Beach Reads Boxed Set

by Marie Force

  His eyes opened, and he held out his hand to her. “Stay with me, Susie.”

  “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

  “I might need something during the night, and I seriously can’t move right now. Please?”

  Drawn to his suffering, she turned off the bedside light, walked around to the other side of the bed, and got under the covers. As she lay down, she told herself it meant nothing. She would do the same thing for anyone who was hurt and in need of help.

  When she was settled, he reached for her.

  Susannah laced her fingers through his, reminding herself yet again that it was only because he was so badly hurt that she was even talking to him, let alone holding his hand and sleeping with him. Well, she wasn’t technically sleeping with him. Most of the king-sized bed was between them, and he wasn’t under the covers with her.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “We’re going to talk about this tomorrow. You can’t stay here, Ryan.”

  He turned his head so he could see her in the faint glow of the nightlight. “Ten days, Susie.” His voice was hoarse with pain and what might have been emotion. “If you still want the divorce after that, I won’t stand in the way. I’ll leave you and Henry alone. I promise.”

  “Do you? Do you promise you won’t pop in again like this to remind Henry that my ex-husband is a bigger, stronger, wildly popular, ridiculously wealthy superstar?”

  He grinned. “You forgot fabulously sexy.”

  Susannah did not want to laugh but couldn’t stop the gurgle from escaping. “You’re impossible.”

  “I meant what I said earlier.” He squeezed her hand. “I love you, Susie. I always have, and I always will.”

  Her heart fluttered in her chest, but she was determined not to let him charm his way past her defenses. “Those are just words, and they don’t mean anything to me anymore. Not after all that’s happened.”

  “I’ve changed,” he insisted. “I’m not the same guy who was stupid enough to let the best thing that’s ever happened to him slip away. All I’m asking for is ten days.”

  Ten days, she thought. If I don’t do this, will I always wonder what might have happened? No, I know what’ll happen. We’ll be fighting in two days, if it takes that long. Henry will never forgive me if I spend this time with Ryan. But how can Henry—or anyone—know what this man has meant to me for my entire adult life? Or how he hurt me. I can’t let myself forget about that. I just can’t. Susannah sighed. But since I’ve already given him more than ten years, what’s ten more days to ensure I’ll finally be free of him?

  “All right,” she said softly, even as she admitted to herself that she might never be truly free of him. “Ten days. Not one minute more. And when it’s over, I’ll still want the divorce, and I’ll expect you to keep your promise to leave me—and Henry—alone.”

  She saw none of the usual cockiness she had come to expect from him when he got his way. Instead, his eyes and expression were solemn. “You won’t be sorry.”

  Chapter 3

  The phone rang at eight thirty the next morning. Susannah heard it but couldn’t work up the energy to open her eyes and answer it—until she felt something hairy brush against her face. Her eyes flew open to find Ryan’s chest serving as her pillow. Her leg was tossed over his and her arm was stretched across his belly, just below the tape on his ribs. His arm was tight around her, his lips pressed to her forehead. In the moment before she began to struggle free of him, she noticed he was hugely aroused.

  He grunted with pain when she pushed him away.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Holding you,” he said with a big yawn.

  “I should’ve known I couldn’t trust you,” she fumed.

  “Hey, don’t blame me! You’ll notice I’m exactly where I was when we went to bed. You’re the one who trespassed.”

  “I did not!” She was mortified to think she might have reached for him in her sleep.

  “Um, you did, too. I was over here minding my own business...”

  She sprung out of bed. “Oh, shut up!”

  He watched with amusement as she stormed around the room. “You’re so damned beautiful when you’re pissed off. You always were.”

  “You should know. You made it your goal in life to piss me off.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  The house phone rang again.

  “Are you going to get that?” he asked.

  With a withering look at him, she snatched the portable phone from its cradle.

  “Good morning, Susie. It’s Duke Simmons.”

  “Hello, Duke,” she said to the Mavs coach.

  “How’s our boy doing?”

  “Your boy is just fine.” She glanced at Ryan, and he grinned at her. “I’ll give him the phone.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  Susannah handed the phone to Ryan and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

  “Morning, Coach,” Ryan said, combing his fingers through his unruly hair.

  “How you doing, Sandy?”

  “A little better today,” Ryan said, relieved to realize it was true. “How about you? Has it sunk in yet?”

  “Three times in five years,” Duke said, the amazement clear in his voice. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is. Are they tossing the D word around?”

  “Like crazy. But if this team isn’t a dynasty, I don’t know what is. The reporters are like rabid dogs wanting a piece of you. Do you mind if I update them on your condition today?”

  “Not at all. Just say I’m recovering at home and will be skipping the parade and everything because of my injuries.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that? We could work something out...”

  “I’m not going to be paraded through the streets of Denver looking like the freaking crypt keeper.”

  Duke laughed. “Probably a good call. You’d break the heart of every woman in the city if they see your pretty face all banged up.”

  “Fuck you,” Ryan said, but there was laughter in his voice. Duke Simmons had been the father Ryan never had, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for the guy. His heart ached when he thought about the conversation he needed to have with his coach. But not today. Not when Duke was still basking in the glow of the Super Bowl victory that cemented his standing as the greatest living football coach.

  Still chuckling, Duke said, “Is there anything we can do for you, Sandy?”

  “Can you send Doc over to the house with something for the allergies? The sneezing is killing me.”

  “No problem. I’ll have him there right after the parade. So you and Susie, huh? Back together?”

  “Working on it.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. The two of you breaking up...well that was a damned shame.”

  “Never should’ve happened,” Ryan agreed. “Listen, I’m going to be lying low with her for a few days, so keep the media away, will you?”

  “Consider it done. Your teammates, on the other hand—”

  “That’s all right. They can call me.”

  “Oh, Rodney Johnson wants to talk to you, too. Okay if I give him this number? He’s all done in over the job he did on you.”

  Ryan smiled. The NFL’s most fervently religious player was responsible for the broken ribs and concussion. “Yeah, give him the number.”

  “You know where I am if there’s anything you need, right?”

  “Sure do. Congratulations again, Coach.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without you, man.”

  “Thanks for calling.” Ryan turned off the phone and held it against his chest. He would miss having the support and camaraderie that came with belonging to a team. Most of his life he’d had teammates and coaches surrounding him, and he knew that loss would leave a void when he retired.

  Retired.

  Ryan sighed. Thirty-two and retired. He could’ve played for a few more years and was confident his skills and
abilities would’ve held out. In fact, he had been planning to sign on for three more years when his friend, Dan Trippler, had been unceremoniously dumped as the starting quarterback for the Buccaneers. A couple of bad games, a few interceptions and turnovers, and suddenly the star of the team was relegated to second string.

  Ryan wasn’t going to stick around long enough to let that happen to him. He would rather go out on top than wait for age, wear, and tear to catch up with him. With a Heisman Trophy and three Super Bowl rings to his name, he certainly had nothing left to prove and had secured his place in the Hall of Fame a long time ago. He had vast business interests that, along with his wife, were now going to get his full attention.

  Susannah emerged from the bathroom dressed in a black pantsuit and a pale pink silk blouse. “How did Duke know you were here?”

  “He wouldn’t let me off the plane until I told him I’d be here with you.”

  “You were pretty damned confident I’d let you in, weren’t you?”

  He shrugged and then winced as he shifted to find a comfortable position. “Where are you going?”

  “I have a meeting at the Downtown Athletic Club for the Black & White Ball.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “A little while,” she said as she put on the diamond earrings he had given her as a wedding gift. He was pleased she still wore them.

  “Are you going to see Henry while you’re out?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I disagree.”

  “You can strong-arm your way into this house, but you will not tell me who I can see and what I can—or cannot—do.”

  “Why do you have to make this so difficult, Susie?” he asked with a deep sigh.

  She turned to him, incredulous. “Are you serious? You’re upsetting my whole life by blackmailing me into spending ten days with you. You’ve got some nerve to say I’m making things difficult.”

  “Blackmail is such an ugly word.”

  “What would you call it?”

  He ignored that and said, “I want to know when you’ll be back.”

  “A couple of hours,” she said with a sigh of her own.

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Shaking her head, she left the bedroom.

  Ryan watched her go and was filled with an emotion that was all new to him—fear. He was afraid he’d waited too long to try to get her back. Maybe she meant it when she said she didn’t love him anymore. But still, in the instant before she remembered all the reasons she wanted to divorce him, he had seen a spark of something in her eyes when she awakened in his arms. What it was, he couldn’t say, but it was enough. For now. He sat up with great difficulty. When he caught his breath, he went into the bathroom to shower and shave.

  By the time he was dressed in jeans and a Mavs T-shirt, he was weak with exhaustion and furious that he had to sit on the bed for several minutes to marshal the energy to go downstairs. In the kitchen, he made coffee and toast. He was determined to get through the day without the pain pills that left him muzzy and fatigued. Four days had passed since his injury, and he was already fed up with being weak and helpless. He had learned from experience that the more he lay around the longer it would take to regain his strength.

  He took a second cup of coffee into the den and sat down slowly on the sofa. His head pounded from the activity, but it was a less intense pain than the day before. Even at the end of his career, he was still blessed with a body that bounced back fast from injuries that would’ve sidelined a lesser man for weeks.

  Reaching for the remote, he turned on one of the local stations to watch his teammates being paraded through downtown Denver. He smiled when he saw Bernie, Coach Simmons, and all the guys making their way through streets lined with fans dressed in the purple-and-yellow team colors. Bernie hoisted the Lombardi trophy over his head as the flatbed they were riding on drove past a young woman holding a sign that said, “WE LOVE YOU RYAN—DENVER’S MVP!!!” Ryan smiled and was sad to be missing a moment he had worked so hard for all season. He listened to the congratulatory speeches from the governor, the mayor, and Coach Simmons, all of whom mentioned Ryan’s contributions to the winning effort.

  “Ryan is recovering at home and sends his thanks to the fans who’ve supported us all season,” Coach said.

  Ryan laughed when his teammates commandeered one of the cameras and shouted messages to their fallen quarterback. “Idiots,” he muttered, even though he was touched by their exuberance.

  When the local coverage of the victory parade ended an hour later, Ryan flipped through the channels for something to watch while he waited for Susie to get home. Since there was nothing on but soap operas and talk shows, he scrolled through the TiVO listing to see if Susie had any good movies in there. He was startled to find the Super Bowl on the list. His face lit up with a big smile. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered. “You do care, darlin’.” Discovering she recorded his game infused him with hope. Why would she bother if she didn’t care about me anymore? She must not have watched it, though, because she seemed surprised last night by how banged up I am. If I get the chance, I’ll have to ask her about it.

  He fast-forwarded through the game, stopping to watch his four touchdown drives in the first half and enjoying the effusive praise he’d received from the commentators. “Has the NFL ever seen another quarterback quite like Ryan Sanderson?” one of them, a retired player, asked. “Not that I can think of, Jim,” the other replied. “His talent is dazzling.”

  Hmm, dazzling, Ryan thought. I like that. He skipped the over-the-top halftime show and the uneventful third quarter—during which the 49ers scored their only touchdown—and was well into the fourth quarter when he braced himself to view the hit that caused his injuries.

  Watching in slow motion, he paid close attention to the guards and tackles who were supposed to protect him from a defensive line he could now see had been in a blitz formation. Ryan’s center, Marcus “Darling” Darlington, had managed to hold off Rodney Johnson until the monstrous defensive end stormed past Darling, crashing straight into Ryan’s side. He winced as he watched Rodney’s helmet smash into his, causing his head to snap back violently.

  Ryan rubbed his sore neck as he watched the play a second time. The last thing he remembered was the referee’s bright yellow penalty flag landing on the field. The team’s trainers and doctor rushed onto the field, followed by Coach Simmons and the offensive line coach. After a few tense minutes during which the commentators had nervously speculated about Ryan’s failure to move, the trainers removed him from the field on a stretcher. Coach leaned down to say something to him. Then Ryan raised a hand to the crowd as he left the field. He had no memory of doing that or of the fans going wild at the gesture.

  The phone rang and Ryan moved carefully to reach for it. “Hello?”

  “Um, yes, hello. This is Rodney Johnson. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I got run over by the biggest, baddest defensive end in the NFL,” Ryan said with a chuckle. “Funny you should call right now, I was just watching the playback.”

  “Listen, man, I’m really sorry...”

  “For what? Doing your job?”

  “I did it too well this time. I didn’t mean to break your ribs and stuff.”

  “You did a number on my handsome face, too.”

  Rodney snorted with laughter. “I’m sure that’s a bigger problem for you than the ribs.”

  “You know it. I appreciate the call, Rodney, but you shouldn’t give it another thought. We both know shit happens in this game.”

  “Thank you for your forgiveness, and I’ll pray for your speedy recovery.”

  The image of the three hundred-pound defensive end bent in prayer amused Ryan. “I appreciate that.”

  “The league was a little less forgiving than you’ve been,” Rodney winced.

  “Hit you with a hefty fine, huh?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Well, I know you didn’t do it on pur
pose, so don’t sweat it. Enjoy the off-season.”

  “Oh, I plan to, but I would’ve enjoyed it a whole lot more if we’d beaten you guys.”

  Ryan laughed. “Maybe next year.”

  “Take care, Ryan.”

  “You, too.”

  He returned the phone to its cradle and rested his head back on the sofa, infuriated to realize he was already tired again. But rather than fight it, he gave into it and slept for a couple of hours. The doorbell awakened him. Stiff after his nap, Ryan shuffled through the house like an eighty-year-old man and swung open the door to find a bunch of his teammates on the front porch holding grocery bags and cases of beer. Grateful Susie wasn’t home at the moment, Ryan greeted them with a smile. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “You missed all the fun,” Bernie said. “So we figured we’d bring the fun to you.”

  “You gonna let us in, Sandy?” Darling hollered from the steps.

  “Sure, yeah, come on in.” Susie would kill him for this. He winced when Toad, his backup quarterback and one of the youngest players on the team, slapped him on the shoulder on the way by.

  “For Christ’s sakes, Toad, he’s hurt.” Bernie smacked Toad on the side of his head. “Don’t touch him again.”

  “Sorry, Sandy,” Toad said.

  “No worries. I won’t break.”

  “I sure am sorry I let it happen.” Darling shook his head with dismay at the colorful bruises on Ryan’s face. “That motherfucker Johnson is huge.”

  “Tell me about it.” Ryan followed them into the kitchen. A beer was pressed into his hand, and he took it only because he hadn’t had any pain medicine. “He called to check on me.”

  Everything in the kitchen came to a halt. “Get the fuck out of here,” Bernie finally said.

  Ryan smiled. “I know. It was a first for me, too.”

  “Saved himself a trip to the confessional,” Toad said, and the others howled with laughter.

  As Darling dug out pots and pans, a few of the guys got comfortable on the granite counter that made up the center island, and each of the massive men had a cold beer in his hand. Uh oh. They’re settling in. Susie is definitely going to kill me.