, well, your visit made my—” She coughed. Finally, she said, “Back then all his flash and fame didn’t exist. He toughened up, dare I say a bit too much. Fighting, trouble with the Garda. That wasn’t why his nose was broken, but it was why he’d nearly died after—”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s hear a more uplifting story. Tell Maggie about the time you visited the Royalty in Concordia.”

  “Oh, what a grand place. The castle...” she said. Her eyes dipped as if in reverie. “Before I get to that, Declan, did you hear about Cole? His mother paid me a visit about a week ago. Said she tried to get ahold of you.” She turned to Maggie and her expression darkened. “Has he told you about Cole? Talk about a rascal. No, that word is too kind. Cole was a—” She took her head and her tone thinned. “I suppose it was inevitable. Tragic though. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”