Forgiving the Football Player

by Emma St Clair

  Forgiving the Football Player

  A Bad Boy Sweet Romance

  Emma St. Clair

  Copyright © 2020 by Emma St. Clair

  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.

  contact: emma@emmastclair.com

  Contents

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  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

  Epilogue

  What to Read Next

  A Note from Emma

  Acknowledgments

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  Chapter One

  Pax hated every mile of the drive from Dallas to Katy, especially at Christmas. He couldn’t stand the farm pastures flashing by the window, broken up only by the occasional town. He didn’t like constant construction and the inevitable bumper-to-bumper traffic it caused. And he especially hated that every mile took him closer to what he used to call home.

  If it weren’t for his coach’s threats, he wouldn’t be going back to Katy at all. But no, his behavior on the football field apparently warranted penance off the field.

  Fines for personal fouls? He didn’t mind paying them. Unlike many of the guys who played pro, Pax had barely touched his signing bonus, much less his yearly income. He could take the hits.

  But having to do charity work for good PR? That was a punishment.

  The conversation kept replaying in his head as he drove.

  “You’re an embarrassment to this franchise,” Coach Davis had shouted last night, his wide face red and dripping with sweat. “We’re the all-American, good guy team—except for you. You are single-handedly tanking our brand. I don’t even care about PR. We pay Lawrence for that. And believe me, Lawrence owns you for the next few weeks. But if I’m having to get in your face about this, it’s bad.”

  “I’m not fighting.”

  “No, you’re just horse collaring and low blocking and roughing the passer—” Coach had been counting on his fingers but stopped. “Do you need me to go on?”

  “I remember.”

  “Go home. Lawrence is setting up interviews and all your very favorite things. Focus on that charity you started. Do some good.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  Pax thought he’d been so careful. No one had publicly connected him to Wheels Up. The thought had made him shift in his seat, a single bead of sweat trailing slowly down his spine. What else did they know about me?

  “It’s my job. Why you don’t ever talk about that, I’ll never understand. But I’ve stopped trying to understand you. This is it, Pax. End of the line. Straighten up or you’ll be out of Dallas next season. Good as you are, you’re a liability. I can’t promise anyone else will pick you up.”

  Ending his football career wouldn’t be the worst thing. The game got him to college, out of the home he never wanted to return to. More than a guy like Pax could normally hope for, coming from a broken home and a single mom struggling with addiction. Football had already saved him. If he continued to live frugally, he could stop now and never work again. Maybe that would be for the best. Out of the spotlight that unfortunately came with the job.

  Then his life would be quiet. Which would leave him with only his demons. No, he couldn’t leave yet. Only the physical force of the game and his intense schedule kept them at bay.

  Right now though, alone in the cab of his truck as he neared home, he could feel the way his past reached for him. Like the road even remembered him and was calling him back. His regrets stirred up, thick and dust-choked. But as powerful as they had been six years ago.

  His hands began to shake, and Pax clutched the wheel tighter. Had it gotten hotter in here? He punched down the AC until cold air skimmed over the stubble on his cheeks.

  He hadn’t been back to Katy in three years. He came for a funeral, but he hadn’t even stayed overnight. Just showed up at the church to show his respects to the twins’ parents, killed in a freak car accident. He had hugged Elton and Easton, gone back to their parents’ house, which was now theirs, and then hightailed it back to Dallas. Didn’t even call his mom and sister, neither of whom had shown up for the funeral.

  Why would they? His mom had probably been chasing a high. And Jazz did her very best to pretend like Pax didn’t exist. She was too much younger to know the twins anyway. His mom should have been there. Once upon a time, Elton and Easton’s mom had been a friend. And like everyone else who tried to help her, Pax included, she pushed her away.

  He had left her an angry voicemail then, telling her she should have been there. This time, Pax wouldn’t be calling. He needed to talk to Lawrence and find out just how long his sentence was, how long he’d need to serve time in Katy.

  For now, he needed a place to stay. And some form of release. Because the demons of his past were growing louder the closer he got to home.

  Pax activated the Bluetooth on his steering wheel. “Call Elton.” His voice sounded gravelly. Pax hadn’t spoken in two and a half hours. No talking. No music. Just the hum of the road and the deep rumble of his RAM’s engine. And the demons. Always the demons.

  The sound of ringing came over the speakers. Then a lot of music and background noise that sounded like a bar. Pax knew exactly where Elton was by the sound. Not a bar—a barn.

  The anger and frustration and guilt that had been growing with every mile buzzed over his skin. He could almost taste it, bitter and metallic like blood in his mouth.

  “Pax, my man! Does this call mean what I think it does?” Elton’s voice boomed over the line, drowning out the background noise.

  “Any action tonight?”

  “Don’t tell me the prodigal pro football star has returned!” He paused. “Are you really in Katy?”

  “Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

  Elton laughed long and hard. “Well, how about that. Homecoming king has come home. I’m always good for action, man. It’s Saturday night, so we’ve got a crowd. Coming to watch or …?” He trailed off, voice sounding hopeful.

  Pax didn’t answer at first. Instead he ran his tongue over his teeth, weighing the rest of the night out in his mind. His muscles twitched, his hands aching to connect with something. Anything.

  “No cameras. No phones,” he said.

  There was a whoop so loud over the speakers that Pax cringed. The speaker muffled a little, like Elton had put his hand over the phone. “Easton, your favorite right hook’s on the phone. Set it up.” The background noise dropped, which meant Elton had walked into another room. “Glad to have you back. Now, you know we can’t assure that about the cameras, Pax. Even grandmas have smartphones these days.”

  “You’ve got a lot of grandmas coming to your fights these days?”

  Elton sighed. “You know what I mean. I’ll try, but …”

  “You can, and you will. If you want me to step into the ring. I can’t
have any more bad press right now. I’ll lose my spot.”

  Elton was quiet for a moment. “Fifty-fifty split?”

  “No split. House keeps it all. Merry Christmas. And I might need to crash with y’all. You got room?” Pax hated the way his accent had crept back into his voice, like it had to sync up with Elton’s drawl.

  “Merry Christmas to me, indeed! You’ve always got a place here with us, brother. You know that.”

  “See you in fifteen.”

  “You’re making my year. Be ready, man.”

  “Always.” Pax pushed the button on his steering wheel that would disconnect the call.

  It had nothing to do with the knot in his throat. That’s what Pax told himself. He never liked talking on the phone while driving, even with the fancy Bluetooth that his truck had.

  Before long, Paxton found himself on the twins’ old farm road. Though the area was a lot more developed than it used to be, Pax kept his speed down. Every so often you might run across a tractor going fifteen miles per hour or a loose cow wandering across the road.

  Elton and Easton’s property looked the same, though the farm next to it had been turned into a gated community. A big brick wall bordered the property now with signs out front advertising lake views and a community pool. Pax almost missed the turn onto their gravel drive. The sun had lowered behind him, and darkness shrouded the road. Their mailbox, shaped like a giant alligator, had faded to a moss color rather than the bright green he remembered.

  Other subtle changes hit him as his truck bumped over the gravel drive. The house had a fresh coat of paint and the wraparound porch didn’t look like it was falling off the house now. A few hanging beds and porch swings had been installed. Elton would have suggested and bought them, but Easton would have been the one to install them. Or maybe Easton built them.

  Something was missing, but it took Pax a moment to realize that it was the roses. The twins’ mom grew them all up around the sides of the porch. He’d never seen such roses. Guess they didn’t grow without her touch. Or maybe the twins simply forgot about things like watering after she died. The loss hit him in the gut, a softer blow than it had been three years ago when their parents died, but still. The twins’ parents had been like his second family. Often, he’d wished they were his real family.

  Two parents, not a single mom and a deadbeat dad. Brothers who understood him instead of a half sister who, even back then, resented Pax. Even without the roses, this driveway felt more like home than the new place his mom had moved to a few years after Pax left.

  All the lights were on inside the house, but only once he passed the house did he start to see signs of life. Cars lined either side of the long drive leading past the house and back to the barn, where a bouncer stood by the door. Pax pulled right up to the side of the big gray barn and parked between two cars that couldn’t have been more opposite, just like the brothers who owned them.

  The 1950s Ford truck had to be Easton. Needed a paint job, but Pax would have put money on the fact that if he looked under the hood, he’d see a totally rebuilt, top-of-the-line engine. On the other side, a shiny black Hummer looked completely out of place. It was all Elton with his smooth words and larger-than-life personality. No one could accuse Elton of getting lost in a crowd.

  That said, it took Pax a few minutes to realize El wasn’t anywhere in the packed barn. The bouncer must have known Pax, because he only nodded and stepped aside. No one else seemed to recognize him, maybe because of the baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Or maybe because no one expected Paxton, strong-side linebacker for the Texas Rebels, to be in an underground fight club in a barn out in Katy, Texas. The whole setup of a fighting ring was unexpected, but the twins’ older brother had started it back in the day. Clearly, it was going strong. Stronger, even.

  Walking through the noise and smoke felt like walking into both a time warp and twilight zone. Six years ago, this barn actually housed horses, their tack, and the twins’ bedrooms.

  Normally, living in a barn would sound like a punishment or some kind of joke. But Elton and Easton’s rooms were something out of an HGTV show: each bedroom was a double stall with a queen-sized bed, built-in surround sound, and flat screens hung on the wall. Every guy’s perfect dream. And right across from their horses, which wasn’t every guy’s dream, but definitely had been the twins’. Pax wondered if they still had horses. Didn’t look that way, but it was hard to see with all the bodies.

  Pax moved through the crowd toward Elton’s old bedroom, which he guessed was now his office. A good bet. When Pax opened the door, El was leaning back in a leather office chair with a pair of shiny red cowboy boots up on the desk. He was on the phone but threw it down and climbed right over the desk to throw his arms around Pax. He smelled of new leather and money.

  “My brother! I cannot believe you are here. Heard you got exiled.”

  Pax pounded Elton’s back hard enough to end the hug quickly. “Something like that.”

  Elton quieted and ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw. That was new. Last time Pax saw the twins, they still didn’t need to shave. El had expanded from the skinny kid he’d been, even three years ago. His wide shoulders and biceps strained against his shirt sleeves. Though in his own mind, El had been a big man back in high school.

  Elton shook his head, which seemed to work like a reset button. The wide, bright grin reappeared. Had he gotten his teeth whitened? They almost seemed to glow in the dim light. “Well, you look terrible. And you’ll look worse in half an hour. You think you’re ready for this? No helmets or pads here, tough guy.”

  “Don’t need ’em.”

  “Yeah? I don’t know. You seem like you’ve gotten mighty used to losing.”

  Before Pax could answer, someone called from the doorway. “Actually, they won their last game.”

  Pax turned at the sound of Easton’s voice, so much quieter than his brother’s and almost drowned out by the sound of the crowd in the main part of the barn. Easton stood leaning against the jamb. If Elton had filled out, Easton looked to have shrunk. His cheeks were too prominent, collarbone jutting out of his flannel shirt, and his eyes had a haunted look that Pax recognized. If he wasn’t sick, he was hurting.

  “Pax.”

  He swallowed, then nodded, unable to find anything more to say than, “E.”

  Luckily, Elton never lacked something to say. “Yeah, yeah. Win one after losing a bunch. I won’t call that a streak. You ready, Pax? You’re the second fight.”

  “Yep.”

  “Speaking of,” Easton said. “They’re getting restless out there. We should get started. It’s late.”

  Elton waved a hand and gave a devilish grin. “Late means more time for betting.” But he darted out the door past Easton, who did not move out of the way. His eyes met Pax’s again, the blue in them looking almost washed out. He had the look of an old, soft T-shirt, worn so often that the fabric thinned.

  “You doin alright, Pax?”

  “About as good as you’d expect.”

  Easton jerked his head for Pax to follow him. He slipped like a shadow through the throng of people in the wide-open area of the barn. Getting a good look around now answered Pax’s question about the horses. The stalls were gone. Other than the boys’ old bedrooms, the other stalls and tack room had been taken out, leaving a fairly large open space. Even the hay loft looked to have been altered, so it only took up a small part, leaving the main part of the room open up to the ceiling.

  The “ring” was nothing more than a spray-painted circle on the dusty cement floor. Easton stopped just outside the circle, his muddy boots right up on that line. Pax stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him as Elton’s voice came over the speakers. There was a slight echo and the hum of feedback.

  “Gentlemen! Or should I just say, men!” The room erupted, and Pax felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. In another life, Elton would have been the ringmaster in a circus. Though, really, that’s what this was. The Katy Fight Club version.
And Pax would be one of the dancing bears.

  “We’ve got two matches for you folks tonight! And believe me when I say you won’t want to miss either one. But especially not fight number two. Trust me. You’ll want to stay. This will be one to talk about for the years to come.”

  The crowd cheered, and Elton flashed that white smile again, his arm spread wide. “Betting for match two will open after the first fight. And we’ll have a few more special rules.” He wiggled his eyebrows, as though giving people rules was something they would like. Voices shouted, and hands lifted beers.

  Throughout the first fight, Pax didn’t move, other than when he and E had to shove the two opponents back into the circle. Apparently, acting as the cage for the fight was part of the draw. There were a few women, all on the arm of someone, but the crowd was mostly men. A lot of boots and belt buckles, but the more buttoned-up suburban crowd had showed. Old Katy alongside New Katy. That was something different. Pax tried to focus on the fight so he wouldn’t have to see the bloodlust displayed in the faces of spectators around him.

  Fighting? That, Pax understood. He knew what to watch for and how to read his opponent’s body. Instinctively he knew when to hold back and just when to push, how to launch a vicious attack to throw his opponent off guard. Part came from instinct and part from experience.

  What he did not understand was how people could stand to watch two men beat each other severely. This wasn’t boxing with rules and a ref. It wasn’t football with its fines for unsportsmanlike conduct. This was brutal and primal. Cheering, placing money—it made his stomach churn.