Ball Buster

by Kara Sheridan

  Blake cleared his throat. “Two hours ago, I’m afraid.”

  “Did she leave any messages?”

  “Only one,” Blake sounded uncomfortable.

  “For me?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She’ll call as soon as she can.”

  Carson closed his eyes, grief blooming inside him. “Thank you, Blake. Good night.”

  “Good night, Mr. Savage.”

  “Well?” everyone asked in unison.

  “She’s gone.”

  “Where?” Ty pressed.

  “Fuck if I know,” Carson snapped.

  “Wait!” Barbi said. “I have a text from her.”

  “What does it say?” Carson rushed to her side.

  “Returning to South Carolina. Will call when I can.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ty said. “I have a plan.”

  “What?” Carson doubted Ty could come up with anything he hadn’t already thought of.

  “Remember my little Christmas present last year? The Gulfstream G550 I have part ownership in?”

  “You have a private jet?” Barbi asked.

  “Yes.”

  Barbi shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

  Ty grinned. “Your itinerary, Mr. Savage.”

  Carson glanced at the screen and then back at his best friend. “Thank you, Ty.”

  He grabbed his keys and wallet off the breakfast bar, climbed into his Jeep, and drove as fast as he could to the Mobile Regional Airport. Sadie wasn’t going anywhere without him.

  Sadie mindlessly perused the shelves in the magazine store in the Memphis airport. Her flight had been delayed out of Mobile. Now she was delayed in Memphis for more three hours, waiting for her connecting flight to South Carolina. Unfortunately, the queasiness that had started in the cab hadn’t gotten any better. She’d already had a ginger ale and two bottled waters, hoping to settle her stomach.

  It didn’t surprise her, though. Stress always went straight to her stomach. Forced to resort to using an over-the-counter remedy, she checked the first aid section in the shop. Nothing stood out until she knelt to see her options on the bottom shelf, where she eyed pregnancy tests.

  She picked one up and read the instructions on the back of the box. She’d missed her period, but didn’t think anything of it. Traveling seemed to interfere with her regular cycle. She paid for the test and headed to the closest bathroom.

  She locked herself inside the stall farthest from the door and opened the box, which contained two individually wrapped tests. After she finished peeing on the stick, she waited impatiently for the results. Two pink lines appeared in the result window, indicating she was pregnant. Sure she’d done something wrong, she quickly tore open the second foil packet and followed the instructions precisely.

  Two minutes later, she received the same result. Whether she liked it or not, Sadie knew she was pregnant. She felt it—the subtle change in her body—her moodiness—how desperately she missed Carson.

  Closing the lid to the toilet, she sat down, burying her face in her hands, crying silently. What the hell was she going to do?

  And what about Carson? She stared at the beautiful ring on her finger and remembered his declaration. If we never get any further than this, I want you to have this ring, to wear it, to remember this moment by. To know how much I love you. That I’m ready to drop to my knees and beg you to marry me. I won’t yet—not until you’re ready. But I can’t keep my feelings a secret any longer. You complete me, Sadie. You drive me crazy. And I’ll be damned if I’ll ever let you go again.

  He loved her. She loved him. And this tiny, precious spark of life inside her belly was the perfect expression of their love. But she’d left him, again. After promising she wouldn’t. Drying her eyes with a big glob of toilet paper, she opened the stall door and stepped out. No one else seemed to be in the restroom. She walked to the closest sink and turned on the cold water, checking her face in the mirror. Considering what she’d been through, she didn’t look too bad. Maybe a bit exhausted, but nothing a cold splash of water wouldn’t cure.

  She washed her hands and face, then smoothed her hair and applied some lip balm and blush. Then she walked back into the main part of the terminal to await the arrival of her connecting flight.

  As she searched for a seat, someone called her name.

  “Sadie?”

  She whipped around, her heart filled with every sort of emotion. “Carson? What are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?”

  He looked equally exhausted, like he’d been beaten down too many times. “Funny what a pretty face and a couple hundred dollars gets you.”

  Sadie shook her head. “You used your good looks and money to bribe someone to find out about my flight?”

  “Sure did, Kitty Kat.”

  “And now that you’re here, what do you have to say for yourself?” Every fiber of her being wanted to run into his arms and whisper in his ear that he was going to be a father.

  “Take the ring off, Sadie.”

  She couldn’t believe it. He’d come all this way to take the ring back? She pulled it off and sadly offered it to him. It might as well have been her heart, because that’s how it felt.

  As she waited for an explanation, Carson simply fell to his knees in front of her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But the bastard deserves to suffer—to feel the same pain you endured for so long.”

  Sadie’s hands shook as she reached for his face, cupping his cheek.

  “I’m an imperfect man. Jealous. Ambitious. Protective. And so in love with you that, if you want me to, I’ll get on the flight to South Carolina with you and never look back. I’ll leave the Warriors and find a new team. Live wherever you want.”

  His words lit her body on fire. He’d finally reached that point where he would consider her career above his own. All she wanted was Carson. To marry him. To return to Fairhope and start a family. “Carson…”

  “Wait, sweetheart. Let me finish. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  A small crowd of curious bystanders had started to gather around them. “Is that Carson Savage?” someone asked.

  “Yes,” a woman answered. “He sure is.”

  “I love you, Kitty Kat. I really do. And it hurts whenever we’re apart.” He covered his heart with his right hand. “Marry me, Sadie. Please.”

  Sadie couldn’t block out the noise from the people, the muted gasps and the anticipation on their faces. Then she gazed at Carson, his complete disregard for himself, as he stayed on his knees on the hard tile floor for the whole world to see.

  “It’s tomorrow,” she whispered. “So I can say yes.”

  He shot up, whooping like a teenager, picking her up and twirling her around. When he set her back on her feet, he kissed her silly. “Give me your hand, sweetheart.”

  After he slipped the ring back on her finger, the crowd applauded. Flashes went off and several people begged for his autograph. “Not tonight,” he said gently. “I’m getting married.”

  “There’s one thing,” she started.

  “What, sweetheart?”

  “I don’t want to leave Alabama. I don’t want you to quit the team. I have options here. Good ones. You were right all this time. I’ve missed my friends. I’ve missed our town. I want to move home.” The idea of starting that business with Leonard popped into her head. It would change everything for her—give her the professional freedom she’d always dreamed of having. “And Leonard and I could start our own company.”

  “You’re amazing, Sadie. If you’re sure, then nothing would make me happier.” As he picked up her carry-on and started to escort her away from the gate, she stopped him. “I have something else to tell you, Carson.”

  He stopped and looked at her. “You didn’t change your mind, did you, Kitty Kat?”

  “No,” she said, motioning for him to come closer.

  He did.

  Then she whispered in his ear, “I’m pregnant,
Carson.”

  He dropped her bag and tugged her into his arms, kissing her again and again. That’s when Sadie finally realized, home was wherever Carson was—and now that included their unborn child. Their future. The beginning of the new life she’d always wanted.

  Epilogue

  Three months later

  Lansdale Field

  As the clock ran out, signaling the end of the first half of the home game against the Patriots, the Warriors leading 27-17, Carson jogged to the center of the field for an interview with Patrick Schwartz, an accomplished sportscaster with ESPN.

  The crowd clapped, and Carson shook Patrick’s hand, holding his helmet in his other hand.

  “You had a great season last year, Carson. But there’s something special about the Warriors this year. I heard somewhere your new wife, Sadie, has something to do with that.”

  Carson grinned. “Yeah—it took seven years to convince her to marry me, Patrick. And anyone who knows her agrees it was worth the wait. She’s amazing, and a great advocate for our team. We’re expecting our first child in a few months.”

  “I’m sure I speak for all the Warriors fans out there, Carson. Congratulations. Let’s move to the reason for the halftime interview. A month ago, you and Sadie revealed a special program to get teenagers off the streets in Alabama.”

  “Hope House,” Carson said. “A fully operational farm in southern Alabama. The property used to belong to my great-grandparents. And we wanted to find a way to honor the legacy of my mother’s family. Together, my wife, Sadie, and my mother, Betty Savage, decided we should dedicate the farm to kids from Big Brothers Big Sisters—give them a safe haven while teaching them real-life skills. Regardless of the challenges they face, Hope House offers an environment of healing.”

  “It’s an amazing story, Carson, and has caught international attention.”

  “Thanks, Patrick. We’re proud of the thirteen kids already participating.”

  “Let’s bring out your family, staff, and the kids. And two of your teammates, Tyrone Baxley and Donovan Quick, who have spearheaded fundraising for the farm.”

  The crowd clapped as Sadie, his mother, sisters, and the rest of his crew arrived on the field. Carson stared at Sadie, loving the tiny baby bump showing through her dress. Everything he loved was right there, and it made him ever thankful for the blessings in his life. He kissed Sadie and his mother, then smiled at his sisters.

  “That’s quite the crew, Carson,” Patrick said.

  “Couldn’t do it without them.”

  “Sadie, do you have anything to add about the farm?” Patrick offered her the mic.

  “Thanks, Patrick. We’re having a barbecue at the farm in December, and everyone is invited. Please spread the word—our kids need you.”

  “Thanks, Sadie. I’m sure everyone in the stands will be there. Better not run out of lemonade.”

  Sadie smiled and stepped back.

  “Now for the big surprise,” Patrick said. “On behalf of ESPN and the Warriors, we’re happy to present you with a check for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  Carson didn’t know what to say. He motioned for Jasmine Komisar, a savvy recent graduate from Vermont he had hired to run the business side of the farm, to join him. Ty and Donovan stepped forward with a huge check made out to Hope House.

  “For the kids,” Ty said, staring into the camera and winking.

  “Jack Menzies is proud of you, Carson,” Patrick offered, “and wishes he could be here tonight.”

  Carson shifted on his feet, that boyish sheepishness returning for a moment. “Thanks, Jack,” he said into the mic, then blew the owner of the Warriors a kiss. “Love you. Get well for all of us.”

  Jack had suffered a minor heart attack two weeks ago and was convalescing at home. But he’d made it clear how pleased he was with Sadie and had offered her a long-term contract with the Warriors and a recommendation for the NFL contract. Donovan and Ty offered Carson and Jasmine the check. “Thank you,” she said to Patrick. “This money will help so many at-risk kids.”

  “A round of applause for Carson Savage and his family,” Patrick encouraged the full stadium.

  The crowd roared with support, giving them a standing ovation as they exited the field.

  “I’m speechless,” Sadie said, holding Carson’s hand.

  “You did this,” he said. “Everything you touch turns to gold, Sadie. I love you.” He kissed her on the lips tenderly, then looked at Ty and Solomon. “Thank you.”

  “Save your praise for the Super Bowl, baby, after I make the winning touchdown.” Ty said.

  “You’re welcome,” Donovan replied.

  “Gotta go, sweetheart,” Carson gave Sadie a last kiss. “See you after the game?”

  “Both of us,” she said, cupping her belly. “Don’t forget, Leonard and I are looking at some office space tonight. We want to get the firm up and running by the end of the month now that we officially have the Warrior contract and possibly one for the NFL.”

  “You’re amazing, Sadie. Never forget it.” And if she did, Carson would keep reminding her.

  About the Author

  Kara Sheridan was raised in Corpus Christi, Texas. She spent her childhood reading, writing, and playing soccer. After meeting her husband in New England, they moved to Alaska, where she studied environmental science. Kara then spent nearly a decade working as an environmental scientist, specializing in soil and water contamination and environmental assessments. Kara still lives in Anchorage, Alaska, and spends her days writing evocative contemporary and historical romance. When she’s not reading, writing, or editing, she enjoys time with her husband, pets, and friends.

  Please keep reading for a preview of the next book in

  The Playbook series!

  Tight End will be available in fall 2018.

  Chapter One

  Jasmine turned into the visitors parking lot of Chantam Hills gated community. She felt fortunate to have been included on the “approved” list for charitable organizations that were allowed to visit the exclusive neighborhood for scheduled fundraising. Today involved going door-to-door, handing out flyers for the spring event at Hope House, where she worked as the fundraising manager.

  She checked her hair and makeup in her rearview mirror, fidgeting with her bangs a bit, then refreshed her pink lipstick before she grabbed her backpack and climbed out of her Subaru Forester and locked the door.

  March in Alabama usually meant sixty degrees with sunshine. But the weather had been unpredictable all winter, and she buttoned her tweed jacket, hoping to block out some of the cold wind. She approached the security shack, pulling her wallet out of her bag before she knocked on the window.

  A middle-aged guard slid the window open and smiled. “Good morning,” he said. “What can I help you with, ma’am?”

  “My name is Jasmine Komisar and I work for Hope House.”

  He grabbed a clipboard. “Let me check the calendar.”

  “Thanks.” She gazed around the neighborhood. Four white pavilions welcomed anyone who entered the neighborhood. Extensive gardens and woods surrounded the community, along with a ten-foot green security fence that she didn’t like very much.

  “You’re all set, ma’am. Can I see your ID?”

  Jasmine offered her driver’s license and the guard jotted something down on the paper on the clipboard.

  “Here.” He slid the clipboard toward her. “If you could sign right there.” He indicated a spot on the bottom of the page.

  She read the fine print first. Reminders on how to conduct herself while canvassing the neighborhood. If homeowners had a red diamond hanging on their front doors, it meant they didn’t want any solicitors. Finished reviewing the rules, she signed the paper.

  The guard scanned the sheet, then offered her a badge to clip to her jacket. “I’ll let the patrol unit know you’re approved,” he said. “And here.” He held out a twenty-dollar bill.

  “What’s that for?”


  “The kids.” He grinned.

  “That’s very generous of you, Mister…”

  “Gene,” he said.

  “Thank you so much, Gene.” She fished a flyer out of her backpack. “Join us next month for the Hope House Spring Festival.”

  “Will Carson Savage be there?”

  Carson was Jasmine’s boss and friend. “Yes. Several of the Warriors will be there.”

  She gave Gene the flyer, then walked through the pedestrian gate.

  Perfectly trimmed lawns, cobblestone walkways, triple-wide roads lined with ancient magnolia trees and rose gardens, expensive street lights every few feet, and white-brick mansions with wraparound porches welcomed her. There wasn’t a bus stop in sight. It’s not that Jasmine begrudged anyone their success, she didn’t. And the people living in Chantam Hills were beyond successful. These were legacy families or plastic surgeons—politicians and Wall Street geniuses, the type of people she needed to keep Hope House going. She just wished they were more accessible, more hands-on when it came to helping the high-risk kids she worked with.

  She ended up at the first intersection and checked the neighborhood map she’d printed at her office before she’d left. Should she take Marlon Avenue or Marilyn Street first? She rolled her eyes; the streets were cleverly named after Hollywood royalty. She chose Marlon, picturing Brando as he looked in The Godfather. That made her smile.

  After the first four houses she’d already successfully collected three hundred dollars in checks. The last home on the cul-de-sac sat by itself, larger than the other houses, chalet style with beautiful diamond-paned windows on all three floors.

  “Okay,” she said out loud. “Work your magic, Jasmine.”

  Putting on her confident smile, she made her way to the entry and rang the doorbell. No one answered, so she waited a minute and pressed the bell again. This time a dog barked from inside—a big dog. The door opened, and a man wearing swim trunks with a beer in his hand smiled at her.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.