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  Molly watched Tank get the snap, survey the field, and deliver another perfect spiral into the hands of Iman. He was amazing. He hadn’t stopped stunning the college sports world since he’d chosen their little school over all the major BCS teams. It was a story that was retold every year, both on signing days and on the opening days of the season. But even hearing the story over and over again, no one really knew why Tank had ended up here. His motivations and reasons had never really been divulged.

  Knowing she had procrastinated long enough, she headed back to the office to make her phone call.

  When she hung up with the NCAA staff, she laid her head on her desk with a sense of relief. She’d enjoyed an hour of stress for nothing. They’d only reported something that she’d already known. They were monitoring Tank’s Facebook, watching out for agents and runners. Duh! She was surprised it had taken them two years to add them to their watch list. She would have put him on there after his freshman season. She needed to let Franco know even though it seemed to be common sense. He’d have some opinion about it.

  Picking up the phone, she called Miss Beverly, Coach’s administrative assistant.

  “Miss Beverly, it’s Molly.”

  “Hi, Molly,” she answered. She’d been the football secretary for as long as Molly had been alive.

  “Can you have Coach call me as soon as he can?”

  “Okay. He won’t come off the field for a while yet, and then they’ll do film and meet as a coaching staff. It might be late.”

  “Miss Beverly, have him call me tonight—no matter what time, the first available time. I need to talk to him.”

  That was the other thing about Franco. He hated not knowing if something was going on with his players, Tank or not. And she got that.

  “Absolutely. I’ll make sure he knows.”

  “Thanks, Miss Beverly.” Dropping the phone back into its cradle, Molly leaned back in her chair.

  She glanced at her watch. It was five thirty. The football staff probably wouldn’t be done until nine thirty or ten.

  She pushed out of her chair, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door. She’d go home for a bit and then come back to talk to Franco. She wanted to deliver her news in person.

  She tried not to think about the reason.

  Franco pushed his chair back and propped his feet on the table. He quickly noted the time and called Molly. Thinking she wouldn’t answer and he could enjoy a reprieve until tomorrow, he started when she picked up.

  “What’s up, Molly?” he asked without preamble as he rubbed the back of his neck, weary from the day.

  “You still in the building, or have you left?”

  Coming up in the chair, putting his feet on the ground, he laid his head on the table, wishing he could bang it a couple of times. “I’m here. You?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be right up,” she said before she hung up.

  Franco sighed heavily. He wasn’t up for a compliance debate tonight. Molly, he was up for anytime, but their conversations would often become antagonistic, as they’d each defend their positions. Sometimes, he would say the sky was red just to get a rise out her. She was fun to bait, and her arguments never disappointed. She was also fun to look at. Her shoulder-length curly blonde hair and deep blue eyes contributed to her all-American persona. She hailed from some Midwestern town and had the twang to prove it. Her height intrigued him because he didn’t feel like he dwarfed her, which he kind of liked. If he didn’t work with her, if she were just some woman he’d met socially, he’d have had her a long time ago. But, alas, they did work together. And that was all they did—unfortunately, for him.

  Disturbed that she’d stayed late to talk to him, Franco braced himself for bad news. All his freshmen had been cleared to practice and were deemed qualifiers, so he could scratch that off the list. Summer grades had posted, and as far as he knew, everyone was eligible. Check. He knew they had a waiver on file with the NCAA, but having that particular kid on the field wouldn’t make or break his year. Tank Howard would.

  Fuck, he thought, don’t let this be about Tank.

  As if sensing his rising panic, Molly opened the door, came in, and sat down at the table with him.

  Picking his head up, he asked, “How bad is this? Do I need to get the bottle of Jack I have stowed under my desk?”

  She smiled. “No. But it’s good to know that you have some Jack in the building. You might want to keep tabs on that bottle.”

  Right away, she put him at ease. Her easy manner dispelled his panic. Yet another thing he liked about her.

  Molly leaned forward and rested both elbows on the table. Franco followed suit. Sitting up, he rolled his chair closer and then leaned back again, hoping his relaxed stance would reveal a confidence lacking at that particular moment. He looked at her expectantly.

  “I really didn’t mean to alarm you, but I also didn’t want to leave this until tomorrow, which could turn into three days from now with your schedule.”

  He acknowledged the statement with a nod, knowing the truth in it.

  “I mean, don’t you have the Sports Illustrated cover to shoot?” she teased.

  “Ha. That was a couple of months ago.” He waved off her teasing, wanting her to get to the point.

  “The NCAA called. They wanted to inform me that Tank Howard was now on their watch list. Frankly, I am a bit surprised he wasn’t on there sooner, ever since signing day. But, I suppose, with him being eligible for the draft after this year, they want to monitor him for agent activity.”

  More alert now but not alarmed, Franco nodded slowly. “So, what does that mean exactly?”

  “They’ll monitor his social network accounts, specifically looking for particular names. Agents are using runners now to get close to the players. The NCAA wants to make sure Tank’s not communicating with agents before it’s time—and, of course, that he doesn’t show up to school in a brand-new car.”

  Relieved, Franco stood and made his way to the door. “I’m not worried about Tank and agents. The NCAA is wasting their time. He and I have discussed the timeline. He has a plan. Trust me, Molly, this is not an issue.”

  Knowing she was being dismissed, Molly stood. “I agree to some extent. But Tank needs to be careful. A runner could be anyone—girls on campus, people in his class. I don’t know if you’ve had that discussion with him, but it needs to be had. You can send him to me, and I can explain it to him.”

  Franco stopped and turned around to her. “Tank doesn’t need to be tutored on this, Molly. He gets it. He knows. He’s careful. I need for him to be focused on the season—not agents, not runners, not the goddamn Heisman. He’s already more distracted than I’ve seen him. I appreciate the heads-up, Molly,” he added to soften his outburst, “but this is not an issue.”

  Trying to disguise her hurt, Molly moved quickly through the door that Franco still held, his exit interrupted by his anger.

  “Just thought you’d want to know,” she murmured.

  “No one needs to watch Tank. The person they should all be watching is that piece-of-shit sperm donor of his. If anyone is going to fuck this up for Tank, it’s going to be Richard Howard.”

  He watched Molly continue to walk swiftly down the hall, looking for her brief nod of acknowledgment. But she didn’t turn or nod, just kept walking.

  Cursing himself for his attitude and his secret fears, Franco slammed the offensive room door a little harder than necessary. As he headed to his car, Franco lamented over his irrational fears of conjuring Richard Howard just by murmuring his name.

  Great, he thought. Fucking Harry Potter references.

  Five

  A few days before the first game of the season, the physical therapist Amber worked with cleared her for limited activity. Anxious to get back into working out, she found herself strolling through the athletic department, looking for the sports medicine area at zero dark thirty. The woman her father had hooked her up with worked with the athletic department on a contract basis. But, with
the fall season underway, the time slots were slim.

  She’d met with the trainer, Glenna Davis, the day before to map out her rehab. This morning, she would walk on the treadmill in the pool. Although she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to last because it’d been so long since she’d been mobile. It used to be that she could move for hours. Now, she felt beaten and battered after her shifts at the bar. If nothing else, her goal was to be able to make it through her shift without needing twenty-four hours to recover.

  Glenna got her in the water and hooked up to the treadmill.

  “Thanks for doing this for me,” Amber told her.

  Glenna adjusted the speed on the treadmill. “Of course. Remember, we are taking it easy today. Let’s just get a baseline.”

  “Okay.” Amber began to walk, surprised at the resistance provided by the water. “It sounded so easy, but it doesn’t feel easy,” she commented as her breathing began to labor.

  “You’ve been down for how long?” Glenna asked.

  “It’s been a year and a half since the accident.”

  “So, the key word is going to be patience.”

  “Not persistence,” Amber quipped.

  Glenna shook her head and smiled. “I think you’ve got the persistence thing down.”

  Amber smiled back at her, liking her immensely.

  “I’ve got some stuff I need to do, so I am going to leave you for a few minutes.” Glancing at her watch, Glenna said, “We have treatments starting at eight, so I’ll try to let you off the hook around seven forty.”

  At Amber’s nod, Glenna left. While she had appreciated the company, Amber would rather suffer alone. Talking would make her concentrate on doing two things at once. The walking taxed her enough without having to engage in conversation. But, after a few minutes of being alone, she remembered why the solitude wasn’t all that good either. It allowed her time to think.

  Over the last few weeks, she’d settled in. Between rehab and working at the Bear’s Den, she’d come up with a routine that worked for her and allowed her to avoid her father on most days. When they did see each other, there wasn’t time for in-depth conversations. They existed in this odd purgatory where they circled around each other and what had happened. She thought that if he looked at her with something other than pity, she’d be able to talk to him. But the moment their eyes met, mirror images of each other, sorrow for her would flood his eyes, and she’d find herself looking away.

  Her dad was really young when the girl he had been seeing had gotten pregnant. The ins and outs of what had happened had long ago stopped mattering to Amber. The woman who had given birth to her had given her up to her father and his parents. Essentially, her grandparents had raised her. Perhaps her mother had looked at his family and known that Amber would always be loved, or perhaps she hadn’t cared. Amber had never really felt the loss of her mother because she’d never lacked for love. With her father being the oldest of eight, she’d grown up alongside her aunts and uncles and never experienced a lonely day in her life. Up until his career had taken him away from her, her dad had been involved in everything. And even after he’d left, his every free moment was spent with her.

  This new chasm that existed between them hurt, but sort of like the new skin forming on her jaw and neck, numbness reigned.

  She kept waiting for the feeling to rush back—in her face and in her mind. But there wasn’t much that penetrated. Her therapist, whom she still had a hard time admitting to, had said that it was probably her mind’s defense against the accident. But Amber didn’t know if she bought that. She waited…waited to feel something—guilt, sorrow, fear, anger.

  Shouldn’t I be angry when I look in the mirror and see the mess that’s my face? Or sad because of the situation I left behind? Or guilty because I couldn’t even look my father in the face without hating the pity I see there?

  Unfortunately, Tank Howard had made her feel something, which was just fucking typical for her. During the banter with him and while her hand had been in his, she’d felt all sorts of things. But the Tank Howards of the world were the reason that her face was all jacked up.

  Couldn’t I just once bypass the big man on campus? Nope, not me.

  Because she was that girl—the one who was with the guy everyone else wanted.

  In high school, it was Jake Michaels, star football player, who’d gone on to play at Syracuse. At Ole Miss, it was Rowdy Daniels, the Tank Howard of Ole Miss. He wasn’t on anyone’s Heisman list, but he was a good football player with NFL prospects. In retrospect, her attraction to a football player shouldn’t have been surprising, but she’d thought that Rowdy would have cured her of that proclivity. It was the least he could have done.

  She glanced down at the monitor. Only sixty more seconds, she thought with relief.

  As the treadmill ground to a halt, Amber stopped walking. She looked around for Glenna and found herself staring directly at the beautiful Tank Howard, smirking at her.

  Yep, luck of the damned.

  “Hey there, Sunshine. How are you?” he asked solicitously.

  Tank sat on the edge of the pool with his feet dangling. She was fairly certain that anyone else would have been shooed away but not him. Her hand automatically reached up and pulled her hair over her right side in an attempt to hide her scar. She saw him notice, his mouth tightening before he relaxed. She wanted to be able to get away from him, to exit with some dignity, but she was still hooked up to the machine and had no idea how to extricate herself from it.

  Noticing her dilemma, he smiled at her again. “I’d help you out, but Glenna would kick my ass.”

  “I’m sure you’d just talk yourself out of any trouble,” she responded sweetly, sharing a fake smile. “I mean, you are Tank Howard. Who stays mad at you for long?”

  “Apparently, you,” he quipped, getting the better of her.

  Frustrated with being effectively trapped and pissed because he’d won that small word skirmish, Amber looked around, desperate for an escape. He must have noted her rising panic because he stood up from the side of the pool and walked into the main training room. There was nothing to do but watch him strut. He had to be six-four, two hundred and thirty pounds. His shirt pulled across his back as he moved. His muscles rippled under his taut cocoa-brown skin. She knew, without seeing it, that his stomach was ripped and sculpted. If his body wasn’t enough to tempt a girl, his light-green eyes, in contrast to his caramel skin, could just about push you over the edge. She felt her body temperature rise as she observed him move gracefully toward the offices at the front of the training room.

  And she prayed silently for distance from him.

  Tank came back with Glenna in tow and then stayed to watch the release. Avoiding his eyes at all costs, Amber tried to make conversation with Glenna.

  “So, same time tomorrow?” Amber asked.

  “With the game on Saturday, it might be difficult. We’ll probably have to wait until Monday,” Glenna responded.

  She was all business now, and Amber couldn’t think of any other way to prolong her presence. As soon as Amber was free, Glenna gave her a quick good-job pat on the shoulder and left Amber and Tank alone.

  As she climbed out of the pool, she noticed that Tank was holding out a towel for her. Grabbing it, she made for the bench on the back wall because her legs felt like jelly. Tank stayed where he was, on the edge of the pool, giving her space.

  “I haven’t seen you on campus before. I actually haven’t seen you before the Bear’s Den. How’d you score Glenna’s services?”

  Amber shrugged. “I know people.”

  “Do you go to school here?”

  Deliberately rolling her eyes, she responded, “I’ve been on a school hiatus. But I transferred and should graduate at the end of fall.”

  “What’s your major?” he continued.

  “Is this Twenty Questions?”

  Throwing up his hands, he said, “Fine. Don’t answer that super personal question. You going to the game o
n Saturday?”

  “What’s a girl have to do to get rid of you?”

  “Answer my questions,” he said.

  He presented her with a self-deprecating grin that showcased his dimples and sent her hormones into overdrive.

  “Ugh! Broadcast journalism, which I’m pretty sure is out now. And I haven’t decided about the game. I have to work that night. Driving to Athens for the game would make it a long day. Now, I’ve answered your questions. There’s the door,” she said, gesturing with her hand.

  “See you Saturday, Sunshine,” he said. He turned and started for the door.

  “I didn’t say I was going, and I don’t think Sunshine is an appropriate nickname.”

  He kept walking. “See you Saturday, and I didn’t think it’d be nice to call you bitch, which is about the only appropriate nickname for you.”

  “Tank?” she called out sweetly.

  He kept walking but turned to look back at her.

  “Fuck you!” she said with an innocent smile back on her face.

  “Right back at you, Sunshine.”

  What is it about this girl? Tank thought as he went in search of Glenna.

  He’d thought about Amber more than once since she’d literally fallen at Marsh’s feet. He’d searched for her without even knowing he was doing it. He hadn’t gone as far as asking about her, but he was about to cross over that line as soon as he found Glenna. If he could find out Amber’s last name, he could at least cyberstalk her and probably garner a whole lot about who she was. It would probably cure him.

  Although she intrigued him, he knew it was because she was a bit of a mystery. And, in this town, that was something of a novelty. Sure, when the new freshmen came in every year, the thrill of the chase would be back on. But five weeks into practice and two weeks into school, he’d gotten bored with the selection. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t be bored with her.