by Violet Paige
Table of Contents
Epilogue
Epilogue
Part 1
Epilogue
Part 1
Epilogue
Part 1
Double Score
Violet Paige
Contents
1. Isaac
2. Vanessa
3. Isaac
4. Vanessa
5. Dylan
6. Vanessa
7. Vanessa
8. Isaac
9. Vanessa
10. Dylan
11. Vanessa
12. Dylan
13. Vanessa
14. Isaac
15. Vanessa
16. Vanessa
17. Dylan
18. Vanessa
19. Isaac
20. Vanessa
21. Vanessa
22. Dylan
23. Vanessa
24. Isaac
25. Vanessa
26. Vanessa
27. Vanessa
28. Vanessa
29. Isaac
30. Vanessa
31. Dylan
32. Vanessa
33. Isaac
34. Vanessa
35. Vanessa
36. Vanessa
37. Vanessa
38. Dylan
39. Vanessa
40. Vanessa
41. Vanessa
42. Vanessa
43. Vanessa
44. Vanessa
Epilogue
Naughty Notes
Turn Over
1. Luke
2. Alexa
3. Luke
4. Alexa
5. Luke
6. Alexa
7. Luke
8. Alexa
9. Luke
10. Alexa
11. Luke
12. Luke
13. Alexa
14. Luke
15. Alexa
16. Luke
17. Alexa
18. Luke
19. Alexa
20. Luke
21. Alexa
22. Luke
23. Alexa
24. Luke
25. Alexa
26. Luke
27. Alexa
28. Luke
29. Alexa
30. Luke
31. Alexa
32. Luke
33. Alexa
34. Luke
35. Alexa
36. Luke
Epilogue
Naughty Notes
Sidelined
1. Sam
2. Natalia
3. Sam
4. Natalia
5. Sam
6. Natalia
7. Sam
8. Natalia
9. Sam
10. Natalia
11. Sam
12. Natalia
13. Sam
14. Natalia
15. Sam
16. Natalia
17. Sam
18. Natalia
19. Sam
20. Natalia
21. Sam
22. Natalia
23. Sam
24. Natalia
25. Sam
26. Natalia
27. Sam
28. Natalia
29. Sam
30. Natalia
31. Sam
32. Natalia
33. Sam
Epilogue
Dirty Play
1. Wes
2. Lennon
3. Wes
4. Lennon
5. Wes
6. Lennon
7. Wes
8. Lennon
9. Wes
10. Lennon
11. Wes
12. Lennon
13. Wes
14. Lennon
15. Wes
16. Lennon
17. Wes
18. Lennon
19. Wes
20. Lennon
21. Wes
22. Lennon
23. Wes
24. Lennon
25. Wes
26. Lennon
27. Wes
Epilogue
A Special Secret
Copyright © 2017 by Violet Paige
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
1
Isaac
You’ve heard of the domino effect, right? It takes just one fucking spark to ignite an entire chain reaction. The kind that blows up and everyone gets burned who is in the ring of fire. One damn thing you have no control over for the panic to spread. For shit to hit the fan.
It was happening around me. Everything was going down in flames. I didn’t know how to stop it.
It was one of those defining moments. When the men came forward and the boys fell to the back of the line.
I could see it on their faces. Some were ready to stake their claim. Some ready to tuck their tails under their balls and get the hell out.
I had to decide what Isaac Price wanted. What I would take from this. How I would walk away a winner.
Because that’s who I was.
I stared at my phone. Blinking again, I wiped the sweat from my eye with the back of my hand. I needed to get in the damn shower. Practice had been hot as hell. I peeled the wet shirt over my head, and checked to see if the message was still there. I wanted to make sure this wasn’t some kind of sick joke.
“Fuck,” I murmured. “The old man died? No.” I shook my head.
“What did you say?” Dylan punched me in the side, laughing. “You realize I out-caught you by at least fifty out there today? Better watch out or one of those rookies is going to give you his seat on the bench.”
He had just walked out of the ice bath. His towel was tucked around his waist. There was a puddle collecting on the floor under his feet.
Dylan and the rest of the team didn’t know what I did. They hadn’t been punched in the gut. Yet.
“I thought you slept off last night,” he joked. “It was the brunette, wasn’t it? She did you in. I knew when I saw those hips she was going to be one hell of a ride.”
I shook my head. “It’s not her.”
Crawling out of bed this morning seemed like it happened a week ago. I had left the girl sleeping while I dressed for work. I was never late to practice. It was an old military habit I couldn’t break.
It was ingrained in my character. Late meant disrespect. Late meant you didn’t give a shit about yourself. It didn’t matter how hot the girl was I left under my sheets—she didn’t mean more than my character and reputation.
I was here on time like I was every day.
“Then what is it?” Dylan looked confused. He had taken a blonde home from the bar. He drank until he didn’t remember her name. And like always, he was the last one at practice.
I turned toward my best friend. I held my phone toward his face. “Read it.” He leaned forward.
His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the team alert text.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Is this for real?”
I nodded. “I guess so. It’s from HR. They wouldn’t pull a prank like this. No way.”
Sure, it was from the official Warriors office, but someone should have walked down here and told us in person. I looked around. Some guys were still in the showers. Most were walking around in towels. A few hadn’t bothered to put on a damn shred of clothing. I waited for it to happen. I waited for the news to break. I waited for the jokes to stop. For the banter to cease. In seconds, they wouldn’t care what happened at practice today. They wouldn�
�t care they were still sweating.
It was as if someone had a bat and started taking swings through the locker room. The rowdy bullshit quieted down as everyone checked their phones.
I saw it. The domino effect was happening.
Dylan’s eyes pinched together. “I hadn’t heard he was sick.”
“Me either.” I was too busy learning plays and winning games. I also didn’t follow the McCade headlines.
“I don’t know if this is good or bad.”
We watched as the others reacted. There weren’t any tears. There weren’t going to be any. We stood in a place the man had built and left to fall down around us. There was anger in the air. It dripped off my teammates just like the sweat did.
I heard someone slam their hand into the wall.
I sat on the bench in front of my locker. I didn’t like change. I never had. I was the kind of man who ate the same thing for breakfast. I ran the same routes around the city every day. I had a favorite white T-shirt, and a favorite black one. I had the same game-day ritual no matter what city we played in. I drank the same Texas beer. Listened to the same stations.
I didn’t like change. I liked consistency. I counted on it.
And this was a big one. The kind of news that had the potential to turn everything on its head. Worse than a sack that knocked the wind out of you for days. This was chaos. The kind of shakeup that could ruin the season. Destroy the team. Pit us against each other in the worst fucking way.
The owner of the Warriors was dead.
2
Vanessa
Two Weeks Later
I sat in the family box every Sunday. I had for the past twenty-six years. Each and every weekend of the entire football season was planned for me. I was either in Warrior Stadium or on the road wherever the team traveled. It never occurred to me that there might be something else I could do with my time on game day. I’d never had the option.
That's what it meant to be a McCade. Football was the family life. The family dynasty. It was what kept us together. At least that’s what we wanted people in this town to think. The McCade bloodline breathed nothing but football.
It ran through our pores, pulsing in our veins as if it kept us alive as oxygen. It was the dominant gene that separated McCades from everyone else.
But all that changed the night my grandfather died. Everything changed with one final heartbeat.
I couldn’t let myself relive those moments. The world was watching me. Waiting to see how I handled the next step as if it was the fourth quarter and the Warriors were down by three. The problem was I wasn’t a quarterback. I wasn’t trained to deal with intense pressure and stress. I didn’t feel like someone had handed me the ball in a well-drawn out play with instructions. Instead, I felt as if I was at the bottom of a pile and the weight of twenty men was crushing the air from my lungs.
I walked into his office. It was the corner room of the executive level in the Warriors’ suite. I remembered when I used to play on the floor as a child. My grandfather didn't want to be bothered with me so he would shoo me into a corner with a box of Warriors’ stationary and tell me to keep quiet during his meetings.
He would leave me there for hours with a collection of pens and pencils. Sometimes one of his secretaries would bring me juice, or check on me when I was left alone. As I grew, the doodles turned to sketches. Over the years, the sketches turned into a portfolio. That portfolio landed me in Texas’s most prestigious school of art. It was ironic how spending time inside the Warriors’ kingdom shaped my true passion. How my grandfather could dismiss it as a little hobby. A small distraction. Something a girl did to occupy her time.
If it wasn’t related to football, it wasn’t important. It was a distraction. It was useless and a waste of time. A silly idea.
I glanced at that corner. It now belonged to me. Everything in this room did.
The Warriors belonged to me.
I took slow steps to the worn wooden desk. Behind it was a wall-size canvas of the last winning championship team the Warriors had ever had. It was dusty on top and the edges were worn. Everything in the room felt dated. Stale. As if the windows had never been opened, or it was locked in some sort of time capsule.
My grandfather liked things that way. He didn’t like progress. He wasn’t the sort of man who evolved and tried new things. He kept them the way they were since the day he bought the team. And now I had to figure out what to do with it next.
What did I know about running a football team? What did I know about running a business?
This day was never supposed to come. There were so many reasons I wasn’t supposed to be the one. It was never supposed to be me.
I was an artist. I had to keep my dreams on a high shelf because they didn't fall in line with the football dynasty my grandfather had created. Maybe if I my half-brother wasn’t an asshole things would be different. He would be the one standing behind the desk right now instead of me. He would know what to do. He would take the reins of the team and lead them to success. To victory. To some sort of championship. But he wasn’t here today. He hadn’t been here for a long time.
Instead, my knees were shaking, my palms were sweaty, and I didn't know what in the hell I was going to do as the only woman running an organization of several hundred men. I needed help, but I had no idea how to ask for it.
I looked up when I heard a sharp knock on the door. "Miss McCade, the waiting room is full of people who need to speak to you. Every single one says it’s important."
I could tell my grandfather's assistant was as nervous and as uncertain as I was.
The first thing I had to do was end this archaic system. "You can call me Vanessa. I'm not as formal as my grandfather was." It was hard to bring myself to speak of him in the past tense. It had only been two weeks since he had died. And it had taken a while for the attorneys to work through the legal matters that put me in this office.
Candy smiled nervously. She had bright blue eyes and a short blond haircut. She didn't look much older than me.
"Ms—I mean Vanessa. Who do you want me to send in first?"
"Well, what are my options?" I had to pray I would recognize the names she listed.
"Coach is here. He was the first to arrive this morning. Then there is the head of marketing. The stadium manager. And even some of the players. You have an audience." Her smile was sympathetic.
“The players?”
She nodded. "Yes. I overheard some of them talking.”
“What about?” I asked.
Candy walked a few steps inside the office and closed the door behind her. I appreciated the extra level of privacy.
“I think they want to talk to you about their positions.” She leaned into the door. I realized she wanted to make sure none of them were aware she was sharing their conversations with me. “Some of them brought their agents. I’m surprised we don’t have a union rep in the lobby.”
I felt my stomach role with uneasiness. I didn’t know anything about dealing with agents, let alone the players. I had met Coach Applewhite several times. My grandfather invited him over for dinner here and there. And he seemed the most genuinely distressed at the memorial service. But he was abrasive, and the kind of man who liked to push people around. I guess he needed that skill as a coach. I didn’t look forward to a meeting with him.
I looked at her for reassurance. “A union rep? They would send one?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not really my area.”
It was ridiculous for me to lean on her right now. I was expecting too much.
“Right. Of course not.” I took a deep breath. “What are the players’ names?”
I knew every single man on the roster. Twenty-six years in the McCade box had taught me that much. I couldn’t help but memorize them. It was an uncanny skill I had. I catalogued names from movies and books. I could tell you the order of kids at my high school graduation. I also remembered the names of the opposing team players. Once I heard the
m, they just stuck.
She looked over her shoulder to survey the lineup as if she could see through the door. “Isaac Price was the first one here."
He was one of the team’s top wide receivers. He was as popular in Austin as Luke Canton, the Warriors’ quarterback. I was slightly relieved she hadn’t mentioned him. He used to be a nightmare.
I twisted my lips together, thinking about the approach my grandfather would take. I tried to play out how he would handle this situation.
Then I did the exact opposite.
“Send Isaac Price in,” I instructed.
I could tell she was surprised by my selection, but I knew it wouldn’t be the last time. I was like a new baby deer trying to get my footing. I was going to stumble and make mistakes. I was in over my head. I had already known that for the last two weeks. I just couldn’t let everyone else figure it out too.
3
Isaac
Since McCade died, the team was in chaos. I saw grown men panic. It did something to me. Someone had to take charge.
I’d seen stuff like this happen before. Ownership changed. Teams were bought and sold. The first one in the door. The first one who had ownership’s ear was the one who pulled the strings. Maybe I was stupid for thinking I could be that person, but someone had to represent the players. Someone had to stick up for the guys on the team.
It might as well be me. We were a brotherhood. It wasn’t the same bond I had with the guys on my Seal team, but there was something that held us together. I think that happened when we bled and sweated together on the field. I wasn’t going to leave them behind without a fight.
Candy walked in front of us, straightening her short skirt and lowering her eyes to the chipped floor. The old man had always liked pretty assistants. He didn't seem to care how young they were. Maybe he thought they camouflaged the rest of the office. She opened her pouty lips.
“Ms. McCade would like to see you, Isaac.”
“What the hell?” Coach roared, his voice echoing off the walls. “I was here at 7 am. I want to have a meeting with her now. I’ve had to wait two weeks for this.” He pressed his index finger into the center of the coffee table, leaving smudge marks.
Candy took a step back, almost tripping on her high heels. I lunged forward thinking she was about to fall and grabbed her by the waist. She laughed nervously. “Thank you, Isaac.”
