After The Fire (One Pass Away Book 3) (7 page)

“I want to stay.”

Gaige felt a surge of hope.

“Then stay.” Gaige stopped himself from pushing. Instead, he
dangled a little incentive. “Have you ever been to a professional football
game?”

“No.”

“Thursday’s game is a sellout. But if you stick around, I
might be able to dig up a ticket.”

Violet laughed. It was a sound he remembered well. Happy. It
sent a warm feeling through his body.

“Bribery?”

“Are you susceptible?”

She seemed to consider it. “Morally, I’m opposed. But…”

“But?”

“I really want to see that game. You’ve corrupted me, Gaige.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Except himself. Mentally, Gaige was
giving himself a high-five. “A little corruption is good for the soul.”

Violet looked skeptical. “Isn’t it a slippery slope?”

Her eyes were so expressive. Gaige could have looked at them
all day. At the moment, he could see that she was teasing. What would he see
after their first kiss? Would he know if she wanted more? Would her arousal be
there for him to see—words unnecessary? Gaige couldn’t wait to find out.

“Something tells me that your soul can withstand a little
tarnish.”

“Ah. I see.” Violet shook her head. “You think I’m the good
girl who never colors outside the lines.”

“I think I don’t know you at all. But I want to, Violet. If
you’ll give me a chance.”

It seemed right that when Gaige touched her, it would be by
taking her hand. So many memories were tied to that little gesture. Again, her
eyes told him everything. She felt it. The connection. It was still there.

“Is it that easy?” she asked, looking at their joined hands.
“I have so much to say, Gaige. So much to tell you. So much to explain. You
might change your mind.”

“I’ve waited a long time, Violet.”

“We both have.”

Gaige shrugged. “I want this.” His fingers tightened. “Is it
too much, too soon if I tell you that?”

“Sixteen years.” She sighed. “We aren’t kids anymore. But we
aren’t old, either. I want to rush and slow down—all at once. Hurry up, damn
it. So much time has been wasted.”

“Easy off,” he continued her line of reasoning. “We don’t
know each other. Take the time to discover where we’ve been and where we want
to go.”

“
And
,” she said, her eyes serious, “ we need to find
out if we want to go there together.”

Gaige knew his answer.
Stay with me
. That was it. The
beginning and the end of his feelings. Love? No. Not yet. But he knew in his
heart that it wouldn’t take much for that emotion to take root and grow. A
little encouragement. Some heat. And a steady diet of honesty and
communication.

Believing in love was surprisingly easy. He knew the ugly
side. His parents were still together—living out a sick pantomime of the
emotion. Gaige didn’t visit. His only contact was with his mother. Sporadic
phone calls that always followed the same pattern. A happy greeting that
deteriorated into tears and recriminations.

His longtime agent told him to change his number. Walter
wanted him to finish the job and completely cut her from his life. But Gaige
couldn’t bring himself to do it. He refused to listen to her tirades, hanging
up the second she started. The ungrateful son routine had long ago lost its
bite. Gaige paid their rent and each month deposited a set amount into their
bank account. He did it for her, and her alone.

Love could be ugly. Unhealthy. But it could also be
beautiful and fulfilling. Gaige witnessed it every day—through his friends. It
was
possible to maintain a long and happy marriage. Terrance and his wife were a
shining example. Mutual respect and friendship. They
liked
each other.
At the end of a long and difficult day, all Terrance wanted was his Dil.

That’s what Gaige wanted. He was tired of going home to an
empty house. Tired of waking up alone. But he would never marry for
companionship. He could get a dog for that. He wanted a lover. A friend.

Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted Violet. He wanted her
sixteen years ago, and nothing had changed. But he didn’t want to push too hard
and make her run for the hills. So he kept that bit of information to himself.
For now.

“Stay. At least until Friday.”

“Friday.” Violet clinked her glass against his. In a flash,
her eyes turned from serious to teasing. “What are the chances you’ll win on
Thursday?”

“Nothing is a sure thing.”

“But?”

“Just for you, I’ll do my damnedest.”

“WHAT DO YOU think?”

“Impressive,” Violet said. “I didn’t think practice would be
very interesting, but it’s a bit like choreography, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never thought of it like that.” Riley Preston crossed
her arms, considering the men on the field. “They aren’t the most graceful
bunch I’ve ever seen, but I get what you’re talking about. The plays are
designed with the utmost care. The team practices to get the steps just right.”

“But on occasion, they find the need to improvise,” Claire
Thornton added.

These were Gaige’s friends. But in only a couple of days,
Violet believed they could be her friends as well.

Perhaps she was more of a snob than she realized, but Violet
was surprised by the diversity of Gaige’s inner circle. The football players
were a given. He spent the majority of his time with them. It made sense that
his closest buddies would be his teammates.

Without a cheat sheet, or any hint from Gaige, Violet
decided that Sean McBride was his best friend. Occasionally they spoke in a
shorthand she couldn’t decipher. Football references and personal ones—inside
jokes that only close friends would be privy to. They had shared a field and
each other’s lives for over eight years. They had an ease, a comfort, that
Violet couldn’t help but envy. She didn’t have anyone in her life like that.
And she had no one to blame but herself.

She chose to keep people out. Gaige chose to draw them
close. It was a small group. They looked to him for advice and support. And
Violet could tell that there wasn’t anything they wouldn’t do for him.

Claire and Riley added the diversity. They were connected by
football, but each was interesting and accomplished in her own right. Smart and
independent, they were exactly the kind of women Violet admired.

“What’s it like to own a football team?”

They were seated in the owner’s box, drinking lemonade and
eating big, juicy hamburgers prepared by the team’s personal chef. According to
Gaige, he was a new addition—brought on by Riley. The snacks in the locker room
had improved immensely.

They had a bird’s-eye view of the field while sitting in
climate-controlled luxury. It was raining on the players—Violet, Riley, and
Claire were warm and bone dry.

“Until quite recently, I was an owner in name only. My
father ran the team.”

Claire snorted. “Sorry. It’s just the term
ran the team
,
is debatable.”

“Violet is too polite to ask, so I’ll explain.” Riley popped
a French fry into her mouth. “If it had been up to my father, he would have run
the Knights into the ground. He drafted poorly. Occasionally a good player,
like Sean or Logan Price would slip through. But he did his best to keep this
team mediocre.”

“Gaige pulled them up to good, by his talent and sheer will,”
Claire explained. “He and a handful of others are the reason they made it to
the playoffs all those years. Most years, this team was held together by
chewing gum and kite string. Gaige tried his heart out, but they didn’t have
the talent to get to the Super Bowl.”

“But this year is different. It has to be.”

Violet could hear the absolute conviction in Riley’s
voice—plus something more.

“Why?”

Riley hesitated, exchanging glances with Claire.

“Time rolls on,” Claire finally answered. “There’s a small
window for any team. Gaige and Sean have been at this a long time. Logan could
play for another ten years. Or,” she swallowed, her eyes shadowing over, “his
knee could give out on him.”

Gaige had shared the story with her. This was Logan Price’s
first year back after sustaining a career-ending knee injury. Claire had helped
him regain his dream. And the two had fallen in love along the way.

“It’s an unfortunate part of the game. Logan is in great
shape, Claire. Hell, Sean and Gaige are just as likely to sustain an injury as
he is.”

Violet didn’t know how Riley could be so calm—her words so
matter of fact.

“Sean is your fiancé. Are you scared every time he takes the
field?”

“Scared?” Riley shook her head. “My grandfather loved this
game. He taught me everything I know. It was my passion before I met Sean. I
learned to take injuries in a philosophical way.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, hell yes, she’s scared. But she hides it really
well.”

Riley laughed, sticking her tongue out at Claire. “Busted.
It’s easier when you aren’t in love with one of the players. I keep my worries
to myself, though. Sean doesn’t need me reminding him of something he knows too
well.”

“Gaige has been lucky, hasn’t he?”

“Gaige is a God,” Riley and Claire said simultaneously.

They burst out laughing, Violet joining them. The
conversation moved on to the latest movies, Claire and Riley invited Violet to
join them for a matinee before tomorrow’s game. Agreeing, Violet looked out at
the field. It was a strange and interesting world that Gaige lived in. She
wondered if she would fit in.

“I’ll say one thing, Gaige.” Sean slung a sweaty, mud-caked arm
over his shoulder. “Your taste in women has improved.”

“Violet is gorgeous,” Logan agreed. “And smart. Damn,
Benson. A doctor? She’s too good for you.”

Gaige took the ribbing in stride. Locker room chatter ranged
from mild to bawdy to triple x rated. Women were a favorite topic. But
girlfriends, fiancées, and wives were off limits for the hardcore stuff. It was
an unwritten law. A player only broke it once. Gaige saw to that.

“I’ll admit; Violet is a special woman. But you make it
sound like I’ve been hanging around with slags and prostitutes.”

“Well…”

“Fuck you, McBride.” Gaige gave Sean a friendly push.

Sean and Logan’s words followed him to the shower, echoed by
other teammates. Gaige laughed. It felt good. His friends realized that Violet
was different, and they acted accordingly. Living life as part of a football
team could seem strange from the outside. But this was his normal.

He stood under the shower head, letting the hot water wash
away the sweat and dirt. Gaige looked at the bruise on his ribs, touching it
gingerly. Not bad. The soreness was almost gone. There was no lingering
stiffness, and his throwing motion hadn’t been affected. All was a go for
tomorrow night’s game.

Gaige’s favorite thing to do on the night before a home game
was to stay at home. Sometimes he ordered in, sometimes he cooked. His
repertoire was limited, but what he did, he did well.

Tonight, he would show his home to Violet. He wouldn’t ask
her to stay. It felt too soon. Hell, they hadn’t kissed. Not yet. It felt good
to take things slowly. A little old-fashioned. To him, it meant they had time.
He wanted Violet’s time. A lot of it. The faster he moved, the sooner decisions
would need to be made. The past still loomed. But not tonight.

Gaige had until Friday. And he planned on making every
second count.

VIOLET LOVED EVERYTHING about Seattle. It felt like another
world compared to New York. Greener. Lush. She didn’t know if all the coffee
references were fact or fiction, but the people didn’t seem to be hopped up on
a perpetual influx of caffeine. They moved at a normal pace. Spoke in even,
easily understood tones. They were friendly and welcoming.

“I can see why you like it here,” Violet said over her
shoulder.

“I love the view.” Gaige handed her a glass of white wine. “The
second I saw it I knew this was the place I’d been looking for.”

Violet took a sip and smiled. It was the Sauvignon Blanc
made by Karla’s boyfriend. The one she mentioned in passing. The fact that he
made a point of buying it made her feel special—cared for.

“I meant Seattle in general, but I see what you mean. Lake
Washington is beautiful. Are you ever tempted to walk down the beach and borrow
a cup of sugar from Bill Gates?”

“The impulse hasn’t hit me.” Gaige stood next to her, their
shoulders brushing. “Next time I’m low I’ll consider it.”

“Does that happen often? Finding yourself low on sugar?”

“Only when I’m in the middle of a cake-baking marathon.”

Violet’s lips twitched, but she held back her smile. “What’s
your specialty?”

“Triple-layer devil’s food.” He took her hand and led her to
the kitchen. “Ta da.”

Violet’s mouth fell open. Gaige was holding a cake, covered
with creamy chocolate frosting. She looked at the cake, then at him. Her eyes
narrowed.

“You baked that?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“No.”

“Smart woman. My cleaning lady is a pastry wiz.” Gaige set
the cake under a glass dome. “But I did place the order with you in mind.”

“How did you know that chocolate is my favorite?”

“You told me.” When she frowned, he added, “It was a long
time ago.”

“I can’t believe you remembered.”

Gaige opened the oven. The lasagna smelled otherworldly
good. Closing her eyes, Violet took a deep breath.

“We can eat in half an hour.” He pulled the casserole from
the oven. “This needs to rest before we cut it.”

“Devil’s food cake aside, I’m impressed. You play
professional football. You cook. You have green eyes.”

Gaige leaned closer until his eyes, and the rest of him,
were only inches away. He chuckled. “Is that last one important?”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

He was so handsome. Violet didn’t consider herself a shallow
person, but damn, looking at Gaige was fast becoming one of her favorite
pastimes. She couldn’t resist. Closing the distance between them, she lightly
brushed her lips against his.

She heard Gaige suck in his breath.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“It was a little kiss.” Violet’s heart beat faster. “I
planned on this happening. Didn’t you?”

“A kiss?” Gaige nodded. Those brilliant green eyes glowed
like emerald fire. “It can lead to more. A lot more. Are you ready for that?”

She wanted to shout,
hell yes.
Instead, she hit the
ball back into his court.

“Are you?”

“I don’t know,” Gaige smiled. “Surprised?”

“A little. You have a, how should I put this, bit of a
reputation. Sex isn’t a problem, is it?”

“Sex? No.” He took her hand. “This wouldn’t be sex, Violet.”

“What would it be?” She held her breath, waiting for his
answer.

“I don’t know. But until I do—until we both do—I want to
wait. Is that okay?”

Violet’s heart rate slowed. She felt a calm wash over her.
She was fine that Gaige was a player. His past had nothing to do with her. But
to hear those words—to know he meant them—touched her deeply.

“Are you any good at it?”

“What. Waiting? Not really.”

Violet shook her head, a teasing smile lighting up her face.
“Are you any good at the sex stuff?”

“Oh.” Gaige returned her smile. “Modesty prevents me from
going into detail. Are you?”

“Fair question.” Violet sighed. “I used to think so. I like
sex. Really.”

“I believe you. And may I say, thank God.”

“I agree. But lately, I’m starting to think that my pilot
light has gone out.”

“No heat in the bedroom?”

“Not even a spark.”

“Aw,” Gaige gathered her into his arms. “I appreciate that
you aren’t one of those women who automatically puts the blame on her partner.
But as a man, I have to admit a lot of us don’t know the proper way to handle a
woman’s… equipment.”

“My equipment is in cold storage.” Violet chuckled. “Enough
of the bad metaphors. I like sex, but not lately. End of story.”

“Honey,” Gaige brushed back her hair, his eyes warm, his
expression tender. “I can promise you. This isn’t the end. It’s only the
beginning.”

“WELCOME TO THURSDAY night football.”

“I’m confused.” Violet took her seat in the stands next to
Riley and Claire. “When did Thursday become a thing? I thought the NFL owned
Sunday and rented Monday. Now they’ve commandeered Thursday?”

“It’s money, honey.” Riley handed her a large diet coke. “If
it were possible, football would never rest.”

“But those big bodies need a few days off.” Claire handed
out her cache of hotdogs—loaded with everything—and plenty of napkins. This is
game thirteen. Seventeen if you count pre-season. The number of aches and pains
are growing. Seattle is lucky. Unlike a lot of teams, they don’t have any major
injuries to their starters.”

Violet took a bite of her hotdog. Looking around, she took
in the atmosphere of a packed stadium filled with rabid fans. It was a new
experience. And she didn’t want to miss a second of it.

When Riley informed her that they were sitting in the
stands, she had been surprised. She had expected to view the game from the
luxurious owner’s box.

“We like to experience the game with other fans,” Riley had
explained. She pointed to the glass-enclosed boxes. “The eye in the sky is
corporate—a place where business deals get done between downs. If you’re a real
fan, which we are,
this
is the place to be on game day.”

Violet had no idea what it would be like, but as the stands
filled and the energy rose, she understood exactly what Riley meant.

“This is crazy,” she said, the volume of her voice rising. “I’ve
never seen—or heard—anything like it.”

The people around them were the true meaning of fans.
Fanatics. They wore team jerseys under team jackets. Some of them painted their
faces the team colors. The stands were a sea of blue and gold. Violet felt a
little underdressed in a Knights’ scarf and baseball cap.

“The noise never quits,” Claire yelled back. “There will
come a point when you can’t hear yourself think.”

“When will that be?” Violet thought she was already there.

“Right about… now.”

Violet felt it first. The rise in excitement. In unison, the
fans began to bounce to a mysterious rhythm. Then she heard the music blast
through the stadium speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The announcer sounded like he was
standing right next to her. “Are you on your feet?”

Violet jumped when everyone shouted, “
YES
!”

“Are you ready to make some noise?”

Her eyes widened.
Make
some noise?
What did he
call this
? Violet’s question was immediately answered. The noise grew from
a steady rumble to a roar. She looked around. In unison, the fans bounced to
the rhythm of the music, swaying from side to side. There was a building
anticipation in their vibrating bodies.

It was fascinating. Violet felt like an anthropologist
plopped down in the middle of a culture of which she had no prior knowledge.
She couldn’t quite grasp the phenomenon surrounding her. She turned to ask
Riley and Claire what all the fuss was about. What she saw made her grin. Her
new friends had morphed from normal women into shouting lunatics.

Violet shrugged. Maybe you had to be born to it. She enjoyed
the spectacle, but she didn’t think she would ever understand the over-the-top
excitement that surrounded her.

Five minutes into the game, Violet changed her tune.

“Did you see that?” she screamed, jumping up and down and
clutching at Riley’s arm. “Gaige threw the ball halfway down the field. Fifty
yards! Oh my God. It was perfect. Perfect!”

Riley and Claire exchanged knowing glances. They had another
convert on their hands. Once football was in one’s blood, it was like the best
drug ever. Heady. Life changing. And thoroughly addictive. There was no cure.
Through good times and bad, one stuck by one’s team. The highs were
unbelievable. The lows, soul crushing. There was nothing like it.

Violet couldn’t believe how quickly time passed. It seemed
like they had just taken their seats when it was over. The fans looked the way
she felt—exhausted but jubilant. The Knights won, and for some crazy reason,
she felt as though she had played a part in their victory.

The crowd didn’t seem in any hurry to leave the party, and
things were getting rowdier by the second. Riley signaled for Violet and Claire
to follow her. Violet was happy to go. Now that the game was over, the beer and
endorphins seemed to kick in.

“It gets crazy,” Claire said once they were out of the field
area. She smoothed back a stray blond hair that had escaped from her long
ponytail. “The funny part is some of those fans are harder to handle after a
win than a loss.”

“It wasn’t bad. And we won!” Violet didn’t mention the slap
on the ass she received. She had tried to avoid the idiot with the painted face
but failed. She doubted he was aiming at her—just anyone within range.

“Hear that?” Riley grinned. “
We
. The New York girl is
jonesing for our West Coast team.” Moving between them, Riley took Violet and
Claire by the arm. “Come on. Let’s get out of this madness. We can wait for the
guys in my office.

“And it’s all about Gaige,” Claire teased, as they walked
down a private corridor. “She didn’t notice that Logan ran for two touchdowns.”

“Or that Sean caught that
amazing
fifty-yard bomb.”
Riley sighed, she flicked her dark hair in mock disdain. “Gaige is such an
attention hound.”

“Why not? He is the star of the team.” Violet sent them a
wide-eyed innocent look. “Right?”

“Don’t tell Sean that I said this.” Riley guided Violet and
Claire onto an elevator. “But when it comes right down to it? Yes. Gaige is the
star.”

“He’s the QB,” Claire pointed out. “It goes with the
territory.”

“I’m just learning the game, but Gaige isn’t your average
quarterback. Is he?” Violet didn’t want to sound like a groupie, but it was
hard to contain her enthusiasm.

Riley nodded. “Let me put it this way. If you could
construct the perfect person to play the position, Gaige would be as close as
they come.”

“He has the perfect body type,” Claire said. “Tall and
agile. His speed is deceptive, making him elusive. Defenses have been trying to
figure out a way to stop him for as long as he’s been in the league. It hasn’t,
but give them credit, they keep on trying.”

Riley’s office was on the small side. As she pointed out,
she spent most of her time at the Knights’ training facilities. Game day was
the only time she occupied this space. But because she believed in being
comfortable at all times, it was beautifully decorated.

“Is that a wine rack?” Violet question was rhetorical. She
was already studying the impressive selection.

“Riley is such a show-off.” Claire winked at her friend. “Down
deep she’s a beer and pretzels girl.”

“True. But lately, I’ve started to expand my palate.”

“What does that mean?” Claire asked.

“I have no idea. I heard it on the food network. I like what
I like. Sometimes it’s wine and lobster. Sometimes it’s pizza and a Coors—hold
the light. Tonight feels like water. Straight up.”

Violet agreed. Claire opted for a diet root beer. Riley
opened the mini-fridge and pulled out their preferred drinks.

“We’ll be here awhile.” She handed a bottle to Violet. “Harry
gives the team a post-game pep talk. Then they shower. Depending on who shined
brightest, there are interviews and press conferences. Gaige is always expected
to say a few words and answer questions.”

“Always?” Violet asked. She could see it after a game like
tonight, but it had to be tough after a loss.

“All part of playing QB. He and the head coach always face
the media. Good or bad. Rain or shine. It’s part of their job description.”

“There’s a lot more to it than what we see on the field, isn’t
there?”

“Don’t shed any tears over them, Violet. The perks are
massive. Sean could write a book.”

“The size of
War and Peace
,” Claire snickered.

“My guy was a bit of a manwhore,” Riley admitted freely.

“What changed?” Violet queried.

“He grew up. We both did.”

“You know our stories.” Claire sat on the sofa, curling her
long legs under her. “How about you?”

Her mouth suddenly dry, Violet took a deep drink of water.

“What has Gaige told you?” That seemed like a safe way to
begin the conversation.

“Mr. Close to the Vest?” Riley leaned back in her chair, her
blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “He loves it when we spill our guts, but he
hates to talk about himself.”

“Nothing?”

Riley thought for a second before nodding. “Besides reciting
his career stats—in college and as a professional—here is what I know. He’s
thirty-eight years old and in perfect health. I know he’s from Brooklyn. His
parents are living, but he never talks about them. I mean never. That subject
is
off limits
in big, flashing neon letters.”

“I asked,” There was no humor in Claire’s brief laugh. “Once.”

“Everybody gets one,” Riley agreed. “Ask again?”