Brett watched her sleep. How could she have gotten even more beautiful than she’d been before? Madi looked like an angel, her long, blonde lashes touching her cheeks. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes, letting sleep take him too.
Brett awoke to his own screams as he threw himself upright on the bed. He was drenched in sweat, and his heart felt like it was coming out of his ribcage. He tried to calm himself as he turned to Madi who just looked up at him, her hand to her chest.
“Are you alright?” he asked. She just nodded, shaken. “I’m sorry. I had a bad dream.”
He tried to reorient himself with his surroundings. He’d been back in the McLaren as the big truck had collided with it. He could feel the twisting metal, the momentum swinging them around, and heard the crushing sound of the car… Viscous, crimson red liquid covered him in a blanket of sticky warmth. Everything had been in slow motion.
“It’s ok, I did too. I wasn’t sure at first which one of us was screaming.” Madi looked around, sniffing as Brett slowed his breathing and took her hands. “I don’t want to stay here, Brett.” Her eyes were deep pits of emotion.
He simply nodded and jumped up off the bed. “Ok, grab what you need and get dressed. We’ll go to my place.”
Madi yawned as they headed down the road. Brett’s house was an old, colonial-style house about 20 minutes from Madi’s. It was a beautiful, three-story white beast with at least a dozen bedrooms and half a dozen bathrooms on a solid twenty acres of land. Brett had always wanted acreage and horses and privacy, and when he’d found it, he knew he was home. It was traditional with a few modern niceties—new stainless-steel kitchen appliances and countertops as well as a new stove hood and backsplash. The architecture was what he’d fallen in love with so he’d tried to keep to the original wallpaper and furnishings as much as possible—the hand-carved wooden bannisters and rustic fireplace, the original wooden floors, the crown molding and huge back porch. Madi had also loved the house. She was a sucker for old houses, and his had been built in 1891. He’d had a lot of work on his hands to begin with, but he’d hired a terrific contractor; within eight months, he was moving in.
When they pulled up into the gated drive, he punched the code into the keypad and glanced over at Madi as the gates slowly swung open. Her head leaned against the window, her knees drawn into her chest. He smiled to himself and drove down the long driveway to his large, farm house. He sighed, feeling grateful to be home for the first time in days. Once he was parked in the garage, he came around to Madi’s side and scooped her up. She stirred as her head hit his shoulder and was out again.
Brett opened the door and shuffled inside, turning off the alarm and pushing the door shut with his leg. He carried her up the staircase and to his bed, pulled off her shoes, and tucked her in.
He walked back over to the monitor and reset the house alarm. Then he took the big recliner across from the bed and pulled the lever, readjusting himself as his feet went up. He just sat watching Madi for the longest time until he finally closed his eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
Madi awoke to the light of the sun in her eyes and Brett watching her from the recliner. She blinked several times then stretched and sat up, pulling the comforter from her legs. Brett stood and walked over to her.
“You ok?” he asked.
She nodded. Her eyes felt itchy and sore from crying and a lack of adequate sleep; she was sure there were dark circles beneath them. “Just numb.”
He sat down on the bed next to her and rubbed her knee through her flannel PJs. “I know. It’s gonna be like that for a while though. Just remember, one day at a time.” She nodded. “Want some coffee?” Again, she nodded. “Ok, let’s go.”
Brett took her hand as he led them downstairs and into his bright, yellow kitchen. He began making coffee as Madi turned the house alarm off and grabbed a fleece blanket from the living room, stepping out onto the covered back porch. She wrapped it around her shoulders and picked her usual spot, in a wooden rocking chair in the middle of the expansive wrap-around porch, looking out on the dense fog rolling along the dewy green pasture.
Once the coffee was made, Brett brought two mugs out and joined her in the rocking chair next to hers. They sipped their hot coffee in silence as they watched the sun peak over the distant crest of the Blue Ridge mountains, their breath and mugs steaming in the cold chill of the morning. Brett’s horses, Bandit and Senora, grazed near the fence closest to the porch, the haze of morning fog floating behind them. It was a beautiful, peaceful morning with various birds chirping to them from nearby oak trees overhanging the property.
At any other time, Madi would smile and feel rejuvenated to be here on one of her favorite pieces of land—Brett’s 20-acre estate. She might even look over to her best friend and recommend they go riding, take a picnic lunch, and just enjoy the day—especially after the torrential downpour yesterday. But that wouldn’t be the case. Her heart felt hollow, her mind numb, and her soul ripped apart by the sudden death of her husband.
She and Hunter had been happy together. They’d had an instant attraction when Brett introduced them after practice one day. Hunt had been funny, cocky, and handsome. Following Brett’s rejection that night after the frat party in college, she’d needed the confidence boost Hunter had given her. He’d asked her out almost immediately, and she’d been helpless to his spell. Barely a year later, he asked her to marry him; not long after they’d finished college and he’d been drafted to the Broncos, they’d gotten a dream wedding in Ireland. Within six months, he’d been traded to her father’s team. Jerry Taylor had pulled lots of strings and given up two key players in order to get Hunt.
Tears streamed Madison’s face as she recalled all the wonderful memories, the joy of Hunter’s induction into the Gladiators, and how well Hunter had fit into the family. Then her stomach burned with anxiety at the thought of going back to the complex without him; it literally jumped up into her ribcage.
“I’m gonna be sick,” she murmured and thrust her coffee at Brett. He took it as she threw the blanket off her shoulders, ran to the porch railing, and hurled the contents of her stomach over the side.
She felt a hand come to her back; Brett’s palm comforted her, rubbing up and down. His deep voice penetrated her panic-stricken brain. “Shh, calm your breathing. You’re ok. Just breathe, Madi. Breathe.”
Was she breathing? She wasn’t sure. She attempted to pull air into her lungs, but they burned. Her heart hammered and her mind reeled. She feared she would pass out. The grief was all-consuming as she attempted to block out the fear, but it was no use. Her ears began to ring; collapse was inevitable as darkness rimmed her vision.
“Brett…” she whimpered even as his big hands came to her face and cupped it.
He would be the last thing she saw—the man she’d always loved—as the blackness took her and she fell.
TWO WEEKS LATER
“Madi, I said to get up!” Brett thundered, snapping the lights on. “Now, dammit! This has gone on long enough.”
“Piss off, Brett,” Madi whined and turned over in her king-sized sleigh bed.
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, little girl,” he muttered sarcastically.
“Why? Why do you come in here and bother me? I’m sleeping. Can’t you—?” she stopped talking as he literally ripped the covers from her frame.
“Up! I’m not saying it again, or I’m stripping your ass naked. You’re taking a damn shower. You stink, Madi.” He planted his hands on his hips, glaring down at her.
“I’m grieving,” she screamed up at him. Her golden-blonde hair was a tangled mess, her PJs were rumpled, and her eyes were puffy.
“Yeah, well, I’ll be damned if I let you follow him to the grave. Now get up, and get in the shower!” he roared.
She’d been practically bed-ridden for close to a week now, and he wasn’t gonna allow her to wallow in pity any longer. They were going to Cancun; he was taking her to Linc’s beach house for some much-needed sun
.
She sat up, crossing her arms over her chest. “Make me.”
Ha! Brett grabbed her even as she screamed and fought him. He lifted her and threw her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing more than a bag of potatoes. She continued to wail like he was murdering her as he moved into the master bathroom and stepped into the oversized, stone-tiled shower. He sat her down and gripped her wrists as he turned the water onto hot, stepping just out of reach of the three showerheads.
Madi screamed again as the downpour hit her still-clothed body. The water splashed onto Brett too, but he didn’t care; his sweat-soaked gym clothes were about to go into the washing machine anyway.
He’d been patient, allowing Madi time to grieve the loss of Hunter, but she was bordering on clinical depression now. Soon, she’d need medication, therapy, or both, and he couldn’t continue to watch her health decline. She’d thrown the medications back at him, refusing help when he offered to take her to see a psychiatrist, and had shut herself in her room. She wouldn’t eat, lost weight, and slept for much longer than was humanly necessary. Now it was time to act.
She began to scratch at the hand holding her wrist and lunged for the door, but Brett was far stronger and much, much bigger. She wouldn’t be escaping him, even if he had to hold her down and bathe her himself. She shoved at him even as he stepped closer, soaking his clothes in the process.
“Stop it, Madi,” he murmured, pulling her into his chest as her fists pummeled his pecs.
She sobbed in pain, anguish, and grief as he stroked her now-wet hair and cooed to her. He comforted her as best he could, all the while drenching his clothes in the shower. After a time, she finally looked up, and he gave her a soft smile.
“You have to take care of yourself, baby. Eat, shower, and come out of the damn house. You can’t just die along with him. I can’t lose you, too.” He fought the emotions rising in him.
“I miss him so much, Brett.” Her voice broke, and he cradled her head back to his chest, stroking her hair and back once more.
“I do too, Madi. So much.” It was true, even if Hunter had been married to the woman Brett had been in love with for as long as he could remember. “But we have to go on without him. Both of us do. We simply have to find a way to keep going. Starving yourself and wallowing in depression isn’t going to cut it, Madi. You need help, honey. Let me help you.”
She looked up at him, fear darkening her Caribbean blue-green eyes, and he gulped. She looked down at herself, her trim frame pounds lighter and small enough to cause concern. She lifted her shirt, looking down at her thin belly, and Brett could have sworn aloud. She wasn’t emaciated by any means, but her healthy body looked hungry. He blamed himself.
Amelia had come by two days ago and threatened to have Madi committed into psychiatric care if she didn’t get out of bed. Brett told her to give him by the weekend. Madi was still eating and drinking, and he swore he’d get her up and showered…and out of the house. He hadn’t told Amelia his plans to take her to Mexico. But he believed it was for the best. This house was making things worse for Madison.
“Do you need me to bathe you?” he asked in all seriousness. He knew it wouldn’t be easy for him to see her fully naked and be able to control his arousal, but he would do whatever needed to be done to get the woman he loved back to reality.
Again, those eyes bore into his, and she finally shook her head. “No. I…I’ll bathe. I—”
“Alright. I’ll step out and give you some privacy, then.” He nodded and released her, closing the shower door behind him as he stepped out. “Take your pajamas off and hand them over. I’m gonna go start a load of clothes.”
He turned his back to the glass shower door and lowered his eyes, for there was a large mirror in front of him behind the vanity. He wouldn’t have been able to see her despite that since he towered over her by almost a foot, but still, Brett McFadden was a gentleman and would never disrespect Madison, no matter what.
She did as he asked, and when she opened the shower door, he grabbed her soaking wet clothes and moved to the sink to wring them out.
“I’ll give you a little time to collect yourself. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.”
“Wh-where are we going?” Madi asked, apprehension filling her voice.
“I’m getting you out of this house. And well fed today. So dress warm. No arguments. Or I’m taking you to your mom’s, and you know what she’ll do.” Brett couldn’t fight the gruffness of his voice.
He didn’t want to admit how worried he was, or that he’d allowed this to get as out of hand as it had, but he’d never dealt with death before. Not a death like this, anyway; so unexpected and someone so young, a man in the prime of his life. Brett knew grieving took time, but he also hadn’t realized how little Madi was eating or how much she’d shut him and her family out, even though he hadn’t left her side for more than a few hours these last two weeks.
He’d wanted to give her privacy to grieve, and he’d needed his own. They’d spent last week watching TV, reading, or walking the property when they weren’t sitting around attempting to rein in their heartache. He’d spent the night with her every night last week until leaving her bed last Saturday night; he hadn’t offered to return. It had been difficult to do, seeing as he’d gotten used to being in her bed, smelling her hair as he buried his nose into it, feeling her curvy body pressed into his own. He’d awoken every morning to the familiar stiffness between his legs and fought hard to hide it from her, even knowing she had to feel it digging into her hip more often than not. Having her so close made his desire for her worse than it had ever been, and he’d had to relieve himself in the shower on multiple occasions.
But he’d left her bed as much for his own reprieve as to give her time to get used to life without Hunter. Brett had feared Sunday night would bring a panic-stricken Madi to his own bed; he’d left the door open, but much to his surprise, she hadn’t shown up. The selfish side of him wanted to be disappointed, but he knew it was what was best. If they continued to sleep in the same bed together, he’d end up taking her, and right now, their grief consumed them and would destroy any future plans he might have for a relationship with her. No, Madison needed time to heal from the death of her husband. Having sex with Brett would only complicate her feelings—and might drive her away from him. Brett had to be patient, and he would be….as he always had been. It was his greedy cock that couldn’t wait.
He walked down the wooden steps of Madi and Hunter’s immaculate eight-bedroom home, careful to hold Madi’s soaking clothes against his body to prevent dripping. He entered the laundry room that could’ve fit a decent number of his teammates inside. He peeled his own clothes off and turned the dial to the washing machine, poured in some detergent, and started a load. He was naked and walking back up the stairs, noticing that despite the design—soft earthy tones and pictures of Madi and Hunter, her family, Brett, his teammates, and their other friends—how sterile and stark the house felt. Perhaps it was because it was devoid of Hunter’s constant laughter, the noise of their get-togethers, and the happiness that familiarity always invoked. It could simply be that the house was quieter than it had ever been or because there was more sadness filling up the space than it’d ever known.
Brett hopped into the guest room shower and did so quickly. He brushed his teeth, dressed in a blue Henley and jeans, threw some gel in his hair, and sprayed a fair amount of his cologne on. He was always amazed at the amount of clothes he’d always had here. When he wasn’t at his own home or on the field, he was here, at Madi and Hunter’s…well, just Madi’s now. It was so strange, and he didn’t know if he’d ever get used to it. Despite his love for Madison Hope Thomas, he missed his other best friend more than he ever imagined he possibly could.
Brett and Hunter met their sophomore year in college, at UGA, where they played football together. One day he was chumming it up with the charismatic wide receiver, the next the bastard was dating the woman of Brett’s dreams. And Brett
could say nothing, for he’d never had the guts to tell Madi how he felt and by the time he’d finally gotten up the nerve to do so, it’d been too late.
Madi had been drawn to Hunter, like everyone else—hell, like Brett had been too. Hunter was like a flashlight in the darkest night; there was something about him that people just flocked to. His humor had been genuine, his smile bright, his aura all-consuming. He’d been one of those people that no one could dislike, it simply wasn’t possible. And Brett soon found himself being the third wheel, constantly. Although Madi and Hunter had never made him feel that way, it was still what he’d been. The forgotten best friend, the unrequited lover, the man who suffered in silence while the woman he loved gave her heart away to another.
Now Brett was the man left to pick up the pieces of that woman’s heart. And he was to blame for Hunter’s death. Brett wondered again if he would ever stop having nightmares of that day, ever stop reliving the fear, pain, and loss he felt as his best friend died in the bed next to him.
The flashback hit him again, a memory as sharp as the day it happened:
“You have to swear to me, Brett. Swear,” Hunter rasped, his voice strained, as it became increasingly difficult for him to breathe. Brett could hardly hear him over the incessant beeping of the machines around him. Hunt’s bloody, battered body lay atop a gurney in the trauma room of the ER. Brett sat next to him in a chair that was much too small for his big frame, Hunt holding his hand like it was his lifeline instead of the IV tubing running into his arm.
FALSE START (Gods of the Gridiron Book 2) Page 3
