Saving Hearts

by Rebecca Crowley

  And Erin. At once soft and hard, distant yet closer than home. Strong, unapologetic, endlessly passionate. That she’d chosen him, out of all the men who had and would hurl themselves at her feet, made him feel anointed. Extraordinary. Undeserving but utterly ecstatic.

  He saw the end, as surely as he saw the beginning, and he was sorry. Sorry that he was about to outplay this young midfielder who had so much ahead of him. Sorry that he would ruin his confidence, maybe even set him back next season. But it had to be done, and anyway, this kid had his whole career ahead of him. Practically a lifetime.

  Time regained its normal pace and he squared his feet, holding his position in the center of the net. He bent his knees slightly and caught the ball, its impact knocking the air out of his lungs. Then he cradled it in his arms and fell on top of it for good measure, nose in the grass, eyes closed against the soil.

  The stadium exploded into cheering. He heard his teammates whooping, his opponents cursing, Roland’s voice raised in uncharacteristic effusion. But he stayed still for just a bit longer. When he stood it up it would all be over. These were the final seconds of his career.

  Hands plucked at his shirt before he was ready, and he had no choice but to drag himself to his feet. His teammates pressed around him and knocked him off balance, each one of them vying to hug him first. Someone took the ball from his hands and he felt its absence keenly. He’d never again hold a ball in professional competition.

  His throat felt swollen, his lungs scratchy, but he forced a smile. The CSL trophy would be wintering in Atlanta.

  As the cluster of his teammates broke apart he glanced around, bewildered and disoriented, not sure what happened now. He exchanged firm, smiling handshakes with Roland, with the other keeper, with the midfielder whose Panenka he’d just stopped, but he did it all numbly. His thoughts moved sluggishly, his tongue thick, and occasionally the earth seemed to teeter beneath his feet.

  “Nice save, keeper.”

  The hand on his elbow lingered, and he turned to see that Erin had joined the other wives, girlfriends, and kids that had rushed onto the pitch. She smiled, and his world found its axis.

  She threw her arms around his neck and he held her tightly, anchored by her presence. She kissed him hard, and his shoulders slackened with relief. She was really here. She’d meant it all.

  “I came clean to Randall,” she gushed when she pulled back. “I told him everything. I thought I would get fired, but he was great—he understood. He told Will he’d lose all access if he published. It worked. There’s no story.”

  “Why did you tell him? I would’ve taken the fall for you, Erin. There was no reason to put your job on the line.”

  She shook her head disbelievingly. “Don’t you get it? You’re worth more to me than any job. I love you, Brendan. Maybe I’ve loved you since I was eighteen, I don’t know. I’ll do whatever I have to so we can be together… If you’ll have me,” she added shyly.

  He gripped her upper arms. “I’ll have you any way I can get you. I love you.”

  He kissed her again, and again, and with such intensity that by the time he registered the reporter standing beside him with a cameraman and a microphone, the entire viewing audience had gotten a PG-13 romantic interlude in the middle of their sports broadcast.

  The reporter smiled as if it was totally normal to interview a player who’d just been making out with a high-profile league executive, and raised the long microphone connected to the stadium’s speakers.

  “Congratulations on your win, Brendan, and on that amazing save. This was a pretty spectacular end to your long and remarkable career. How does it feel to retire on such a high?”

  He cleared his throat, glancing at the reporter’s patient smile, and up at the rows and rows of fans. Then he leaned down slightly to speak into the mic.

  “What can I say? I’ve been so lucky to play the game I love professionally for eleven years, in three countries, and to finish with a CSL league win is more than I ever expected. I owe so much to the coaches and managers who’ve helped me along the way, to my family, to the fans, to my brilliant teammate Pavel Kovar, and to my…my girlfriend, Erin.”

  She nodded encouragingly, tears brimming in her eyes. He turned back to the reporter.

  “It’s been a privilege to finish my career at Atlanta Skyline, where I’ve played alongside some of the best guys in the sport. I’m sad to say goodbye, but it’s time, and I’m…” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard to steady it. “I’m just really grateful.”

  “Well done,” the reporter told him warmly, out of range of the microphone, before she mercifully brought it back to her mouth. “Thank you, Brendan.”

  Applause and cheering echoed around the stadium before the fans broke into a full-voiced rendition of “Forever Young.” He waved his gratitude, taking one last look at what it was like to have tens of thousands of people supporting him.

  Then he took the hand of the only person whose support he needed. She squeezed it tightly.

  “I’m ready,” he told her. “Let’s go.”

  They left the pitch together, hand-in-hand.

  Epilogue

  Erin swore viciously as she negotiated the rented, two-door subcompact down the snowy driveway toward Brendan’s house. She’d already ruined her surprise visit when she called him from the airport to tell him the weather had delayed her flight into Lincoln, so she should’ve canceled the rental and accepted his offer to pick her up in his four-wheel-drive truck.

  She sighed, exasperated, as something clanked against the undercarriage. One of these days she’d learn to let him take care of her occasionally.

  After all, she was continually surprised by how much she enjoyed taking care of him. It began the night of the league final when she’d slipped him the card for her hotel room in case he wanted company after the players’ party. He’d eased into her bed at two o’clock in the morning with whiskey on his breath and a hard-on between his legs that made her come twice, gaspingly and fiercely, before he finally sighed his release. Then he sagged beside her, put his head on her chest and sobbed.

  She wasn’t sure how long she held and comforted him as he grieved for the end of his career, but it was long enough for her to know with utter certainty that she would never love anyone as much as she loved him. He was her one and only, her now and her forever.

  He’d have to be for her to keep racking up these frequent flier miles on trips to Nebraska, she thought wryly as the lights of the house came into view. Although she had to admit the place was growing on her, and seeing him so happy was worth every damn second she spent on a plane. At Thanksgiving, his warming relationship with his parents had been palpable, and days spent sanding floors and painting walls seemed to be exactly the occupying project he needed as he loosened his grip on his life in soccer.

  He’d put in his share of miles, too, either to Atlanta or to wherever she’d traveled for work and had time to spend with him. In the last two months, they’d been together more than they’d been apart, so the distance between their addresses felt more theoretical than real.

  “There you are,” she murmured as the headlights caught a tall figure with his hands in his pockets standing in the middle of the drive. She pressed the brake and lowered the window. He leaned his forearms on the frame, grinning broadly, snowflakes peppering his ash-blond hair.

  “I don’t pick up hitchhikers,” she informed him, then pressed a kiss against his smiling mouth.

  “You shouldn’t. You never know who you’ll get.” He circled around to the passenger side and yanked open the door, folding his long frame into the cramped space, the crisp scents of winter clinging to his barn jacket.

  “If you walked out here because you were worried I’d get lost, you’re a little late. It’s only twenty feet to the house.” She put the car into drive and crept up the bumpy road.

  “I walked out to
make sure you didn’t get stuck,” he replied pointedly. “And so I could direct you to the parking spot I cleared for you. And because I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  She couldn’t halt her smile at his last sentence and quickly squeezed his thigh before returning her hands to the wheel and following his instructions to pull the car into the space he’d dug out.

  “Pretty,” she remarked as she climbed out of the car, gaze sweeping the Christmas lights he’d wrapped up the chains of the porch swing.

  “Sit for a minute. I’ll take this inside.” He hefted her bag out of the trunk and carried it through the front door.

  She did as he instructed, climbing onto the swing and pulling the thick, quilted duvet he’d left out over her knees. Sitting on the swing had become as close as they had to a relationship tradition, and despite the freezing temperature she smiled up into the clear, black sky. Curling up next to Brendan on the porch was one of the highlights of every trip she made to Nebraska.

  He returned carrying a bottle of bubbles and two glasses, and she grinned up at him as he set them down and took his seat beside her.

  “That glad to see me, huh?”

  “It’s almost New Year’s Eve—officially a year since we had our first, er, encounter. Thought I’d mark the occasion.”

  “Classy. Almost as classy as that joke you told at Christmas Eve dinner at my parents’ house.”

  “Your dad thought it was hilarious,” he countered, the swing shifting as he settled beside her. She pressed into his side as his arm came around her shoulders, and she exhaled her contentment. Nothing made her happier than this man. Absolutely nothing.

  “Do you want your Christmas presents?” he asked, and she looked up at him suspiciously.

  “Christmas was four days ago, and I drove you to the airport that afternoon.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?” he pressed.

  “Yes,” she acceded cautiously.

  “First one wasn’t confirmed until yesterday.” He squeezed her more tightly into his side. “I’ve accepted a part-time job next season. Goalkeeper coach for Skyline Ladies.”

  She sat bolt upright, pushing out of his grasp so she could look him in the eye. “You’re moving back to Atlanta?”

  “I’ll split my time,” he explained. “But yeah, I’ll be in Atlanta three weeks a month. Any idea where I can stay?”

  She smacked his arm, delight stretching her cheeks. “You coy dog. I had no idea.”

  “Good. I’m hoping you didn’t see this coming, either.”

  She watched incredulously as he withdrew a small, velvet box from his coat pocket and opened the lid to reveal a diamond ring so stunning, it dazzled even in the dim light of the semi-lit porch.

  Tears tugged down the corners of her mouth as she looked up at him. “Brendan, I—”

  He shook his head to silence her. “It doesn’t have to be what I want it to be. I know we’ve only been together a little while, and you might need time to be sure. You can wear it now, or you can wear it when you decide. Or never. I don’t care. I just want you to know that I’m ready when you are—if you are.”

  Air snagged in her lungs. She reached across and snapped the box shut, then linked her arms around his neck.

  “It’s beautiful, but I don’t want you to think it was necessary. Playing or retired, diamond or brass, I love you, Brendan. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  His grin could’ve lit up three counties. “Really?”

  She nodded, surer of her response than any bet she’d ever placed. “Really.”

  He brought his lips to hers and she smiled into the kiss. If she was still a gambler—which she decidedly was not—she’d push all her chips forward for this man. He was the surest bet she’d ever seen, as bright and steadfast as the stars over their heads.

  Meet the Author

  Rebecca Crowley inherited her love of romance from her mom, who taught her to at least partially judge a book by the steaminess of its cover. She writes contemporary romance and romantic suspense with smart heroines and swoon-worthy heroes, and never tires of the happily-ever-after. Having pulled up her Kansas roots to live in New York City, London, and Johannesburg, Rebecca currently resides in Houston, Texas. You can find her on the web at rebeccacrowley.net or on Twitter at @rachelmaybe.