The Gate to Everything (Once Upon a Dare Book 1)

by Ava Miles

  He kept rehashing the reasons behind their breakup in the hopes of figuring out what to do. He and Grace had fallen into a deceptive rhythm over the past few years. They were absurdly happy in the off season and out of sync during the regular season.

  His multi-million-dollar salary last year had been a sore spot. Even worse, the paparazzi and tabloid journalists had started to converge on him at all times—even on simple errands to the grocery store—and they’d started to go after Grace, saying she wasn’t good enough. He’d told her not to let it get to her, rather like he did when people jawed at him on the field, but it hadn’t worked.

  They’d started fighting over silly things, like the expensive clothes and jewelry he’d wanted to buy her to wear out to special functions in the hopes that the media wouldn’t make fun of her off-the-rack clothes. She’d thought he was changing and didn’t like it. He’d wanted her to enjoy the perks of his success and protect her from their negative comments about her lack of style.

  Letting her go had been the most unselfish act of his life. He’d wanted her to be happy—even if that meant not being with him.

  Now she carried his child. He was thirty-two, and in a few months, he would become a father. He still couldn’t take it in.

  When he knocked on the door, he was surprised to see Sam’s mom. “Hey, Mrs. G,” he said because no one called her Helen.

  “Jordan!” she exclaimed, pushing her curly white hair back behind her ear. “You guys aren’t supposed to be here until this afternoon. Wait. Why didn’t you text Sam to say you were coming earlier? Is something wrong?”

  Helen Garretty had been their football camp mom at Once Upon a Dare, always there to prod them toward success like the best mama robin. She and Coach Garretty were divorced now, so she no longer played a role in the camp, but she treated the eight of them just like she had back in the day.

  “I needed to talk to Sam before the guys got here.”

  She had her arms around him before he could blink. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Don’t make me pull it out of you.”

  Jordan sighed. No use keeping it a secret when it would come to light soon enough. “Grace is pregnant.”

  She squeezed him tight and then pressed back. “Well…that’s a pickle. I was sorry to hear from Sam you two had broken up. Grace is such a nice girl.”

  “Yeah, she is,” he replied.

  “I can see why you want to talk to Sam. Come on in. I was finishing up some meals for you guys. He’s in the Man Cave stocking the bar for you yahoos.”

  “You’re not going to beat me up or try to give me advice?” he asked, following her into the kitchen.

  She gave him an amused look over her shoulder. “Coach dished out the beatings, if you recall, and as for advice, if you want mine, all you have to do is ask.”

  “I’m asking,” he said, unbuttoning his jacket.

  “Is there any chance of reconciliation?” Mrs. G asked, taking aluminum foil out of a kitchen drawer and wrapping up what looked like her famous breakfast casserole.

  “No,” he said, and it still smarted. “She doesn’t think I’d make her a good husband.”

  “Hmm,” Mrs. G said, putting the casserole in the Sub-Zero. “Well, that’s for Grace to decide, I suppose. You might have some growing up to do, especially now that the country’s set a spotlight on you, but you’d make a good husband to my mind. Of course, all the tabloid photos I’ve seen of you since you broke up with Grace aren’t particularly encouraging. I mean, how many women does one man really need, Jordan?”

  She could throw a haymaker for an old lady. “Ah, Mrs. G.”

  “Don’t Mrs. G me. I’ve been around you boys since before you had hair on your chests. Coach and I might be divorced, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t right about the trappings of fame. That’s not what the game’s about. Neither are the women. You’re better than that, Jordan.”

  Well, that put him in his place, didn’t it? How could he explain that he’d wanted to forget Grace? That he’d tried in the only way he knew how, and it still hadn’t worked?

  “The real question is: do you want to be a good father to your baby?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then do it,” she said in her characteristic matter-of-fact way. “I’m going to wrap up the rest of these meals and put them in the refrigerator. Go see Sam. I’ll be back at the end of the weekend to see all of you. The Smuck award is a doozy. Sam outdid himself this time, and I helped him execute his idea.”

  “I can’t wait,” he said, but he couldn’t muster his usual enthusiasm for the contest of wills he and his buddies played every time they all got together.

  “Off with you now,” she said, and since she made a serious shooing motion, he obeyed her.

  Taking the stairs to Sam’s lower level, he tried to put a lid on his emotions. Sam was stocking bourbon on the shelves, and Jordan had a flash of his brother giving him other advice over the years.

  When he was a new kid at camp, Sam had said, “You’re going to do just fine, Dean. Work hard and hit the players between the numbers. The rest will fall into place.”

  And when Jordan had thought about leaving football altogether a few years back, Sam had said: “You certainly won’t play if you quit. How much do you want to play? Hang in there. Your time is coming.”

  For over two decades, Sam had always given him the most simple, grounded advice that had paid off. Jordan needed guidance now more than ever, and he hoped beyond hope that his brother could help him out.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, approaching the bar.

  Sam turned around and immediately frowned. “What are you doing here early? I get worried when you arrive before everyone else. What’s wrong?”

  Jordan lifted a shoulder. “I messed up. I needed to talk.”

  “Why don’t I pour us a drink, and you can tell me about it?” Sam asked, setting out two old-fashioned glasses and grabbing the Buffalo Trace. “Who cares if it’s early? You look like you could use one.”

  “It’s happy hour somewhere,” Jordan said.

  They each took a drink and settled across from each other on the leather sectional.

  “All right,” Sam said, lifting his glass slightly in a salute. “How’d you mess up?”

  “Grace is pregnant,” he said, fighting the urge to knock back his drink. “I don’t want you thinking I didn’t take care of her. She was on antibiotics, and the condom broke. We broke up a week later. She just told me about the baby last night.”

  Sam took his time sipping his liquor. “It’s been a few months since you two split. Why did she wait so long to tell you?”

  “She says she didn’t want to mess with my head during the playoffs and the Super Bowl,” he said, setting his drink on the coffee table and standing. “And she was waiting to see if…the baby stayed.”

  That thought still unsettled him to the core. She would never have terminated her pregnancy—that he knew about her—but it made him wonder if she’d wished for a miscarriage.

  “I see,” Sam said gravely. “Tough situation all around.”

  Tough wasn’t a mild word when Sam used it. “It makes me feel like crap, knowing she’s been shouldering this alone.”

  “That’s in the past. What does she want to do about it?”

  “Well, she doesn’t want to marry me,” he said, pacing in front of the coffee table. “That’s for sure. Apparently, I’m not good husband material.”

  Sam was quiet for a moment—he wasn’t one to hurry things—then asked, “Did you imagine marrying Grace?”

  He ground his teeth, thinking back to their breakup conversation and how she’d said she was turning thirty-three and just couldn’t wait anymore. “We talked about it.”

  “But you didn’t buy a ring and propose,” Sam said.

  “No, I…I wasn’t ready. Everything I’d ever wanted career-wise was finally coming together…” He made himself say it. “I didn’t give Grace equal time. And then the media and all the f
ame stuff—”

  “Bothered the crap out of Grace,” Sam finished. “They were downright cruel to her, if you ask me. But don’t beat yourself up about things you can’t change. Focus on what comes next.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know what to do, Sam. I agreed to break up with Grace because she was miserable and wanted a family. But now she’s pregnant with my baby, which seems like the greatest irony of all. She can finally have the family she wants, except she doesn’t want me anymore. Sam, I…still love her.”

  “Do you think you can win her back?” Sam asked, setting his drink on his knee.

  “I don’t know,” he responded honestly. “She thinks I’ve changed, and the whole fame thing seems like a deal-breaker to her.”

  Sam snorted. “There’s something you need to understand about women, brother. The media didn’t throw all those girls at you. You threw salt in Grace’s wound, Dean. How would you have felt if she’d done that to you?”

  He probably would have punched a hole in the wall. “Everyone has a different way of getting over someone.”

  “And yet you’re not over her,” Sam said with a pointed glance.

  “You agree with Mrs. G that I’ve been enjoying the hype a little too much. But I’ve worked so damn hard to get where I am. The parties and the attention are my payoff for all those years I sweated my guts out in practice and never snapped the ball. Sam, this attention means I’m a master at what I do. That people respect me.” The frustration inside him threatened to explode like a shaken bottle of soda.

  “Are you really giving your power away like that?” Sam’s mouth curved. “You’re a master whether someone sees you play or not. Jordan, there’s the game and then there’s what’s important. When you told me you and Grace had broken up, I was sorry to hear it. She’s a great gal with real character—not the kind of woman a man comes across every day.”

  “I can’t be a hermit like you, Sam,” he said. Sometimes he wondered how his friend could spend all his free time secluded in his Virginia colonial out in the country. “No offense.”

  “None taken. Why don’t you sit down before you wear my floor out?”

  Jordan fell back onto the sofa and tried to get comfortable.

  “Other pro players have happy marriages,” Sam said, shooting him a glance. “I bet if you dig deeper, you’ll find there were other reasons for Grace’s unhappiness. And yours.”

  She’d already told them to him, but he didn’t see a way to address them now. “It doesn’t matter,” he said with a bite in his tone. “I don’t think she’s going to change her mind.”

  “So how are you playing this?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I want to be a good father to my kid. I can’t be like my dad.” Running a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes. The father he’d thought to be a good man had walked out on him and his mother the year before his first summer at Once Upon a Dare. He’d only discovered the extent of his father’s sins later, and he’d promised himself he wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

  “You won’t be like your dad, Jordan. That much I know.”

  Sam’s confidence eased some of the tightness in Jordan’s chest. His dad had liked to party and be surrounded by beautiful women, but it was different for Jordan. He wasn’t an alcoholic or a gambler, and he would never cheat. “Thanks, man. That means a lot coming from you.”

  Sam set his bourbon down. “Did you tell Grace about the house?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It seemed like the wrong move in the moment.”

  Some people gave jewelry. Jordan had wanted to give Grace her dream house for Christmas—the yellow colonial in their hometown she’d always wanted them to live in together—hoping it might set things right between them. She wouldn’t have accepted a car, but a house… Now that his career had taken off in such a spectacular way, Deadwood would always feel too small to him. There were just so many options for him, even after retirement.

  Jordan had hoped building Grace a replica in Atlanta would show he still wanted them to get married someday. He’d hoped she would be willing to wait a few more years for him to be ready to settle down. He’d also hoped she might consent to live in the house with him, but she had strong views about marriage and living together… It was why they hadn’t lived together before.

  Now he was having a more modern house built on the property, one better suited to his style. The other house would serve as a guest house…if he could bear seeing it on a daily basis without being weighed down by memories.

  “Why don’t you tell her?” Sam suggested.

  “I know where your mind’s going. You think it might help sway Grace. Besides, Blake bought the house next door to Natalie and talked her into marrying him again.”

  Sam shrugged. “It worked for Blake, didn’t it? And it’s Grace’s dream house.”

  But Grace wasn’t Natalie. He didn’t know all the reasons Natalie had agreed to get back together with her ex-husband, but Jordan wondered how much his friend’s retirement had played a role. That was something he wasn’t willing to do. Not yet.

  “I’m not sure she’ll go for the house now—or the idea, which is why I haven’t said anything,” he said, mulling it over. “She’ll probably be upset that I built her a replica without her knowing about it.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about, Jordan. Maybe you should have asked her first. You don’t just build a woman a replica of her dream house as a surprise.”

  “But I love to build things,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “Architectural design was my major in college, and I used to work construction with Grace’s dad. Hell, I helped him build that house she loves.” Pat Kinkaid had hired him as a paid helper so he could make money for school, but Jordan knew the older man had also looked out for him because he didn’t have a man around the house. Designing and building houses would have been Jordan’s backup if football hadn’t worked out.

  “Personal communication certainly wasn’t,” Sam said dryly. “You know she doesn’t want to stay in Atlanta permanently.”

  “Sure, I thought she’d be more willing to stay in Atlanta if I gave her the house, but that’s not the main reason I didn’t ask first,” he said, feeling the need to defend himself. “Grace hated me paying for things. I figured…if she saw it, she’d have to accept it.”

  In hindsight, Jordan could see how his plan might not have been the best. He’d thought she’d want to stay in Atlanta. She loved working with Tony and the rest of her restaurant family at Marcellos. And his career was taking off. But Sam was right—he should have asked.

  “Grace is practical,” Sam said, nudging him with his boot to reclaim his attention. “Appeal to that side of her. Who knows? Maybe if you’re closer to each other, you might be able to work out the reasons why you two broke up. Asking what she wants would be a good step.”

  “You think it’s my fault,” he said, staring mulishly at his friend.

  “It’s never one person’s fault,” Sam said. “I’ve been around the block enough to know that. But the way you’ve been behaving lately isn’t exactly a declaration of love.”

  Jordan looked down in his lap. Now he really felt like shit.

  “Maybe this is the Universe’s way of giving you two a second chance? A broken condom doesn’t happen every day.”

  Jordan felt all the hairs rise across his skin. “Imagine that. A broken condom as a sign from above.”

  Sam gave him a playful shove. “Help me finish up before the other guys get here. You can stew and stock at the same time.”

  “Stew and stock,” he muttered, following Sam to the bar. “She’s due August 17, by the way. I have time to figure things out.” Again, he heard Grace saying she didn’t want to wait on him anymore.

  “Plenty of time,” Sam said as they finished up the duties in preparation for their friends’ arrival.

  A few hours later, Sam’s place was a madhouse in the best way possible. All of the Once Upon a Dar
e guys were joshing with one another and having a ball.

  Jordan was keeping to his seat on the sofa after having successfully defended himself from a pantsing. Grant Thornton was a defensive lineman for the San Francisco Sting Rays, which meant he could pretty much take down anyone he wanted—unless you knew his downfall. The man couldn’t stand being tickled. Worked every time. Jordan had needed to get a little more creative with Brody Kellar. As the wide receiver for the Chicago Titans, his buddy could outrun him without much effort. But Jordan wasn’t above a well-timed trip—at least off the football field.

  Logan Eastwood, wide receiver for the Boston Stars, was prancing around in a rainbow sequins tutu, which Sam had presented as this reunion’s Smuck award. Of course, no one truly wanted to win. The “winner” would have to wear that freaking rainbow tutu out in public, and who was down with that?

  “Are you going to tell us what the Smuck competition entails, Sam?” Zack Durant, quarterback of the New Orleans Akkadians, called out.

  “Yes, I need to know how not to win this tutu,” Hunter Cahill said. “I’d lose my spot as quarterback for the New York Tigers if anyone saw me in that thing.”

  Blake Cunningham put his hand on his hips and stared them all down. “If Coach Garretty heard you right now, he’d say you’re a bunch of wimps.”

  “Easy for you to say, Blake,” Hunter told him with a slap on the back. “You’re retired, and Natalie probably loves you enough to tolerate the sight of you in a tutu.”

  “Zack Sprat here needs to win it because it would look good on his St. Bernard,” Brody said, grinning like an idiot.

  “Don’t talk about my dog that way, Brody,” Zack warned, “or I’ll use you for gator bait in the bayou the next time you visit.”

  “Ohh,” everyone cried.

  Jordan tried to get into the spirit of things, but just couldn’t muster the enthusiasm. His mind kept spinning about what to do about Grace. Was Sam right? Was telling her he’d built her dream house and asking her to live next door to him the best approach?

  Someone kicked his feet, and he looked up to see Grant towering over him.