The Hard Way: a Sports Romance

by Katie Ashley

  The Hard Way

  Katie Ashley

  Katie Ashley Productions

  Contents

  Untitled

  Prologue

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  Untitled

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Untitled

  CHAPTER NINE

  Untitled

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Untitled

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE PAST

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Present

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Epilogue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COMING SOON

  Message from Katie

  Copyright © 2016 by Katie Ashley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To Shakespeare for his great love stories and tragedies that have inspired generations and for the words of wisdom to sustain us from day to day.

  CADE

  Alcohol…because no great story starts with milk. I read that somewhere on the Internet. At the time, I couldn’t help raising my solo cup in agreement. It pretty much summed up my life’s motto from the time I’d downed my first beer at fourteen to my post high school binges. Of course, I’d come a long way since the two high-end beers I’d snuck out of my father’s office fridge had gotten me buzzed. Now I was twenty-one, a junior, and a starting running back at Georgia Tech. I didn’t start feeling toe up until five or six beers in now.

  This particular alcohol-related story starts after I had just finished up my sixth beer of the night. I’m sure you’re wondering why I need to elaborate—I mean, we all have our drunk-as-hell stories, especially when you’re a college student. None of them really amount to stellar storytelling unless it ends with waking up next to the crush you never had the guts to talk to when sober, or with a black eye from that bar fight when the alcohol made you feel ten feet tall and bulletproof. Let’s not forget the legendary red-and-blue-flashing-lights alcohol-related story.

  When it comes to my story, I owed everything to a hot-as-balls summer night and a six-pack of Bud, but I digress.

  Anyway, Tech’s summer football practice had ended, and two of my teammates—and coincidentally best friends—had gone back to my buddy Brandon’s dorm room to help him pack up his shit. He was going to be living with me and our other bud, Jonathan, in our apartment a block off campus.

  After packing up the truck and then unloading it at our apartment, we’d come back to Brandon’s to celebrate with pizza and beer. Since we’d decided to crash at Brandon’s that night and take the last load in the morning, we made it a shit-load of beer. We were stumbling out to the car with the last boxes when something caught my inebriated eye. Across the street, a bunch of dressed-up older people strolled down the sidewalk and into the one of the administrative buildings. The men in their tuxes and the ladies in their fancy dresses seemed out of place among the coeds packing up.

  With a snort, Jonathan clapped me on the back before pointing. “Dude, there’s your favorite professor.”

  A growl came low in my throat at the sight of Dr. Higgins. The bastard had given me my first C of my college experience. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: how’s it possible a jock like me makes all As and Bs? Trust me, I’m not your typical jock. I graduated in the top ten at my prep school, and while most college football guys had their eye on the NFL, my future was focused off the gridiron. My sights were set on a sports medicine major. That’s right, ladies—a doctor. You could call me a triple threat. I had looks, personality, and brains. How fucking sexy was that?

  Anyway, it might’ve been a week since I’d seen my final grades, but I was still pretty steamed about Professor Cocksucker jacking my GPA—especially when it came to one of my science classes. I always aced those with high As. “So what’s going on over there?”

  Jonathan grimaced. “That would be the Academic Honors Dinner.” When I blinked at him in confusion, Jonathan added, “It’s where a bunch of professors get together and have dinner to celebrate that they’re done teaching dumbasses like us for the year.”

  “They also give an achievement award, and this year it’s going to Dr. Cocksucker,” Brandon piped up as he shoved a box in the cab of his truck.

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Sorry, bro, but it’s true.”

  Jonathan shook his head at Brandon. “How the hell do you know this?”

  Brandon glanced over his shoulder to give us a shit-eating grin. “I banged one of the TAs from the math department two nights ago. She was all in a panic when she overslept because she had to go work on the decorations.”

  “Shoulda known it had something to do with pussy,” Jonathan mused.

  “Holy shit!” I suddenly cried. My body tingled like I’d been hit with a taser—and yes, I knew what that felt like from firsthand knowledge, but that’s another story for another day.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Brandon asked.

  At first, I didn’t answer him; I was too busy processing the idea that had just hit me. It was one I probably wouldn’t have entertained had I been sober, though that’s not to say I haven’t done some stupid shit when I wasn’t plastered.

  I waggled my brows at Jonathan and Brandon. “Who’s up for some streaking?”

  Brandon, who’d had the least to drink out of the three of us, stopped his OCD double-checking of the boxes in the back of the pickup truck and whirled around. “Did you just say streaking?”

  I clapped my hands together. “Hell yeah.”

  His blond brows crinkled. “Through the empty dorms?”

  “Nope.” I threw an arm around his shoulder. “I was thinking more about through the honors dinner to ruin Dr. Cocksucker’s big night.”

  While Brandon appeared horrified, Jonathan busted out laughing. “Dude, that’s epic!”

  “Isn’t it?”

  While Jonathan nodded, Brandon shook his head. “This is a bad, bad idea—like one of the worst you’ve ever had, and that’s saying a hell of a lot.”

  “Oh come on, man. Live a little.”

  “And what happens when your bare ass gets caught?”

  I whipped my shirt over my head. “I won’t get caught.”

  “Newsflash, ace: they’re gonna see your face along with your ass,” Brandon countered.

  “Well, duh, I’m not gonna let them see my face. Unless they’ve got cameras in the locker room, they’ll never be able to identify my ass.”

  “Just how are you going to do that?”

  I lumbered over to the cab of the truck and thrust my hand into the box Brandon had taken special care to put up front so nothing would happen to it. After rustling around in the box, I grabbed out his Dark Vader mask—the one Jonathan and I gave him shit for treasuring.

  Holding it up, I said, “I’ll be wearing this.”

  Brandon’s eyes widened. “Dude, you know that’s not to play with.”

  Jonathan snorted. “You sound like a five-year-old.”

  “I’m serious. It’
s memorabilia, not a toy.”

  Rolling my eyes, I replied, “Jesus, Brand, you’re an epic buzz-killer.”

  Brandon held his hands up to signal a timeout. “Come on. Let’s just go back inside, finish the pizza, and sober up. Then if you’re still hell-bent on revenge, we can find another way to get back at Dr. Cocksucker, one that doesn’t involve you getting in trouble. Something slightly more…anonymous.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was actually concerned about me getting in trouble or if his concern was more about anything happening to his precious Darth Vader mask. “Nope. It’s on.”

  When Brandon opened his mouth to once again protest, I broke into a sprint over to the building. Of course, in my state, I ran like a kid coloring outside the lines. After cracking open the main door, I stuck my head inside and peered around to see if the coast was clear. The lobby was a ghost town except for two stiff-looking women at the check-in table. Everyone was already inside the ballroom.

  It was now or never. It took me twice as long as usual to get my shorts off my hips. Usually I can get those off in record speed, especially if I’m about to unleash the beast for some sex action, but being plastered, I ended up staggering around to catch my balance. Once I had righted myself, I slid on the Darth Vader mask. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings with the mask on. Once I could breathe and see, I threw open the door.

  One of the women at the table shrieked and clutched her chest while the other one rose out of her chair. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Dr. Higgins sucks mega cock!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as I barreled past them.

  “Get back here!” the woman hissed.

  I opened the ballroom door and charged inside. Through the mask, I could see about twenty round tables set up with white linen tablecloths, fine china, and crystal. On the stage, a few musicians screeched bows across the strings of violins and a cello. Ugh. It was a total pile of pretentious shit, which I knew all too well from my father’s world of political fundraising dinners.

  The pairing of a woman’s scream and a man shouting “What the hell?” alerted everyone to my presence. I threw a hand in the air and fist pumped. “Dr. Higgins sucks mega cock!” I shouted again. A couple people in line for the buffet dropped their plates as I streaked by, which caused me to start laughing—like really crazy, maniacal laughter, the kind that would scare small children or get you institutionalized.

  In my lunacy, I realized it was time to get the hell out of there. My attention was drawn to the door with the gleaming EXIT sign. It loomed in the distance like the end zone on the football field.

  I almost made it, but I hadn’t expected my sneaker to get lodged in an audio visual chord someone had tried to conceal under a rug.

  “Fuck!” I grunted as I went flying through the air. The plastic Darth Vader Mask did little to protect me as I crashed at full speed into the metal door that also happened to be locked. A flash of light accompanied a searing pain in my head before everything went dark.

  CADE

  Sometimes you just know you’re thoroughly and completely fucked. The mind-numbing, stomach-clenching dread slowly creeps over you until your entire body is drowning in it. It’s all encompassing, and you can’t shake out of it. You can try counting to ten, taking deep, cleansing breaths, or even going all kooky trying to find your zen, but there’s no way in hell you’re shaking that feeling.

  It’s the same dread as when you’re down by thirty at the half, and it would take a miracle to pull a victory out of your team’s ass. You know with absolute certainty you’ll be trudging into the locker room with your tail between your legs.

  That’s exactly how I felt sitting in a hard-as-hell plastic chair outside the office of the dean of athletics at Georgia Tech. As my shoes drummed a rhythmic, anxious tapping on the floor, my mother placed a hand on my knee. “Cade.”

  My toe tapping ceased at her admonishment. After being momentarily blinded by all the bling on her hand, I glanced up at her. A tight smile formed on the face that had been perfectly sculpted by one of the finest plastic surgeons in Georgia.

  “It will be fine.” When I opened my mouth to protest, she gave a jerk of her blonde head. “Doesn’t your father always make things right?”

  I couldn’t argue with her on that one, especially as a shit-ton of scenarios of me with my ass in a bind ran through my mind. In a weird way, my father was like my knight in shining armor when it came to getting me out of trouble. As a former corporate litigator, he sure as hell knew how to put forth a good argument. Now as a representative in the Georgia House, he had the power to pull strings if it came down to it.

  On this particular day I needed his mad litigating skills more than ever before, and if necessary for him to pull strings like a fucking puppet master. The fate of my entire life was being decided within the walls of the dean’s office—well, it was really more the fate of my football career that was on the line. Considering I lived and breathed for the sport, I wasn’t exaggerating too much to say it was my life—at least it was until I finished undergrad. Then it was on to medical school.

  I needed football like I needed air. It was the one true escape and high for me—to be more accurate, one of the escapes and highs for me, after drinking and sex. Although there were rules and a coach and teammates giving orders, I never felt freer than I did when I was playing football.

  My mother pinned me with her blue eyes, the very ones I had inherited from her. “Of course, we both hoped that by now you would’ve ceased making such foolish and childish decisions. You’re twenty-one now, Cade, a young man. You shouldn’t be exhibiting the same irresponsible behavior you did as a teenager.”

  “It was just a little revenge prank. It’s not like when I hacked into Dr. Emerson’s laptop back in high school,” I protested.

  I mean, call me crazy, but I never imagined that a simple act of streaking would have my ass in such hot water. By the way Tech’s athletic office was acting, you would have thought I’d set fire to the banquet hall rather than just flashing my junk. They obviously were a bunch of old farts with no sense of humor.

  My mother opened her mouth to argue when the dean’s voice rose loud enough for us to hear. “Representative Hall, by continuing to seek leniency, you seem utterly flippant about the complete disregard and respect for authority your son has illustrated. Hear me for the last time: the punishment this committee has agreed on will stand, or your son will receive a lifetime ban from the program.”

  Holy shit. The word punishment was bad enough, but banned from football? No more endorphin rush as I ran out onto the field to the roar of the crowd and the brass of the band. No more feeling the buzz of adrenaline as I executed a play. No more hero worship from undergraduates when I walked around campus. A lifetime ban meant I wouldn’t enjoy any alumni benefits either. I wouldn’t get to sit in box seats and muse with fellow teammates about how we were so much better back in the day.

  I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Fuck,” I muttered.

  “Watch your language!” my mother hissed.

  “There will be no further discussion on the matter!” A fist banged against hard wood. “Mrs. Murphy, bring him in now.”

  I’d barely had time to process what I had just overheard when the office door swung open. A middle-aged secretary beckoned me in with a quick flick of her wrist. “They’re ready to see you now, Mr. Hall.”

  Since no one ever referred to me as “Mr. Hall”, I remained seated in a stunned stupor, and I probably would have remained that way if my mother hadn’t jabbed me in the side with her bony elbow.

  “Cade, get up!”

  I shot out of my seat and hotfooted it into the dean’s office. Once inside, I skidded to a stop at the sight of not only the athletic board, but a sour-faced Dr. Cocksucker. When my gaze bounced over to my father’s, the look in his eyes caused me to swallow hard. Oh yeah. I was in deep, deep shit.

  Dr. McKensie, the dean of athletics, motioned to the empty seat nex
t to my father. “Please sit down, Mr. Hall.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  After I eased down into the chair, I threw an uneasy glance at Dean McKensie, who was still standing. Both his expression and the way he was looming over me caused me to shift nervously in my chair.

  He took off his wiry glasses and placed them on the table in front of him. “Your father tells us you’ve come here today to sincerely apologize for your actions and to plead for our forgiveness.”

  “Yes sir, I have.”

  “I can’t help but find that very telling of your character.”

  I scrunched my brows in confusion as I leaned forward in my chair. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think I understand what you mean. I thought I was here because you wanted my apology.”

  “What I meant is I find it interesting that only now are you apologetic. You’ve had an entire week to apologize to us—to plead for forgiveness.” Dr. McKensie narrowed his eyes at me. “Why is it you’ve waited until today?”

  With a shrug, I replied a little sarcastically, “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe because this was the day of my hearing.” When the members of the board glanced at each other, I softened my tone and added, “What I meant to say is today is when it mattered.”

  “It’s mattered every day, Cade,” Dr. McKensie replied.

  Okay, this guy’s holier-than-thou bullshit was really starting to piss me off. “Look, I was just doing what I was told to do.”

  “Exactly. I’m sure within an hour of the incident, your father and his handlers were guiding you through exactly what to say and do.”

  I tilted my head in thought. “Actually, it was more like I was in the ER an hour later making sure I didn’t have a concussion.”

  Dr. McKensie pinched his lips together so tightly they turned white. “Perhaps it was after your recovery?”