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Authors: Garnet Hart

Touchdown

BOOK: Touchdown
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Troy Myers rules the football field. He rampages like a wild beast, destroys his opponents like a tornado and throws with a speed of a bullet.

Outside the field, his reputation is at its worst – a notorious traffic offender and an incurable manwhore. People want him out of the league. But with his overflowing charm and arguably unequalled talent, he is indispensable… untouchable… or so he thinks.

One night, while driving drunk, he runs over a woman.

The opportunity has come for his nemesis to end his stellar career. Troy Myers has fallen.

But maybe not. The Beast of the Field will not fall so easily.

 

Zoey Graham is hell-deep down on her luck. Not only did her bestfriend rob her and run away with her boyfriend, she was also left with an eight-year old child to take care of. While mending her broken heart, she struggles everyday to make ends meet. Then a drunk-driving son of a bitch hits her and nearly ends her life! Her injuries cause her to lose job. A notice of eviction is right at her door.

It turns out the perpetrator is no other than the infamous football star/ slash manwhore, Troy Myers. She's definitely not a fan of his and there's nothing she wants more than The Beast of the Field locked away for some time. His career is over and he will have to abstain from manwhoring for a while as he stays in jail. Serves him right!

But he proposes an amicable settlement with an eye-popping offer.

He wants to marry her! Not only that. He wants her to make him a baby!

At the end of two years, she will leave his house, not with the baby, but with twenty million dollars and a ball with his signature on it.

Crazy, crazy offer.

A touchdown opportunity for her, pun intended.

Damn him for making her even consider it!

 

 

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Although the names of the teams and the league are real, they are used in a way that is purely fictional.

 

Copyright © 2016 by Garnet Hart

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

 

T
OUCH
D
OWN

A SPORTS ROMANCE NOVEL

 

 

GARNET HART

 

 

Chapter 1

 

“W
hat?!”
Troy’s voice roared like thunder. “You bet your house in favor of the Jets?”

“This house and that sports car you gave me last year,” his fifty six year old father replied.

“Fuck!” he spat. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Glorifying my favorite team, what else? I’m positive that the Jets are going to win this time.”

“Do I have to mention that your favorite team is facing my team, the Patriots, for the championship?”

“Of course, I know that, but I’m a Jets fan even before you were born.”

“Dad, I’m your son.”

“Yes, the ungrateful son of a bitch.”

“What?!”

“You should have joined the Jets.”

“I was picked in a draft. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You stayed with the god damn Pats even after your contract expired. The Jets offered you. You turned them down.”

“It’s called loyalty, and my coach is your brother-in-law—my uncle.”

“And I’m your father, yet you chose to listen to him and ignored my advice.”

“Dad, how many times do I have to explain?”

“Don’t explain anymore. Nothing that you say will make me forgive you. And if you want to make it up with me, you will make me and my team win.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You will or forget you even had a father.”

“What do you want me to do? Lose?”

“Break your thumb, or pretend you’re sick. Don’t play. Don’t win. That’s it. Remember, everything I have is at stake. Unless you want your parents to live in the gutter.”

He cussed as his father entered the house, leaving him standing alone at the front yard.

After a year, he had finally paid his parents a visit and this was what he got. He knew they wouldn’t mind not seeing him for eternity, but a concerned neighbor called him the other day and begged him to come check on his parents.

“You want to come in?”

He turned to the door and found his mother, Paula, standing there. She was only fifty one, but her hair was almost all gray. It’s a shame that the Miss America runner up thirty years ago was reduced into something like this.

Just like her father, she was addicted to alcohol. Neither of them worked. They only depended on the monthly allowance he was sending them.

“Sure,” he said and followed her inside.

He frowned as he looked around. The house was practically empty. “Where the hell are your stuff?” he asked.

Paula lit a cigar and sat on the chair. It was the only remaining furniture in the living room. “Bob took them away.”

He frowned. “Who’s Bob?”

“The greedy geezer two blocks away. He is a Jets hater, so he likes to bet against your Dad.”

He sighed. Now, he understood. The Jets lost against his team last season during the playoffs. His father didn’t have enough money so he could have wagered any thing of value in the house.

He went to check the kitchen. The ten thousand dollar dining table that he just bought last year was not there. He walked back to confront her mother.

“I sold it,” she replied before he could say a word. “We had nothing to eat.”

His brows met at the center. “Nothing to eat? I’m sending you five thousand dollars every month. All your bills are charged to my account. What do you mean you have nothing to eat?”

“Right. Five thousand dollars. Last year you made forty seven million dollars, and that doesn’t even include your royalties for your product endorsements and your modeling fees. And you give us five thousand dollars? What do you take us for? Dogs?”

“I did wire you three hundred thousand before, but you wasted them all in three months.”

“Your Dad lost them at the Casino.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“It isn’t me.” She flicked the ashes of her cigar in the ashtray.

He sighed. “What else did you sell?”

She shrugged and sucked deeply on her cigar. “Some useless shit. Your dad’s to blame for the rest.”

“Like what?”

“That… ball you placed on the trophy stand.”

He felt like the earth had fallen over his head. That ball was his legacy. It marked the beginning of his legendary profile. The touchdown that he had scored with that ball was one of the most iconic Superbowl victories in the history of NFL, according to critics.

“That isn’t just a ball,” he said as softly as he could, suppressing the anger within him. “That’s priceless.”

“Then you shouldn’t have placed it there.”

“I placed it there in honor of you, as my parents. Doesn’t it mean anything to you at all?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t sell it.”

“You should have stopped him.”

She chuckled. “Your father is as stubborn as you are. He never listens to anything I say.”

He turned around and ran his hands over his face.

This was hopeless. He didn’t think he could deal with his parents any longer without the risk of losing his sanity.

“The neighbors told me you’ve beaten a boy last night,” he said to change the subject.

“He tried to steal from me.”

“He’s just a boy. You didn’t have to beat him.”

“I was drunk.”

“If you keep doing this, I’ll take you back to the rehab.”

“You do that and I’ll throw myself out of the window. This time, I’ll make sure I succeed.”

Horrified, he froze. His mother was not kidding at all. She had attempted that three years ago, when he had placed her in the rehabilitation center for alcohol addiction and depression.

Paula sneered. She knew she won again.

Unlike the football field that he had dominated for four years, his family was another field he could not conquer.

 

*****

 

 

Myers is down. Wayne is on the run. He is going the distance. It’s over! A touchdown. The Jets win the AFC Championship!

 

“Yes!” Zoey Graham screamed and tapped the wheel. “You did it, Wayne! You’re my man.”

 

What a phenomenal victory by the Jets. They stole the crown. They deprived the Patriots of their fourth consecutive championship. They’ve captured and thrown the wild beast back into his cage.

 

“Good for you, you son of a bitch!” she growled. She grew up in New York, and she had always been a fan of the Jets. That Troy Myers, the one they called the Beast of the Field, had always been a pain in the ass ever since he had joined the Patriots. He thought he was unstoppable. Well, Mason Wayne just kicked his conceited, beastly ass. “The Jets win! Woo!”

“Congratulations,” someone said.

She turned to her window and saw a man on the passenger’s seat of the car next to hers. He could have heard her yelling. “Thanks. Too bad I didn’t see it live.”

“You may watch it on pay-per-view.”

“Good idea.”

The green light went on. “Goodluck to you,” the man said and drove away.

Smiling, she took a deep breath. She was tired from work, but she could not feel that now. She had never felt better her whole life. Finally, her favorite team had taught that arrogant Patriots quarterback a lesson he will never forget. She hoped that would be the end of Troy Myers, as well. She was sick of hearing people calling him the Wild Beast of the Field, the Speeding Bullet, the Unstoppable Tornado, etcetera, etcetera.

He was just an overrated player to her.

She wondered why women were crazy about him. It may be true he was drop-dead gorgeous and extremely talented. She wouldn’t deny that even if she hated him. He was six feet and three inches tall, with rippling muscles all over his body, not to mention his sexy eight-pack abs that he always flaunted on every bulletin board with his Levi’s jeans.

But couldn’t they see it? He was a manwhore. He had been on the tabloid’s regular menu. Many times, he was photographed with, not one but, two women in a hotel. A couple of times, he was arrested for drunk driving.

What are those women thinking? Are they wishing to be another one of those throng of women that he had fucked all night and forgotten the next morning?
It was just plain stupid.

She parked her car on the vacant lot at the back of the five-storey apartment building. This was where she’d lived for three years now, since she graduated from college and found a job as a marketing staff in a software company. It was paid on a monthly basis, but she actually liked it that way. She could move out anytime she wanted. The environment was not too ideal. Even the apartment itself looked old and lacked maintenance, but she stayed because she could not find any other place that had much space for a good price.

A year ago, her high school bestfriend, Beth, came to join her, along with a beautiful six-year-old daughter that Beth had conceived after their high school graduation.

She was happy to share her apartment with them. Although Beth only worked part time and hardly earned enough to feed her daughter, she cooked the meal and kept their place clean.

“The Jets wins the AFC Championship,” she uttered softly, imitating the voice of the commentator, as she kicked the car door closed. Those words kept echoing back in her mind. She was still ecstatic about it.

Her smile faded when she saw a blonde-haired little girl sitting on the stairs. She looked like Beth’s daughter, but she was not sure. Beth would never allow her daughter to stay outside at night, especially under this freezing temperature.

The little girl stood up as she approached. It was indeed Bessie. It looked like the poor kid was waiting for her.

She knew instantly that something was wrong. The look on Bessie’s face alone, her swollen eyes, and her tangled hair conveyed a terrible message.

“Bessie, sweetheart?” she asked and cupped the girl’s face. It felt cold. “What are you doing here outside? Where’s your mama?”

Bessie wept.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“Mama’s gone. Brent came and took her away.”

“Brent?” She frowned. That was her boyfriend for fourteen months now. “Where did they go?”

“I don’t know. Mama told me to wait for you and give you this letter,” Bessie said and handed her the folded letter that had been sitting on her lap.

Her heart skipped. Something told her this wouldn’t be good, but she didn’t want to conclude just yet.

She opened the letter and took a deep breath.

 

Dear Zoey,

I feel so ashamed to do this to you, but Brent and I have been keeping an affair ever since I moved into your apartment. We can’t go on cheating behind your back, so we’ve decided to elope instead.

I’m sorry. Please take care of Bessie. Brent does not want her to come along.

Your Bestfriend, Beth.

 

Zoey’s hands trembled. For a long moment, she was paralyzed.

“Fuck!” she screamed as rage finally overwhelmed her. Like a possessed witch, she tore and crumpled the paper before throwing it on the ground. “Traitors!”

She stormed up the stairs to her apartment. When she noticed that the TV was gone, she rushed to her room to check her stuff.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” she cried when she saw her jewelry box empty. Her laptop wasn’t on the table either.

Blood surged to her face. Half-aware of her actions, she went back outside to see Bessie.

“Bessie!” she yelled furiously at the door. Although terrified, the little girl quickly came to her.

She sat on her haunches and grabbed Bessie’s arms. “Where did your mother go?” she asked.

Bessie shook her head. “She didn’t tell me.”

“Don’t lie to me! Where did they go?”

Bessie sobbed. She knew she had terrified the little girl, but she could not help herself. She was too angry. Deceived by two people she had trusted the most, and they had the gall to leave this kid to her.

“Hey.” Her seventy-year-old neighbor, Henry, peered at his door. “Stop yelling at the kid.”

She bristled up. “I can yell whenever I want! It’s none of your god damn business.”

Henry quickly went back in. She knew he was going to call the police.

She sighed and pointed her finger at Bessie’s face. “You’re not going to talk?”

Bessie shook her head. “I promise, Zoey. I don’t know.”

Afraid that she might divert her anger to the kid, she walked inside her apartment. She felt bad for treating that poor girl in such a way, but she was too angry to care.

She looked around, searching for other missing things. The microwave oven, the toaster, the coffee maker… Shit! This was too much. She had to report this to the police. She’d charge both Beth and her boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, with theft.

Hoping to find something cold to drink, she opened the fridge. It was empty.

“Fuck it!” She kicked the fridge door closed. When she turned around, she saw Bessie standing near the counter, crying. The sight of the little girl, who looked a lot like her mother, infuriated her.

BOOK: Touchdown
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