Everything was white—blinding white—even the roof overhead, the walls, the stairs leading from one level to the next along the walls where secondary squad members and team coaches typically perched to observe.
Not today, though. Today the facility rang with an empty echo. This was an informal workout designed for one purpose alone—to test Josh’s arm strength and capabilities.
No pressure, he thought sardonically. No pressure at all.
Dressed in loose fitting cotton shorts of black, Josh wiped a sweaty cheek against the shoulder of his white, long-sleeved shirt. Seconds later he heard head coach, Peyton Guiles, call out, “Run a skinny post!”
Josh nodded, clapped his hand against the ball he held to initiate timing of the play. He dropped back three steps and eyed his receiver, Dominic LaVreier, who took off like a jet toward the far goal post. Josh launched the pass. A hot slice of pain spiked along the tendons of his right shoulder, causing his aim and grip to waver. The pass fell just short of Dominic’s grasp, bouncing against the turf.
Rage simmered. He released a curse, spinning away from the vision of his failure. The release of frustration didn’t help any. Neither did Dominic’s supportive comments. In the glassed-in office two stories above field, Josh could easily see—and feel—the peering eyes of a few members of the press and designates of team management.
Precisely what he didn’t need.
Peyton jogged to the center of the field; Josh glared at him. Peyton smirked and simply rolled his eyes. “I assume you’ll want to run that one again.”
“Again.”
Josh’s biting growl masked fear. He knew he wasn’t fooling Peyton, but Peyton was his greatest ally and champion. They possessed mutual belief in one another, mutual respect, and faith even in the midst of a fire. Josh could be real with his coach, if not the world at large.
Before exercises resumed, Josh took a moment to adjust his attitude. He claimed the football from Dominic and tossed it in the air in a tight, short spiral then caught it with ease. “After the workout, coach, I want to talk to you in private.”
Peyton chewed on a wad of gum. Nodded. “Fine. My office.”
In unison they looked at the observation room above field. Peyton sighed, and resumed their session.
But all the while, Josh’s mind swirled, dissolving into a zone where he functioned outside his body. He worked some crossing patterns, launched some short passes and long lobs, but in misty shrouded memory, he crouched behind his center, at the forty-five yard line, calling a play. He took three steps back. Four. A defensive onslaught was headed straight for him, but the Detroit offensive line went tight and blocked like a vision from some kind of NFL textbook. He shuffled left, then right, deepened the pocket a few more backward steps, eyes roving.
And he found salvation.
Wide receiver Greg Preston was clear and open, thirty yards from the end zone. Ignoring the ferocious tide of opposing jerseys, thousands of pounds of weight bent on one goal alone—bringing him down—Josh cut loose with a missile, a tight, on-spot spiral the likes of which he had thrown thousands of times before in his career as a quarterback.
Upon release, the tide of blockers toned down, watching the pigskin fly—
The momentum of a defensive end brought Josh down with a clean hit from the right. As he toppled, Josh witnessed the entire scene going haywire.
Out of nowhere, Colton Maxwell, a Green Bay cornerback, stepped right in front the pass and Josh’s picture-perfect throw turned into an interception.
Growling, fury pouring through his bloodstream like liquid nitrogen, Josh launched to his feet as Maxwell took off, headed straight up field toward the opposing goal.
A pick was nightmare enough. A pick-six? No way. No way would a Monday night football game that would crown the next conference championship contender be defined by an interception.
Members of the Detroit offensive team scrambled, un-piling from their job of protecting Josh. Landon Gregg, a money tight end, was on his feet, but too far out of range to be much help downing the guy.
Josh didn’t think twice. He was livid, angry at himself, angry at fate and circumstance, and angry that yet another playoff run had come to within inches of the championship—but for another year, his team, his adopted town, would remain on the outside looking in.
He had to tackle the guy. Peeling toward the sideline, where Maxwell already happy-danced toward the end zone, Josh reacted on instinct, leveling the guy out of bounds with every ounce of energy and momentum pent up in his aching, deflated spirit.
Things went from bad to worse.
A vicious twist shot a sickening dose of pain through his right arm then flooded his body, leaving him debilitated. A couple hundred rock-solid pounds of humanity in the form of Colton Maxwell landed right on top of him. Blinded by pain, Josh cried out, realizing his arm was oddly pinned…and totally limp. Black spots came alive and bounced across his field of vision. He tried to focus on the faces of those around him, teammates in blue jerseys, opponents in white. The world hazed and Josh’s stomach rolled as Maxwell leapt to his feet giving Josh enough freedom to draw air into his lungs.
On the heels of those realizations came one more, one that tempted him toward a beckoning oblivion he fought with all the power he possessed. Like a foolish rookie, he had led into the tackle with his right shoulder, risking his throwing arm. Now it was dead…
Blinking his way back to the present, a blanket of fierce intensity governing his mood, his motions, Josh set his sights on Dominic LaVreier once more. Dominic rocketed downfield, arms open and waiting. And Josh ended the session with a pass that hit his receiver right on the numbers.
****
An hour later, showered and freshly changed into blue jeans and a sweater for the day ahead, Josh settled in a chair across from Peyton Guiles’s desk.
Peyton groaned tiredly as he flopped into his chair. “You know, I realize scrutiny is a pain in the—”
Josh snorted and cut in quick. “Don’t expect me to argue the point.”
Peyton speared him with a gauging look. “Be that as it may, you’ve got nothing to be afraid of. Keep working it. You’ve improved every time I see you and it’s early into rehab.”
“I know, but I want more—you and the team need—”
“Man, you are always pushing yourself. I like that trait.”
Josh remained neutral while Peyton picked up a rubber band and began to stretch and wind it between his hands. “So what’s on your mind?”
“New York.”
Peyton tilted his head. Waited.
“I want to go home, coach. I need to focus, and I need some privacy while I retrain and recover.”
“New York.” Peyton didn’t seem surprised by Josh’s pronouncement, simply curious.
“For a month, maybe two, depending on how I feel. I’m going to spend a little time upstate with my family and friends, then I’ve got a big charity event in the works at Lincoln Center for Goal to Go. New York is where I want to finish rehab. I need my hometown and my family right now. I need my foundation. I want to get back on my feet in a way that will allow me to focus without worrying about the entire football fan base in the state of Michigan dissecting my every move. Plus, I don’t need the added pressure of every reporter in suburban Detroit chronicling wobbly passes and mistimed throws while I find my feet, and my arm again. Moving things off-site will be the best thing to do all around.”
Yes, he needed Westerville. Yes, he needed home, old friends, and security. Most of all, though, he needed Maeve Callahan. Without seeing her, there was no way he could move into the future. Odd that football, logistics, and life choices—the very elements that had forced them apart—drove him toward her once again, and with a mysterious, unwavering power.
“I’ve set up training sessions and rehab at a private facility just outside the city. I’m subletting an apartment in Manhattan until I’m ready to come back to Michigan, maybe early in the summer, just before training
camp.”
Peyton chawed on his ever-present gum, stared at Josh flatly, and then nodded. “I think that’s a good call, and a strategy a lot of players utilize when recovering from an injury. But I want you to leave here realizing something important.”
“Which is?”
Peyton yanked a Detroit visor from his head and tossed it lightly to the surface of his desk. Inching forward, he leaned against forearms that were still strong and beefy despite the onset of middle age. “Which is the fact that you’re going to be back, Josh. Full throttle. There’s no doubt about that within the franchise, and certainly no doubt about it in my mind. You’re young, you’re strong, you’re committed. Beyond that, you’ve got mad skills and a rock-solid work ethic. I realize you need to basically re-learn how to throw a ball, but your accuracy, which has always been incredible, might come back better than ever. Hold on to that.”
Peyton’s straightforward decrees weren’t meant to placate or mollycoddle; Josh appreciated the support. He stood and extended his hand which was promptly swallowed by that of his coach. “Thanks, Peyton. The vote of confidence means a lot to me. I intend to earn every bit of that trust.”
All the same, Josh needed to get away. Urgency burned. He wanted to return to what he knew he needed most.
Maeve Callahan.
2
“A surprise? Liam has a surprise for us? What on earth could that be?”
Naturally it was Maeve’s voice Josh heard first. Nerves coiled tight, he shuffled his feet, waiting in the hallway just outside a conference room at the Westerville offices of Zion’s Peak records. Hidden from those inside, he heard her speak, and that alone was enough to push his senses into a free-fall.
“That’s all he’d say. Even to me. And I’m his wife, for heaven’s sake.” That comment came from Aileen Brewer. Douglas, he amended fast. Her quip inspired a grin at the way life moved on, with two of his high school friends now married to each another. He peeked inside the conference room, and Aileen drifted past his line of vision, unaware of the fact that he waited just beyond the threshold. She straightened the colorful scarf looped around her neck. “He’s being very cagey, but mentioned something about a just approved performance opportunity that would blow our minds.”
Josh forced himself to stillness. There was no use second-guessing what might happen next. The goal of his heart resided just a few short feet away and nothing would stop him now. Not even fear of the unknown.
He beat a quick retreat when Kassidy Cartwright moved past the threshold and dropped gracefully onto a plush leather seat facing the doorway. “I thought we were here for a strategy session, to discuss plans for a second album, some videos with Siobhan, and preliminary plans for another tour.”
“Personally, I vote for no tours until after AJ and I exchange our vows.” Josh snickered at the layer of playfulness that laced the voice of Siobhan Douglas. Easy to tell her saucy, loving demeanor hadn’t changed much during his years away. “Ailee, I’m seriously jealous of that sun-kissed skin you brought back from Maui.”
Josh’s brows pulled. So, that meant Aileen and Liam had been on Maui while he had been attending the Pro Bowl on the island of Oahu. As close as a sunset yet as distant as the shorelines of the Pacific. How ironic—and strange. But strange was precisely how he felt about his life these days. In spite of an overpowering urge to seek reconciliation with his past, matters were off-balance.
Because he missed Maeve.
A firm clap to the shoulder roused Josh and gave him a sharp jolt. He met Liam Douglas’s steady gaze and absorbed his friend’s Cheshire cat grin.
Liam maneuvered him farther from the conference room and any threat of detection. “Are you ready for the big reveal?”
“I guess.” Josh scrubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “Are you sure this is the best idea? Surprising them with my proposal?”
He kept his voice low, but probably needn’t have worried. The girls chattered on about honeymoons, music choices for the second album, and of all things, Kassidy’s boots. Evidently Maeve thought they were fantastic and wanted to find a pair for herself. Women and shoes—go figure.
“Josh, they’re going to be thrilled to see you, and the opportunity you’re giving them is incredible. No worries; leave it to me.”
Josh wasn’t so sure. Three of the four girls might be happy to see him, but Maeve remained the biggest question mark and trump card. In a number of ways.
Now or never, Andrews.
He lifted his chin. “OK, let’s go.”
“Hang tight right here. I’ll be back to get you in a minute.”
Liam strode into the conference room. Waiting in the wings, Josh felt like a nervous guest-to-be on some kind of late night talk show.
Folding into a seat at the gleaming, oval table, his back to the entryway, Liam took control of the meeting. Josh retreated to shadows.
“So, ladies, now that the tour is finished and we’ve recovered from the wedding whirlwind, I thought we should gather up and discuss some opportunities for you to consider as we move forward.”
Josh heard a scratch and shuffle, probably from one of the manila folders Liam had carried inside. Pages rattled. Following a quick peek into the room, Josh backed away from the door frame, leaning against the wall while he continued to listen. Maeve remained just out of view, which both piqued and frustrated.
“First off, I’ve cleared legal hurdles for what I’d like to see come next for Sisters in Spirit. Now that I have all the proper approvals in place along with budgets, schedules and—”
“Oh, Liam, out with it already.” Siobhan cut in and Josh stifled a snicker at the way she needled her older sibling.
“You never let me enjoy the process of building suspense, sprite. And this announcement is so worth your battle with frustration.”
“What announcement?” Maeve’s smooth, low voice shot an ache of longing through Josh’s system. “What’s going on?”
“When we concluded the concerts in Detroit, I was given an extraordinary invitation that involves the four of you but I couldn’t share it until the tour ended and proper channels had been cleared within the label.”
“Wait—I remember that.” Kassidy interjected and Josh’s ears pricked. “We were at the Fox Theatre. I was congratulating you and Aileen on choosing a wedding date and an usher handed you an envelope.”
“And in that envelope was a message from a friend of ours.”
“Who?”
Four female voices chimed the word in unison. Unable to contain his curiosity, Josh peeked around the corner once more, just quick enough to note the way Liam stretched back and swiveled his chair, appearing comfortable and quite pleased with himself.
Josh dodged out of sight after Liam steepled his fingers and continued. “Would you girls like to perform at Lincoln Center? With the New York Philharmonic?”
Gasps filled the room. Josh grinned. Yeah, now the bulk of them would definitely be happy to see him—but what about Maeve…?
“Lincoln Center? The Philharmonic?” Maeve could barely croak the words. “Are you even halfway serious?”
“Maeve, I’m all the way serious.” The chair squeaked when Liam pushed to his feet. Josh heard footfalls as Liam approached the doorway. “Come on in, mystery guest. Let’s spring this on them in full and tell them what you’ve got planned.”
When Josh entered the room, his hungry gaze tracked immediately to Maeve, and his universe froze. She didn’t speak. She didn’t blink. Instead, she gaped, mouth open, eyes wide with astonishment. Her immobility was tough to interpret, especially since Josh suffered from his own form of emotional vertigo. Hazy vision and an override of heat left him hollowed out and speechless. Never had he been more acutely aware of how desperately he missed her.
“Josh! Oh my gosh! Josh Andrews!”
Thank goodness for a crush of enthusiastic friends. Aileen, KC, and Siobhan launched forward and welcomed him with cheery exclamations, hugs, and conversations that stepped ov
er one another in an attempt to play catch-up.
Maeve’s reaction alone disheartened him. She continued to absorb the scene in stunned silence. At last she rose to her feet, approaching him slowly with a gracious smile in place. But there was no light in her eyes; there was none of the spontaneous joy he remembered from their days together so long ago.
In agitated motions she twisted the silver ring on her right hand. Her purity ring.
Something about seeing the piece caused a swift toss of his heart. Its presence on her finger filled him with hope and so many questions about the years that had passed between them.
Greetings came to a gradual conclusion and he faced Maeve directly. Soft, creamy skin, a touch of freckles that dotted her nose, those haunting, jade-green eyes. Then, there was her height line, which left the top of her head to tuck perfect as could be right beneath his chin. She was a stunning woman. For a beat or two, Josh indulged in a stare meant to quench years of longing and absence.
“Hey, Maeve.”
“Hey.” The word reached him as a whisper, nothing more than a breath of air as she struggled to recover. “It’s good to see you again, Josh. Welcome back.”
In the face of Maeve’s formality, a piece of crystal engraved with her name chipped and split. She didn’t seem to know what else to say or do by way of greeting, yet everyone in the room knew their history as high school sweethearts, the couple destined for happily-ever-after. Josh refused to let her stand alone. It wasn’t her fault life had thrown them down differing paths.
He took hold of her hand—it was soft as satin beneath the stroke of his thumb. Her fingertips trembled when he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss to her knuckles. Once she looked at him, he held her with his eyes the way he longed to with his arms—in love and reverence.
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