by Taylor Hart
Her Second Chance Prodigal Groom
Bachelor Texas Rebel Romances
Taylor Hart
Contents
Copyright
Prologue
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
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Sneak Peak-Her Second Chance Unforgettable Groom by Kim Koby
Also by Taylor Hart
About the Author
Copyright
All rights reserved.
© 2019 ArchStone Ink
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. The reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form whether electronic, mechanical or other means, known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written consent of the publisher and/or author. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This edition is published by ArchStone Ink LLC.
First eBook Edition: 2019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the creation of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Prologue
“Don’t you ever wish you had a family to go home to for Christmas, DJ?”
DJ Madden, safety for the Texas Rebels, scowled at his friend and fellow brother on the defensive line, Austin Mayhew. “I do have a family. I choose not to go home for Christmas.” He pulled out his phone and stared at a text he’d gotten right before he’d come here tonight.
DJ, come home. Your dad needs you. Come home.
Austin grunted. “What’s that? Wait, is it the family you choose not to see?”
DJ didn’t need this crap right now. He picked up the glass of water in front of him and tried to keep his focus on the large screen at the front of the convention center. To add insult to injury, now he was being called out by his sister-in-law about his father. “It’s nothing.”
DJ’s hand shook as he put the glass down. His father didn’t deserve his sympathy.
Currently, DJ was sitting with the whole defensive line at their table. The Rebels held an annual Christmas charity dinner and dance, and the players were required to attend. The mood was somber, though, as they stared at the image on the screen: a picture of their team owner, Terry Jones, who’d passed away from a massive heart attack less than ten days ago.
It’d been a tough December for the Rebels—not just because of the loss of their fearless leader, but because they were playing junk football. The pressure was on, and they all felt it. To qualify for the playoffs, they needed to win the next two games and hope the right teams lost. No one could even relax, even though a ten day league break was on the horizon.
Assorted pictures of Terry’s family, friends, and team popped up on the screen now and again. There were pictures of Terry with young kids throughout San Antonio; the kids took part in the football camps the Rebels funded each summer. It always came back to the same image of Terry wearing his five-gallon hat and smiling like he knew some joke that he wasn’t about to tell you.
Terry had overcome the greatest pain in his life—the loss of his brother at age sixteen to drugs and gang violence—and he’d spent the rest of his life trying to save others from the same fate through community outreach. He’d pushed himself to become rich so he could help others. The man had been like a father to DJ when he’d felt so alone the past couple of years.
DJ’s sadness over losing Terry had soured into a state of constant, seething anger. He clenched his hand into a fist and muttered a curse under his breath.
Austin picked up his own water and muttered, “Something is going on with you, old man.”
Irritation pulsed through him. DJ was the veteran player on the team. In pro football, twenty-eight was “old,” but he didn’t like being called “old man.” And he didn’t appreciate the pity in the faces of his teammates. “I’m not that old.”
“Right.” Austin looked away from him.
DJ’s gut urged him to punch the pretty boy’s face. Austin was always a know-it-all, but this Christmas party wasn’t the place for it. “You’d do well to keep your trap shut, Austin.”
Austin grimaced but said nothing.
DJ forced himself to relax. He was planning on catching the red-eye to Kai, Hawaii, so he just had to hold on for a couple more hours. It was his favorite of the Hawaiian Islands, and he longed to spend the next seven days there. They all had to be back for practice by the 23rd because they were playing in the Christmas Eve game, but the island would be nice. He just wanted to get to the island, put his feet in the sand, and hold a cold drink.
Austin’s lower lip trembled, but he cleared his throat and focused on the plate of food in front of him, pushing the salad around. “Losing Terry is just crap.”
Sy LaMarque, strong side linebacker, threw his hand up, giving Austin a disgusted look. He pointed to DJ. “You think the old man needs this attitude right now? This is his last season. We just attended a funeral last week, and then lost the last two games! Now he has to put up with you grilling him about not going home for Christmas.”
Austin smirked at Sy. “Ah, shut up, Mr. Perpetual Bachelor.”
“You want to make me?” Sy leaned across the table, giving Austin a threatening glare. DJ recognized that glare from the last game with the Denver Storm. Sy had grabbed the other team’s lineman and thrown him down so hard it had given the guy a concussion on the first play of the game.
“It’d be my pleasure.” Austin dipped his head and put his palms on the table, like he was about to throw it aside to get to Sy.
“C’mon, guys.” Jett Warren, middle linebacker, the guy who always broke up fights between DJ and Austin, wiped his face and pointed to the ribs. “Try this sauce. It’s good.” He grinned at them. “Not as good as mine, but it’s good.”
A literal growl came out of Sy. “I don’t want to hear about the sauce, BBQ, so shut up.”
“Get over yourself, Sy.” Jett glanced at DJ. “And don’t you think drawing attention to the fact that DJ’s last year of playing is a complete disaster only makes him feel worse?”
DJ raised his eyebrows. He wouldn’t have called it a disaster, necessarily.
“What?” Jett asked, his mouth full of chicken.
Sy punched a fist into his hand. “You’re a freaking pig.”
Jett threw down his napkin, sauce still on his upper lip. “Your mouth is writing checks your body can’t cash, dude.”
“Stop.” DJ looked from Jett to Sy, his voice firm but quiet. “Guys, this is not the time to start killing each other.”
Jett and Sy stayed locked in a death glare, but they didn’t pounce on each other, which DJ took as a good sign.
Emmit Brown, weak side linebacker, aka “Rev,” held his hand up. “Gentlemen, please.” He sucked in a lo
ng breath, his face calm. “DJ’s right. This is not the time for name-calling or blaming. I know it’s hard to lose Terry. He was our leader, a teacher, a giver. He gave so much to his family, this community.” His voice broke. “To us.”
Rev put a fist to his chest. “Believe me, I feel this loss right here, but we have to stay focused on the eternal perspective. John 11:25: ‘I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.’”
I am the resurrection and the life. DJ blinked. Rev’s words triggered a flashback to DJ’s brother’s funeral eight years ago. The pastor had quoted the same verse. Unexpected pain shot into his chest. Why would he remember that right now?
DJ’s pulse raced while he tried to focus on anything except his brother. Of course, he thought of his father first, then Aspen. He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t do this right now.
Soft Christmas music played over the speakers, and DJ suddenly noticed the clanking of dishes and the light laughter around them. The screen shut off, and the MC invited couples to dance. People moved out onto the floor, smiling.
Jett nudged him. “How can people be having a good time tonight?” he asked, using a fork to pick chicken out of his teeth. “How can they just go on acting like anything is normal right now with Terry gone?”
DJ sucked in a breath, trying to regain his focus. After all, he was the team captain, and he should be able to give some comfort, right? But he had nothing.
“The man had no regrets,” Austin said whimsically, staring at the couples on the dance floor. “How do you get to that place in life? With no regrets?”
“No idea.” Sy leaned back, putting his hands over his head and following everyone else’s gazes to the dancing. “I sure have too many of them.”
At least the fight was off for the moment. DJ relaxed, knowing that none of them had had it easy this past year.
The MC reappeared. “Please keep dancing. I just wanted to say that even though it’s been a hard couple of weeks for the Rebels…” he paused.
Emotion scraped at the back of DJ’s throat, but he swallowed it down.
“I wanted to thank everyone for coming out tonight to support the fifteenth annual Christmas Sports for Youth Fundraiser. As you know, the money raised tonight will go to fund sports programs for the youth of San Antonio and its outlying communities. We thank you for your generous support. Enjoy your evening.”
Applause ensued.
DJ’s phone vibrated. He picked it up quickly but gingerly, as if to keep the imminent explosion at bay.
DJ. Answer me. It’s time to come home. Your dad needs you.
Why did the woman who’d betrayed him ten years ago keep texting him?
“Everything okay?” Jett asked, leaning into him.
Beads of sweat budded on DJ’s forehead, and his palms felt clammy. “Fine.” He stared at the text, but he no longer saw the words. Instead, he remembered the look on her face when they’d attended his brother’s funeral. That had been the last time he’d seen Aspen.
There wasn’t enough air. DJ stood, rushing toward the bathrooms. His chest tightened, and he tried to think about something else, anything else, but another memory floated to the surface. He relived this moment in his dreams: dancing with her, drinking in her tangerine scent, admiring her sleek, red graduation dress and enjoying the feel of her in his arms. He remembered the look she’d given him right before she’d lifted her head and kissed him for the first time.
He cursed and punched the bathroom door open so hard that it slammed against the wall and smacked him in return. No one was inside, and he was grateful for it. He rushed to the sink and turned on the water, telling himself he was an idiot. He should be over her. He splashed more water on his face, not caring that it was getting all over his tux.
Finally, he shut the water off and stared at himself in the mirror. His gaze roamed to the mark that distinguished him from Travis, his twin brother: the scar above his left eyebrow, which he’d gotten from jumping out of the treehouse in fourth grade. Gently, DJ touched the scar. Travis had held his hand as the doctor had sewn the stitches, telling him to squeeze as hard as he wanted.
Travis. His best friend…until graduation night, when he’d stolen the only girl DJ had ever really loved. Pounding the sink with his fist, DJ cursed again, grabbed some paper towels, and patted his forehead.
He was feeling better now. He thought of the stilted phone conversation he’d had with his father right before Thanksgiving. His Alzheimer’s had been getting worse and worse, even before he’d crashed his car.
He couldn’t go home. There was too much baggage. His father didn’t deserve for him to go home! DJ slammed another fist into the sink; this time he registered the pain shooting through his wrist. Gripping his throbbing hand with his other hand, he thought about Terry Jones’s brother and the legacy he’d left of helping family and community. He cursed again, wanting to punch Austin. Who didn’t have regrets? Who?
His phone buzzed. Reluctantly, he tugged it out and stared at another text from Aspen.
Do this for your mom.
He resisted the urge to squeeze the phone so hard he would crush it. Crap. He didn’t know how long he stood in that bathroom, staring at his phone, but he finally knew what he had to do. He rushed out of the bathroom and back toward his friends sitting at the table.
Several members of the press had gathered together next to the stage. DJ grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was talk with the press. He couldn’t stand to be asked how he felt about Terry’s death. Forget that.
When he returned to his table, there was a blonde reporter at the table who looked at him, and then turned away.
Yep, that’s right. Move along, press girl.
His teammates all looked up at him expectantly. “What happened?” Sy asked.
“You okay?” Jett turned to him.
DJ wasn’t okay. He looked at Austin and said, “I do have regrets. Big time.” His mouth felt suddenly dry, but he pushed on. “My dad got in a car crash at Thanksgiving, was in a coma for two days, and I didn’t go home.”
Austin frowned at him. “What? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I don’t know.” DJ waved a dismissive hand through the air.
Rev steepled his fingers and leaned in. “How can we help?”
DJ was struck right in the center of his heart. His football brothers were so good. He looked down. “I don’t know,” he said again, and then, because he might as well let it all out, he added, “I also had a twin brother who passed away at nineteen while serving our country.”
Rev touched the gold cross that hung from his neck. “Bless him.”
“I’m sorry,” Sy said.
“Yeah.” Austin shook his head.
DJ’s throat felt tight. He had too many regrets in his life. “You guys, if Terry taught us anything, it’s that crap happens in life, but we can make a difference. Me and you. Right now, I don’t want to have any more regrets, so I’m going home for Christmas tonight. For the first time in almost ten years.”
Sy cleared his throat. “Rebel proud.” He put his fist out.
DJ bumped Sy’s fist. Inspiration struck him as he looked at his teammates. “And maybe it’s time for all of us to get that thing off our chest, to get rid of that regret. So we can be like the great Terry Jones.” Tears misted in his eyes. “A true Rebel.”
Jett smacked the table. “Hot dang.”
Rev nodded. “Amen.”
“Amen,” the rest of them said.
DJ put his fist over the center of the table, just like he would right before going out onto the field to pound some guys. “What do you guys say? The next seven days we spend making things right.”
Jett was first, putting his fist in. “I’m in.”
Austin was hesitant, letting out a light hum. “Man, I don’t know.”
Sy held back too, but then he grunted. “Fine.” He reached in too.
Rev joined them. “We always have things we c
an ask forgiveness for.”
“You know I’m with you guys,” Austin said, finally relenting.
DJ grinned at them. “We get rid of our regrets for Terry.”
“For Terry,” they agreed, their fists still together.
Sy cleared his throat. “For ourselves.”
Jett smiled. “To make us better men.”
Austin nodded. “To make us better teammates.”
“For God,” Rev inserted.
Determination coursed through DJ. “To fixing regrets and second chances! Rebels on three—one, two, three!”
“Rebels!” they all yelled, lifting their fists into the air.
Chapter 1
DJ drove into Southport, North Carolina, and the first thing he saw was the wind blowing the flags. Growing up in a coastal town meant the wind had just been part of his life. When people asked him what he liked most about San Antonio, he always told them he liked that it wasn’t windy—and compared to Southport, it wasn’t. He drove slowly, keeping his breathing even; this town made him nervous.
Home. The word sounded funny in his brain, like an off-tune key on a piano that a little kid played over and over.
He noted the décor on the houses and the way Christmas mixed with seashells and mermaids and other ocean themes. He slowed as he went past the gas station by the dock that his grandpa, his mother’s dad, used to own. It looked like someone had bought the place and restored it. That was good.
Thinking of his mother and grandpa sent a pang of sadness through him. Even though it’d been a long time since his mother died—he’d been twelve at the time—he still missed her. And he missed his grandpa, who’d been a third parent to him and Travis. Since Dad had been deployed most of the time, DJ couldn’t count how many days he’d spent helping out at that gas station. His grandpa had passed when he and Travis had turned sixteen.