ONE
Quarterback Alex Dare took possession of the ball the same way he took possession of a woman’s body. With skill, finesse, and the absolute certainty he’d score.
Madison Evans watched the man who’d been in her bed the night before on the huge screen in front of her. She’d joined her friends for Thanksgiving dinner, Riley and her husband, Ian Dare, and Ian’s siblings. With no biological family of her own, Madison appreciated having somewhere to go. Eating alone in a restaurant on a holiday, something she’d done often, held no appeal.
The football game held everyone’s attention. Watching the massive screen, Madison felt as if she were on the field along with Alex, his teammates, and the opposing players. Everyone around her joked, laughed, and ate the delicious hors d’oeuvres their hosts had supplied.
Someone yelled in complaint. Madison glanced at the television once more. A time out had been called, giving her an opportunity to reflect on the whirlwind couple of weeks she’d shared with the irresistible man.
She’d met Alex when Riley had been brought to the hospital a few months ago, but she’d ignored the quarterback with the playboy reputation in favor of the patient she’d been assigned to treat as the social worker on call.
She’d seen him again at Riley and Ian’s engagement party, where he’d turned on the charm and begun an all-out sensual assault. Despite her attempts to keep her distance, she’d broken down, given in, and ended up in his bed that same night. He didn’t do relationships, and she’d steeled herself for the inevitable quick end, which hadn’t happened.
Though Alex played for the Tampa Breakers and lived almost four hours from Miami, he kept his main home in Miami since most of his family was here in town. His apartment in Tampa existed for convenience during the season, when he was either here in Miami, in Tampa, or on the road.
But ever since he’d sweet-talked Madison into his bed, he’d made up for any physical distance in other ways. They’d talked on the phone and texted often, including sexting when he was out of town. And wasn’t that new for her? She squirmed in her seat at the arousing memories. Luckily, this past weekend, his team had had a bye week, football jargon for a week off. Which meant extra time in Miami. And with her.
They’d spent enough hours together both in and out of bed that, despite knowing his reputation, Madison’s emotions were already involved. Not smart for a host of reasons. If her childhood had taught her anything, it was to keep her feelings locked down tight. She knew better than to get attached to anyone in any capacity. Especially a man like Alex, who didn’t do relationships.
She even knew he was uncomfortable that she was spending this holiday with his family, never mind that they’d been her close friends before she’d gotten involved with him. He obviously hadn’t thought through the ramifications of an affair before turning on the charm. But chemistry like theirs didn’t come along every day. They had amazingly hot sex. Awesome, no holds barred, panty-drenching sex. Something Madison had never experienced before.
Not to mention, he had a sweet side. He adored his siblings and mother, he was protective of his friends, and he could seduce her with a wink and a smile. Then there were the off-the-chart orgasms. She wriggled and shifted positions because just the thought was enough to get her motor running. He was that good.
So if she was stupid enough to have developed some feelings for the man, she at least trusted that because of her friendship with Riley and the rest of his family, he’d treat her with care. If not, Riley would kick his ass, and Madison would be all too happy to help.
She didn’t believe in love at first sight. If pressed, she’d have said she didn’t believe in happily ever after, but as she watched him move on the field, her heart gave an unmistakable flutter, and she knew she was in trouble.
She forced her gaze to the play on the screen. Ball in hand, Alex scanned the field for his receiver. He obviously found the man he was looking for and raised his arm, poised to throw.
The next few seconds were a blur. He faked, ducked, and ran in the opposite direction only to be charged by a massive hulk of a man on his left. He took a hit and was leveled by opposing players on the right. Madison winced at the force of the blow that took him down. As the men heaped one on top of the other, time out was called.
The dog pile took time to sort as each man slowly rose to his feet. All except the player on the bottom. Number twenty-two, Alex Dare, lay sprawled and unmoving on the field.
* * *
Alex knew immediately, this hit was different than the others. Things went black for a few seconds too long. Enough to have panic setting in before the blue sky above him came back into view. Thank God. But the pain and the nausea were overwhelming and nonstop. And at some point, he must have blacked out. He woke up in an MRI machine, something he was all too familiar with. The enclosed space and loud banging noises didn’t help the pain. Finally, they pulled him out of the tiny capsule, and he answered the requisite questions about day and time, doing his best not to puke or move his head even a fraction of an inch.
Damn, he hurt.
He remembered the start of the game but not the score or the hit. Hell, he didn’t even remember the ambulance ride to the hospital. Not unusual for a concussion, and he’d had enough of them to know.
They sent him for more tests, and his head pounded with the force of a hundred bass drums. Waves of nausea washed over him, threatening to make him lose his lunch. If he’d eaten lunch. He couldn’t recall.
The team doctor and a neurological specialist were waiting when they finally settled him into a private room. Their expressions were grim, and his heart pounded harder in his chest. Physical pain he could endure. What they wanted to tell him? He was deathly afraid that he couldn’t handle.
The doctors spoke, sharing the news, their words echoing in his brain. He could not afford another hit to the head. One more concussion could lead to permanent brain damage.
Memory loss.
Depression.
Loss of motor control.
Blindness.
The damned doctors used every worst-case scenario they could think of to make their point: No more professional football.
A career-ending injury—every player’s worst nightmare.
He refused to talk to the doctors and was grateful when they finally left him alone. For the next hour, he stared at the ceiling of the hospital room, the blinding headache and nausea a constant reminder of loss.
He was twenty-six years old, and all he could think was … what now?
* * *