That’s where we are when the police arrive and he hangs up. Leaving me for a moment, he goes into his room, and uses the dead guy’s phone to make another call.
“CJ? Sorry to bother you but I didn’t know who else to call. Shannon showed up at our vacation cottage, broke in, and Star shot him. Police are coming. Uh-huh. Okay. Thanks. No, I’m calling on Shannon’s phone, mine has no bars. Should we answer their questions? Yeah. Got it.”
“Police!” A woman shouts from downstairs.
“We’re up here.” Jackson exits the bedroom, clasps one of my hands and lifts it.
We raise our other hands, in unison, still sitting on the hallway floor as the police shine their flashlights at us.
Hours later, we’re let go but I’m too wired to sleep. You couldn’t pay me enough money to go back to the lake house.
The police give us the address of a local hotel.
“Thank you.” I shake the captain’s hand.
“Take care and don’t go far. We may have more questions.”
I nod. My poor NFL star. He was just getting his career back on track and I may have ruined everything.
Back in the hotel, a dim yellow light slips over the surrounding green mountains. Outside, traffic sounds in the highway and the small vacation town wakes.
“I can’t sleep.” I pace the tiny space between the bottom of the double bed and the dressers.
No matter how hard I try, my brain keeps going to the moment I pulled the trigger.
Jackson pulls me onto his lap. “I didn’t know you could fire a gun.”
“NRA card carrying member since I was, I don’t know, twelve? We fired rifles in daycamp. In high school, I stayed a member and we learned to shoot other weapons in the range. I haven’t held one for years. I was so afraid…” My voice cracks.
What if I’d missed? What if I hadn’t fired in time?
“The police said you had no choice. You saved me, sweetheart. I was the one with second thoughts. I should never have put the gun down.”
“Why did you?”
“I thought it might be the homeowner or a neighbor. I didn’t see his face until it was too late.”
“I never even thought that way…” The cold creeps back and I shiver.
Would I have pulled the trigger if I hadn’t recognized him? “I have all these voices in my head that keep asking what-ifs.”
“You’re the shrink.” He holds me tight. “Is it normal?”
“Perfectly but it’s so awful. Do you think they’ll come after you again?”
Jackson sighs. “The locals called the Feds. They’ll be here tomorrow to question us.”
I curl up in his arms. “When did you start carrying a gun?”
“When the FBI said that they couldn’t make a case against Shannon. It seems everything was circumstantial. So, I made a few inquiries from my old contacts back home. But, here in Vermont, I let my guard down. I am so sorry, darlin’.”
“Is it over?”
“We’ll make sure. I promise.”
We rest for a while, rehashing the evening until I got nothing more to say. In the morning, we go through it all again with the FBI and the local sheriff.
After the news goes viral, Jackson is on the phone all day doing damage control with the Rams.
Worst vacation ever. What with questioning, paparazzi, and police, I am ready for it to end until I think of him going back to LA and me staying here.
He’s packing his bags when I blurt out, “Can I go, too?”
His brows lift and a smile breaks, lighting up his whole face. “Fuck, yeah!”
He grabs me around my waist, lifts me off my feet, and circles me around and around with his mouth on mine.
I rehearsed my explanation of what changed my mind but he doesn’t ask. He opens his phone and types. “You can be on my flight back.”
“Hold on, I need to pack a few things.”
“You got stuff.” His eyes point to my bathing suit and vacation outfits folded in my not yet closed suitcase.
I laugh. “Fine. But I’ll need to come back for the rest in a few weeks.”
He puts me down and his brows furrow. “What about school?”
“Online classes for a while, then University of Cali.”
“Fucking A.” He pumps a fist then reaches into the bottom of his suitcase, drops onto one knee, and holds forth a fuzzy box.
His dark eyes wait for mine to find his before speaking. “I know you already agreed but I wanted to do this right… You are my Star, my true north, my guiding light. Without you, I would be lost. Marry me?”
He hands me the box, I open it, and gasp. In it is the most beautiful pink solitary diamond I’ve ever seen on a white gold band.
I slip it on my finger, drop to my knees and kiss him with all my heart.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s perfect.”
Chapter 38
The next spring…
Jackson
I love California but Tallahassee will always be my home.
Standing at the front of the altar with my pal Ryan at my side, I wait for Star to walk down the aisle. Kira is at the back of the church, fussing with boutonnieres, veils, and my little nephew’s pillow containing the rings.
Just turned four, he’s probably too young but Star insisted he be in the wedding party. Hell, I got fifteen ushers and Star, nearly as many bridesmaids.
Her mom and dad made it here last night and even her sister came but without her husband. She wasn’t going to come until I sent her the damn plane tickets. Some things families need to make time for.
I wanted a small wedding but the Ram’s PR person had other ideas. His photographer snaps picture after picture while a videographer records everything.
Ryan chuckles. “What a circus.”
“Right? I should’ve eloped.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I shoot my eyes to the back of the church. “When I asked, Star told my mom, who told my aunts and grandmother and… Well, let’s just say, I never heard the end of it.”
The organ sounds and everyone settles down except me. Can I do this? Marry her without fucking it up? For a moment, I want to run down the aisle and nix the whole thing.
Then, her pretty blue eyes catch mine. She smiles and her mouth opens, shaping the words, I-love-you.
I say it back pressing my hands to my heart, thinking back to the first time she said it over the phone and hung up.
The wedding march sounds, the girls in matching pastels proceed, and my heart is so damn big, it may fucking explode.
My beautiful love’s face beams under a filmy veil with tiny rhinestone sparkles. Her blond hair has one pink stripe in her bangs. The rest is all pulled back with pins, flowers and a crown.
Hell, I don’t know much about brides but pretty damn sure none ever looked more beautiful. The dress is low cut in the front, making a heart that ends at the waist. The rest flows around her perfect hips with a long length of fabric dragging behind.
My mouth goes dry as she greets me and I get lost in her gaze.
I can’t believe after this, she’s mine forever.
This is one thing I won’t fuck up.
The priest says some stuff, but I don’t hear anything. I’m in the zone, totally focused on her. Nothing else exists but me and her.
Ryan taps my shoulder, I grab the ring, and place it on her finger. Shaking, I repeat the vows, my eyes lost in hers.
She’s so amazing, my eyes tear and I wipe one away with the palm of my hand. Fuck me. How the hell did I get so lucky? A soft palm cups my beard and then together, we light a candle.
One of Star’s friends sings about flying like an eagle, my preacher says the final blessing, and like magic, that’s it.
We’re mister and missus.
The zone lifts when I take her hand to my heart and kiss her soft painted lips. “I love you, Mrs. Jackson Farnsworth.”
“I love you, too.” She grins and together we walk dow
n the aisle to start our journey.
The picture taking lasts for hours because not only do we have our own photographer, but the Rams sent theirs as well. When we’re done posing in the church, we’re sent to the reception where I finally get to have a beer and a bite to eat.
Ryan grabs a plate of pasta then sits at the head table with me while my bride takes a powder.
“Sorry about the Super Bowl.” His championship ring flashes on his right hand.
“Next year, if they let me on the field, it’ll be a different story.” I slap him on the back. “You played a damn fine game.”
“I only clocked in about five minutes.”
“Put you ahead, pal. That’s all it takes.” I clunk my beer bottle to his and lean against the bar as the appetizers are passed through the crowd of around three hundred folks.
I stop a waiter who hands me some shrimp on a stick.
Chewing, I reminisce. “It hardly seems real, both of us married. Only yesterday we were sitting at the pool, swearing off women forever.”
He chuckles. “Must’ve been something in the water… How’s Star adjusting to LA?”
“She loves her new school and classes. Busy as hell. Hardly misses me when I’m gone.”
His head shakes back and forth. “Ever figure we’d both make it into the NFL?”
Chuckling, I take another bite of fish. “I had my doubts, especially during those last minutes of the draft. When the owner called me, I almost shit myself.”
“They had you on camera. That’s exactly what it looked like.” He holds his arm out for his wife who kisses him then me on the cheek.
Kira grins, looking lovely in her bridesmaid dress. “How y’all doin’?”
“Good, good, just reminiscing.”
“Great wedding.” She punches Ryan. “I told you we didn’t need a football-themed wedding.”
He shrugs then leans into me. “The stadium shaped cake? That was my idea.”
“And the green table clothes with the field lines and the football shaped balloons. Don’t you think it was over the top, Jackson?”
“I’m not touching that. What’re you drinking?”
“One of those?” She points to our bottles, I motion him over, and order two more as Star approaches.
“Hi guys. What’s up?” She takes a long drought from the bitter beer. “Oh my God, I needed that.”
Kira tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, her face goes serious, and she lowers her voice. “Have you guys heard any more from the Vegas syndicate?”
When Star pales, I take the ball. “On or off the record?”
The newly made journalist pouts. “Fine. Off.”
In my mind’s eye, I see the gun pointed at my head, hear the shot, and remember thinking I was dead. I pull Star closer, my arm resting on the silk covering her hip.
“As far as we know, Shannon was working alone. After he was arrested, apparently his pals didn’t want anything more to do with him. They blamed him for opening up the inquiry that lost them some pretty sweet deals and in turn, he accused me of turning him in.”
“So, there’s no contract out on your life?”
I point across the room. “I hired us a couple of bodyguards, just in case.”
“Shit. Isn’t that expensive?” Ryan looks across the room where I point out a couple guys chatting by the door, their eyes darting about the room.
“Tax deductible.” Even though I shrug it off, I hate that we may forever need to look over our shoulders.
“We have another tax deduction, too.” Star beams, realizes how it sounds, and blushes. “Not that kind. I still have to finish school. Jackson started a martial arts school and hired his teacher, along with a couple of black belts he started out with.”
She looks so fucking proud, I shake my head. “It was her idea.”
My pal nods. “Great idea. You never know…”
The lights flicker and Star grabs my hand. “Dinner. We need to make a grand entrance. This way.”
The whole wedding party walks toward another door while the rest pile into the main dining area with the large dance floor. While I wait for the deejay to announce us, I thank God for my good fortune and that night in the cabin.
“Let’s give a round of applause for Mr. and Mrs. Jackson Farnsworth!” The deejay opens the door.
I take her small hand, we walk into the ballroom, and wave at our friends. The band slows and we take our first dance together as man and wife.
I sing lyrics into her ear with her tucked close. “Honey, you, are my shining Star, don’t you go away…”
Eyes shining with joy lift to mine and when she kisses me, everyone else fades.
Ryan was right. Life can end in the blink of an eye. Whatever will be, will be, even football. I may not always be an NFL star but will never lose mine.
From the Author!
Hi Luvs,
How can you not like these Pitbulls? Oh my God, and we’re just getting started!
Did you read the first in the series, Misconduct? If not, I’m sure you’ll like Ryan and Kira, download here.
If you want to learn more about CJ Quinn, turn the page.
Want more hot and sexy bodyguards? The Bushwick Series should be right up your alley.
I hope you read and enjoy them all!!!
I love hearing from you! Look me up on Facebook!
MWAH and God Bless,
Stella
Busted Play
CJ Quinn
Fuck this knee.
The doctors told me it would be good as new and yet after a couple weeks, I’m not convinced. Dammit all. If I don’t get back on the field soon, there’s no way my contract is going to get renewed. I need to get a whole lot better, a whole lot faster.
Stan, my manager-trainer is at the front desk, arguing about insurance. I told him I needed better care than this God-forsaken hole-in-the-wall but he insists it’s the best place in the city.
And that young woman who just came in the door? She’d better not be my physical therapist. She’s obviously slept in those clothes, her hair is wet, and there’s dark circles under her eyes. That’s hardly the professional that I need to get me back in the game.
She shakes hands with Stan and puts her long blond hair into a pony tail. Then staring down at a tablet, heads my way. Under that coat, she’s probably shapely but it’s hard to tell. One thing’s for sure, those cute features, pouty lips, and thick lashes are better suited for a model.
I’m not blind. I like the way her jeans hug her tight ass and I’m sure I’d enjoy her in bed but that’s not what I’m looking for. There’s no way in hell she’s tough enough to get me in shape.
“Hello Mr. Quinn.” She holds out her hand as if she thinks I’m going to shake it.
When I stare into the space behind her head, she drops her arm back down, cheeks red. I don’t mean to be rude but this isn’t going to work out.
Stan hasn’t left yet so I jump off the table, grab my cane, and pull him aside. “What the fuck! I told you I wanted to be one hundred percent before next season. What the hell is that?” I point to the girl. “I need a real physical therapist, not a fucking Barbie.”
He eyes me like I’m a piece of shit. “You’re lucky to have her. Lucky to have anything at all. You screwed up big time.”
His attitude is totally uncalled for. “Hey. I wasn’t found guilty of anything. I’m the victim here.”
“Shit, CJ. You were in a car with a minor. The press has taken ahold of it and made you look like a rapist. Have you seen any fans lately? Any tweets that sing your praises? Now go make nice while I make sure your bills get paid.”
Dammit. I could’ve sworn on a stack of bibles that the woman in the bar that night was in her mid-twenties. I made one bad decision. I got into a car with a beautiful stranger who wanted a quick lay. I was just being a good guy, happy to accommodate but I’ll get it all sorted out. I have to. Otherwise all my dreams are down the shitter.
While I’m deep in thos
e unhappy thoughts, Stan swivels on his heel and slams the door to let me know how pissed off he is. At least for now, I guess I’ll have to make nice with Barbie here.
My right knee hurts like a mother-fucker as I hobble back to where she’s standing. Even though she heard the whole interaction, I have to give her credit. She doesn’t seem the least bit phased. Instead of giving me lip, she takes my cane, puts it in a corner, and then points to the therapy table.
“Sit.”
Today is going to be a big fucking waste of time. Paper crunches under my butt when I hop up and cross my arms over my chest.
“Lie back.” The pretty blond removes her coat and hangs it up in a closet.
Then while I stare at the tin ceiling, she pulls my sweats up, pokes at my bum knee, which makes the tendons burn like hell.
“Next time, come in shorts. It’s easier.” Her blond brows furrow, lifting my leg as if it weighs nothing at all.
“There isn’t going to be a next time.” I send her my perfected glower as she pushes my thigh into my chest.
That fucking hurts. “Enough!” I twist my leg out of her grasp.
She stares coldly, voice condescending. “Ten more times. You count.”
I do as she commands, feeling a bit childish but if she makes my injury worse, I swear I will fucking sue this place.
Once done with that torture, she turns to the treadmill, sets a too-fast pace, and says, “Walk.”
I stare incredulously at the timer. I can’t believe this little bitch. Who does she think she is? Without my cane, that’s impossible. After sixty agonizing seconds, when she’s not looking, I reach to slow it down.
Of course, she’s watching and slaps my hand. “Leave it, Mr. Quinn. Concentrate. Work on your gait. Tuck in your abs. You’re walking like a duck.”
Blow it out your ass, Barbie.
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