After The Fire (One Pass Away Book 3) (5 page)

So what if her only physical contact was with her patients?
Violet loved her job. It was enough. At least that’s what she kept telling
herself. The past. The present. The future. Until two months ago, she thought
she had them in a neat, orderly perspective. But two things had rocked her
world, making her rethink her life.

The death of her mother. And an out of the blue phone call.
On the surface, there didn’t seem to be a connection. But lies and secrets tied
them irrevocably together. The common link? Gaige Benson. Her past had caught
up with her present with lightning speed. Terrance Aldridge was the key to
finding out if Gaige might be part of her future.

“Now that we’ve established that we both lead busy lives,
why don’t we get down to the reason for your visit.” Violet felt a burst of
butterflies take wing in her stomach. “I read the information you sent me—it
was thorough and well put together.”

“Thank you. Gaige is a stickler when it comes to getting our
printed material as clear and concise as possible.” Terrance laughed. “Gaige is
a stickler when it comes to everything. It’s one of the reasons he’s a great
QB. When he’s running the show, nothing gets done in a half-assed fashion.”

It was odd hearing Gaige’s name. Terrance spoke about him in
such an offhand manner—deep affection in his voice.

“Gaige—Mr. Benson,” Violet quickly corrected herself. “His
foundation is impressive.”

“Like the man,” Terrance said. “Do you follow football, Dr.
Reed?”

“Please, call me Violet. I was never a fan.” Violet thought
about the stacks of books she had piled throughout her apartment. “You could
say that it has become somewhat of a passion of mine.”

“Really?” Violet let out a sigh of relief when Terrance didn’t
ask her reasons. “As a New Yorker, I imagine you like the Giants or the Jets. I
hope you won’t hold Gaige’s decidedly West Coast affiliation against him or the
foundation.”

Violet smiled at his joke. Little did Terrance know. She
hadn’t chosen her team by location. The Seattle Knights held her loyalty for
one reason—their starting quarterback.

“Actually, my father is a Knights fan, though I didn’t know
that until recently. He started following them around the time Mr. Benson
joined the team.”

Interest lit in Terrance’s eyes. “Is he from Seattle?”

“No.” Violet weighed her words carefully. “I didn’t ask his
reasons.” Because she already knew the answer.

Terrance nodded, apparently willing to accept her words at
face value. “Let me tell you why I’m here, Violet. Gaige recently read an
article about contact lenses treated with stem cells. He is fascinated by the
possibilities. We would like to add a doctor, an ophthalmologist, to the
foundation’s board of directors.”

Violet blinked, surprised. Terrance noticed her reaction.

“Gaige isn’t your average dumb jock,” he told her pointedly.

“Who is?” Violet said it with a straight face, but her
tongue was planted firmly in her cheek.

It was Terrance’s turn to be surprised. He paused, then
threw his head back in laughter. “Touché. I deserved to have my assumptions
thrown back in my face. And you’re right.
Dumb jock
is an outdated
moniker. Most of the football players I know took advantage of their time in
college, graduating with degrees. They spent as much time in the library as the
weight room.”

“So did I.” Violet held up her arm, flexing an impressive
bicep. Then she shrugged. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist showing off.”

“I don’t blame you. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. Now, back to the point. I’m flattered that you’re
considering me for the position on the board. How many others are you meeting
with? And when will you need a decision?”

“You’re it.”

“Excuse me?”

“When we know what we want we don’t mess around, Violet. We
knew what we wanted. Our researchers did their usual amazing job and presented
us with a short list. You were at the top.”

Violet swallowed nervously. “Mr. Benson approved your
choice?”

“He will. Gaige has other commitments at the moment.”

She heard commitment and her brain automatically went to a
woman. Her research could only cover so much. She knew Gaige had never married.
There were mentions of women he dated, but nothing current. Was he seriously
involved with someone? Violet silently groaned. That wouldn’t be irony. It
would be a freaking kick in the teeth.

“Commitments?” Hidden by the desk, Violet wrung her hands.

“It’s November.” Violet sent him a blank look. “Football
season. From September to the end of the season, Gaige leaves the running of
the foundation to board members and me. I only bother him when there’s a major
decision to be made.”

“Won’t he have to sign off before you hire me?”

“I hoped I could persuade you to fly to Seattle next week.
The Knights have two home games in a row. It’s the perfect time for you to
meet.”

Violet hesitated. The thought of seeing Gaige for the first
time made her excited and sick all at once. She had so much she
wanted—needed—to say. The question was would he want to hear any of it?

“Gaige will be on board. The decision will be up to you.
Your choice.”

Your choice
. Violet heard the words, only it was
Gaige’s voice saying them. Sixteen years ago he told her the same thing. But it
hadn’t been her choice. Not then. This time, she
would
have a say in
what happened.

“I’ve never been to Seattle.”

“It’s a beautiful city. Even in November.” Terrence sat
forward, his eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Naturally, it won’t be necessary to
move. However, did I mention there’s a brand new research facility about to
open? It was funded by the
Gaige Benson Foundation
.”

“Handy. I would like to see that.”

“Does that mean you’ll come for a visit?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what it means.”

Crossing her fingers, Violet hoped she was making the right
move. There was no way to anticipate Gaige’s reaction when they met. He wasn’t
the same young man. She wasn’t the same young woman. But she had to know if
there were the slightest chance for them to get to know each other as the man
and woman they were today.

WHEN HE ESTABLISHED his foundation, Gaige had a clear,
straightforward idea of what he wanted to accomplish. Help those who needed a
boost in the right direction. The first few years were about building a firm
toehold. Growing, little by little. What was the point of having so much if he
couldn’t share it with others?

What had started as a few dedicated people working within
their community, had grown into something bigger than he could have imagined.
And that was saying something. Gaige didn’t dream often, but when he did, he
didn’t hold back. Go big or go home. Gaige was a firm believer in jumping in
feet first and pulling everyone in with him.

Thanks to his friends and some dedicated employees, his
foundation had helped thousands. Just over the horizon, Gaige hoped to someday
add a few zeros to the end of that number.

It was a typical Monday afternoon in late November. The day
after a game meant a couple miles of roadwork followed by an easy workout at
the team’s facilities. Then a few hours studying film from yesterday’s game and
meeting with Coach Coleman and offensive coordinator, Jerry Wills.

“How are you holding up?” Harry asked as the meeting broke
up.

“Like a rock.” A rock with a few chips and scratches. But
they were twelve games into a sixteen-game season. Throw in training camp and
pre-season. There wasn’t a player in the NFL who wasn’t feeling some wear and
tear—no matter their age.

“That was a pretty big hit you took yesterday. If I didn’t
know any better, I’d say Phil Stanhope has it in for you.”

“He’s a linebacker. It’s in their DNA to hate quarterbacks.
Stanhope and I don’t have a history.”

“Except you’ve beaten Baltimore seven straight times. That
can rub anybody the wrong way.”

“He went for my ribs,” Gaige admitted. He stretched his body
to the side, feeling a bit of tenderness. “If he had the chance, he would have
covered me with sauce and had a meal. But I can still outmaneuver three hundred
pounds of thundering blubber. Don’t worry, Harry. I made it this far. Nine to
go.”

Nine referred to the games left in his career—including the
Super Bowl. But Gaige didn’t believe in tempting fate. He didn’t mention the
big game—neither did anyone else. Not unless they wanted to get on Gaige’s bad
side. And no one wanted that. He was as easy going a man as you would ever
find—but even he had certain buttons one shouldn’t push.

The Super Bowl was his holy grail. Think about the
possibility. Hope for it. Wish all you wanted. But never say it aloud. Not in
front of Gaige. Not if you wanted to keep your head on your shoulders.

“It’s early.” Harry looked at the clock. “What’s on your
plate for the rest of the day? Hot date?”

“I have an interview with Paul Wellington. He’s cute, but
not my type.”

That was two hours ago. Gaige wanted nothing more than a
beer, steak on the rare side, and an early night. But Terrance had texted him
asking him to drop by the foundation as soon as possible. Not urgent, but
important. Terrance knew his schedule as well as anyone. If his old friend said
something was important, he wasn’t exaggerating.

Gaige pulled into the parking lot, easing his car to a stop.
It still felt odd to see his name on a plaque that read,
Reserved for Gaige
Benson
. It was his name, but sometimes he felt like that kid from Brooklyn
who dreamt of playing professional football. He wouldn’t say he had come
farther than he imagined. At times like this, he mentally pinched himself. He
had always expected to succeed—but he would never take it for granted.

He walked across the lot and into the building. The entire
sixth floor belonged to the foundation. Last spring, they had moved from their
original offices to a bigger space downtown. The plush digs weren’t just
practical. Terrance reminded him that when someone considered giving money, they
liked you to look like you didn’t need it. It was a crazy theory, but Gaige
couldn’t argue. Donations were up thirty-five percent.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Benson.”

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get their new
receptionist to call him by his first name. Maybe it was the age difference.
When he was twenty-three years old, thirty-eight seemed ancient. Some days,
especially after a rough game, Gaige forgot what it felt like to be that young.

But not today. It was right there in front of his eyes. Bright,
energetic, and filled with the knowledge that everything was ahead of her. It
was a beautiful thing. And he wouldn’t have traded places with her for anything
in the world.

“How are you, Wendy?”

The pretty blonde blushed, batting her big, brown eyes.
Okay
.
It seemed the problem wasn’t that she thought he was too old. He knew what a
crush looked like. He’d been on the receiving end of enough of them. She would
get over it, they always did. In the meantime, Gaige gave her a smile. Neutral
and kind.

“I’m great, thank you, Mr. Benson.” The color on her cheeks
grew a deeper shade of pink. “Great game yesterday. The Knights are going to
the Super Bowl for sure.”

His smile didn’t slip, but it took some effort. Breathing
deeply—in, then out—Gaige waited for a beat before responding. He had a
standard phrase for moments like this.

“Fingers crossed.” It was inane, but it served its purpose.
Wendy nodded as though his words were the cleverest thing ever spoken. “Is
Terrance in his office?”

Wide-eyed, Wendy nodded. “Mr. Aldridge said to send you
right in.”

Gaige walked down the hall to the last door on the right. He
knocked, entering without waiting for an answer.

The office reflected the man who occupied it. Warm colors
and comfortable furniture. Gaige knew that Terrance’s wife was responsible for
decorating the area. But Dil Aldridge knew her husband’s tastes. The deep blues
and chocolate browns suited him perfectly. It was the kind of space in which a
man could do business, then relax and enjoy the view out the large plate-glass
window. Downtown stretched out before them. And to the right, Knights Stadium.

Terrance looked up, concern shadowing his eyes.

“How are the ribs?”

Gaige didn’t dodge the question. Terrance wasn’t his head
coach or a member of the press. He didn’t bullshit a man who had pulled him up.
Taught him. Became his father. His friend. Then stood beside him—through the
good and bad—for twenty-five years.

“That fucker Stanhope is gunning for me.” Gaige lifted his
shirt. The bruise over his ribs was starting to turn an interesting
shade—somewhere between navy blue and ink black.

“Son of a bitch. I winced when I saw him hit you. Did the
x-rays come back negative?”

Gaige nodded. “I’m sore, but the ribs are fine.”

“Stanhope hates you.”

“It’s been five years.”

Terrance poured two cups of coffee. It was an expensive
machine—top of the line. A gift from Gaige on his last birthday. He drank so
much of the stuff his wife swore his blood had to be half caffeine. Terrance
was fine with that. According to his last check-up, he had the body of a
thirty-year-old. No one would convince him that six cups a day of pure
Columbian brew wasn’t a big reason why.

“You stole his woman.”

Gaige accepted the cup of un-doctored coffee. He drank it
black—the same as Terrance.

“The hell you say. She hit on me. I was in the mood. End of
story. How was I supposed to know she was using me to make him jealous?”

“Or that she would make your one-night stand public
knowledge.” Terrance shook his head. “You were always a good student. But the one
thing I could never teach you was to keep your dick in your pants.”

“My dick has never steered me wrong.” Gaige took a sip of
the hot liquid. “Roll your eyes all you want. I’m thirty-eight years old. I’ve
never been divorced.”

“Because you’ve never been married.”

“I’ve never been accused of being anybody’s baby daddy.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“I always suit up.” Gaige was damn proud of that fact.

“Condoms aren’t one hundred percent,” Terrance pointed out. “Considering
all the women you’ve been with odds are one of your swimmers made it through.
Maybe you’re sterile.”

“The end of the Benson line? Maybe that wouldn’t be such a
bad thing.”

“Come over here so I can hit you upside the head.”

“I’d rather not. Been there, done that. Keep your big paws
to yourself.”

“I thought we settled this years ago. You are nothing like
your father. Is that what has kept you from having kids?”

Gaige didn’t respond. This was an old and well-worn
conversation. Nothing changed. Not Terrance’s argument—nor his own. DNA. No
matter how hard he tried to be a good man, every now and then he was reminded
of what he came from. The bastard wouldn’t go away. Not in his head or his
life.

Don Benson lurked in the shadows. Gaige never knew when he
would pop out or what form he would take. How could he subject a child to that
kind of potential nightmare?

“I like my life.” And he did. “I enjoy being a bachelor.
Hell, maybe after I retire, my agent can get me on that TV show. I’ll search
for true love in front of millions of viewers. Happily ever after—guaranteed.”

“You’re impossible.” Terrance leaned back in his seat. “I’ll
drop it. What are your plans for the evening?”

“You’re the second person to ask me that question.”

“What’s the answer?”

“I’m free as a bird. Unless this is about business. Then I’m
busy. Booked solid.” Gaige knew that look. He could feel his hope for a quiet
evening slipping away.

“It’s business related.” Terrance smiled when Gaige groaned.
“But there is a big spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.”

“I’m listening,” Gaige said warily.

“Dinner with a beautiful woman.”

“I’m with you so far. Where does the business come in?”

“She’s the ophthalmologist we’re trying to talk into joining
the board. She flew in this afternoon. There’s a formal meeting set up for
tomorrow.”

“But you want me to soften her up tonight.” Gaige was fine
with that. Up to a point. “How soft are we talking?”

“Don’t worry, your virtue is safe. I’m not asking you to
prostitute yourself for the cause. Besides, Dr. Reed doesn’t strike me as the
type of woman who would be into that. Even from you.”

“I wasn’t worried about my virtue,” Gaige laughed. “Wait.
Did you say Dr.
Reed
?”

In the middle of refilling his cup, Terrance didn’t see
Gaige’s reaction. Disbelief, followed by shock. He held his breath, waiting for
Terrance to respond. It had been sixteen years since he had heard that name
except in his memories. Perhaps he had misunderstood.

“That’s right. Dr. Violet Reed. I met with her in New York
last week. What?” Terrance set his coffee on his desk. “From the expression on
your face, I’d say you aren’t thrilled with my news. Do you know Dr. Reed?”

“No, I don’t know her.” Not the woman she was today. “Where’s
she staying?”

Terrance mentioned a hotel near downtown. “But if you would
like to meet her now, Calvin is introducing her around the offices.”

“She’s here? Now?”

Gaige sat up straight. He looked down, checking out what he
was wearing. Casual but clean and neat. If he remembered correctly, it wasn’t
very different than the kind of thing he wore sixteen years ago—not that it
would matter to Violet. She hadn’t seen his clothing. Or his face.

“Gaige?”

He jumped at the touch of Terrance’s hand on his shoulder.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing. May I use your bathroom?”

“Sure. Aren’t you feeling well?”

“I’m fine.”

Gaige flipped on the light and closed the bathroom door. Was
he fine? His hand trembled—not a lot. But enough for him to notice. Gripping
the edge of the counter, he leaned close to the mirror. He looked at himself
every day. When he shaved or brushed his teeth. He was a man who paid attention
to his appearance. Took care of himself. He had to. His body was his
livelihood.

Gaige Benson—the face of Seattle football.

His picture was everywhere. On billboards. On the side of
buses. Banners. T-shirts. Coffee mugs. One couldn’t walk anywhere in the city
without running into his picture. Then there were the national and
international commercials. When he stopped to think about it,
Gaige
was
sick of seeing himself. He couldn’t imagine why the rest of the world didn’t
feel the same.

But this was the first time he really stopped and assessed
how he looked. As a thirty-eight-year-old man who was about to meet a woman he
hadn’t seen for sixteen years.

Had she looked him up online?
God
. Gaige couldn’t
imagine the hodgepodge of articles and pictures she would have found. His
football life was well documented. His high school stats. College. His career
with the Knights. It was all there. Nothing to be ashamed of.

Then there was his personal life. He was single. Never married—nor
engaged. Not even close. But there had been women. Many, many women. Google his
name and the digital scrapbook would dazzle the most casual observer. Models.
Actresses. Politicians. Teachers. The job didn’t matter. As long as he found
her attractive, Gaige was an equal opportunity dater.

Fine lines surrounded his eyes. Not bad. He moisturized like
any smart twenty-first-century male. His green eyes were bright and clear.
Running his hand through his short blond hair, Gaige looked for gray hairs. None.
Not a single one. Firm chin and jowls—no visible sagging. Not bad. His
teammates might jokingly call him
old man
, but in his estimation, he
didn’t look a day over thirty.

And Violet didn’t look a day older than the first time he
saw her. That slight figure he saved from sliding off her hospital bed.