Burke laughed - a hearty, full-throated laughed that seemed to echo off of the ceiling of the hotel room. “Baby,” he said, “I’ve never been more excited to be proven wrong.” He reached out and grabbed my hips, pulling up until I straddled him. “Go ahead,” he growled. “Show me exactly what I’ve been missing.”
24
Sarah
Epilogue
“When’s the due date, honey?” asked Becca Barnes, wandering over from where she’d been watching the game with some of the other player wives. It was halftime, and the New England Patriots were up 10 – 0 against the New York Jets.
Becca Barnes had all the grace of a gazelle, she was tall, and stunningly beautiful. At one point in time, she was one of the highest paid models in the world. Between her and her husband Dash, and their combined endorsement deals, they're said to be one of the wealthiest celebrity couples in the United States. Because of my former relationship with Yvette, Becca and I had known each other to say “hi” to before I met Burke. But I hadn’t seen her in a while. In fact, this was the first time I’d ever been invited up into the players box.
“I thought the box was only for wives,” I’d argued, when Burke had given me the invitation.
Burke had shrugged that off with a grin. “What can I say? I’m important.”
“I’m due in November,” I said, grunting as I tried to lever myself out of the seat. Becca shifted her wine glass from her right hand to her left and offered me her slim, elegantly manicured hand. She’s stronger than she looks, and I was on my feet in a second. The baby squirmed inside, and I pressed my hand to my stomach as if that might calm it.
“How exciting,” murmured Becca. I’m not sure if she meant it. Burke had told me that Becca didn’t want to have kids and that the issue was a source of tension between her and Dash.
“I suppose,” I said. In fact, I was a bit apprehensive about labor, though I was excited to be finished with the pregnancy. My body didn’t belong to just me, and sharing it had been a strange (if incredible) journey.
“So,” said Becca, taking a sip of her wine, “I’ve been reading your blog.”
“I’m flattered!” I said.
Becca smiled, a cool, professional thing that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Don’t be,” she said. “It’s really interesting. I’ve been to almost every single location you write about. You do a terrific job not only capturing the beauty of the place – but also the character. Your writing is just…” She shrugged. “I really liked the piece you did about Costa Rica.”
“Thank you,” I said. Roz had been correct. I don’t know if it was the publicity of Burke’s breakup with Yvette, or the subsequent announcement of my pregnancy, but the moment I’d monetized the blog, money had come pouring in. I had an incredibly robust readership that was attracted to the photos and the write-ups of my travels almost as much as they were captivated by the posts about my relationship with Burke.
“Have you ever been to Patagonia?” asked Becca.
“Never,” I said, yearning ripping through me. I’ve always wanted to go.
“I do a series with the Discovery Channel, Mother Earth, have you ever seen it?”
I shook my head, but I knew the show she was talking about.
“We go to the world’s most naturally beautiful places and try to raise awareness about natural beauty versus man-made pollution. I have an idea that I’m pitching to my producers, if you’re on board. Your blog and your Instagram account have over a million readers combined. Add that to mine – the show could get great publicity. You could be a guest, write about Patagonia and take photos of the behind the scenes. It would create hype for the episode. Would you be interested?”
I was speechless for a moment before I found my tongue. “Absolutely!”
Becca nodded. “We’d film in February, so that would give you four months to recover from having the baby. Do you think you’ll be able to do it?”
“I think so.”
Becca nodded. “Good. Then I will pitch to my producers and will let you know.”
“Ms. Forte?” Someone spoke behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to see one of the Patriot’s office personnel. He looked like he’d just come off the field. He wore a patriot’s warm-up jacket and a set of headphones with a mic attached. “Mr. Tyler sent me up to see if you’d like to see some of the game from the sidelines.”
“Is that safe?” I asked, protecting my stomach with my hand. I’d seen quite a few players tumble into the sidelines at full tilt.
“We’ll keep you out of the way of the play, ma’am,” said the man.
“Go,” said Becca, smiling a small, almost secretive smile. “It’s fun to watch down there. They don’t let me because I draw too many cameras.” And with that she sauntered back to the front window.
I checked my watch. There were still about five minutes left of half-time. I shrugged and followed the man into the hallway. It might be fun to watch the game from the sidelines!
I was moving slowly, but we finally made it down to the field, where the players had just come out of the locker room and were gathering to discuss plays. I looked around for Burke. He was usually pretty easy to spot, especially without his helmet. But I couldn’t see him.
LADIES AND GENTLEMAN. All of a sudden the announcer’s voice boomed across the stadium, gathering the attention of both the crowd and the players. PLEASE DIRECT YOUR ATTENTION TO THE CENTER OF THE FIELD.
All about me, people began shuffling, moving so that they could see. Stuck behind a series of over-six-feet-tall football players, I couldn’t tell what was happening and craned my neck to look around.
Suddenly music burst from the speakers: the beautiful strings and oboe of Edith’s Piaf’s La Vie en Rose.
“Des yeux qui font baisser les miens…” Piaf’s voice rang out, emotional and rich, across Gillette Stadium.
And then the bodies before me parted, allowing me a glimpse of the field. Striding across the center of it: Burke.
I felt hands at my elbows and realized that everyone was staring at me, that I was frozen in place. I glanced to my right and left, and realized that Cassidy Woods and Dash Barnes himself were escorting me out onto the field.
The noise of the crowd was deafening, nearly drowning out Piaf song. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Burke, who was grinning ear to ear as he dropped to one knee.
I couldn’t help it. I burst into tears.
Caz and Dash didn’t let go until I was standing in the center of the football field, right in front of Burke. Each offered me a kiss on the cheek and then abandoned me.
“Sarah.” I could barely hear Burke through the roaring of the crowd. “Love of my life.” Burke continued. I couldn’t stop crying. “Mother of my child.” My nose was running and I covered it with my hand, tears streaming over my fingers.
“These last months with you have been the happiest of my life.” I realized that he wasn’t wearing a microphone. People could see us, but these words were just for me.
“I want to make a promise to you, in front of as many witnesses as I could gather,” he said. His eyes burned into mine and he reached up, snagging my hand and drawing me closer to him. “I promise to love you for the rest of my days. To make all your dreams come true. I don’t want to spend another moment of my life without you by my side.”
And suddenly he was holding a box in his free hand. The world blurred at the edges.
“Sarah Forte, will you marry me?”
Words failed me. About us, the crowd and the music swelled and I could only hang onto Burke’s hand as I nodded. Burke’s smile was blinding. Then he leapt to his feet and pulled me as close as my belly would allow, kissing me for all he was worth. I felt him take my hand, slide the ring onto my finger, but I couldn’t even look down. I couldn’t look at anything but Burke.
“I can’t wait to marry you,” I choked out.
Burke pressed his forehead against mine. “I love, Sarah,” he said. Then he laughed and straightened up. �
��Now – coach is going to kill me if I pull this big stunt and then go and lose us the game.”
“Go,” I said, sniffling. “Go win.”
“Cheer for me, baby?” He asked.
“For the rest of my life,” I answered.
Going Deep
BOOK 2
Prologue
Ryan
“You’re really quiet,” Courtney whispered into my neck.
I closed my eyes and tried to think of something to say, but it was hard to think when Courtney Hart was straddling me, fingers still tangling in my hair.
“It’s hot,” I said, finally. And it was. Sex on the beach would have been cooler than sex in the backseat of a car, but Courtney had vetoed the idea (sand gets everywhere).
Courtney pressed a kiss to the side of my neck – where I’d probably have marks tomorrow. “Let’s go put our toes in the water,” she said. I nodded. What I had to do wasn’t going to be pleasant, and the more space between us, the better.
To be honest, outside the car wasn’t any less stifling than inside the car. South Florida in May wasn’t as bad as South Florida in June – but it’s still pretty damn close. Though the sun had dropped an hour ago, taking the worst of the heat with it, the humidity lingered. This was gonna suck.
We went down to the water where the waves crashed over our toes, cooling us down. I stood there, crossing my arms over my chest so as not to reach for her. But Courtney came close and tucked herself against my side.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice soft.
I took a deep breath. “I want to break up.”
Stillness. Total stillness. Then Courtney straightened, putting an inch of distance between us.
“Why?”
That was Courtney. No sobbing. No screaming. Just short and to the point. Why? Because it’s easier this way. Because you’ll eventually leave me. Because I’d rather we be done with this now. It will hurt less.
“Where you going to college next year, Court?”
“Florida State University.”
“An hour from home. Me? I’m going to Michigan. Dad’s moving to the Keys. I won’t be back here. Not ever again.”
I couldn’t look at her. I kept my eyes trained on the dim horizon, where black met darker black. There were clouds tonight. No moon. No stars.
“You brought me out here to screw me one last time?” she asked. Her voice was steady, controlled. Sweat beaded at my temples and ran down my chin.
“It wasn’t my plan. I meant to…”
“Tell me this, Ryan,” Courtney interrupted. “Do you love me?”
“Of course…”
“Bullshit,” said Courtney, her control breaking, anger crackling through the word. “If you loved me, you’d care. You’d care, and you’d fucking come back for me. You’d make this fucking work!”
My stomach was knotting up. “Courtney. I’m going to go pro. I’m not coming home for anything. Not for you. Not for anything.”
“What if I came to you?”
Fuck. She wasn’t going to make this easy.
“It’s not going to work,” I said. “I’m not bringing sand to the beach, Court.”
“Excuse me!?”
“I’m not going off to college still dating my high school girlfriend. I want a clean break from Serenity. This isn’t my life anymore.” I couldn’t look at her. If I looked at her I might give in.
“So all those promises…” she trailed off and then started again. “You have my fucking name over your heart!” I’d tattooed it there at the end of junior year. To be honest, I’d have to get it covered up. Courtney was the kind of girl a guy has to try to forget.
Courtney let my silence hang, then she nodded. “Okay. Okay Ryan. Fuck you. Go off. Go pro. Be big. Never come back here again, but I’ll tell you what – this is a mistake. There’s no one out there better for you than me. And when you realize that, it’s going to be too fucking late.”
She didn’t go back into the car. She strode off down the beach, and I let her. Because my life was about to start all over again, and Courtney Hart was no longer a part of it.
1
Courtney
“Rise and raise your voices high, they fear the Panther’s battle cry…”
Another huge group of people poured through the door of The Mangroves Seaside Restaurant, singing Serenity Beach High School’s fight song.
“I swear to god,” murmured Adriana beside me, “If I hear that song one more time…” She let the sentence hang but began to vigorously shake a cocktail shaker full of ice and someone’s dirty martini. My sentiments exactly.
“Oh honey,” I drawled, loudly, “How have you lived here for three years and not intimately acquainted yourself with the fight song?” I raised my voice as the lyrics continued. “They all go run and Hide-a when the team from South Flo-ri-da takes the fiiieeellllddd….” The crowd at the bar started whistling and hollering.
Adriana pursed her lips at me, hiding a smile. We’d been friends ever since she moved to Serenity. She knew I had no love for my old alma mater. In fact, were it up to me, I’d have never come back home. But my parents had offered to make me part owner of the restaurant – so I’d returned. If things went my way, I wouldn’t be here much longer. I was doing my best to turn The Mangroves into a seaside chain up and down the southern Atlantic coast. We were in the beginning stages of planning a restaurant in Miami. When that started up, I’d be out of here so fast…
“Jesus,” muttered Adriana as more people filed through the door, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much testosterone in one place.”
And we weren’t likely to see anything like it again. Coach Callahan, the legendary coach of Serenity High’s football team, could only die once. We were lucky that his family chose The Mangroves for his funeral reception. It looked as if every single alumnus that’d ever been coached by Callahan was here tonight. My servers were hustling back and forth with conch fritters, smoked fish dip, mahi mahi skewers, wings – we could barely keep up with the influx of mourners. There were so many people here that we’d opened up a third bar on the outside patio – which was the reason I was currently working behind one of them, instead of spending the night at home watching House of Cards.
“Tell you what,” Adriana said, stuffing a five dollar bill into her apron. “It’s a shame I’m married. What’s in Serenity’s water? Is it inbreeding? How do y’all pop out so many tall, pretty male babies?”
“You’re not far off,” I muttered, looking to the door where another group of men in dark suits entered the restaurant. The glass slipped from my fingers.
“Hey! Careful,” said Adriana, reaching past me to catch the glass as it bounced off the rail. I blinked at Adriana’s cat-like reflexes and held my hand out for the glass. Mechanically I scooped ice into it, filled it with gin and topped it off with tonic water and a lime.
“Here,” I said to the now faceless customer. He gave me money. I tucked it away.
“Hey,” said Adriana. “Are you okay?”
Turning to respond to Adriana, I caught my reflection in the bar mirror. Tanned skin, bright blue eyes, thick, straight blond hair pulled back off of my face, dark black tank-top hugging my chest. Did I look tired? Professional? Pretty?
“Courtney. Are you okay?” Adriana leaned in and I flashed her a bright smile. She blinked. “I guess that answers that question,” she muttered. “What’s wrong?”
“Later,” I said. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I’d started sweating slightly, despite the fact that the AC and the overhead fans were on.
Turning back to the line of waiting customers I said, energetically as I could, “What can I get you!?” Thank god most people wanted beers. I’m not sure I could have handled anything more complicated.
As I poured, I glanced back at the door. The man who’d just walked in stood almost half a head taller than his compatriots and had almost twice their weight in muscle. He’d taken off his suit jacket and slung it over the back of a ch
air. Crisp white shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbow, revealing thick, muscled forearms. His face… he looked like he’d stepped off the pages of a Tommy Hilfiger ad: All American. Mouthwateringly gorgeous.
I’m not coming home for anything. Not for you. Not for anything.
But he had come home. Ryan “Mac” Mcloughlin – Pride and joy of Serenity Beach, one of Serenity’s three alums who made it pro – had come home. I’d worked hard to put high school behind me – no small feat when you still live in the town you grew up in – but it was all spiraling back. Homecoming games, walks on the beach, weekend trips to Miami, that week over spring break in the Keys. Stolen kisses through the day. Long, hot nights.
As if sensing my thoughts, Ryan looked up. Our eyes locked. I forced myself to smile and hoped I managed to hide how startled I was.
His face was momentarily blank – as if he didn’t know who I was. Then he smiled. It was small, acknowledging. One of his friends said something and he looked down, and his smile grew into a laugh.
I turned to the next customer. “What can I get you?”
It was hard to focus on my customers; it was a real effort not to look up, not to track his movement, not to drink in the sight of him like a desert traveler at an oasis. How long had I followed his career, or seen flashes of him on TV, or seen those white teeth bared in an Instagram selfie with some overly-made-up redhead? Yet I hadn’t even considered that he might have made the trip to his old coach’s funeral. I’m not coming home for anything. Not for you. Not for anything.
Apparently that wasn’t true. He’d come home for Coach. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set Page 18
