After All These Years (One Pass Away #2) Read online

  AFTER ALL THESE YEARS

  ONE PASS AWAY BOOK TWO

  MARY J. WILLIAMS

  ©2016 MARY J. WILLIAMS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Want to know how to motivate yourself to write a book? Have your favorite football team lose the Super Bowl. On the last play. With an interception. The next day I was so depressed I tuned out all media. No TV, no internet, no newspapers—nothing. And I started to write. I’m still writing. As you can see, a little motivation can do wonders. Happy reading everyone.

  HOW TO GET IN TOUCH

  Please visit me at these sites, sign up for my newsletter or leave a message.

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  MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS

  Harper Falls Series

  If I Loved You

  If Tomorrow Never Comes

  If You Only Knew

  If I Had You (Christmas in Harper Falls)

  Hollywood Legends Series

  Dreaming With a Broken Heart

  Dreaming With My Eyes Wide Open

  Dreaming Of Your Love (Coming in May)

  Dreaming Again (Coming in July)

  Dreaming of a White Christmas (Coming in December)

  One Pass Away

  After The Rain

  After The Fire (Coming in June)

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  About the Author

  How to Get in Touch

  More Books by Mary J. Williams

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  SEAN McBRIDE WOKE up with a smile on his face. It happened a lot lately. And he thoroughly approved.

  He stretched his long, athletic body. Some mornings every inch of him ached. Such was the life of a professional football player. Everything was about preparing for the game. Focus. Concentration. The goal was to be ready for game day.

  He had to hold it together for sixty minutes. Pull out a win any way possible. Sacrifice his body to the football Gods and pray he walked away healthy enough to do it all again next week.

  Sean dreaded the day after the game. The adrenaline had long ago worn off and he felt all of his thirty years. There were degrees of bad. Sometimes he shuffled to the shower, the aches and pains palpable, but mercifully bearable.

  Then there were the bad days. After a day of three-hundred-pound defensive backs using him as their own personal punching bag, he didn’t get out of bed—he crawled.

  Bruised from top to bottom, his joints creaked and his muscles protested like screeching banshees. Those were the times he wondered why he did it. He could have been a doctor. Or a lawyer. He could have taken his father’s advice and gone into the family business. No seventeen-year-old with dreams of glory in the NFL wanted to think about becoming a butcher. But damn. Cutting meat sounded good on those mornings.

  This was a good Monday. His body felt lithe—limber. The bruises were there. That was part of his life. However, yesterday had been one of those rare games when every moment fell into place. From the kickoff to the final whistle, the outcome of the game was never in question.

  Sean caught every ball thrown his way. He evaded the defense. Fast as the wind. Three touchdowns. One hundred and eighty-two total yards. A damn good day for any wide receiver. He would have had more if Coach Coleman hadn’t taken him out of the game in the fourth quarter. With a big lead, there was no reason to risk injury when he wasn’t needed.

  The after-game celebration moved from the locker room to one of the team’s favorite hangouts. Naturally the atmosphere was raucous. Cautiously so.

  The Knights were having a stellar season. Ten wins, two losses. Sean and his friends had enough games under their belts to understand how quickly that could turn. Injuries tended to come in bunches. So far, they were healthy. However, that was bound to change. The hope was to get to the playoffs with all their major players on the roster.

  After the game, they had a few drinks. Three was Sean’s limit these days. A few years ago it was a different story. He would have closed the place down after a win. He and his bed partner of the moment would have moved on to someone’s apartment, partying until dawn before going back to her place and fucking like demented rabbits. Then he would go home alone and catch a few hours sleep until it was time to grab a quick shower before heading to the Knights’ headquarters to review film from the game.

  Those days were over. Sean wasn’t a kid anymore, high on his own press clippings and more testosterone than brains. Not that he had settled down completely. He could still party with the best of them. However, he chose his moments—ones that never took place during the season.

  Women were another matter. Sean liked sex. Always had. If there were a God, he always would. While his bed partners weren’t as varied, they were almost as frequent.

  Sean knew players who abstained a few days before the game, saving their juice. He wasn’t one of them. Sean had plenty of juice, thank you very much. Sex was necessary for a happy and healthy mind. For his happy and healthy mind.

  A big plus to having sex at night was sex the next morning. It was one of his favorite things. A partner, warm and willing.

  The perfect way to start the day.

  Speaking of which. Smiling, Sean turned over. His hand reached out, expecting to find a soft, sweet woman. Instead, he found cold sheets. Sitting up, he looked around the room. Like the bed, empty. The bathroom door was open and the light off.

  Not bothering to cover up, Sean jumped out of bed. Buck naked, he searched the house. She wasn’t in the kitchen. Why would she be? She didn’t cook, not even coffee. She was on a first-name basis with half the baristas in Seattle.

  Was that it? Would she be back soon with two cups of steaming black caffeine and his favorite muffins? Sean was talking himself into that scenario when he saw the note.

  He picked up the paper that had been propped against the lamp by the front door.

  Sean.

  Thank you for the past few weeks. After years of building it up in my mind, I was worried that it couldn’t live up to my expectations. I should have known better. It was everything I had hoped for—and more.

  We didn’t make any promises. No strings were attached that need to be broken. After all these years, you can finally breathe easy. It’s over. We are now friends without the expectation of benefits.

  When we see each other, it will be as if it, we, never happened.

  Sean read the note. Then read it again.

  What the fuck? What was in those drinks?

  Sean searched his memory for some kind of clue. The bar. His teammates. Then she was there. They laughed. Everything was smooth and easy. They seemed to be developing a rhythm. In his mind, they were together. Not a man and a woman—a couple.

  It sounded good to him. He would have sworn she felt the same. He didn’t want another woman. He wanted her. In his arms. In his life.

  No expectations? Hell. He
woke up with plenty of them, only to find out he was alone. Alone in bed. Alone. Period.

  Sean scrubbed a hand over his face. He remembered the way she tasted. The way she melted into his arms. The curves of her luscious body pressed against his. Her sighs. His belief he would never get enough of her.

  Crumpling the note into a ball, Sean tossed it across the room. Suddenly he felt every ache. His legs felt like lead. Slowly, he shuffled toward the bathroom. He needed a shower. Long and hot. Determined not to look at the bed, Sean’s peripheral vision wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily. It captured everything. The rumpled sheet. The pillow still holding the imprint of her head. A slash of red on the floor.

  Frowning, Sean picked up the scrap of silk. So small he wondered why she had bothered. The image of her standing in nothing but her heels and the panties popped into his head. Unconsciously, his body tightened with desire.

  Right, that was why.

  Sean ran the smooth material over his cheek, feeling it catch on his morning stubble. He breathed deeply. He smelled vanilla and spice. Her essence. He would never forget it. As long as he lived, he would be able to close his eyes and conjure up her scent. Her taste.

  His eyes popped open. Friends? Nothing more? Bullshit!

  Keeping the panties in his hand, Sean headed for the shower. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. It was just the beginning.

  CHAPTER ONE

  EIGHT YEARS EARLIER

  RILEY PRESTON KNEW football. It was in her blood. Part of her DNA. When other girls her age were watching videos by their favorite boy band, Riley was studying depth charts and draft projections. Her friends threw their hands up in exasperation when she blew off trips to the mall. She preferred a Saturday afternoon game between Ole Miss and Georgia Tech to giggling over the latest fashions.

  Her idea of the perfect outfit was jeans and a baggy Seattle Knights football jersey. The shirt had seen better days. Multiple washings and a run-in with the neighbor’s Pomeranian had left it faded and ripped. She had a drawer full of brand new jerseys. Her father ran the team, which meant she had access to all the team merchandise her heart desired.

  However, the old one held sentimental value. Her grandfather gave it to her on her twelfth birthday. It was the year after he bought the Seattle Knights. And the year before he died of a massive heart attack.

  Douglas Preston made his first million dollars with his hands. He worked three jobs doing manual labor—anything and everything. He cleaned up at construction sites. Shoveled shit at a horse farm. Washed cars on the weekend. He saved every dime until he had enough to buy his first piece of commercial real estate. Then another. Then another.

  Douglas was a rich man by the time he turned thirty. He married money. At fifty, his million had become a billion. His wife was a stranger—his son an unbearable snob. He wasn’t an idiot. He recognized his mistakes. Making money had taken precedence over everything else. His family would never want for anything, but at what price?

  Joy entered his life one spring morning. The birth of his granddaughter, Riley April Preston. She was the light of his life. Every ounce of love and affection he hadn’t given his wife and son was heaped on her. He didn’t make the mistake of giving her material things. He gave her his time. While her parents were following in his footsteps—ignoring their only child—Douglas took her to the zoo. Or a museum. Or they would simply walk around Pioneer Square. However, when it was football season, Sundays were reserved for one thing. Seattle Knights football.

  Douglas was a season ticket holder. When she was old enough, he took Riley to every home game. Sometimes they would travel to Denver or San Diego or Chicago. Depending on the Knights’ schedule.

  Riley learned to read, sitting on her grandfather’s lap, going over the roster and team stats. She skipped beside him, holding his hand as he explained the difference between an inside linebacker and a defensive end.

  When the team came up for sale, Douglas purchased it, giving Riley a small share of the team. It was always his intention to give her his controlling interest. Someday. The dream was for her to learn at his side. When he was ready to turn over the reins, she would be ready.

  Neither Douglas nor Riley could have anticipated the heart attack that ended his life much too soon. There was no warning. After his yearly physical, his doctor had proclaimed Douglas to be as sound as a man in his forties. A week later, he was dead.

  Her grandfather’s passing was international news. World leaders, business moguls, and the entire Seattle Knights football team attended his funeral. That year they wore black armbands on their uniforms. A tribute on opening day lauded the man who helped turn the franchise from middle of the pack to elite. A perpetual contender.

  Publicly, the Preston family mourned Douglas’ passing with the proper show of respect. Riley’s parents said the right things. Gerald Preston praised his father in one interview after another. Corrine Preston cried daintily whenever Douglas’ name was mentioned.

  Privately, they practically danced on his grave. All the money and power was now theirs. Gerald no longer had to consult his father over every little matter. Preston Enterprises was his company and he lost no time sweeping out anyone who wasn’t on board with his plans.

  Riley’s mother had never gotten along with her father-in-law. She found him crude. He thought she was a cold fish. They were both right. Corrine enjoyed two things. Shopping and showing off her wealth. How better to do that than to throw the lavish parties Douglas had always frowned upon. Gerald didn’t care what she did or with whom she did it as long as she kept his home running smoothly.

  Neither considered Riley’s feelings. To be honest, she sometimes wondered if her parents remembered they had a child. Her grandfather had been her rock. That foundation of love and support kept her going after he was gone. She was strong because Douglas Preston made her that way. He praised her intelligence—not her beauty. The world is filled with window dressing, he would tell her. Looks fade. Brains are forever.

  When Douglas Preston died, he left her two things. A sense of her own self-worth, and her love of football. More precisely, her love of football, and the Seattle Knights.

  Gerald called the Knights his father’s ridiculous vanity project. If it had been up to him, he would have dumped the team as quickly as possible. Douglas’ will made it impossible. Gerald was a reluctant placeholder. He controlled the team—made the day to day decisions. But he couldn’t sell the team.

  Riley inherited a small share of the team. On her twenty-fifth birthday, a few more came to her. When she turned thirty, she would be the majority owner of the Seattle Knights.

  It was one of the few times Riley saw her father lose his temper.

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me the old man was leaving you the team?” Gerald demanded.

  Riley wisely refrained from saying, You were told. You just didn’t care enough to pay attention. Wouldn’t that have gone over like a lead balloon? Instead, she bided her time. She was twelve years old. She was too young to have anything to do with the running of the team. However, that didn’t mean she was powerless.

  Riley watched and waited. Her first move came just after her fifteenth birthday. The team was preparing for the yearly NFL draft. The Knights desperately needed help at wide receiver. Their franchise quarterback, Gaige Benson, was a magician. One of the best in the game. However, he needed help if the team was going to get to the Super Bowl. Right now, Gaige’s pinpoint passes were dropped more often than not. They needed someone with sure hands and quick feet.

  She didn’t think anyone turning pro was good enough. Riley went to her father with the suggestion they trade their pick to a team with an established wide receiver. She had graphs and charts to back her up. She thought she had gotten through to him. Gerald smiled, took the information she had spent hours compiling, and left the room.

  Riley was crushed when she found out with the rest of the world that the Knights decided to use their pick on a defensive lineman out of Florida
State. He turned out to be a bust. As did the tight end they drafted the next year—against Riley’s advice.

  Then it happened. The moment that would change her life.

  Riley didn’t bother with college players until their senior year. If someone caught her eye, she would look up their history, but until they were a potential fit for the Knights, she didn’t waste her time.

  Two years after their attempt to find a wide receiver, the team was still looking. In October, a senior at Georgia Tech caught her eye. Sean McBride was having the kind of season that had people talking Heisman Trophy and number one draft pick.

  Riley didn’t think McBride was destined for either accolade. The QB for Ohio State was putting up gawky numbers that tended to get awards glory. However, she was certain he would be an outstanding professional player.

  College football was all right. However, for Riley, it was a means to an end. There was no excitement. No passion. As her grandfather liked to say, ‘you can’t get worked up when you have no horse in the race.’ Riley’s horse was the Knights. Period. End of story. Until one fateful Saturday afternoon.

  Sean McBride was being interviewed after his game-winning touchdown. He looked into the camera and smiled. Riley Preston fell in love for the first time.

  Tall, with pitch-black hair, his hazel eyes were filled with laughter. Riley didn’t know what the joke was, but she desperately wanted to find out.

  It made no sense. She wasn’t a girl prone to foolish flights of fancy. Football players were athletes. To be admired? Yes. To be worshiped? Absolutely not. Yet, there it was. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself that off the field, Sean McBride meant nothing to her, the harder she tumbled.

  Part of her was horrified. What would her grandfather think? She had never met Sean. Never spoken a word to him. As she scoured the internet for any scrap of information, she told herself it was a crush. Her first—naturally it was hitting her hard.