by Ava Miles
The Gate to Everything
~ Once Upon A Dare ~
Grace & Jordan
© 2016 Ava Miles
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Quarterback Jordan Dean thought he had everything until his long-time girlfriend broke up with him. His football rock star life had become too burdensome to her. Plus there was another teensy, weensy reason. Chef Grace Kincaid had gotten tired of waiting for him to propose. Ouch.
When Jordan wins the Super Bowl, he tells himself it’s enough. But he can’t get Grace out of his mind. When she calls, insisting they meet, he eagerly agrees.
Only to discover he’s going to be a father…
Grace had always wanted a happily ever after—her yellow house, the picket fence, and children—with Jordan. She’s not willing to settle for a shotgun wedding. But hope makes her agree to live next door to him in the dream house he’d secretly had built for her. The fire of their attraction and deep waters of their love reemerge as they become parents for the first time.
The gate between their houses becomes the key—to everything.
To Joe—a true hero—for building the gate to everything and pretty much anything else, including trust.
And to my divine entourage, who brings me so much abundance on the other side of the gate.
Acknowledgements
My heartfelt thanks to the special people in my life who support my efforts:
The amazing and uplifting Jade, who has stepped up so brilliantly; Emerald; Angela; Shannon; Em; Hilary; Lori; and Kati.
And to all my readers—I hope you enjoy this wonderful new series.
Author’s Note: In case you notice, there was a slight error in THE BRIDGE TO A BETTER LIFE about how Jordan and Grace met. This is the true story…
If a different person were telling this story, they might start it with Once Upon a Time.
But since this story is about tough, good-hearted men who dared to reach for their dreams, I’ll start it with Once Upon a Dare.
Eight boys met at football camp decades ago with nothing but grit and hope in their bellies. Like all boys, they had a healthy dose of fear as well.
But their hard-nosed coach told them real men don’t give in to fear. In fact, real men do everything it takes to get what they want.
Turns out, playing professional football wasn’t the only dream these men had.
They dared everything for love too.
Prologue
“The yellow house you love so much finally sold, Grace. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”
Her mom’s words cut her to the quick, and Grace Kincaid was glad she had stepped away from the party to be alone outside. The December air was cold enough for her to see her breath, and without a shawl, she was shivering in her conservative black dress.
She put her hand under her nose to prevent herself from crying. Even though she thought she was alone, there was no telling if there were eyes on her, waiting to expose her moment of weakness at this NFL party. “I had such hopes for that house, Mom.”
“I know you did, honey,” Meg Kincaid said softly. “You’ve pretty much had your sights on it since your dad built it sixteen years ago. But now that Jordan’s career has taken off, he won’t be returning home to Deadwood any time soon—if ever—and Marcellos is doing so well, too. You’re both going to be living there for a lot longer, I expect.”
Her mother wasn’t wrong. Jordan Dean was the starting quarterback for the Atlanta Rebels, and his fame had skyrocketed last year when he’d taken Atlanta to the playoffs, much like he was doing this year. His talent, coupled with his mega-watt star power and good looks, meant everyone was eating out of his hand. Everyone except Grace, who’d fallen in love with him before all this fame nonsense had arrived at their door.
“If it’s any consolation, honey,” her mom said, “I’ve heard the family is really nice. They have two young children and are from Rapid City.”
Grace didn’t care about that. Those people had bought her dream house, the one she’d hoped she and Jordan were going to raise a family in.
“I’m happy for them,” she made herself say because her mom had raised her to be nice. Sometimes, she was too nice. Right now, she wanted to curl up into a ball. That beautiful, yellow colonial had been for sale for three years since it was more expensive than almost any other home in Deadwood, sitting on twenty beautiful acres.
A few years ago, right around when they both turned thirty, Grace and Jordan had discussed the possibility of moving back to their hometown together. He’d been on the verge of early retirement after sitting on the bench for six years as a backup quarterback in New York. The plan was for her to open her own restaurant to cater to the tourists who enjoyed casinos like the Midnight Star owned by Kevin Costner, and for Jordan to build houses with her dad. Their plan had sounded like a dream come true to Grace. But Jordan had decided to give one more team a shot before throwing in the towel. That team had been the Atlanta Rebels.
And now there was no end in sight.
“Try not to be too down, honey,” her mom said. “You’ll have your own home someday that will be a better fit for your careers.”
She made herself say, “I’m sure you’re right, Mom,” even though she wasn’t. She was turning thirty-three next month, and Jordan hadn’t proposed. They’d been together for seven years. This news about the house felt like a sign. Maybe it was time for her to give up on her dream of them moving home and making a life together.
“Where are you again?” her mom asked. “I can hear music in the background.”
It was her one night off from the restaurant, and Jordan had talked her into joining him at yet another holiday party filled with celebrities and groupies—pretty much the last people Grace would choose to socialize with. “Another party to celebrate the Rebels’ undefeated season.”
Her mom made a humming sound. “Well, that’s a bummer. Knowing you, you’d rather be at home on the couch with Jordan, watching a movie. Must be hard to spend your one night off with him at a party, but maybe the frenzy will die down once the playoffs start up.”
Grace hoped so. She and Jordan barely saw each other lately, and the divide between them continued to widen as his star power grew. She’d known him since he was a kid. Had fallen in love with him as a young woman, but with her thirty-third birthday fast approaching, she was seeing him less and less as the man she wanted to settle down with.
Not that he’d asked her.
“Mom,” Grace said, “I should get back inside. Thanks for talking to me.” She often called her mom from parties like this as an anchor to remind herself of who she was and what mattered to her. But she also did it because she was lonely.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, honey,” her mom said. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” she responded, and after she hung up, Grace stared across the perfectly manicured grounds of the mega-mansion.
She didn’t want a house like this. She didn’t want a life like this.
But Jordan seemed to.
She didn’t know to do about that.
Heading back inside, she detoured to one of the bars—there were eight of them, for heaven’s sake—for a glass of wine. At least the host had catered a fine selection for the guests. She took a sip and tried to settle down, steeling herself to get through the next couple of hours until Jordan was ready to leave. Usually she didn’t go home early, but after hearing the news about her dream house, she might make an exception. But she didn’t want to explain herself to Jordan
. After all, what could he say? Sorry I didn’t want to go home with you and buy that house? Sorry I didn’t want to give up on football and marry you?
“Oh, my God!” Some Valley girl with dyed blond hair, endless legs, and cleavage guaranteed to make a small-town minister blush pushed up next to Grace at the bar. “You’re Jordan’s girlfriend, right?”
Even though Grace didn’t want to encourage conversation, she nodded.
“Wow! You’re so lucky. I mean…Jordan is like…so gorgeous and talented. I don’t know how you can stand it.”
Her eyes scanned to where he was standing across the room with a group of luminaries. His gaze met hers and held it for a tangible moment. He gave her a half smile and raised his beer in a silent toast.
“Yeah, he’s pretty spectacular,” she said when the woman only continued to stare at her.
Jordan Dean definitely filled a room—tall, toned, and heart-stoppingly handsome. She had to admit there must have been something special in the air the day he was born. At six-foot-four with sandy blond hair and arctic blue eyes, he was arresting. His muscular body, honed by years of football, looked just as good whether in cheap clothes or carefully tailored fabrics from Europe, while she… Well, she wasn’t a “personality.”
“Didn’t some media person recently call him the David Beckham of American football?” the Valley girl continued. “You’ve been together a long time, right? If he asks you to marry him, that would make you Victoria.”
Victoria Beckham wasn’t exactly her role model in life. She was content being Grace Kincaid, a rising chef in Atlanta. Of course, no one at these parties ever asked what she did. All they wanted to do was talk about Jordan.
“It’s kinda surprising he ended up with you,” the woman continued, sipping what looked like liquid pink bubblegum, “but I guess it’s because you grew up together. I mean, you’re pretty for your age. And you probably aren’t as boring as the tabloids say you are if he stays with you, right? He must be a really nice guy.”
Nearly everyone—from the groupies to the media—wondered how one of People Magazine’s sexiest men had ended up with her. Until Jordan had become a mega-star, everyone had thought they were perfect together. Now, he was doing beer commercials surrounded by hot chicks in Daisy Dukes and strutting his stuff in major magazine spreads pimping everything from cologne to Italian watches.
Grace didn’t wear Daisy Dukes or designer clothes, so a local tabloid reporter named Farley Cooper had dubbed her “Too Dull for Dean.” Things had turned ugly, with Farley seemingly making it his life’s mission to tell everyone why she wasn’t good enough for Atlanta’s winning quarterback.
Grace had always prided herself on being a good person and a wickedly talented chef, but the storm of negative comments about everything from her body to her fashion sense had stripped her of her dignity. She’d never lacked confidence before, but the barrage of haters made her feel weak and powerless.
She didn’t like who she was becoming in the midst of it all.
Add in the pressure of her upcoming birthday and her ticking biological clock, and she was pretty down on herself. Now her dream house had been sold. She’d let life get away from her on a personal level, and something had to be done about it.
“Excuse me,” she said tersely to the woman and took off through the crowd around the bar.
She felt Jordan’s eyes follow her movements. He always kept track of her at parties. He was a good guy that way, and while she could handle herself, it was nice to know he cared—even if he wasn’t trying to extricate himself from all these shallow people. She just didn’t know what he saw in them.
A curving staircase caught her attention, and Grace decided that if she had to be miserable, she could at least stay inside and be warm. She took the steps one at a time, mindful of her three-inch heels. No one was on the second floor, and Grace breathed a sigh of relief when she rested against the balcony overlooking the party.
Kicking the etched glass in front of her wouldn’t be wise, but it sure was tempting after that woman’s insult. Most people thought Grace wasn’t good enough for Jordan in looks or style, but for the past six months, she had been wondering if he was the best thing for her.
What hurt her most was that Jordan was so dismissive of what people were saying about her. Every time she brought it up, he dismissed it, giving her the cliché, “haters are gonna hate.” The bullying—especially Farley’s—was a by-product of his success, yes, but it wasn’t worth losing sleep over. That was easy for him to say. They weren’t making fun of how small his breasts were.
She loved Jordan, but she’d fallen in love with the “unfamous” Jordan Dean, the one who loved football like she loved cooking. Few people remembered that Jordan had been selected by New York out of college in the sixth round. Grace had been working in New York City with her best friend and chef de cuisine, Tony Marcello. She and Jordan had renewed their friendship when he’d arrived. Six months of hanging out had turned into something more serious, and he’d kissed her one night after taking her home. Grace had been happier than she’d believed possible.
No one had expected much of him at the time, and he’d gone from the third- to second-string backup quarterback, sitting on the bench for six long years until he’d decided to go to Atlanta as a free agent instead of returning to Deadwood and buying her dream house.
Everything had changed in an instant: Jordan had finally been given his chance. And he had won like crazy. Not wanting their relationship to end, Grace had convinced Tony to move to Atlanta to open Marcellos, a Northern Italian restaurant growing in acclaim. Grace still intended to have her own place someday, but now she wondered when that would be.
Jordan glanced up to where she was standing, and she caught his frown. He shook off the gorgeous women who’d closed in around him and headed for the stairs. The models were scowling now, but their eyes didn’t shift away from him. Of course, it was impossible not to watch Jordan. He prowled with both a casual and determined energy—each step an assurance that he would get his prize. It didn’t hurt that his charm was impossible to resist. Yes, there were plenty of reasons why she hadn’t been able to break things off yet.
“Hey,” she heard him say as he sauntered toward her, and all it took was that one word to make her shiver.
His voice was like extra chunky peanut butter—dark and creamy with a slight bite. As smooth as it was to her ear, it carried perfectly in low octaves across his offensive line when he shouted a play.
He positioned himself close to her on the balcony, resting his forearms on the metal railing. “I’ve been watching you all night. You stepped out for a while.”
“I needed some air,” she said weakly, breaking eye contact with him.
She heard him sigh deeply next to her. “Air, huh? You’re miserable, Grace.”
Her heart broke at the sadness lacing his voice, and she decided against telling him about the Deadwood house selling. What did it matter now? “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t like seeing you this unhappy,” he said, not looking at her.
Suddenly the weight of all her misery pressed down on her—the media circus he reveled in and she hated, the widening gap between them, and all the lost dreams in that yellow house sold to another family, a family she and Jordan likely were never going to be.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she blurted out, tears suddenly in her eyes.
At his shocked expression, she gestured with her hands. “About us. During the season, we barely see each other.”
“We’ve weathered other seasons before, Grace,” he ground out, his own tension rising.
Happier times flashed through her mind, most of them from his years as a second-string quarterback. Like the time he’d rented a horse-drawn carriage for them in Central Park even though he thought it was hokey. Or when he’d waited hours to get tickets to The Nutcracker.
“Last season changed things.”
“The more successful I become, the more unhappy
you become,” he said harshly. “I can’t take that.”
She put her hand on his forearm, and he finally turned to look at her. There was a rare bleakness in his eyes. “I don’t want you to become less successful. I’m glad you and the team are doing so great. I just…don’t fit in with all of this. Jordan, you know me. My dad’s in construction, and my mom’s a nurse. They live a simple life, and they’re happy. With my birthday looming next month, I’ve been thinking about my life a lot. It doesn’t look like I thought it would at this age. I don’t have…” My yellow house in Deadwood, a ring on my finger, a baby—you. She was afraid she never would.
“I know there have been a lot of changes for both of us,” he said softly. “Just hang in with me.”
“I’m trying, but I’m afraid…” She trailed off, not sure she could speak the words.
He stood and faced her, towering over her like he always did. “What are you afraid of?”
“That we can’t…make each other happy any more,” she whispered. “That we don’t want the same things.”
His mouth bunched up like it always did from strong emotion, especially after a tough loss. “I know you want a home and a family—and I do too—but I’ve waited so long for my career to take off and now that it has…I want to soak up these years before I retire. I don’t have much time left to play. Six to eight years, Grace. It’s not like being a chef. You can do that for two to three more decades.”
“You’re right about my career having a longer timeline,” Grace said, “but my body doesn’t. Jordan, I’m not getting any younger here, as one of the partygoers earlier so kindly pointed out.”
