Love's Sporting Chance: Volume 1: 6 Romantic sporting novellas

by Janice Thompson

  “Sure, sure.” I brush her off as I watch on.

  Next thing I know, some teenage kid is tapping me on the shoulder. I turn to eye the pimply guy with irritation. He’s an assistant on the sidelines—hands out water and towels.

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Black, Coach said to tell you to chill out. Says you best not work yourself up into going into labor during the most important game of his career.”

  I growl and the boy cautiously takes a step back. “You tell Coach to mind his business on the field and not to be worrying about me. Tell him to get the job done.” I release the words through gritted teeth.

  The kid flees from the room. He’s smarter than I thought.

  Turning my focus back to the field, I watch as the offense positions themselves at the line of scrimmage. An ache flickers across my back and races around to my bellybutton. I try to discreetly breathe through the pain, but Mom catches me this time.

  “Samantha Black! You really are in labor!”

  Yep. Contractions began right before halftime. I smirk through the pain, thinking that my husband—way out there on that field—figured it out before this crowd surrounding me. How’d he do that anyway?

  “I’m fine. It’s okay.” I huff the words out as the contraction fizzles out.

  Everyone is swarming around me like I’ve just fell apart and they are scurrying to figure out how to fix me. Maggie is grinning ear to ear, while trying to coerce a cup of water in my hand. Rolling my eyes and brushing off their concerns, I watch in awe as Grant throws a perfect spiral downfield, landing right into the wide receivers waiting hands. Timmons catches it beautifully at the twenty, before being tackled.

  Time is rapidly ticking down. It’s now or never. The offense lines up quickly with Grant stealing glances at the time clock.

  “Come on, Grant!” I yell. “Get it done!” He has to get it done. There’s little time left with the ballgame tied. I seriously don’t need an overtime. I really don’t know how much more time this impatient kid is going to stay put. I grip my round belly and silently beg my baby for another hour or so.

  I hear Cooper on the phone, but keep my gaze on the field. “I need a car ready to take Mrs. Black to the hospital. ASAP.” His voice is sternly urgent.

  I’m not worried. Wiley and I met with the OB/GYN last month to form a labor plan here in California. My other doctor advised it; once it was pretty evident the Bobcats would be here.

  Wiley has also been giving my abdomen several pep talks for the last few weeks. Just last night, he delivered one last talk. With his hat turned backwards, still wearing his coach’s attire of T-shirt and track pants, Wiley knelt before me and began running his hands along my rounded belly.

  “Son, we’ve all got a job to do. Mine is to lead the Bobcats to victory. Yours is to stay put until I do so.” He placed a kiss near my bellybutton before he continued. “And you could also stop giving your mom heartburn. I’m tired of hearing her whine about it.” Wiley told our son all of this in his coach’s voice, looking adorable. Those green eyes sparkled proudly.

  That snide heartburn comment earned Wiley a smacking upside the head. I kissed him confused afterwards, so all’s good. I lick my lips just thinking about that man’s sweet kisses. They’ve only gotten sweeter. I do believe God created Wiley Black just for me. Nothing has ever fit so right in all my life.

  Another contraction clamps down just as Grant performs a perfect quarterback sneak, scoring a touchdown. I could kiss him! We all erupt in cheers. With only mere seconds left on the time clock, it’s a done deal. The field is swarmed and confetti flurries out in celebration.

  I’m jumping up and down in victory when I feel it—an odd tug and then warmth. Yep. My water just broke. The little guy held off like a good son for his daddy. Nodding towards Cooper, he takes my arm and leads me to the awaiting car. Mom is left to go help Maggie and Nolan round up their son.

  *****

  Wiley Nolan Black Jr. was born exactly forty-eight minutes after his daddy led his team to win the game of a lifetime. And that my friends is one epic season of life!

  “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1.

  The Reversal Playlist

  “Quarterback” by Kopecky

  “Centuries” by Fall Out Boy

  “Flashed Junk Mind” by Milky Chance

  “Bright” by Echosmith

  “Peaches” by In The Valley Below

  “Cornerstone” by Hillsong Live

  “Lay ‘Em Down” by Need to Breathe

  “Hey There Delilah” by Plain White T’s

  “Awake and Alive” by Skillet

  Acknowledgements

  Always a big thank you is needed for my readers. Without your enthusiastic cheering, I may not continue to be brave enough. You make me brave.

  My Lowe and Stevens Bunch for putting up with my daydreaming. Love you all.

  A special thank you to Cynthia Hickey for allowing me the opportunity to write for Love’s Sporting Chance series. It was the most fun.

  My beta readers—Sally Anderson, Kim Byrd, Trina Cooke, Christina Coryell, T Moise, and Jennifer Strickland. Thanks for having this ole girl’s back. Your input and support are beyond appreciated.

  Thanks to Albro Lee for inspiring Delilah with his creative truck creation.

  My heavenly Father, you get all the credit for these stories. Thank you for allowing me to share you and your incredible love through these stories.

  For more great stories visit www.forgetmenotromances.com

  Sign up for Forget Me Not Romances newsletter and receive a cookbook compiled from Forget Me Not Authors!

  About the Author

  T.I. Lowe is the bestselling author of Lulu’s Café, Goodbyes and Second Chances, Coming Home Again, and Julia’s Journey. She calls Coastal South Carolina home. Her closest neighbors are a bunch of nosy chickens, ponies, and goats. The loves of her life goes by the names Bernie, Nathan, and Lydia. Her days are spent daydreaming new stories to share with her readers and spending time with those loves of her life. And life sure is good!

  Next up will be the release of A Discovery of Hope in early 2016.

  She would love to hear from you!

  ti.lowe@yahoo.com

  website: tilowe.com

  or Facebook

  Also by T.I. LOWE

  Lulu’s Café

  Goodbyes and Second Chances

  Coming Home Again

  Julia’s Journey

  A Bleu Streak Christmas

  Love of the Game

  by Jennifer AlLee

  A Love’s Sporting Chance Novella

  Copyright 2016 by Jennifer AlLee

  Published by Forget Me Not Romances, a division of Winged Publications

  Cover design by Cynthia Hickey

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever – except short passages for reviews – without express permission. For information, email jallee725@hotmail.com

  1

  February

  Atlanta, Georgia

  The bruise on her arm looked vaguely like the state of California, but it was nothing compared to the one on her hip. That one was almost the exact shape of Texas.

  Joss Crandall grinned into the full-length mirror. Texas was too high up on her hip to show it off, but her cap-sleeved peasant blouse presented California in all its glory. She’d learned from her five brothers one of the best ways to get their respect was to prove she could take as much on the sports field as they could. She also knew they didn’t much like it when you started winning. That fact had always made Joss work harder.

  She turned in front of the mirror one more time, checking her appearance: bl
ouse tucked into a dark brown pencil skirt that just hit the top of her calf-skin boots, her long, chestnut hair falling in a simple, loose style. The outfit was flattering, but businesslike. The one pop of color came from the red leather belt, just to prove she knew how to spice things up. All in all, it presented the image she was going for. Today’s meeting would decide if she started the career she really wanted, or gave up and did something practical, like enrolling in dental hygienist school.

  “Not going to happen,” she said to her reflection.

  Joss left her room and skipped down the stairs, fingertips gently skimming the railing. Since she was a young girl, she’d pushed herself to work harder and be better than everyone else. It wasn’t enough to be on the debate team, she had to be the captain. Scoring an A on a test was a disappointment, because she expected an A+. After she proved she could outplay all the girls on the Varsity basketball team, she petitioned to play on the boys’ team. She never actually got on the team, but her father said he was proud of her for trying, and that was really the most important thing.

  Dashing through the dining room, she grabbed her purse off the kitchen table, then hurried to leave. Just short of the front door, she stopped short.

  What was she thinking? If she did manage to get the job, everyone would say it was only because of her connections, that she wasn’t qualified. And wouldn’t they be right? She shouldn’t even go to the meeting. It would just waste everyone’s time.

  Stop it.

  She drew in a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. Again. Once more. “Please God, get me through this.” A few more deep breaths, and the panic that had threatened to overtake her began to subside.

  I can do this. It was no different than anything else she’d set her mind to conquering. If she worked hard and kept pressing forward, she’d succeed.

  Joss pulled her shoulders back and huffed out one more great breath of air. Her future was on the other side of that door, waiting for her to grab it.

  “This is going to be a great day.”

  ~

  What a lousy way to start the day.

  Usually, when Dan Parker walked through the front door of the World Sports Network’s corporate headquarters, whoever was guarding the door would give him a big smile and launch into a conversation about football before he had time to pass through the metal detector. Today, Joey was on the door, and all he had to offer Dan was a laser-like glare.

  It was the same with almost every person he passed. When he stepped into the empty elevator, at least two people approached, but then turned and walked the other way when they saw who they’d be sharing a ride with. Dan jabbed the button for the top floor and grumbled a choice word in the otherwise empty elevator. Had the entire world been watching the game yesterday?

  The bell dinged, signaling his arrival on the 20th floor. The doors slid open, revealing the WSN logo on the opposite wall. Keeping his head down, he passed through the few people in the hall and stepped up to Rhonda Boyle’s desk.

  Before he could greet her, Rhonda looked up and gave him a smile so sad and pitiful, he almost wished for one of those glares.

  “You poor thing.” She shook her head, sending her multitude of mahogany braids swinging from side to side.

  Dan winced. “You saw it, too?”

  “Sugar, it was the Super Bowl. Everybody saw it.”

  Thanks to the internet, the five minute clip of the biggest blunder of his career was trending on YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, and about a million other sites.

  “It wasn’t as bad as it looked.” He didn’t try to justify himself to most people, but he respected Rhonda and cared about her opinion of him. “It’s been taken out of context and twisted.”

  Rhonda nodded. “That’s how it is these days. People making mountains out of speed bumps. If something isn’t controversial, they’ll make it look like it is. Brings in more money that way. Trust me, no one who really knows you believes all that gossip.”

  Ah, that was part of the problem. So few people really knew Dan, that his team of supporters was slim. Rhonda was one, Aaron Crandall was another. At least he knew he was among friends now.

  Dan motioned toward the office door. “He asked me to come by. Can I go in?”

  “He’s not in there.” Rhonda’s eyes darted away and then back again. “He’s in the conference room. With a few other people.”

  It was starting to feel warm where Dan stood. “Well, uh, that’s okay. I can wait.”

  “No, you can’t. They’re all here to talk to you.” Moving faster than he’d ever seen her do before, Rhonda was up and around the desk in a flash. She grabbed his hands and squeezed them tight. “God bless you, Sugar. You go in there with your head held high.”

  Oh, that wasn’t good. Dan wanted to grill her for information. Instead, he nodded and said a brief thank you. Then, after freeing his hands from her grip, he crossed to the conference room and pulled the door open.

  Seven men in suits sat around the oval conference table. Even from looking at the backs of their heads, Dan could tell it was the board of directors. They were probably waiting to chew him out, but none of them noticed when Dan walked in. Instead, they were focused on the woman standing across the room in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. She smiled broadly as she spoke, her eyes shining like topaz. Her reddish-brown hair framed her face in loose waves and cascaded down and around her shoulders. She was striking. She was also telling an animated story about someone who got drunk and kidnapped the college mascot the day before a big game.

  “They found him the next day in the maintenance shed with his arm slung around the goat’s neck, singing 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.”

  Dan clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together. “It was I’ve Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts, and how do you know about that?”

  Now the heads all swiveled in his direction. The woman remained calm, the ghost of a smile lingering.

  “I’m a reporter,” she said calmly. “It’s my job to know, Mr. Parker.”

  It didn’t take a reporter to know who he was. His name and face had been in the news for years. But that story… “You don’t have the right to dig around in my past.”

  As she cocked her head, that smile turned into a smirk. “Come now. This is a fun, personal interest story. It makes you more relatable. More likable. After yesterday, you can use that kind of press.”

  Aaron Crandall, president of the network, stood from his place at the head of the table and moved to Dan’s side. “Good to see you, son. Come on in and sit down.”

  With a final frown at the woman, Dan went to the table and sat in the empty seat beside Aaron. At the same time, the mystery woman sat in the empty seat on Aaron’s other side, directly across from Dan. That bad feeling he’d had was growing stronger.

  “Wonderful.” Aaron smiled first at the woman, then at Dan, then nodded to the board members flanking the table. “Let’s get right to the point. Dan, you had quite the kerfuffle yesterday.”

  “A kerfuffle?” Fred Jenkins, Head of Programming, leaned forward and slapped his beefy hand flat on the table. “That was a whole heck of a lot more than a kerfuffle. More like a–”

  The man next to him put a hand on his shoulder, cutting him short before he could say something they’d all wish he hadn’t. “What Fred means, is the matter is serious. We can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “You’re right,” Aaron agreed. “I have no intention of doing that. But first, I want to make sure Dan here understands why we’ve made the decisions we have.”

  Dan kept his expression bland, but inside his stomach a flock of butterflies swirled around with such speed, they created a stomach acid cyclone. The board had already made their decision, whatever it was.

  “I can help with that.” George Diaz, Director of Marketing, took a sheaf of papers from the folder in front of him and passed them around the table.

  It was an impressive looking graph in multiple colors, and it made absolutely no sense to Da
n. “What is this?”

  “This charts viewer feedback over the last six months, including overall satisfaction with the network and with several key programs. Let me put it on the screen and I’ll explain.” George picked up a remote from the table and pressed a button. When nothing happened, he pressed more buttons. A few of the executives snickered. Finally, Dwayne Cox, Communications Director, leaned over and tried to help.

  “You’ve got to press this first.” Dwayne poked at a button and a slim monitor lowered from a panel in the ceiling. “Then this one.” He poked another button, and the screen came to life. He was about to press another one when George swatted him away.

  “Thanks. I’ve got it now.”

  After a few more false starts, the graph popped up on the screen. George took a laser pointer from his pocket, which he thankfully had no trouble using, and pointed out different aspects of the chart. Rather than try to follow along, Dan took the opportunity to observe the other people at the table. The members of the board stared at the screen, making guttural sounds and nodding or shaking their heads, depending on whether the red laser dot was circling a high bar or a low one. Beside him, Aaron looked down at the paper graph, jotting down notes in the white spaces between bars. The woman on the other side of Aaron…was staring at him. His eyes clashed with hers, and a moment of embarrassment made him look away. Then he collected himself and looked back at her. Now her eyes were on the screen, but she’d pressed the side of a fist against her lips in what looked like an attempt to keep herself from laughing.

  “As you can see,” George continued, “The network as a whole is currently experiencing a decline in overall satisfaction, despite upticks here,” he indicated the bar for The Morning Sports Chat with Matt and Melinda, “and here,” pointing at Sports Bloopers and Blunders with Rick and Rita.

  Fred grunted and cast an unhappy look at Dan. “I think we all know what’s dragging the numbers down.”

  “Which brings us to the next chart.” George clicked the remote button a few times, and a new chart popped up. This one had multicolored lines going up and down, resembling a psychedelic heart monitor.