He paused, noticing she was so intently listening she had stopped playing with her hair. Hair he’d love to sink his fingers into. Where the hell did that thought come from? He shook his head and continued on. “I made a name for myself my sophomore year of high school. I was growing like a weed, spending a ton of time in the weight room, and could catch anything. I played cornerback too because our high school was so small we had to double up and play both sides of the ball. Offense or defense, didn’t matter—I was catching it all.”
She interrupted to ask, “Why didn’t you want to play quarterback? It seems like you’d be the type.”
He tried not to take that personally. Her ex who played quarterback sounded like a prick, and Beckett didn’t want to be associated with the likes of him at all. “My best friend was QB. I loved knowing the routes and the plays, but I always enjoyed the fight in the air—jumping up and having a mini wrestling match for the ball. Sure, I knew how to throw the ball and what the plays were too, but I wanted to be the playmaker, not the one calling the shots. I wanted in that endzone, and I knew I’d do more of it as a receiver than as QB.” He smiled. “Plus I got tackled way less that way.”
She nodded and laughed. “Interesting. Sorry, go on.”
“So colleges started showing interest when I was a junior. We made it to state but got beat out a few rounds in. I got named to some watch lists. And then, after my best high school game ever where I caught this ridiculous ball one-handed, I got the first call from the university. From that point on, it didn’t matter to me who came calling. That was where I was going. I didn’t care if I had to be a walk-on, though I really hoped for a scholarship. It didn’t matter . . . . I was going to play for Nebraska.”
He smiled as he remembered what it felt like to work your guts out for something that seemed so unattainable, but that you wanted more than anything. Then, one day, all those early summer-morning workouts finally paid off. He didn’t just chase down his dream; he quite literally snagged his dream out of the sky and ran off with it. The highlight reel of his remarkable catch was played on all the local television channels the following weekend and got the attention of recruiters. The rest was history.
“My senior year of high school we won state, and it was . . . surreal. Just completely unbelievable. Then that spring, I committed to the university. It was pretty crazy. I wasn’t the only one from Picketts that was going to play college ball; there were quite a few of us actually. We had a good team, and the scouts came watching. I was just the only one of us going to NU. The rest were going to other smaller in-state colleges.”
He sighed. He loved talking about football, but the rest of the crap surrounding his reputation was stupid. “But from probably the summer of my junior year on, I became somewhat of a celebrity here. And I loved it at first. It really fed my seventeen-year-old ego. But then, somewhere along the way, it became a bit much. And I didn’t realize it until it was all over.
“Even while still in high school, girls would date me because I was that guy. The guy going to play for the Huskers. I learned very early on that relationships weren’t going to go far with that sort of thing. Sure, I had one serious—I guess—type of relationship, but I just knew that it wasn’t going to go that far. I had realistic expectations and so did she. We both wanted different things out of our lives, and we were good with it.
“So then I got to college. I didn’t even party much or date at all my freshman year. I was back to being the underclassman and had to work my ass off to snag a starting position. Which I did—halfway through my sophomore year. My dad had never been prouder of me. We had never gotten along better. The distance was good for us too.”
He paused, gathering his thoughts. It’d been years, but his feelings were still so jumbled about this. “But then he passed away that winter, a few weeks after the bowl game. When I got that call, it scared the hell out of me. If he could die out of the blue like that, none of us were safe. Granted, he shouldn’t have been drinking before he drove himself home that night, but at least it was just a telephone pole that took him out—and not another car he ran into.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “My mom and sister really struggled. He was always a bit more loving towards them, so they took it harder—felt like they should have done more to stop his drinking habits. I knew there was nothing we could have done. He was an alcoholic, an addict. He had zero interest in changing his ways no matter how hard any of us tried. Since he had no desire to fight it off, his disease eventually killed him.”
She moved to rest the hand that was across her leg onto his shoulder as he continued on. “So that summer, in the off-season, I started partying. Which in retrospect was the stupidest thing I could have done. I lost my dad to his alcohol addiction, so what did I do? I started partying myself. I think I was trying to prove to myself that alcohol held no power over me. I wanted to prove that I was better than he was. I wanted to prove that I could drink to be social and not get carried away, that I wouldn’t turn into a monster.
“So party it was. And along with the parties came the girls. I should point out here that I was blatant in telling every single one of them I didn’t want a serious relationship. I just didn’t have the time for it. I couldn’t give a girl one hundred percent of my time and effort because I was reserving it all for football, every spare second. I wanted zero distractions, and being a collegiate athlete, my schedule was already full.”
He paused to look her in the eyes to show he was telling the truth, though the truth made him look like a gigantic jerkwad. “I just wanted fun. And sadly, partly because this state worships football and partly because it was college, I had girls lining up every night. I never even drank that much, but I always went to the parties. A few times I got a little too drunk, but after the first time that happened, I made sure I never let it happen again and dialed it back. I was not going to get blackout drunk like my dad. Ever.
“It was weird, but the girls kind of made me feel good about myself too, so I went along with it . . . .” He gave her an embarrassed shrug. “When my mom was diagnosed with cancer during my senior year, I clung to it. The parties and the girls were the only thing that allowed me to feel free. Football too, but there was a lot of pressure there. A lot of practices. My whole life revolved around football and the pressure to go pro. Everyone knew I would end up going pro, but would I be successful? Which team would want me? I was drowning in stress, and sadly, that’s what I used.”
He sighed, turning his attention to the fire. “But I guess I didn’t officially get pegged Heartbreak Harper to the extent as you know it until after Mom died. I ended up getting drafted, and I think during the draft was the first time the media called me that, but it didn’t stick. Some announcer made some comment about me looking like a real heartbreaker, and the nickname was born.
“Being drafted to the pros was weird too, even more so being a top-five pick and being followed around with cameras. I remember at the Scouting Combine being afraid to even pick my nose because there were cameras all up in my business. And here in Nebraska? A hometown Nebraska boy that played for the university and went pro? The state loved me. I was their boy. I couldn’t even go to the grocery store without signing autographs or getting questioned. Two others from NU drafted that year too. We always compared the number of women that would proposition us on social media. Personal messages of offer after offer.”
He didn’t want to look at her and find what he was sure would be disgust all over her face, so he maintained looking toward the fire. “So I ended up going to Denver. Lucky for me it was as close to home as I could get, and I was relatively close to my mom should she need me. It took about two games into my rookie season, and I had to work my butt off, but I got a starting position. I had done it. It was a crazy time in my life. I was always at the gym, at practice, watching film, or on the phone with Mom and my sister and the doctors. I didn’t even have time for parties or women. And I was good too. ‘Rookie of the year’ was being thrown around in associat
ion with my name. They called me Heartbreak Harper every once in a while because I broke down even the best defense’s secondary. It had nothing to do with women. Denver was on the rise that year and had just spruced up their offense with drafting a young QB and some young legs—me—for him to throw it to. After we got in sync with one another, we had a good thing going.”
He stopped for a moment, and the fire crackled as if right on cue. He wanted to hurry up and get through this last bit. “I finished my first year and turned the ‘Rookie of the Year’ hype into a reality. Then the next year began and things were getting out of control. I had never played better, was at the top of my game, Denver was looking good and favorited to win the Super Bowl, but Mom was getting weaker. And then one game early November I was in the endzone, going up for a ball, got tangled up with a guy, blew out my knee, and messed up my back on the way down. It was bad enough that by the time the cart made it onto the field, we all knew my career in the pros was done. Not willing to admit my football days were finished, I went back home to be with my mom. When I got there, and actually saw her with my own two eyes for the first time in a month or more, I saw how fast she was deteriorating. It wasn’t going to be long.”
“Cancer freaking sucks,” Jordyn said softly, repeating his words from earlier and swallowing hard.
He stopped to gather his thoughts again, and she squeezed the shoulder her hand was still resting on. He moved his other hand across his body to his shoulder, placing his hand over hers. “But I honestly feel grateful for those few months. Had I played that whole season, I would’ve missed time with her—time she was desperately running out of. I don’t resent that at all; I just wish that my injuries could have been ones I would’ve bounced back from. The knee was one thing. The back another. The two combined were just too much. Back injuries in the NFL are known to be dream killers. And to add insult to injury, Denver got beat in the second round of playoffs that year. When they needed me the most, I just couldn’t be there for them.”
He paused to take a deep breath. “So after Mom died and my little sister went to college, I went back to Denver.”
“Are you still close with your sister?” she interrupted.
He nodded.
She added, “I didn’t even know you had a sister.”
He felt a smile creep across his face. “I like to keep it that way and so does she. She was also somewhat of a celebrity herself for being the sister of Beckett Harper. She graduates this spring from PT school. She was worried about the storm causing her to miss her clinicals and having extra time to study for finals—otherwise she’d have been here for Thanksgiving.” He moved his thumb back and forth across the skin of her hand, half expecting her to jerk it away.
She didn’t.
She simply nodded while he continued on. “So I still had my house in Denver. I wasn’t officially cut from the team until after my surgery. And that’s when the dating around, if that’s what you call it, got out of control. My whole life was out of control, and here I had random strangers, models, actresses all interested in me—or interested in being seen with me on social media. Some were friends of the girls my teammates were dating; others were people that randomly sought me out. It was bizarre, but it was the only thing in my life that I could cling to. Dating around became my new game after I lost the game of football. Sadly. I still mattered to those women—all of those women. And I felt like I needed to matter.”
He paused this time to shake his head, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’m not proud of it. Though I didn’t have sex with every single one, I did honestly sleep around a lot. And there were some girls that, though I was completely honest with them, thought they’d tame me or make me settle down or something. Then, when I wasn’t different, they were upset, going to whatever news station would take their story. So that definitely didn’t help matters. And it was about the time that started happening that I was so fed up and sick of it all. It was flattering at first, but after so long, it was just . . . unfulfilling.
“Then there was one girl, a city woman, a model . . . all about her status and her beauty. I actually broke my no-more-than-once rule and went on a few dates with her—thought I’d give the whole dating thing a go. We were getting along great, and everything seemed fine until this big charity event came up. I asked her if she needed me to go with her, and she point-blank told me I was a nobody now, that my career was over, and that I would never be able to provide for her long term. She had a different high-profile date lined up for that event and had just chose not to tell me about it until the last minute. It was such a waste of time, and she ended up being nothing like I thought she was.
“Finally, I saw the truth behind the type of woman I’d been attracting. Woman after woman after woman—they were all chasing my status, fame, or money. I was sick of it. To say it was surface level is the understatement of the decade. I sold my home in Denver, moved back here, and never looked back.”
Just as she was about to say something, he butted back in. “Do not get me wrong. I am not the victim here. Not even a little bit. No one forced me to date around like that. That’s all on me. But at the end of it, I was left jaded and empty. It got me nowhere. It left me cynical towards women, feeling the weight of a thousand pounds of regret.”
He sighed and again looked at the fire to avoid looking at her. “But this place. My grandfather’s farm . . . it got me back on my feet. It reminded me there was more to life than football or meaningless hookups. And I’ve always been more comfortable around animals than people anyway.” He played with the skin of her hand again, not wanting to look at her, and not wanting her to pull away.
“Why don’t you have a dog?” she asked softly.
He snapped his head to the side to look at her in surprise. After all that . . . that was her question? “I did. He died about six months back. A yellow lab I had with me everywhere I went. He was twelve.”
“Oh.” She frowned.
He smirked, looking her in the eyes and shaking his head.
“What?” she asked, searching his face.
“I just bared my soul to you, and your number one question was why I don’t have a dog?” He shook his head again. This woman was something else. Other women would have a ton of other questions.
“Well, I have one more question too, if that’s okay,” she offered They were still sitting close, his hand covering hers, and her palm warming his shoulder.
“Shoot, Houston.” He smiled.
She hesitated like she didn’t want to ask it but went for it anyway. “On the play when you blew out your knee and hurt your back, did you make the catch?”
This time his grin was immediate. She was definitely unlike any woman he had ever met. She was a glass of sweet iced tea in a long line of lemonades. “You’re damn right I did, honey.”
The Dimpler
CHAPTER 9
Honey.
He’d called her that before, but it had been used in sarcasm and made her nerves grind. The way he said it this time . . . oh wow. Honey indeed. Honey to her ears. Honey to her insides. Honaaay.
Why was he telling her all this anyway? They both knew she was only here until the storm let up. She’d report to Walt it was a lost cause, and then she’d be on her way. It felt nice to know the real story behind the reputation he held though.
And again, she felt a bit wary. She had fallen for the charming football player before. She had believed he was different. She hadn’t listened to the rumors. And where did that get her last time?
Heartbrokenville, USA. That’s where.
But, Beckett and Thomas were two completely different people. They were nothing alike. Not that she was going to fall madly in love or anything. She just didn’t want to punish Beckett for the way things turned out with Thomas.
They ended up staying up talking. Just talking. She told him about what the rest of high school was like, and he told her some stories from college. They just got to know one another and bantered back and forth like what was becom
ing normal. He didn’t try to kiss her again, and she was relieved. Not that she didn’t want to—she just wasn’t going to be another one of his conquests.
She didn’t even remember falling asleep, or if he had been talking or she had, but she did briefly wake back up when he placed a kiss on her forehead and said, “I would’ve never done that to you. He’s an idiot.”
Afraid to move, she swallowed down her emotions and kept her eyes shut. She wasn’t sure what was going on between them, but it was safe to say there was something there. And she was pretty sure he knew she wasn’t going to be okay with any sort of short fling.
And then in the morning, much to her surprise, she woke up warm. It took her a minute to assess why. She wondered if the power was back on—but then felt the arm on her waist move.
Oh no. She fell asleep on him?! Talk about sending mixed signals! When did that happen? How did that happen? And what did that mean? This was like the one day ever he wasn’t doing chores already.
What did that mean?
****
She’d fallen asleep on him and he didn’t want to move, so he hadn’t. By morning she was curled into him with her head on his shoulder, facing toward the fire. He was behind her with his arm around her. They were spooning. Appropriately spooning, but totally spooning. And when she realized it, she panicked. He could see it written all over her pretty face and feel it in the way she immediately tensed up.
He loved when she got unnerved, and this was definitely one of those times. Before she got mad or freaked out too much and tried to leave, he kissed her on her temple. “Don’t.”
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