Hail Mary: A Second Chances Sports Romance (Gridiron Love Book 1)

by Vanessa Fox

"You ever talk to her?" Dad asks.

  "Who?" But I already know who he's talking about.

  "Mr. Greene's daughter. Willow."

  I clear my throat. "Uh, no. Not since she left to Harvard."

  "She was a sweet little thing, wasn't she?"

  I laugh and roll my eyes. "Uh, yeah, I guess so. I barely remember her, honestly."

  "Uh huh."

  My dad can smell bullshit a mile away. I just smile.

  The front door opens. "We've got cheesecake for dessert!" Samantha announces. She zeros in on the cigar in my hand and cringes. "Ew, what is that? You can't be smoking, Kade!"

  "I didn't inhale." My dad and I exchange a smirk.

  Samantha rolls her eyes as she returns to the house in a huff.

  "Well, we best get inside before Mom gives us a reaming," Dad chuckles.

  I nod as I put the cigar out in the ashtray. My dad gets up first and I follow. Before stepping inside, I take one last glance at Willow Greene's old house. For a moment I want nothing more than to see her sitting there on the front porch with her nose in a book. But she's not there. I doubt I'll ever see or hear from Willow again. I sigh.

  Leave the past where it belongs, Kade. Behind you.

  FOUR MONTHS LATER

  Willow

  "Willow, after you finish with that, could you please remember to follow up on Mr. Shoemaker? He missed his appointment this morning."

  "Yes, of course."

  Mrs. Cooper leans in close. "You're doing a great job, by the way."

  "Aw, thank you!" My face beams.

  My boss walks back into her office. Hearing her praise brightens my day. Sure, I'm just a lowly office worker for now, but I take pride in my job. I could feel depressed that my day consists of taking appointments and cold calling strangers asking for funding, especially after receiving a world class education at Harvard, but I choose not to. I work for a fantastic organization that helps make the world a better place. And if I keep impressing Mrs. Cooper, hopefully I'll be moving up the ranks in no time.

  I briefly allow myself to fantasize about it. This year, grunt worker. Next year, senior director.

  Then my mind makes a big leap: sitting in front of Congress making a heartfelt plea to increase veterans benefits. Lauded on CNN as a hero. My hair looks great, of course.

  I lean back in my chair and smile to myself. Then I snap out of it and go back to filling out spreadsheets with donor information.

  After a few minutes of this, I open up the browser to check my email. On the side of the webpage is a feed of trending topics in the news. "Atlanta Alphas" catches my eye. Underneath it reads: "Wins against Jacksonville Orioles, 31-7."

  Against my better judgment, I click on the link and it takes me to an article on a sports website. It says the Alphas have continued their winning streak, going 4-0 so far in the season. "Kade Hughes is on fire out there on the field: alert, aware, with near perfect accuracy in the pocket, and the uncanny ability to scramble out of the toughest spots and make good plays even when the pressure is on."

  Well, that sounds impressive. The article goes on to state that this season is a major turnaround from the last few seasons, when the Alphas held very disappointing records, even going 3-13 overall last year. Currently they are the top pick in the Eastern League to make it to the Gridiron Bowl.

  The Gridiron Bowl?

  Wow. Kade Hughes really is on fire.

  Against my better better judgment, I open up Google on a new tab and search his name. A plethora of news articles pop up, the top one titled: "Kade Hughes: The Next Peyton Manning?"

  I bite my bottom lip, feeling an odd swell of pride in my chest. Pride? Seriously, Willow? Kade is practically a stranger to you. Give it up and go back to wor—

  Another article catches my eye. It's from TMZ. "Kade Hughes' girlfriend Samantha Jones caught cheating?!"

  I immediately click on the link. There's a shaky paparazzi video of Samantha coming out of a club wearing a skin-tight, impossibly short white dress, jewelry dangling from her ears and neck. She's looking gorgeous, yet slightly out of it. She climbs into the back of a black SUV, and a young guy with spiky hair, wearing a wife-beater and baggy pants walks out of the club a few seconds later and gets in the SUV after her.

  "Samantha Jones, the girlfriend of Atlanta Alphas' quarterback Kade Hughes, was spotted getting into a car with pop star Kevi Taylor outside a downtown nightclub in LA at two in the morning."

  The article speculates, "Does this spell the end of her relationship with Kade Hughes? Is she cheating? Have they broken up? Or are Samantha and Kevi just friends? So far none of the three have commented."

  I read the full article along with dozens of comments voraciously. The comments argue whether or not getting into a car with another guy at two in the morning after drinking all night at a club can really be considered 'innocent'.

  I grit my teeth, feeling anger brewing inside me. I'm not one to gossip or read into trashy tabloids, so I know I need to take it with a grain of salt. But it doesn't look good.

  Who does she think she is, anyway? How dare she think she can cheat on Kade?

  Then I remember that Kade cheated on me.

  Oh, right.

  Well, then. Maybe he deserves it.

  Maybe he cheated on her first. Maybe he's just an all around asshole and it was his bad attitude that drove her into the arms of someone else. Who knows.

  Mrs. Cooper steps out of her office again and my pulse quickens as I scramble to close the browser window before she sees.

  She passes by, heading towards a filing cabinet.

  I clear my throat, and remember I need to call Mr. Shoemaker like she told me to. I scan through the spreadsheet of phone numbers until I find his. He's a thirty-five year old ex-Marine who lost an arm in Iraq and suffers from severe PTSD, and has been unemployed for years. We've been paying for his psychiatric bills.

  As I dial his number, I suddenly feel stupid for getting sucked into the vapid, shallow cesspit that is celebrity tabloids. Who cares what's happening in Kade's life?

  There are a million other things going on that are infinitely more important.

  The phone rings and rings until I get his voicemail. I leave a polite message and hang up the phone.

  Then suddenly the front door to the office opens and in steps Katie.

  "Woah, hey," I greet, confused. "What are you doing here?"

  She's got a huge grin on her face as she bounces over to me. "I've got a present for you!"

  "A present?" I ask dumbly. "My birthday's not until next month."

  "I know, I know. It's an early birthday present. My treat."

  "Oh, okay."

  "Hold out your hands and close your eyes."

  "Really, Katie?"

  I'm a little nervous. I never know what Katie has up her sleeve.

  "Just do it!" She urges.

  I reluctantly comply, holding out my palms as I close my eyes.

  A moment later I feel her place something there. I open my eyes and see two tickets. I hold them up and my stomach drops when I read what they say.

  "Are you serious?" I ask her, dumbfounded.

  "Dead serious. We're going. I don't care if I have to drag you kicking and screaming."

  "No way." I shake my head. "Not interested."

  "Oh, come on!" Katie pops out her bottom lip. "Who else am I gonna go with? You have to come!"

  "You know I don't care for football. And neither do you! You should've bought me tickets to the symphony. I heard this weekend there's gonna be a world class Polish pianist playing Rachman—"

  "Shut it!" Katie holds out her palm. "Don't start. We're going."

  I sigh, glancing at the tickets again. Monday night, 8PM, Blackfoots at Alphas, Centurion Field seats D-129 and D-130.

  Oh well. It's just one game. If it'll make Katie happy, I'll do it.

  But I won't have any fun.

  Football is boring. And Kade— he'll probably be so far away that I'll hardly be able to s
ee him. It's not like we're gonna be face to face or anything.

  Not that I want to see him. Nope.

  "Fine, I'll go," I grumble.

  Katie jumps up and down, squealing.

  Fan-tas-tic.

  Chapter 7

  Kade

  The lights are blinding and the noise of the crowd is deafening as I run out onto the field. It's a hot, humid night, and the stands are packed so full of people, it feels like the entire city has come just to watch me play.

  I know there's a whole world going on out there, beyond the stadium, but right now it feels like I'm the center of the universe.

  I'm acutely aware that the cameras are zeroed in on me. This is airing on network television, to an audience of millions, and I'm the star.

  Adrenaline is pumping through my veins, and I'd be lying if I said my nerves are steady, but I know I have a handle on it. All it takes is a few plays and I'll get into my groove, as I always do.

  Plus, tonight I feel extra good. Kind of like after an exceptional workout at the gym, I feel that extra bit of pump in my muscles and rush in my veins.

  Because I'm free.

  I caught Samantha cheating on me, red-handed. In fact, I walked right in on her and that little twerp Kevi Taylor, in my own bed, her bouncing up and down on him with her giant fake tits in his face.

  I wasn't even upset.

  Instead I felt relieved.

  It confirmed the suspicions I had all along. And best of all, it gave me an out.

  I kicked her gold-digging ass out of my downtown condo and immediately called Coach Douglas. I explained the situation calmly, without cursing his daughter's name. He understood, and even apologized on her behalf.

  Now I get to be Kade Fuckin' Hughes again, this time without the ball and chain. Me and Coach are on good terms and I'm ready to roll.

  That's why I'm so confident out here. I've always been confident, but now I've taken it to a whole new level. For the first time in months, I truly feel like myself again.

  I know I'll have hoards of drunken hot girls all over me as soon as this game ends, win or lose. I smile at the thought of being in between some lucky lady's legs tonight, but at the same time I'm wary. It was my hormones that got me into this mess to begin with. Maybe this time I should be a little more careful about who I bring home with me, if anyone at all.

  Bros before hoes.

  Football before hoes.

  I get in position. I call out a coded play— "DIXIE FOXTROT, SEVENTEEN BOULDER, PANTHER NINETEEN!"

  The center snaps the football. I hold on with a tight grip as I back up, scanning the field in front of me. The defense is trying to push through my offensive line, but I can tell I have a few seconds before I'm in any danger, which is all I need.

  I zero in on one of my wide receivers, Hugo Anderson, who is wide open near the first down. I act quickly, throwing a bullet pass between two linemen's heads right into the arms of Hugo. He catches it perfectly and runs a few yards before being tackled.

  A gain of 14.

  The crowd goes wild in the stands.

  Fuck yes.

  And this is just the beginning. They haven't seen nothin' yet.

  Willow

  The noise is deafening and I wish I had brought earplugs.

  Katie and I have seats right at the Alpha's endzone, behind the touchdown area and those big yellow uprights.

  We're surrounded by crazed, rowdy, drunken fans, some of whom have painted themselves in garish colors and are wearing ridiculous costumes, holding signs in one hand and beers in the other.

  Katie's got the team spirit thing going on, sporting an Alphas jersey and hat. I guess I'm the odd woman out, because I'm the only one around here I can see wearing normal clothes, a simple plain blouse and jeans. I thought about buying a jersey just for the game, but the damn things cost $90, and I cringe at the thought of wearing Kade's name on my back.

  "Why are they stopping again?" Katie asks me right after chugging her Budweiser.

  "Um, I'm not sure," I say truthfully. "They're changing the play, maybe?"

  I learned a little bit about football when I was dating Kade in high school. But not much of it stuck.

  As much as I loved to cheer him on in the bleachers, I have to admit it still bored the hell out of me. And not much has changed.

  There's about five seconds of action followed by two minutes of a whole lot of nothing. Repeat, over and over. It feels like it's taken half an hour just for them to get down the field.

  But now they're here in the endzone.

  My pulse quickens as Kade gets closer in my line of sight. I can see him clearly from here. He looks— well, amazing. His gorgeous sandy hair is obscured by his helmet, but I can still see his piercing green eyes. He's big— bigger than he was in high school. He's tall and thick, his muscles huge and well-defined. He's a man now.

  The play finally starts again and Kade hands the ball to the running back, who squeezes through a gap in between some linemen and rushes into the endzone.

  The crowd around us erupts. Everyone stands up, shouting and screaming. Katie stands up too, squealing and cheering and pumping her fist in the air. I don't want to look like a stick in the mud so I stand up and give a few half-hearted "woo's" of my own.

  The running back who got the touchdown tosses the football away and proceeds to thrust his hips into the air as the crowd laughs.

  Then a yellow flag is thrown and the drunk fans around us start to boo.

  "What's that about?!" Katie asks me.

  "It's a penalty— unsportsmanlike conduct," I say.

  I watch as Kade throws up his hands and glares at the running back.

  I'd be doing the same thing.

  A couple referees come out and talk to the players. One of the refs holds his hands straight up into the air and the crowd erupts again.

  "Sooo, what's going on?"

  "I think that means they still get the touchdown. But they probably have to punt the ball from farther away which gives the opposing team a better starting position," I explain.

  Katie turns to me and smirks. "You really know your stuff, don't you? I thought you didn't like football."

  I shrug. "I'm not an expert. But I know more than you do."

  "Uh huh," Katie shakes her head.

  "Oh, knock it off," I roll my eyes. "Don't even start."

  "Okay Miss I-hate-sports. You seem to know a hell of a lot for someone who supposedly has no interest in the game."

  I take a swig of my beer. I'm not about to tell her I spent two hours watching Youtube videos explaining the rules of football over the weekend so I'd know what's going on. "I really don't. I'm only here because you dragged me. Tell me, why are you here, Katie?"

  She grins. "I just like making you uncomfortable."

  "Uncomfortable? I'm not uncomfortable!"

  "Every time you look at Kade, you turn a shade of red."

  "That's just the beer," I say quickly. I take another long swig. I'm gonna need it tonight.

  —

  Two and a half hours later and I'm feeling like my brain is melting out of my ears. For an Atlanta Alphas game, I was expecting something a little more interesting. But it's been a low scoring game. 7-7 with only a minute left in the fourth quarter, and I'm dreading the possibility of going into overtime. Every play has been wrought with penalties and setbacks. Whenever I get a clear view of Kade's face, he looks about as annoyed as I do.

  But I've found a solution: Candy Crush on my phone.

  Katie relented long before I did. After getting bored of taking countless selfies, she's since been argue-texting with her newest beau, Parker.

  Whatever thrill we got from coming to a packed stadium for a game of Monday Night Football has long since passed.

  The only plus is getting to see Kade out there on that field, admiring his athleticism as he passes the ball, and the flex of his perfectly round ass in those tight pants as he scrambles away from hoards of gigantic guys looking to knock him to t
he ground.

  He certainly is a sight to behold.

  Not that I care.

  Right now my main concern is passing the time until this snoozefest of a game is over. I know it'll be past midnight by the time we finally get home, and I have work in the morning. I can already tell I'm gonna be grumpy and sleep-deprived tomorrow, and I'm not looking forward to it.

  Oh, well.

  I glance up to just in time to see the opposing team, the Blackfoots, kick a field goal straight through the uprights. A man next to me with his face painted in the Alpha's blue and red team colors catapults to his feet and starts screaming obscenities.

  Next to me, Katie's attention is jarred away from her phone. "What is it?"

  "The Blackfoots scored a field goal. There's less than a minute left on the clock. The Alphas are gonna lose if they don't act fast."

  "Oh no!" She covers her mouth and stands up, watching in concern.

  I stand alongside her. The fans around us have worked themselves into a frenzy, cursing and shouting and screaming.

  "What are they gonna do?" Katie asks me.

  "I don't know," I say. "They're gonna have to do something drastic."

  The Blackfoots punt the ball to the Alphas. The receiver catches it and makes it a few yards before being tackled.

  The team rushes to get into position, with Kade behind them in the center. They're on the far side of the field. The clock is ticking fast, and I have no idea how they'll make it all way down here in time.

  Kade is gesturing to send his receivers down towards our end, and the Blackfoots respond by sending their own men to block.

  "He's gonna make a long pass," I say. "A hail mary."

  "A hail what?"

  I have to squint, but even from all the way over here, I can see the determination in Kade's green eyes. He shouts out a play. The center snaps the ball to Kade, who backs up, scanning the field calmly. He looks back and forth repeatedly, and my pulse quickens as I spot defensive players shoving past the offensive line and stampeding towards him.

  "Come on, Kade… do something!" I shout, my heart hammering in my chest.

  Just as he's about to be tackled hard in the side by a giant of a man, he flings his arm forward and releases the ball. A split second later, he's brought to the ground. The smack of body against body, followed by Kade's pained grunt, echoes throughout the stadium. But the ball is out, flying high into the air in a large arc, traversing the entire length of the field. The roar of the crowd quiets to uniform silence, as if every fan is holding their breath at the same time.