“Call me Alden. Or Al.”
“Okay. Al.”
Gaige couldn’t believe how understanding Al was. He wondered if the situation were reversed he would have been as open minded. He hoped so.
“One thing, and I won’t budge on it. Don’t tell Violet until after the operation.”
“But—”
“The swelling has gone down. Her doctor can schedule it for next week. I don’t want anything to upset her before then. It will only be a day or so after that when the bandages will come off. Then, no matter the outcome, you can tell her everything. Those are my conditions. Can you honor them?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, Al.” Gaige shook his hand. “You have my promise.”
Gaige hadn’t gone into the hospital. He went to his hotel, locking himself in and avoiding Walter’s calls. The only person he spoke to was his mother—he called her every night. She still hadn’t accepted her husband’s fate. She insisted he was the victim, and Gaige should use his influence—get him set free.
He didn’t argue—what was the point. She wouldn’t care about Violet or her parents. The only person that mattered to Wynona was Don Benson. It was twisted. And truth be told, Gaige no longer cared. He would take care of her for the rest of her life. Physically, she would want for nothing. But he was taking himself out of the sick little Benson triangle, once and for all.
When he hung up the phone, Gaige opened the desk drawer and took out a piece of hotel stationery. He had thought about this long and hard. Taking a deep breath, he started to write.
He spent hours constructing the letter that he now clutched in his hand. Along with the facts, Gaige poured his heart out to Violet. He held nothing back. The last thing he wanted was for there to be any doubt about how he felt. He loved her. No matter what.
“My husband told me everything.”
Gaige turned, his eyes meeting those of Sophia Reed. He could see the anger. She had always been wary of him. Now that she felt she had a good reason, it seemed her feelings were quite different from her husband’s.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Reed.” Not wanting Violet to hear, Gaige stepped away from her door. “I hope you can understand why I did it.”
“You will break her heart,” Sophia spat. “I knew you were bad news, but Violet wouldn’t listen. Now she won’t have a choice.”
“It will be her decision.”
“Yes, Al informed me of your agreement. Why are you here? Going back on your word already?”
“I’m leaving town.”
“Good.”
Gaige had a lot of experience dealing with parental animosity. He regretted that this time it came, not from his father, but Violet’s mother. However, that experience allowed him to ignore Sophia’s comment. “Before I go, I wanted to say goodbye to Violet. And leave her this.”
“What is it?” Sophia eyed the envelope as she would a ticking bomb.
“It explains everything.”
He thought for a second that Sophia would try to rip it from his hand. But she simply took a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Go on, then. Say goodbye. Hopefully, this will be the last time any of us hears from you again.” She turned and walked away.
At least Violet’s father was on his side. Gaige turned back toward Violet’s room. He didn’t know if it would do any good, but he closed his eyes and said a little prayer. It couldn’t hurt.
“There you are.” Violet held out her hand. “I missed you yesterday, but Dad explained you had some family business to take care of.”
“How do you always know it’s me?”
“Your shoes.”
Gaige looked down at his sneakers. Classic Air Jordan’s. They were his favorite. And apparently made a distinctive sound when he walked.
“What if I showed up in loafers?” Gaige laced his fingers with hers.
“Do you own a pair of loafers?”
“No.”
“There you go.” She patted the mattress. “Sit down. I know Dad told you about the operation. I’m a little nervous.”
Gaige sat next to her. His eyes went to her mouth. Violet usually wore lip gloss in a neutral shade. Today it was bright pink.
“I don’t blame you. Would you believe me if I said I know the operation will be a success?”
“I want to believe you,” Violet smiled. “So I will.”
“I mean it.” Gaige rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “You will see again.”
“Will you be here to find out?”
“I wish I could be, but I have a job waiting for me, and my boss won’t understand if I don’t show up.”
“I thought you were taking time off before looking for work.”
“It was a nice dream, but I have bills to pay.” Big, important bills.
“But you will keep in touch.” Violet groaned. “Will you listen to me? I promised I wouldn’t get all whiney and clingy. You have a life. I can’t expect you to change it all around for me.”
“Yes, you can.” Gaige briefly tightened his grip on her hand before letting go. “Take this.”
“An envelope?” Violet outlined the shape with her index finger.
“A letter.”
“What does it say?” She laughed. “That’s a silly question. If you wanted me to know, you would tell me.”
“After the operation. When the bandages are removed. Read it.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then have someone read it to you.” Gaige hadn’t pulled his punches before. He wasn’t going to start now. “I believe you will see, Violet. But if the operation doesn’t work? Please. Believe me. I. Don’t. Care.”
“You don’t?”
“I want you, Violet. I want to be in your life. As a friend. Or more. But that will be up to you. Once you find out what is in that letter, you’ll have a decision to make. Your decision. Not mine. Not your mother’s or your father’s. Think about it. If you decide you want to call me, my phone number is there.”
“Of course, I’ll want to call you.”
“If you don’t.” Gaige pushed on, wishing he could leave it at that. But she had to understand. “I won’t blame you. I’ll respect your wishes, Violet. Your choice. If I don’t hear from you, you don’t have to worry. I’ll never bother you again.”
“You’re scaring me.” Violet dropped the letter, reaching out. Her hand touched the side of his face and for a moment, Gaige gave in to the pleasure of her touch. “There is nothing that would make me stop wanting you. Do you understand?”
“Your choice.” Gaige turned his head, his lips brushing the palm of Violet’s hand. “Goodbye.”
“Gaige? I—”
“Don’t say anything you might regret.”
Gaige backed toward the door, wanting to look at her as long as possible. It was torture, wondering if this was the last time.
“Goodbye, Gaige. I’ll see you soon.”
God, I hope so.
With one last look, Gaige walked away.
CHAPTER FIVE
PRESENT DAY
“IF YOU CAN’T catch a simple slant pass, get your ass off the field.”
“Fuck you. I’ve been making you look good all season, old man. Try getting some zip on the ball. Is that cannon of an arm of yours turning into a popgun?”
Gaige hid his grin. Sean McBride knew how to give as good as he got. But this was his team. He didn’t take shit from any player. Not even his best friend.
“Go deep, asshole. I’ll show you what kind of shape my arm is in.”
Sean ran one of their standard routes, cutting across the field. Gaige took the ball from the snapper. He dropped back three steps, paused for Sean to head downfield, cocked his shoulder, and let the ball fly. High, with a perfect trajectory.
Gaige waited for the ball and Sean to catch up to each other. It didn’t take long—both had plenty of speed. Inches from the goal line, Sean reached up, making a perfect over the shoulder catch.
Applause broke out all over
the field. Sean made a big production of spiking the ball, his well-rehearsed touchdown dance drawing the expected wolf whistles—and a few good-hearted jeers.
Gaige, on the other hand, remained stoic. He did what was expected of him. The same thing he had been doing for the past sixteen years. The Knights paid him to throw touchdowns, not make an ass of himself. It was practice, for fuck’s sake. Showboating was for wide receivers, not quarterbacks.
“Nice toss.”
Logan Price tossed Gaige a bottle of water and a towel. Without blinking, Gaige made the dual catch, one in each hand, as smoothly as any receiver. He removed the top and chugged down the entire bottle.
“It’s what I do,” Gaige said with a shrug.
“I know you think that sounds all humble and self-deprecating.”
Gaige knew exactly how it sounded, but he left it up to his running back to say the words.
“You sound a little like a dick.”
Wiping his face, Gaige grinned.
“Watch it, Price. Mix those words up and it sounds like you’re commenting on the size of my dick, not my ego.”
“I’ve seen your dick. It’s nothing to write home about.”
Gaige sent Sol Fellows, Knights linebacker and old friend, a wry, teasing smile.
“Does your wife know how much time you spend looking at my dick?”
“Racine likes to know her man is numero uno, package-wise, on the Knights.”
“First? What the hell? You and Racine talk about our junk? That’s just weird. Second? I’d put my dick up against yours, metaphorically speaking, any day of the week.”
“I need to start recording these conversations,” Logan shook his head. “Claire doesn’t believe me when I tell her about the tangents you guys go off on.”
“This is the NFL, son. It’s all about the balls,” Sol made a big show of grabbing his crotch, “and the size of your dick. I know you’ve only been back in the game a few months, but you remember how it is. Balls and dick.”
“And that doesn’t sound the least bit gay,” Gaige’s green eyes sparkled. Then he added in a quote from one of his favorite Seinfeld episodes. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“If you gentlemen are finished polishing your comedy routine, get your asses back on the field. Or I’ll do us all a favor and cut your sorry selves. Then you’ll have all the time you want to take that act on the road.”
Harry Coleman had the gruff, tough as nails, head coach routine down pat. He was with the Knights before Gaige was drafted. They had become friends—off the field. During the parameters of the game, Harry was no man’s friend. His job was to mold a team of winners. Management hadn’t always made that easy. But this year was different. There was a different feel in the locker room—and on the field.
It was especially different for Gaige. This season had an urgency attached to it. It was for all the marbles. After sixteen years, he was hanging up his cleats. And he planned on going out a winner.
His teammates knew—and a few select friends. This was Gaige’s final season. Looking back, it seemed like the time had flown in the blink of an eye.
Gaige could still remember the butterflies in his gut the first time he took the field as a starter. A rookie—expected to lead a team of NFL veterans. He earned the men’s respect with his play and his nerves of steel. These days those nerves were rock solid. Back then, he faked his way through the first few games.
He took his team to the playoffs that year. With Gaige at the helm, they had reached that lofty goal another nine. Four times they made it to the division championship. But to Gaige’s great disappointment, he couldn’t get the Knights over that last hump—to that final game.
Sixteen years. He had every award. Rookie of the Year. MVP six times. Sports Illustrated Athlete of the Year twice. You name it, Gaige Benson had the shiny hardware.
One thing had eluded him. A trip to the Super Bowl. This year was his last chance. And nothing would stand in his way.
“You heard the coach. Get the lead out of your asses. Line up. Third down and long formation. Kozlowski, I’ve looked at your backside for seven years. And it hasn’t gotten any prettier.”
The center bent over, putting his arm between his legs.
“You see this?” His middle finger pointed at Gaige.
Gaige grabbed the offending digit, pulling just hard enough to shove Kozlowski’s athletic cup uncomfortably against the man’s balls.
“I could break that finger off.”
“Do you think guys are lining up to have your hands between their legs?”
“Yes,” Gaige said without hesitation.
The offensive line chuckled. Gaige was a damn good-looking man. When it came to his sexual preference, he was straight as an arrow. But if he ever decided to lean that way, he would be fighting men off with a stick.
“Are we talking about sex or football?”
The question came from the only rookie on the line. It had taken Jeremy Mcmillon a while to come out of his shell. However, with that smartass comment, Gaige decided he was starting to fit in just fine.
“Sex. Football. They’re all the same to Golden Boy. Beautiful woman. Perfectly thrown touchdown reception. They both make his dick hard.”
“Set!” Gaige shouted.
Enough with the kidding around. He was gratified that to the last man, his teammates took their pre-snap stance. Knuckles on the turf. Bodies tense and ready to spring.
“Sixty-five red.” He called to his right, turning, he repeated it with the same hard cadence. “Sixty-five red. Hut.”
Gaige received the ball from Kozlowski’s sure hands. He had taken two steps back when out of the corner of his eye, he spied the team’s top defensive end, Ben Stomp Larkin, break through the offensive line. It was a sight he loved to see during a game, but when he was the big man’s target, Gaige was less than thrilled.
Waiting a split second, Gaige let Larkin commit himself. A straight line, fresh meat to feed on. At the last moment, Gaige faked to the left, pivoted right then scrambled toward the sideline. He knew Sean would be open. Eight years of learning each other’s every move, practically reading each other’s thoughts. Gaige never stopped looking downfield. He saw everything—including the exact moment Sean left the defense in the dust.
Gaige didn’t hesitate. This time, the ball wasn’t flying fifty yards downfield. He sent a slant pass. Hard—with plenty of zip. It had enough force to break a man’s ribs. But Sean caught it in his sure hands, tucked it under his arm, and ran.
Touchdown. Behind the mask of his dark blue helmet, Gaige grinned. Despite his friend’s ribbing, the surge that went through him wasn’t sexual. He didn’t get an erection. His muscles vibrated with power. His body was an instrument, and he knew how to play it like a master.
Strong—and blessedly durable. Gaige didn’t know why he stayed healthy. It wasn’t always about being in the best physical condition. Some bodies simply weren’t built for the wear and tear of football.
He started playing this game when he was thirteen. In all that time, the most serious injury he had sustained was during his junior year of high school. The sprained ankle had kept him out for one game. Bumps. Bruises. Cuts and scrapes. He’d had his share. But nothing major. It was time to stop pushing his luck. He planned on getting out of the game while he still had his health and was playing as well, or better, than ever.
“Nice toss, old man.”
Old man. Gaige knew that Sean meant it as a term of affection—gentle ribbing between friends. But he was only thirty-eight years old. Young in many circles. But in the world of professional football where the average career lasted less than three years, Gaige bordered Methuselah status.
Yes, he still loved the game. And he probably could have played for another three or four years. But it was time. Time to find a new passion. It was time to live in a different world. One where he wasn’t considered an old man.
“YOUR FOUR O’CLOCK appointment is here, Dr. Reed
.”
“Give me five minutes, then send him in, Marla.”
Violet stepped into her private bathroom, checking her appearance in the antique silver mirror that hung over the sink. Her light brown hair, with new blond highlights, fell just below her shoulders. Quite a bit shorter than she usually wore it, she was still deciding if she liked the way it looked. She turned her head from side to side, watching the ends swirl around her shoulders. It had been time for a change. Besides, unlike some recent events, it wasn’t permanent. Her hair would grow.
Blue eyes stared back at her, looking deeper. Her skin was smooth. Her neck, firm and unwrinkled. Was it crazy to wish she was seeing her nineteen-year-old reflection? She looked good for thirty-five. Hell, she looked good for any age. Chastising herself, Violet picked up a tube of lipstick. The man in the waiting room hadn’t known her sixteen years ago. He wouldn’t notice the difference.
But Gaige would, a little voice reminded her. Violet was beginning to hate that little voice. Lately, it wouldn’t leave her alone. Gaige this and Gaige that. After years of effectively putting him out of her mind, she couldn’t stop him from creeping into her thoughts. Five or six—or a hundred—times a day.
Violet dabbed at her lips, removed a bit of the cherry red color. She tossed the tissue into the wastebasket. One last look. Dark green was a good color on her. The knit dress looked professional but not stuffy. She always wore heels when in her office, changing them for flats when making her rounds at the hospital.
The intercom on her desk buzzed, telling her that Marla was sending in her four o’clock appointment. Shoulders back, Violet entered her office just as the outer door opened.
“Mr. Aldridge?” Violet walked forward, her hand outstretched.
“Dr. Reed. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
Terrance Aldridge smiled, shaking her hand. He was tall. Even in four-inch heels, she had to look up. She estimated his age to be over fifty. His dark skin had the look of a man who took care of himself—inside and out. His body was trim, his handshake firm. His eyes crinkled at the sides, telling Violet he had spent years outdoors squinting at the sun. He had an open, friendly expression. She had good instincts when it came to people. Something told her that Terrance Aldridge was a good and loyal friend. A man one could rely on. Gaige Benson must have thought so, or he wouldn’t have put Terrance in charge of his foundation.
After The Fire (One Pass Away Book 3) Page 5
