Hot Read: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 5)

by Jami Davenport

  There was more to it than that, she could tell, but Brett wasn’t talking. Estie could guess though. She knew her brother. He thought she was obsessive and controlling, and he’d be warning Brett off because nothing came between Tyler and his football team’s success, not even his sister.

  “Has he always been like that?”

  “Like what? Bossy? Obnoxious? Overbearing? Controlling? Fiercely loyal? Driven? Yes, to every one of those and more.” Estie shook her head. “He’s an original, that’s for sure.”

  “Good thing. I doubt we could survive if he was a twin.”

  “God forbid. You probably haven’t been around Freddie much, but she’s even worse. She scares the crap out of Tyler.”

  “Yeah, I remember him mentioning something like that.”

  “Trust me. It’s true.” Estie had managed to deflect the conversation from her and Brett’s future to her sister through a little diversion tactic, and she had another one up her sleeve in case Mr. Gunnels tried to broach the subject again. It was called getting naked. But first, the other way to a man’s heart: “Dinner’s ready.”

  “I can tell. Smells awesome.”

  “Pot roast, been in the slow cooker all day.”

  They sat down to eat like an old married couple, and Estie enjoyed every minute of it, even though a small voice nagged at her that this was all just a fantasy that would blow up in her face given enough time. Everything she’d ever really wanted ended up in a crumpled heap of broken dreams and smashed promises.

  Only this time would be different. This time Estie would make new plans, better plans. She still wasn’t sure whether Brett would be part of her new life or a sad memory marking the end of her old life.

  The Friday night before the NFC championship, Brett sat in the film room well past midnight. Even Harris had skated out a few hours ago. Brett’s butt had long ago fallen asleep, a thousand needles pricked his eyes, and his lids kept drifting shut. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. The door opened, and he glanced over his shoulder.

  HughJack, the Steelheads’ fiery young coach, stood in the doorway. “Time to call it a night, Gun.”

  Brett looked at his watch, which showed close to one a.m. Estie would be in bed by now. “I’m about to. Just want to run through a few more plays first.” He turned his attention back to the screen, fully expecting HughJack to head out for the night.

  Instead of leaving the room, the coach sank into the chair next to him. In all the years he’d been a backup with the Steelheads, Brett couldn’t recall more than a handful of one-on-one conversations with the head coach. HughJack always ripped around like a hummingbird on crack and seldom lit anywhere for very long. Since Brett usually didn’t figure in with the starters, they spent very little time together.

  Brett shifted his gaze to HughJack. The guy looked as if he’d aged ten years in ten days. The playoffs did that to a coach as well as a player. No time for rest and relaxation. That could come after the season ended.

  Brett waited HughJack out, knowing the coach had something to say. They watched a few plays together, HughJack making comments here and there.

  “You know, Brett, you’ve outperformed my expectations.”

  Brett wasn’t sure how to take that. “Okay.”

  HughJack managed a half smile. “I knew you were capable, and the guys believed in you, but I knew you had a short window to establish a rhythm with your offense. You had to figure it out, and you did.” High praise coming from HughJack.

  “Thanks.”

  “There are several teams looking for quarterbacks this off-season.”

  Brett nodded.

  “With the injury-forced retirement of Carl Werther, Miami doesn’t have an option. Sure, they could draft a guy, but that team is designed to win next year, and in the NFL, you have to take advantage because those opportunities don’t stay around long. They’ll want a guy they can win with now.”

  “Yeah, but will they want me?”

  “Brett, they’ve been sniffing around already. Off the record, I can tell you they’re damn interested. You couldn’t do any better than them, and they have the cap room to pay you top dollar.”

  “What about San Francisco?”

  HughJack raised one eyebrow. “No cap room, problems from the top down. Not a situation you want to get into. Plus, they can’t pay what you’re worth on the free agent market. Why would you even consider a situation like that one?”

  Brett shrugged. He knew why. One word. Estie. The love of his life. She wanted to go to vet school, and UC Davis was a little over an hour from SF. That seemed like a good enough reason to him.

  Sure, he could take the Miami job and live elsewhere during the off-season, but he’d always been one to give his all for his team, and that included living full-time in the city he played in and becoming a part of the community.

  HughJack stared at him so long and hard Brett started to fidget. “I’ve heard rumors about you and Ty’s sister.”

  Brett nodded and didn’t confirm or deny.

  “Don’t give up the thing you’ve worked all your life for just to accommodate a woman. Trust me, this is your future, and you only get to play this game for a very short time. Don’t throw away a sure thing for a fleeting chance at something as tough to pin down as love.”

  Brett guessed the bachelor coach must have been burned a time or two.

  HughJack stood and patted his shoulder. “Brett, keep your mind on the game. It’s all about the game right now. The rest comes later. Enjoy the ride and let everything else wait.”

  “Okay, Coach.”

  “And get some sleep. You’re no good to me as a zombie.” HughJack motioned toward the door and waited next to it.

  With a sigh, Brett heaved his weary body from the chair, stretched and worked the kinks from his cramped muscles. “I guess you’re right.” He switched off the screen and followed the coach out the door into the parking lot. A cold, almost freezing mist fell around them. “Good night, Coach.”

  “Night, Gun. Enjoy your evening. I don’t want to see your ass back here before eight a.m., or I’ll kick it all the way into a frigid Lake Washington.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Brett managed to keep his eyes open by rolling down the window on his SUV and letting the now-freezing rain pelt the side of his face. By the time he let himself into Estie’s house, he was freezing his ass off and ready for bed. The dogs glanced up at him from their locations around the bed. Marilyn, of course, slept at the foot, while Dozer snored in the corner and Risky lay close to Brett’s side. Poor lonely Humphrey lay across the room by himself. None of the dogs moved as Brett stripped off his clothes. Neither did Estie. He didn’t blame them. It was damn late.

  He could see the shoulder of her flannel pj’s. Damn, he loved her in flannel. She had to be just about the sexiest woman ever in flannel. Shrugging into a bathrobe, he trundled back to the kitchen and drank a glass of milk, accidentally bumping a stack of mail. As he bent to pick it up, a letter with UC Davis letterhead caught his eye. He picked it up, unable to stop himself, and read through the letter outlining the requirements for a transfer of undergrad credits to the college. Why hadn’t she said anything?

  Brett swallowed. He suspected he knew why. She didn’t want to influence his choice of teams. With a deep sigh, he walked quietly back to the bed, tossed his robe on the floor, and climbed naked between the covers. Estie immediately rolled over and cuddled with him, never once waking.

  He kissed the top of her head and pulled her close. She burrowed her face into his chest and made this little sound of contentment deep in her throat, like a purring cat.

  Brett closed his eyes, but for the first time since they’d been spending nights together, sleep wouldn’t come. His tired brain kept rerunning a vision of two trains heading toward each other on the same set of tracks on a collision course with destiny.

  Why the fuck couldn’t life ever be simple?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cinderella Team
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br />   Brett lay sprawled on the ground. Every muscle in his body begged him not to move, but he didn’t listen. Sitting up, he wiped off his mouth and spit out the sickening iron taste of blood. He’d split his lip on that last play when his head parted ways with his helmet.

  His right guard reached out a hand and pulled him to his feet.

  “Sorry about that, Gun. I let that guy through.” The huge man had a sheepish frown on his face. Arnie “Bulldozer” Bullock prided himself on allowing fewer sacks than any other guy at his position, and he’d just given up sack number one, with the game well into the fourth quarter. Brett couldn’t fault the guy for that. He’d been damn flawless most of the game, which was more than Brett could say for his own performance.

  The back-and-forth battle with the Cowboys had featured little offense and a helluva lot of defense. Even so, Dallas led twenty-one to seventeen. The clock was ticking, not just on this game and their season, but on Brett’s career. Right now, he didn’t give a shit about that career. He wanted a win for his guys, who were playing their hearts out despite a ton of bad breaks, questionable calls, and an opponent who apparently couldn’t do a damn thing wrong.

  He nodded briefly at Hoss and Arnie. He didn’t want to suck the team’s morale down the fucking toilet. The guys were floundering, and his dreams of a Super Bowl with him as the starting quarterback were spinning down the drain.

  Knowing they were all gauging him, determining how much fight he had left, Brett strode to the huddle, oozing confidence. Damn it, this was his time, his team, and they would do what he willed them to do if he had to carry them on his back. After all, he had broad shoulders and a pretty strong back.

  Leaning down, he called the play the coach had sent in with their rookie tight end. Ten pairs of eyes focused on him to the exclusion of all else. Like magic, he sensed them become a like-minded unit. No one heard the noise of the crowd or the taunts of the defense. They were finally a well-oiled machine with a single-minded purpose—a purpose that would either be achieved or dashed in the next four minutes and twenty-two seconds.

  To win the NFC championship and go to the Super Bowl.

  Brett should be amazed, shocked, in fucking awe, but he didn’t have the time to think; he only had time to do.

  They broke out of the huddle, and Brett took the ball from the shotgun position. He lobbed a short pass up the middle to Lane. The hulking tight end sprinted to a first down, amazingly fast for such a big guy. On the next play, Bruiser carried it across the fifty, and they were on the move.

  Bruiser pounded to the Cowboy’s forty-two, carrying several defensive players with him. As he fought for extra yardage, a linebacker punched the ball out, and it bounced across the turf. Several guys dove for it, and a sea of big bodies writhed on the ground fighting for the ball.

  Brett bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the pile of flailing arms and legs. His hopes were slammed to the ground when the Cowboys defensive back emerged with the ball.

  Shaking his head, Brett jogged off the field, immediately going over to the quarterback coach and Harris to discuss the last set of plays. If the defense didn’t stop Brian Mason, the Cowboys’ All-Pro quarterback, it’d all be over anyway.

  As Mason marched down the field, even Tyler grew silent and stared with an empty expression at the field in front of them, but the Steelheads’ defense came through and held the Cowboys to third and ten, forcing their quarterback to put it up downfield. Out of nowhere, Zach streaked across the turf with the speed of a twenty-year-old and snatched the ball right out of the receiver’s hands. Brett leapt to his feet as Zach turned and ran downfield, only to be brought down by their running back on the Steelheads’ forty-five.

  Power surged through Brett, the power of knowing he was right where he wanted to be, doing the one thing he wanted to do most, with a team of men he’d come to think of as brothers. They’d risen above adversity, been knocked down several times, but when it mattered most, they shot to their feet still fighting, scrabbling, battling for that elusive prize.

  They could do this.

  Grinning and energized, Brett strapped on his helmet and sprinted onto the field, joining the group around Zach. A few minutes later, the Steelheads were on the twenty, thanks to a couple pass plays to Derek and the hard running of Bruiser.

  Then Brett got sacked. Again.

  Third down and twenty-two on the forty. Five seconds left. Only time for this one play. Brett’s gaze slipped to Derek, and Derek stared right back, his brown eyes glinting with pure determination.

  Brett took the snap and backed up a few steps. Derek raced up the field for the end zone, and Brett laid it out there, praying like he’d never prayed before in his life.

  The next few moments happened in slow motion. The ball, a perfect spiral, sailed through the air, straight as an arrow, almost as if it had a homing beacon. Derek turned and looked over his shoulder just as the ball fell into his hands as easy as a couple kids playing on an empty lot. The crowd erupted, their cheers deafening.

  And just like that, Brett Gunnels earned the right to play in the big show as a starting quarterback. He galloped down the field toward Derek with the rest of his teammates, smothering the wide receiver amidst hugging and back-slapping, every one of them with huge grins on their faces, but none bigger than Brett’s.

  Zach grabbed his jersey and pulled him around, his smile wider than his home state of Texas and unshed tears in his eyes. The linebacker wrapped him in a bear hug, forcing the oxygen from his lungs. Reporters caught wind of their emotional interaction and scurried to catch it on video, as the field swarmed with reporters and family of the players.

  Zach took a step back and swiped at his eyes. “Thank you,” he said simply.

  “Thank you. You intercepted the ball that kept them from scoring.”

  “It was a team effort.”

  “That it was.” Brett didn’t think his feet were touching the ground. Kelsie ran up to Zach. He threw his arms around her lifted her in the air and spun her around, shouting the entire time, “We did it. We did it. We won the NFC.”

  Brett stood back and watched his teammates with their wives and girlfriends, children, and parents, hugging each other. In this sea of humanity, he stood alone, apart from them all. Always different, always a loner. Even as a winner, that hadn’t changed.

  Where was Estie? Why wasn’t she here to share this moment?

  Reporters tugged on his shirt, juggled for space in front of him. He ignored them and started walking, pushing through the crowd until he saw her running through the throng of people as if they weren’t there.

  His smile came back full force as she threw her arms around him and rained kisses on his face. The radiant grin on her laughing face filled his vision as the magnitude of what he’d accomplished slammed into him.

  This was a Cinderella story, and he was Cinderella. If he could only keep those glass slippers on both of his big feet.

  And Estie in his bed for their own happy ending.

  Estie catapulted into Brett’s arms, not giving a shit who saw her or what they thought—namely her family members. Brett must have been of the same mind as suddenly they were kissing each other with a passion born of desperation and explosive chemistry—until her brother grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled them apart.

  He glared at each one of them, hands on hips and a formidable scowl on his face. Brett scowled right back, while Estie smoothed her hair and managed an innocent smile. Flashbulbs blinded them from every angle.

  “Get a fucking room,” Tyler growled.

  “Get a fucking life and quit worrying about us,” Estie shot back. “Maybe you should attend to your own relationship, instead of putting all this energy into ours.” Estie looked over Tyler’s head at Lavender standing a few feet from them, wringing her hands.

  Somehow Estie doubted Lavender’s nervousness had anything to do with her and Brett. More likely, it had to do with Tyler, but she had enough of her own problems, and Tyler’s marria
ge phobia was not one of them.

  Brett elbowed his way between the two battling siblings, as if fully aware the eyes of the nation were focused on them. At that sobering thought, Estie backed off and smiled sweetly at her still-scowling brother.

  With a sincere smile on his face, Brett stepped forward and shook Tyler’s hand. “Hey, man, I couldn’t have done it without you. You were with me every step of the way.”

  Tyler’s ruffled feathers smoothed back a little, and he smiled, first at Brett, then for the cameras. He put his arm across Brett’s shoulders and mugged for the cameras, the perfect example of team unity. Estie shrank into the background, fully aware she’d screwed up one more time by making a scene in public. Hopefully, Tyler and Brett covered up well enough that no one noticed her argument with her brother.

  Helplessly, she watched as a sea of reporters engulfed Tyler and Brett, pushing her farther and farther until she couldn’t even see the tops of their heads.

  Lavender touched her arm and guided her away from the crowd into the tunnel where prying eyes and cameras didn’t reach them. “Get used to it. That’s the way it’ll be as long as they play this game. They don’t belong to us. They belong to the game. It’s all about the game.” Lavender spoke honestly and openly with no resentment in her voice. Her sympathetic gaze said it all. Lavender knew exactly what Estie was going through—and then some.

  Estie nodded. “How do you do it?”

  “You take what little piece you can and be grateful for it, knowing this is their time, and it’s such a brief moment in an entire lifetime that I would never begrudge Tyler the effort he puts into it. If you’re thinking of making this a permanent thing with Brett, you’d best realize you’ll be in the back seat as long as he straps on a helmet every season.”

  “It’s not like I haven’t been around football in one form or another all my life, but this is different.” Estie stared toward the field where Brett fended off a herd of reporters.