Dedication
Thank-Yous
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
About the Author
Off Sides
Copyright © 2017 by Monica DeSimone
Editing by The Editing Maven
Cover Design by Pink Ink Designs
Photography by Eric David Battershell Photography
Formatting by Pink Ink Designs
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
For Michele
Because every good girl has a little bit of a freak in them!
Thank you for being my champion. I love you, Sissy!
"Nobody looks good in their darkest hour. But it's those hours that make us what we are.
We stand strong, or we cower. We emerge victorious, tempered by our trials,
or fractured by a permanent damning fault line."
-Karen Marie Moning
At eight, my parents sent me to Catholic school. I hated it and rebelled against everything from playing dumb in reading class to the uniforms. So much so that the sisters had my mother’s number on speed dial. Sister Mary Catherine learned real quick that I wasn’t a private school kind of girl. I don’t like to look like everyone else! So when they politely requested that my parents explore other educational opportunities for the next school year, I was delighted. I never really believed in conforming to the way of the world. My thank-you page is my way of being me and not completely conforming to the norm. My mother said it was because I beat my drum to my own tune. The music is still playing and I’m banging away.
To Michele DeSimone Clark, you have been my best friend since birth, and no one can possibly know just how very lucky I am to have chosen you as my sister! From blackmailing you to purchase me clothes when you were mean to me—see I knew I could figure out a way to blame either you or Mom for me being a clothes whore—to helping me achieve my dream, THANK YOU will never be enough!!!
Emily Nicole, you have been my Stinkerbelle since the moment I held you in my arms. At the ripe age of three years old, you broke my heart when you told me that you didn’t love me and have continued to break my heart at least once a week since. I wouldn’t change one moment of our time together. We are still here—you, your mother, and I. You, our precious gift, are the kindest soul I know, remember that always and reach for those dreams every day. Thank you for allowing me to grow up alongside you!
Darion Bridgman, you have been on this journey with me since the beginning. Encouraging me, pushing me forward, and giving me the brutal truth—whether I could take it or not. From one crazy dog lady to another, the adventures are only beginning. Outside of my sister, I can’t imagine anyone else to have along the way.
Deborah Martin, friend doesn’t quite cover what you mean to me. Cheerleader, patron saint of writers, and inspiration are only three adjectives that encompass the vivacious human being you are. Thank you so much for EVERYTHING that you have done. Your friendship is one that I am blessed to have. There are absolutely no words that can express my gratitude and love. I thank God and Jami for the day that Michele and I met you ten years ago at a Giants game.
Doug Cernek and Craig Altieri, you are truly the most generous of individuals. Thank you for embracing my quirks and allowing me to fly, yet still have a nest to come home to. I am a lifelong fan!
Nadine Winningham, you are by far the only person I will ever trust with my words. Your kindness, generosity of spirit, and knowledge is awe-inspiring. You are the Editing Maven and so, so much more! Cassy Roop, the manner in which you approach a project is astounding. You are kind, determined, patient, and can see the vision that your authors are trying to achieve. Eric David Battershell, there are absolutely no words that I can put together that encompass you. Compassionate, determined and visionary are just a few that come to mind.
To my Ladybug readers—you know who you are—I couldn’t make it through a day without you! Thank you all so very much for embracing my wackiness and encouraging me to soar!
Jackson
THE FIRST TIME that I saw Legs she was only fifteen. I like to call her that because it pisses her off, and nothing tickles me more than pissing Claire Amelia McEvoy off. Brad used to call her Red because when the sun hit her chestnut hair it would be more auburn than brown. The nickname stuck, and both Brad and I called her that. She loved it. However, after everything that happened that last summer, I can’t even think of that nickname without getting sick. The destruction of Claire’s life and my career was a piece of cake for my former roommate, Brad, and Claire’s father, Mac. I was once one of the best free safeties in the game. Although I went in the second round of the draft, I proved the bastards wrong. The “cowboy” from the small horse farm in Kentucky proved them all wrong.
Looking back now, I know exactly when I fell head over boots for Claire McEvoy. Claire, standing on the sidelines in white shorts, a Giants tank top and red flip flops, was watching over her little sister, Zoey. Where her sister was all spit and vinegar, Claire was the complete opposite. Calm and reserved. Even back then she could cut you down with a look. Not to mention when she opened her mouth and that genius brain of hers showed itself. Damn, the woman amazes me every day.
Legs was stunning at fifteen, but at thirty-seven she has no equal. Five foot nine, one hundred and twenty pounds, with the most amazing chestnut hair and green eyes that remind me of the Ruined Gardens of Killakee Estate in Ireland. Lush, warm, and awe-inspiring, a man could get lost in them. Her movie star beauty is something that most women only hope to achieve. A willow, with a grace and elegance that is innate. The frustrating part is that Claire doesn’t even realize her own beauty. She hides behind her sister and her daughter, Sasha. I know why she hides, and it isn’t out of shyness. And although she is the one person they go to when they need comfort, she often finds herself alone and needing comfort herself.
Being a people watcher, I’ve watched Claire closely over the past year and change since I came back to New York and the professional gam
bit. I was happy at the collegiate level, but I knew I was better than just being a defensive line coach for ‘Bama. I had outgrown the Tide and everyone knew it.
When I disappeared twenty-three years ago from professional ball, no one ever expected me to make my way back to this level. But honestly, the game is in my blood—just like my horses. I’d eventually end up here, even if Mac hadn’t pulled a few strings to make it happen. The old man wanted to make sure that I got my redemption, and although I appreciate it, the only person that I care about redeeming myself with is Claire.
No one knows our past. The rest of our group was too young to even know what transpired back then. But I know. And I would do anything to remove the pain that enters Claire’s eyes every time she sees me. But our circle of friends are the same and I’m not going anywhere. Besides, I owe her and Sasha a hell of a lot more than just being some fucking stranger. Sasha deserves to know just how strong her mother is.
If it is the last thing I do, she will.
Claire
“ZOEY?” I SHOUT out as I walk down the hallway that separates our offices. “Zo! You here?”
“Claire? Oh…thank God, Claire! HELP...I’m in my office.”
Walking down the hallway, which I designed, I get an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction. The Coach’s Shadow Foundation has surpassed my wildest dreams. When my little sister came to me with the idea two years ago, I laughed it off. Not because I didn’t think she could do it, but because the man that she was dead set on honoring was anything but honorable.
In the past two years, Zoey and I have worked our butts off to fulfill Mac’s wishes. To give inner city athletes a chance to better themselves through football. It’s a great foundation, and because of it I won’t have to work for the team much longer. This is my last season working for the Giants. I work for the organization, a liaison of sorts. One that deals with all of the CEOs, movie stars, and visiting politicians. It was a position that Mac instituted specifically for me, and unfortunately I was good at. Very good. It isn’t what I wanted to do with my life, but having a child at sixteen kind of put my true ambitions on hold. I wanted to be an interior designer. That’s where my true passion lies. No matter where I am, I redesign any room that I am in. Most people don’t know, but I am the one that designed the luxury suites at the new stadium. The good thing about my position with the team is I have become good friends with the upper echelon within MetLife. So, when I was asked what I would do to improve the suites and the experience within them, I didn’t hold anything back. It’s nice to know that they respected my opinion and allowed me to run with my ideas. Just like walking into the Foundation, I get a great sense of satisfaction every time I walk into one of the new suites. My mom encouraged me and my creativity, always said that creativity ran in the family—the Applebees, not the McEvoys.
The Coach’s Shadow Foundation originally started off just sending underprivileged athletes to the best camps in the country. Somehow, Zoey bullied, bitched, and finagled money out of the elite of the elite in the football world, and we now have an entire facility for our athletes to come to and have the coaches, referees, and professional players as mentors. This past summer was our first here at the facility; and we were a hit. Booked from the first of June right on up through next week. We even had two teams from Dallas, Texas in last week. The following two weeks are completely booked with AA college teams. At first I thought that the location of the foundation would be a detriment to us. Located lovingly close to the Giants training facility and MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford, I figured that the team would over shadow the foundation. However, it is on track to becoming one of the best football camps, no matter the age, in the country.
I stop at a life-sized photo of my father and shake my head in disgust. Zoey insisted on us having an office for Mac, a man who has been dead for almost two and a half years. It’s her way of further honoring our father. And although I designed the entire facility, I refused to design or have any part in his office. In a lot of ways, I find it sick and have yet to step one foot into it.
Mac never did have any interest in my life, and after I got pregnant all he and momma cared about was making sure that the pregnancy was kept as quiet as possible. Jesus, Jami even wanted to say that Sasha was theirs. I wouldn’t allow that. She’s mine. Just like Zoey is, or at least I consider her to be. Hell, I’m the one that practically raised my little sister. Mac was too busy with his career and Jami was too busy being Jami Applebee McEvoy to be anything other than a figurehead.
Walking into Zoey’s office, I think how just over two short years ago she was so focused on the foundation and nothing else. Battling severe depression, an unhealthy exercise addiction, and an attempted suicide, my little sister is now sickeningly happy and strong—both mentally and physically. She’s now married to the one man that she has always loved and barely able to waddle her way through a full day because she is eight and a half months pregnant with twins. At five foot three she can barely get out of her chair by herself. Bed rest is in my sister’s future, no matter how much she tries to fight it.
I laugh and shake my head at the site that I have walked in to. Zoey on all fours, trying to—not so gracefully—get off the floor. “Jesus! How long have you been down there?” I hurry over to help her up.
“Stop laughing, Claire, I didn’t laugh at you when you were pregnant with Sasha. I have two of these demons inside me. I swear they take after Derrick. Only living to torture me!”
I grab my tiny sister; she is literally all babies. If she has gained twenty-five pounds that would be generous. Zoey still runs when she is stressed, and unfortunately that is the one thing Derrick has not been able to break her of. “How did you get down there and how long have you been down there?”
“Derrick thought it would be funny to play with me. Literally! You know how horny I am right now!” I cringe at my sister’s words but let her continue. “The bastard left me down here while he went to meet up with Matt. Laughing as he left! I have been down here for half an hour. It took me fifteen minutes just to get off my back! I looked like a freaking Weeble Wobble,” she says with a huff. “But I’ll get him and that damn dog he brought home too! Jerkoff thought that he could negotiate with me, Claire. With sex!”
I can tell by the slant of her head she’s serious. Zoey is an animal lover, has three dogs that she calls her babies. “The Boys” are more spoiled then my daughter, so I know that Derrick has pushed his wife one step too far. It was one thing coming home with a new puppy, and another all together to say that the boys are too old to enjoy newborns. That was like lighting a fire under my overprotective sister. She packed an overnight bag and all three dogs and came to my house. Which Derrick promptly followed, like the lovesick fool he is, with the new English bulldog he’d bought. Don’t get me wrong, Fumble is adorable, but not if you are almost nine months pregnant and have to train him on your own. Which is the case as Derrick is about to leave his very pregnant wife for training camp. With twins on the way and four dogs at home, I’d want to kill him too.
As it is, I have been asked by Coach Miller if I wouldn’t mind keeping Jackson’s dog during training camp. “We know how much you McEvoy girls love your animals.” My ass, I was ambushed! But Jackson is dropping Legs off tomorrow. So you tell me who’s the fool!
I have to admit that Legs is an amazingly beautiful Australian Herding dog. All white with black and tan mixed into her coat. And those eyes of hers…she looks at you with those gorgeous blue eyes and you’re hooked. I just hope that she and Dallas, my Chiweenie, get along. Because if they don’t, that bitch is out in the backyard. No one messes with my Dallas.
Thinking of Legs makes me think about Jackson. I have to admit, even if only to myself, that I do enjoy watching the man walk across a football field. He makes workout shorts and a backwards baseball hat look good. But admiring is exactly where my thoughts and feelings are going to remain. From a distance.
No one knows of my connection to Jackson, or Jack
as he likes to be called, and that’s exactly how I want it. I have avoided as much contact with him as I could without it jeopardizing my job or giving anything away to my family and friends. Of course he tolerates a lot from me, and quite frankly I enjoy pushing him to his limits. Plus, the man is too damn good looking for his own good. Knocking him down a peg always brings joy to my sadistic heart. He was esthetically pleasing twenty-three years ago, and age has only benefited him.
As my mind starts to wander, which seems to happen often lately, I start thinking about what I have to still arrange for the Cowboys-Giants game. It’s the only game that I have yet to complete for the season. It’s the biggest game of the year for the team and everyone wants special treatment. You would think that working for the Giants organization they would be my favorite team, but they aren’t. I’m a Dallas Cowboys fan through and through. Mac used to say that it was to piss him off. He was probably right about that. But now I secretly wear a Cowboys t-shirt under my Giants tee on game days because I don’t want it to burn my skin.
Zoey is babbling on, I haven’t been paying much attention, but her next words draw me back into the conversation. “I’m so glad that it was you that found me and not Jack. He’s due any minute and I don’t think that I could’ve handled the humiliation,” she says, leaning over and holding her very pregnant belly with one hand and the desk with the other.
“Zoey, seriously, why do you even care what Jackson thinks?
“Claire, drop the bullshit. Why do you call Jack Jackson? And why do you do it in that pissy tone of yours?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about, Zoey. I don’t have a pissy tone.” Zoey raises her eyebrow at me and waves her hand in my direction. “This is not a pissy tone, Zoey Elizabeth. I just hate having to show people around, I’m tired of it, I have been doing it my entire adult life.”
“I call bullshit! You love being the ‘Cruise Director,’ what’s up? And don’t you dare say nothing. I have known you my entire life and know that you are lying to me.” She pauses and takes a breath, but then her eyes light up and I know I’m in trouble. “You know, Suzie researched Jack when he came to the team. Did you know that he played for Mac?” Leaning as far forward as her pregnant belly will allow without toppling over, she points her finger at me and says, “You knew Jack didn’t you? You knew him when he played for Daddy?”
Encroachment (Coach's Shadow Trilogy #2) Page 1
