by Nana Malone
Dax
Nana Malone
Sankofa Girl
Contents
BACK COVER
Complimentary Download
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Thank You
Complimentary Download
Nana Malone Reading List
About Nana Malone
To Naa Ardua for having the courage to go after your dreams.
BACK COVER
Money, power, prestige…trouble. Dax Coulter is The Player.
Forget prodigal son, forget black sheep. Most of the Coulter family would just as soon disown Dax for his bad boy, womanizing ways. But, with his career in jeopardy and the Coulter legacy on the line, he needs to turn it all around. Too bad the one person who can help him, has legs for miles, curves for days…and is his best friend’s little sister. For once he can focus on the game and not on her body, right?
Asha Wix is used to following all the rules. And with a family like hers that isn’t easy. To succeed, she needs to eat, breathe, and sleep football. But when she’s given the chance to change the reputation of league bad boy, Dax Coulter, she sees a chance to shine. Too bad, the sexy bad boy has her thinking about breaking all the rules.
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Prologue
Dax Coulter fidgeted in his seat, loosening his tie as his agent fielded calls. His mother placed a hand on his shoulder, a sign for him to stop and sit still. How the hell did she expect him to be calm? This was his future. And he was about to let everyone down.
His father sat across the room next to his grandfather, who was loudly ranting on and on. The old man was furious, and he wanted everyone to know about it. Dax had to give props to his dad, though; he'd managed to keep Gramps mostly off his back.
Nerves had never been Dax's problem. But it was the third day of the draft, and no one had expected they would still be sitting there. No one except himself, that was. Was it okay that in some weird way he didn't want to be drafted?
He rolled his shoulders and tried to relax. He hadn't slept a lot in the last few weeks. This weekend could make or break his career, and the closer it got, the sicker he felt.
He had this recurring nightmare where he went undrafted, and his grandfather forced him to go door-to-door, begging team owners one by one to sign him. Only to have them slam every door in his face.
Who are you kidding? You did this to yourself.
As Gramps had said all along, the Coulter name would only carry Dax so far. His family was the stuff of legends—sports mags, even. And it had always been clear that he didn't measure up.
Rory Coulter, his grandfather, had been magic on the football field and at the Olympics. His grandmother Serina was an Olympic icon. His father a basketball and baseball star. His mother a dancer. And don’t even get him started on his siblings. He was the bad apple.
The agent hung up the phone and they all quieted down, waiting to hear what news he had.
"Okay, nothing official yet, but what I'm hearing is it's gotten down to Pittsburgh and Dallas. It'll probably be this round. Dallas picks before Pittsburgh, so we should know what they've decided between them, based on what Dallas does." Vic was using his professional, cautiously optimistic voice.
"Well, obviously if Dallas doesn't pick him—" Gramps started, but quickly shut up when Grams smacked his arm.
Dax’s father asked, "Do we know what each team's concerns are? Maybe there's something we can do to help reassure them."
"It doesn't matter what their concerns are. Anything can be fixed," Dax’s mother Julia spoke up. "What matters is that he gets signed. And one of them will sign you," she said, reassuring Dax with a smile.
Bile rose in his throat and he turned away, unwilling to watch his grandfather roll his eyes one more time. Gramps's disgust was more than apparent with his sneer.
"We know what they want from him and what has them worried, and it's the same answer for both questions," Gramps said. "The name. They want the Coulter name and what it can bring the team. But it's also what they're worried about. He's going to get noticed no matter where he goes, and the team that takes him is going to want him to be noticed for the right things. Good luck with that. Dax can put up decent numbers if he really wants to, but he's got to show up first. How many games did he sit out last season? And everyone knows it wasn't because he was injured. Injuries heal. Injuries you can bounce back from, but reputations…"
"Okay then, I think I've had enough." Dax stood abruptly, crossing the hotel room to the minibar, but his twin sister Echo intercepted him.
"Bryce called. He and Tami cut their practice short so they could stream the draft," she said. She raised her voice in an attempt to drown out the sound of their grandfather's constant stream of criticism. "They wanted me to wish you luck."
"Yeah, well, you don't need luck when you've got the Coulter legacy propping you up, right?" Dax muttered. Sure, he covered with humor, but he really wished his big brother was here. They didn't always get along, but Bryce was the only one who'd understand the pressure.
Half an hour later, Dax and his agent were down in the main hall with the other prospects, their agents, and parents. They all watched the teams' representatives crossing to the microphone to announce their selections.
The Dallas representative crossed and announced their pick. Some random guy, not Dax. Did you really expect it to be? The large defensive lineman crossed the stage to shake hands with his new team and pose for photos holding a Cowboys jersey up in front of his suit.
"Must be Pittsburgh," his agent leaned over to whisper.
Dax just nodded. If he were honest, he'd been hoping it would be Pittsburgh. Maybe it might shut the old man up if he proved he was good enough. But the other possibility was that they might take him just because of his grandfather's history with the team. Dax had to admit there was a part of him that hoped it would make his grandfather proud to see the Coulter name on the back of a black-and-gold jersey again. The team would undoubtedly promote the connection every chance they got. And let's face it, that was what he knew would make Gramps the happiest.
The old man had been increasingly irritable since retiring from Legacy Sports, the family's sports-equipment retail franchise. The great Rory Coulter needed to be seen. To feel relevant. What better way was there for the old man to live vicariously than through the only one of his grandchildren to follow him into football?
The Pittsburgh rep crossed the stage, and Dax wiped his palms on his pants. He closed his eyes and dragged in deep breaths as he listened for his name. Any second now…
It didn't come. Fuck. He gritted his teeth, but he clapped for the lucky player whose name had been tacked onto the back of the jersey moments before. He recognized the guy, a defensive tackle, from a few match-ups they'd had over their college careers. Dax had evaded the guy's grasp every time they'd gone head-to-head.
During the brief break before the next team took the stage, Dax gl
anced back toward the area where his family members were sitting. Echo was massaging her temple. No doubt picking up on his stress. His mother's frown deepened. His father patted her knee. They didn't notice him watching them. He was familiar enough with the looks on their faces to know what they meant.
Gramps, however, looked…happy. There was a smug, I-told-you-so smile on his dour face that told Dax everything he needed to know. As far as his grandfather was concerned, the Steelers were his team, and Dax didn't make the cut.
He slumped farther into his seat, his eyes pointed at the stage and his ears blocking out everything that wasn't his own name. He'd fucked up. And now it would cost him everything.
It finally came. In the fifth round, the Jacksonville Thrashers announced that they had selected Dax Coulter. His agent nudged him to his feet, and in a daze, Dax made his way to the stage and shook his new boss's hand. He was given a blue jersey with his name emblazoned on a strip and adhered to the back with Velcro. Cameras flashed, and he plastered a smile on his face.
He'd just been drafted by the league's worst team.
One
Asha Wix forced herself to sit perfectly still in her seat. There was no way the big brass would take her seriously if she looked like a twitchy kid. Be poised. Be perfect. Her father's words rang in her head.
Yeah, but do you even want this job?
Yes, she wanted the job. Well, a job in sports marketing. It didn't matter that football wasn't really her love. It was her brother Damon's love and the only way to get their father's attention. So football was her love by default, as well. And if she could convince these guys, then Jacksonville would officially be her home.
"Miss Wix, your resume is outstanding."
She tilted up her chin. "Thank you. I've had sports marketing internships since I was sixteen."
"For those internships, were you in the promotions arm?"
She knew what he was asking, what the assumption was. That because of her looks, and her age, the only things she knew about sports marketing was how to wear the tiny shorts and low cut tops, and convince drunken revelers to buy swag and alcohol they didn't need. "No. I've always worked in the front office. Probably the one with the most weight would be when I was assistant to Terry Mansfield with the Ravens the summer I turned eighteen. That's the real meat of my experience."
Terry had been amazing. She'd seen a kindred spirit in Asha. Taught her everything she knew. Number one lesson: Balls of steel. Number two lesson: Never let them see you sweat. Number three lesson: Never, ever, under penalty of losing your feminist card, get involved with anyone in the franchise. Not anyone in the front office, not the players, no one. It would follow her around the rest of her career.
Well, that wasn't hard. She didn't date. Like, ever. Sure, every once in a while she'd go out, but she had a goal, a vision. And sleeping with pompous, knuckleheaded football players didn't fit into that vision.
"I have to tell you, Asha, that the sample marketing plan looks outstanding, and with your connections, you could make a great home here at Jacksonville."
She narrowed her gaze. "My connections?"
"Sure. Your brother just went second round to the Patriots. The great Damon Wix. And of course, there’s your father's influence with the owners. You have the connections this franchise is looking for. You'll be a terrific asset."
She pursed her lips. Breathe, breathe. She'd been afraid of this. This was not the first franchise to make the same assumptions. Pushing herself to her feet, she closed her binder. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, but I am my own person. I'm not bringing my connections with me. Yes, I have my brother, and to some extent my father, but I'm not going to use them to do my job. I am very good at what I do. You either take me alone, or you hire someone else." She held her breath as she walked to the door. She wasn't settling for less than she deserved. Not anymore. As her hand clasped the doorknob, her interviewer spoke up.
"Wait." When Asha paused, he continued. "You're willing to walk away from this job?"
She turned slowly. "I know what I'm worth, and I don't have to settle." Now if only she could say that to her father.
He studied her, nodding slowly. "You, Miss Wix, are exactly what the franchise needs."
She smiled. "I'm glad you see it that way."
"When can you start?"
Two
"You guys sucked out there!" Coach Moore yelled at everyone in the locker room, as they trickled in from the field. "How many times did we go over that route in practice, huh?" he screamed in Bleday's face. "I know it was at least a hundred! Maybe next time, we make it a thousand! And you!" He leaned into Dax's face now. "Do you need me to coat your hands in glue so you won't drop the ball?"
Dax flushed. He knew he should have had that ball. But he'd looked away to make sure Samuels was still blocking him, and in that fraction of a second, the ball had slipped through his hands. He should have been focused on his job. Fuck. But in practice, the guy wasn't fast enough. Dax had been wide open, and would have been able to run it for a touchdown. Instead they'd been forced to punt it away, and that was where their special teams unit had failed. The loss wasn't entirely his fault, but he had contributed to it, and everyone knew it. Shit, as far as he was concerned, it was his fault.
"I guess it wouldn't hurt if you did," Dax muttered. He should have shut the fuck up, but he was incapable when someone was in his face. He always rose to the occasion. Dax the Dick, at your service.
"You think this is funny? Do you?" Moore had been about to move on to the kicker who'd missed three field goals in the second half alone, but instead, he turned back to Dax. "For that, you're in early every day this week, working with the medicine ball until your arms feel like they're going to fall off. If you drop another pass like that during a game, I'm pulling you out!"
Dax rose to his feet and turned away from Coach, pulling his pads off and tossing them into his locker.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To get a head start on those medicine ball workouts," he called over his shoulder as he grabbed his towel and headed to the showers without being dismissed.
He could hear the Coach fuming and yelling at the rest of his teammates, but he knew it wasn't up to the guy whether or not he was traded to another team. On the other hand, if the rumors he'd heard were true, it was Coach Moore who had to watch out.
Dax relaxed under the hot water of the shower, luxuriating in the fact that he had the room to himself for a change—no one else would dare to storm out on Coach the way he just had.
It would work out all right, though. At least, he hoped. The media were always begging the brass for post-game interviews with him, and the fact that he would be cleaned up first only made it easier for them to get what they wanted...which was what the Powers-That-Be upstairs wanted, too.
He'd been told as much when he was signing his final contracts. They'd chosen him for the name. And while they were pleased with his college performance, they needed someone who would draw fans to the stadium and put asses in the seats. People would show up to watch a Coulter. They'd either see a flash of the remarkable talent he supposedly possessed, or they'd see a flash of something equally entertaining. Dax often wondered if anyone would notice if he had one of his brothers stand in for him. If all they wanted was a Coulter, surely any one of them would do. Right?
Of course there was also the possibility that he might get traded. There were plenty of people hoping he would be. From the coaching staff, to management, to the players. Hell, even his own family was waiting for him to screw up.
He loved them, but he was so tired of hearing, Bryce this, and Bryce that, the biggest one of all right now being Bryce's upcoming wedding. If Dax had thought Bryce's injury and subsequent rebirth to repeated glory would take some of the pressure off of him, he’d been all wrong.
Meeting Tami while recovering had transformed his brother from the revered oldest son to the epitome of the perfect child, complete with the high achieving
, athletic, and talented wife-to-be, whose Cinderella story enchanted the media. Honestly, the whole thing made him want to barf. He liked Tami. A lot, actually. And he was happy his brother could do what he loved again. Hell, all he'd ever wanted was for Bryce to notice him. But perfect child, he was not. And hearing about how perfect Bryce was all the time was a downer.
Once Bryce recovered, Dax was back to being the screwup, the brother whose exploits brought shame to the family's impeccable reputation. A pox on the Coulter clan.
As far as he was concerned, he'd tried repeatedly to live up to his family's expectations—but failed. Every single time. Though to be completely honest, they were his grandfather's expectations—not everyone's.
Bryce had shown an early passion for tennis, which was easier in some ways. But he and his twin sister Echo were more inclined to their grandfather's dual passions: running and football. It was running that Gramps had turned to during the off-season in those early years playing football. And it was running that took him to the Olympics, where he’d met their grandmother.
Echo came out of the womb running, so Dax took up football. He'd shown an aptitude to all sports, but he wanted his family to be proud of him—scratch that, wanted his grandfather to be proud—so it was football or nothing.
Echo made him and everyone else proud—she had been running in marathons since she was sixteen, and had finished in the top five in each of the last ten she'd run. She was a shoo-in for representing the US at the next Olympic games, and each year she inched closer to being the first American woman to win the Boston Marathon since the 1980s.
Dax…had been less successful. Maybe he'd blown some opportunities. And yes, maybe he was a little spoiled. As teenager, he'd invited the comparisons between himself and his grandfather. He hadn't realized then that doing so, bringing his grandfather back to the spotlight in conjunction with himself, would allow Gramps to criticize every play he made, or worse, missed.
