Entering the room, Blue reminded herself not to let the fangirl in her spill over. Riley had introduced Sean, Logan, and Gaige when they first arrived. The fact that their wives were with them helped. The women humanized the men, bringing them off their pedestals—just a bit.
But at heart, Blue was a fan. She'd followed Gaige and Sean until they retired. She still watched every game Logan played. They were friendly. Approachable. And drop-dead gorgeous.
Blue wouldn't be human if she didn't get a bit of a thrill standing so close to her heroes.
"Everything is set," Blue said, automatically seeking out Drake. He looked a bit frazzled but strong. "How are you holding up?"
"Good. Really," he said when Blue raised a brow. "These last minutes seem like they're taking forever."
"I was thinking the same thing."
When Drake smiled, his dark hair slicked back, freshly shaven, he looked about sixteen years old. More than ever, Blue wished she could shield him from… everything.
Despite the baby-faced innocence he projected, Drake was a grown man. Strong and—Blue had to believe—capable of facing whatever came his way.
"Just a few more minutes," she assured him.
"May I see you outside?"
Blue started, unaware that Peri stood beside her.
"I'll be right back." Blue signaled for Spencer to follow her.
"Is there a problem?" she asked when the boardroom door shut behind them.
"Vance Sutter's assistant texted me. He's minutes away from sending out an email blast outing Drake."
Before Peri finished, Blue set off at a run. If the elevator hadn't arrived just as she did, she'd been prepared to lose her shoes and sprint up five flights of stairs.
"What the hell does he think he'll accomplish?" Spencer asked.
"He isn't thinking." Elevator or stairs, Blue figured she was faster without the heels. She slipped them off. "Vance is smart enough to understand that in the long run, his actions won't change anything. He's a gnat. But an annoying one. Drake deserves the right to deliver his message in his way. I'm not letting Vance take that from him."
Blue sprinted through the elevator doors. Spencer beat her by a few steps, leading the way into the office at the end of the hall. Head down, Vance typed furiously.
Grabbing the keyboard, Blue tossed it across the room. Vance surged to his feet, fist clenched.
"Goddamned bitch. Everything is your fault."
Vance swung wildly, not even close to hitting Blue. But Spencer wasn't taking any chance. His fist didn't miss.
"Nice shot," Gaige Benson said, strolling into the room. Cool, calm, and collected. The same way he played quarterback for almost twenty years. "We tossed a coin to see who would act as backup. I guess I wasn't needed."
"Too easy," Spencer said, standing over Vance's crumpled, unconscious body. "Do me a favor. Pick the asshole up so I can hit him again."
"Sorry," Gaige chuckled. "But if he makes another move, I won't stand in your way."
Blue looked at the clock.
"The press conference starts in five minutes."
"Your very efficient assistant has things under control," Gaige assured Blue. "Breathe. You've done everything you can. Above and beyond. The rest is out of your hands."
"I like things in my hands," Blue muttered.
"Here." Spencer handed Blue her shoes, happy to let her lean on him as she slid them on. "Listen to the old man."
"Hey," Gaige protested. "Forty-five is the new thirty."
Spencer chuckled, ignoring his friend.
"Ready?" Spencer held out his arm.
"Ready."
Flanked by Spencer on her left and Gaige on her right, Blue and the men took the elevator down to the first floor.
Please, Blue breathed deeply. In and out. Let this work. For herself. For the team. But mostly, for Drake Langston. He'd put his trust in her. She hoped she hadn't let him down.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PEACE AND QUIET. After the whirlwind chaos of the past thirty hours, Blue would never take silence for granted again.
Wrapped in a blanket, and nothing else, Blue stared out the window at the sparkling waters of Lake Washington. The sun had just started to crest the top of Mt. Rainier. As views went, she couldn't think of a more spectacular venue to watch the day begin.
Why would Blue want to be anywhere but here? With Spencer sleeping safe and sound in the bed behind her.
Because having him so near was still a new feeling, Blue glanced over her shoulder—just to be sure. Yup. There he was. Spencer Kraig. Baseball player extraordinaire. Her friend. Her confidant. Her lover. Her hero.
And, quite possibly the best man she'd ever known.
The support Spencer showed Drake. The way he rallied the Cyclones to back their teammate. If she hadn't loved him before, his actions would've pushed her over the edge.
Blue could still see Spencer and the other men standing tall behind Drake during the press conference. Giving the young man their support for the whole world to see.
Drake handled himself admirably. Visibly nervous, he grew stronger with each passing minute. He stood taller. His voice firm. The barrage of flashing lights and overlapping questions threw him—briefly. But he rolled with the punches. Blue wanted to kiss him. Which she did as soon as they were away from prying eyes.
The stadium was packed with supportive fans. Whatever Drake had expected, he seemed stunned by the cheers that greeted him as he took the field. These were the Cyclone faithful. Ready to love their players no matter what.
On the road would be different. A story yet to be told.
Drake told Blue that he believed he made the right choice. That a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was ready to deal with the highs—and lows—of living life on his terms.
"What are you doing over here?" Spencer's arms closed around Blue, his lips nuzzling the side of her neck. "Instead of in bed with me?"
"Look." Blue nodded to where the sun was now in full view.
"Mm. Pretty. But not as pretty as you." Snaking his hand under the blanket, he cupped her breast.
Blue sighed. One magic touch. Turning, she enveloped Spencer under the cover, his hard, naked body better, warmer than the most expensive quilt.
"Somebody's up and ready for action."
"I need to make up for last night. All sleep and no action."
"You earned your rest," Blue assured Spencer, her lips tracing the tasty expanse of his chest. "You sat up all night with Drake. Met the press head on. And to top things off? Played a full nine-inning baseball game, followed by another round of interviews. I don't know how you managed to stay on your feet long enough for me to get you home."
"Sheer will. A hefty dose of determination. And a need to win. Which we did."
On the field and off. In a perfect, big-screen, Technicolor, Hollywood ending, Drake would've hit a home run to win the game. He and the Cyclones had to settle for him going two for four, a run scored, and a stellar defensive play.
Not exactly a fairy tale. But not bad. Not bad at all.
"Drake survived yesterday. The world didn't come to an end. The team didn't implode."
Blue stared into Spencer's eyes. In the morning light, the emerald green glistened bright and pure.
"Can you see October?"
Spencer shook his head. "I can see you. Right now? That's all that matters."
"I love you."
"Thank God." Spencer's kiss made Blue's head spin. "Because if you didn't, the next few moments would be a disaster."
"What—?"
Spencer dropped to one knee.
Blue's hand, the one that wasn't held in Spencer's covered her mouth. Eyes wide, she watched as he produced a ring with a simple platinum band and a square cut stone. Not a sapphire. Or an emerald.
"A diamond," Blue laughed.
Smiling, Spencer shrugged. "Seemed appropriate."
"I love y
ou, Blue. Four years ago, I wasn't ready. But I am now. All in. With all my heart. Will you marry me?"
"I wasn't ready four years ago," Blue echoed Spencer's words with matched sincerity. "But I am now. All in. With all my heart. Yes, I'll marry you."
"Perfect fit," Spencer said, slipping the ring on her finger
Blue sank to her knees and into Spencer's waiting arms.
They'd taken a few detours. Hit more than a few bumps. And come out the other side. Together. Stronger than ever.
A perfect fit indeed.
EPILOGUE
LATE OCTOBER
In all of sports, nothing compared to game seven of the World Series.
Unless the scenario read as follows. Bottom of the ninth. The Cyclones behind by one. Runners on first and third. Spencer Kraig at the plate, the count three balls, and two strikes.
The game, the series—the entire season—was on the line. There was nobody the screaming fans or his nail-biting teammates would rather have up to bat. Yoda. The man with ice water in his veins. Mr. Clutch.
Locked into the moment, Spencer tuned out the screaming voices. He knew what was at stake. That elusive championship. A height few players ever achieved.
Signaling to the umpire for a timeout, Spencer stepped from the batter's box. He wasn't thinking home run. A single would tie the game. Drake was at first; with his speed, he'd likely score on a double.
Just a ball to the gap. That was all they needed.
As he adjusted his batting gloves, Spencer's gaze moved to the crowd on the third-base side. Three rows back. Blue. Wanting to experience every moment, she'd chosen to sit in the stands instead of the owner's box.
Unlike the people around her, she wasn't jumping or yelling. She waited patiently. The look in her eyes telling him that she was there. Always, no matter what.
Just as Spencer was about to turn away, she shouted, her voice magically rising above all others. "What are you waiting for, Kraig? Win the damn game!"
Grinning, Spencer took his stance, raised his bat, and waited. He saw the ball leave the pitcher's hand as if in slow motion. The rotation was clear. The stitching a bright, glowing red. Slider. Middle of the plate. Maybe a little outside.
The hell with a double. That ball had home run written all over it.
Spencer swung for the fences. The crack of the bat told him he got all of it. The crowd rose to their feet. His teammates gathered on the top step of the dugout. As one, they watched as the ball soared.
Going. Going. Gone.
Throwing his arms in the air, Spencer didn't take the usual home run trot. He sprinted. Careful to touch each base. Rounding third, he found Blue. What a sight. She glowed. Screaming her lungs out, hugging strangers, blowing him kisses.
God. He loved that woman.
More than baseball. More than winning. More than anything.
Jumping on home plate, Spencer was swarmed by his teammates. They lifted him onto their shoulders, their jubilation something to behold.
Yes, Blue was the most important thing in his life. But at the moment, a world championship came pretty damn close.
Knowing his Blue, her love for him, and her love of the game, Spencer didn't doubt for a second that she'd understand.
COMING IN JUNE
FOR ANOTHER DAY
ONE STRIKE AWAY BOOK TWO
AFTER THE RAIN
(One Pass Away Book One)
PROLOGUE
LOGAN. LOGAN. LOGAN.
Logan Price closed his eyes, taking it all in.
"Hear that, kid?" Starting quarterback Gaige Benson slapped him on the back. "Two games under your belt and you're a star. Now let's go out there and add super to the front of it."
The announcer for the team set them in motion down the tunnel with his familiar introduction.
"And now, let's hear it for your division champion SEATTLE KNIGHTS."
The roar of the crowd. There was nothing like it. A packed stadium. Fans chanting his name. Few people would ever experience what it was like to take the field in a professional football game.
Logan Price had been working for this his entire life. He could still remember in exact detail the first game he ever saw. Too small to climb onto the stool in his father's bar by himself, his old man had lifted him onto the seat.
Stay and be quiet.
Not an easy order to follow for an active, inquisitive little boy. One look at the game and for once, Logan had no problem following his father's command. The old TV transported him to a foreign world filled with bright lights and shiny helmeted warriors. Logan didn't know what he was watching. He did know he wanted to be one of those men.
A Sunday afternoon in rural Oklahoma. Lefty's Pub was filled with after-church drinkers who figured they had done their duty to God and family. The rest of the day was their time. A beer. Or two. Or six. Cronies who understood a man's need to unwind before the start of another workweek.
And football.
If the Friday night high school game was their true religion, the Sunday afternoon games were a close second. As Oklahoma boys, they hated anything Texas. The men of Denville gathered every week to root for whichever team was playing the Dallas Cowboys.
No matter how the games ended. Whether the crowd was happy or disgruntled. It meant more drinking. Hours later, husbands, boyfriends, and sons would stumble out, pile into beat-up trucks, and weave their way home to frustrated wives, girlfriends, and mothers.
As he grew older, Logan's view changed. He moved from the stool to behind the bar. And he promised himself one thing. He would never become one of those men. He wouldn't spend the week at a job he hated. His home wouldn't be a semi-wide trailer filled with hand-me-down furniture and a wife to whom he couldn't face going home.
His Sundays were going to be spent playing football, not watching it.
"Ready to take down this vaunted Arizona defense?" Gaige yelled at him, butting helmets.
Vaunted. Good word, Logan thought. His QB liked to use what his granny called highfalutin talk. Must have been that Ivy League education. He knew that Gaige Benson didn't grow up with a silver spoon in his mouth. He came from the mean streets of Brooklyn. He had the scars to prove it.
Like Logan, Gaige had vowed to get out of the life into which he was born. In the process, he polished himself up like a new penny. He took advantage of his full-ride scholarship to Yale. He didn't spend all his time on the football field. Fancy vocabulary. Fancy clothes. Fancy women. They were all part of the package Gaige purposefully fashioned for himself.
Seventeen years after clawing his way out of the tenement that he grew up in, very little of that borough-rat remained. Until game time. No one was tougher than Gaige Benson. Three-time league MVP. Considered one of the best ever to play the game. No one stood in his way when he was playing the game. He had the scars to prove it.
"Gather round."
Knights head coach Harry Coleman gathered the team close. He had to yell over the crowd, but he had the voice to do it. Booming was putting it mildly. The first time Logan heard it, he stood right beside the man. The ringing in his ears didn't go away for three days.
"Divisional game. If I have to say any more than that, you shouldn't be out here. Go kick some ass."
The defense took the field to start the game. Arizona had a rookie quarterback drafted in the second round from a small college in the Midwest. The only reason he was out there was because the regular starter suffered a concussion in last week's game and the regular backup had food poisoning. Thrown into action at the last minute, Logan swore he could see the guy’s hands shaking before he took the first snap. When the ball went sailing between his legs, Logan shook his head.
The moment was too big for some people. For Logan, it wasn't big enough. He aimed for the biggest stage of all. The Super Bowl. It wasn't a matter of if he would get there, but when.
"Three and out." Gaige grinned, pulling on his helmet. "Come on, kid. Let's go sho
w them how it's done."
Logan ran onto the field. Kid. He shook his head, grinning. From the first day of training camp, Gaige had hung that moniker on him. Ironic since he was almost twenty-five, a good two years older than most of the other rookies. However, he supposed when someone had been in the league as long as Gaige, all the new guys seemed like kids.
"We're starting on the ground," Gaige instructed them in the huddle. "Sweep out left. Basic. Got it?"
Lining up as he had a thousand other times, Logan checked the defense. He knew he was fast. One of the fastest in the game. What set him apart was his anticipation. He had the uncanny ability to read the guy covering him. He knew when to fake left or when to fake right. Stutter step or flat out, in your face, catch me if you can.
His speed got him out of Denville, Oklahoma. His brains and determination got him to the NFL.
The sounds of the game were as familiar to Logan as the back of his own hand. The call from scrimmage. Each quarterback had his own unique cadence. Gaige was a master of mixing his up. Study him all you want. Good luck figuring it out. His teammates knew. A signal just before they broke the huddle.
Pay attention, you were golden. Slack off even once? Gaige could ream a guy out with the best of them. And he had no problem doing it in the middle of the game.
An entire YouTube channel had been devoted to Gaige and his rants. They were as legendary as the man himself. With a ball in his hand, he was cool as ice. The rest of the time, watch out.
No one would ever accuse Logan of lacking focus. Today was no exception. They were driving down the field. First and ten from the Arizona twenty-yard line. He already had three carries of thirty-five yards. It was going to be a good day.
"Ready to take it in?" Gaige asked.
"Always."
"Then show them what you've got."
A quick snap later, Gaige handed the ball to Logan. The offensive line created a seam. Not a big one. Just big enough. Using the push of his powerful legs, Logan surged through. One more step. They wouldn't catch him. No one could.
For a Little While (One Strike Away Book 1) Page 18
