Heartstrings and Helmets: A Small-Town, Second Chance Romance
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Synopsis
A man who's gained fortune and fame. A woman who's known heartbreak and despair. A second chance for a couple who went their separate ways years ago . . .
As a wide receiver for the Dallas Cowboys, West Sutherland walks away at the peak of his career, ready to find a quieter life in his hometown of Hawthorne, Texas. He's hired by his former high school coach and mentor and will have a place on the Hawks' coaching staff next year. He's surprised to find Kelby Blackstone in town, the girl he's never forgotten.
Kelby Blackstone married her college boyfriend, who was drafted into the NFL. Injury-prone, he turns to alcohol and drugs, and Kelby divorces him. She moves to Dallas and forges a new career path and life, until she receives devastating news that her father has suffered a stroke.
Although as teenagers, West and Kelby maturely agreed to go their separate ways after high school, running into one another in Hawthorne fourteen years later causes unresolved feelings to surface for them both. They decide to explore what they missed out on the first time, finding their shared past and old friendship soon grows into deep feelings for one another.
The road to love is never easy, however, and they must deal with obstacles in their professional lives, even as they find strength in their shared passion for their hometown and each other.
Will a second chance at finding lasting happiness be in store for West and Kelby?
Find the answer in bestselling author Alexa Aston's Heartstrings and Helmets, the first book in Hearts in Hawthorne. This romance contains no third-act breakup!
Each book in the series is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order. The entire series is available in Kindle Unlimited.
Release date: June 17, 2025
Publisher: Oliver Heber Books
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
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Heartstrings and Helmets: A Small-Town, Second Chance Romance
Alexa Aston
Prologue
Super Bowl Sunday—New Orleans
West Sutherland opened his eyes after the best night of sleep he’d had in months. No, years. Today, his Dallas Cowboys would play the Las Vegas Raiders for the Lombardi Trophy.
And he was going to retire after the game.
He was wrapping up ten seasons in the NFL, where he’d been All-Pro seven of those years. Last year, he had missed the final two regular season games and one playoff game, and the Cowboys had badly missed his contributions. He’d suffered an ACL injury during a catch at the two-yard-line. The infamous popping noise and sensation had been instant the moment he hit the ground. Still, West had made certain his body fell over the goal line, ensuring his team won the game, which had gone into overtime. His reception iced their victory.
Thankfully, the MRI showed only a sprain of his anterior cruciate ligament, which crossed the middle of his knee, and not a more serious tear. He couldn’t put any weight on it, though, and had been carted off as Dallas fans cheered loudly, chanting his name. By the time he reached the locker room, the painful, rapid swelling frightened him. West had lived a charmed life on the football field, only suffering minor injuries since his days of playing Pop Warner football. A few sprained ankles. A dislocated shoulder, which still popped out on occasion. A couple of broken fingers.
While his injury had not required surgery, he still put in the hours of rehab necessary to come back and play this year. The exercises had helped him regain strength as well as stability in his knee. The loss of range of motion, coupled with the feeling of instability—as if his knee would buckle—was what the physical exercises dealt with.
Tougher than the rehabbing process was the mental stress. Although his body felt fine, his mind still told him it could happen again, this time leading to a tear and surgery. Because he was so shaky mentally, he’d started seeing a therapist, something he’d scoffed at before. But Dr. Linda really listened. She challenged him. Not just about the injury, but about what he would be doing after football, something West hadn’t put a lot of thought into.
Dr. Linda walked him through all kinds of scenarios—ways he could suffer another ACL, especially because he’d hurt his knee once already—and it was more likely to happen again now that he was vulnerable. He mentally walked through pivoting when his foot was planted firmly on the turf. Going up for a ball and landing awkwardly after the leap. Or the worst—being victim to a direct blow to his knee from behind by one of those gnarly linebackers or defensive backs who seemed to have no fear as they flew across the field at breakneck speed, ready to bring down a receiver.
West had an in-person session with his therapist every day leading up to last summer’s training camp, fighting through his fears. Then he’d scheduled FaceTime therapy with Dr. Linda during camp and hadn’t missed a day. All their conversations had led him to the decision that he was ready to walk away from football after tonight’s game.
He showered and shaved, dressing in a crisp, white dress shirt and gray suit. No tie. His cell rang, and he answered it, grinning at his therapist’s image.
“Right on time, Doc,” he said, sitting on the bed and bracing his back against the headboard.
“Have you made your decision?” she asked, concern in her deep, brown eyes.
“Yes, ma’am. Tonight is my last game.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Tell me why. Walk me through it, West.”
Gathering his thoughts before he spoke, he finally said, “It’s not fun anymore. Actually, I was feeling this all during last season. I’d always told myself when I wasn’t having fun, I would walk away.”
“Do you think your injury last year has contributed to your decision?” she pressed.
“Yes and no. I still worry when I go out on the field about getting hurt again. Once I’m out there, playing, caught up in the game, that worry goes away. I don’t think I’ve been tentative on a single play. But leading up to games and making myself hit the field has been brutal.”
He paused. “But it’s more than that. I’ve accomplished every goal I set out to do, at every level I’ve played at. I’ve been the Golden Boy my whole life, Doc. All-State in high school. All-American in college, winning a national championship. Then All-Pro, with two Super Bowl rings, and the chance at another one tonight. I’ve always studied the playbook hard. Been a great teammate. Even a leader.”
“Yes, being named captain this year in your comeback was quite an honor,” she noted.
“I agree. But this whole year, even though I’ve put forth my best effort, the joy has been missing. I used to play with such abandon. Let’s face it. I’ve been fearless on and off the field my entire life. Never backed down from a challenge. But you’ve got me thinking about life after football.”
He chuckled. “I've spent a lot of hours on that topic, and you know what? I’m at peace. I’ve had a great career, but it’s time to be an adult. Move on.”
“To what?”
West grinned. “You never let up, Doc. I like that about you. You’re like a female version of me.”
Dr. Linda laughed. “Yes, at five-two and just over a hundred pounds, I’m exactly like you, West.”
“You know what I mean. You’re relentless. Like a dog with a bone.” He paused. “I want to coach.”
Her expression turned curious. “At what level?”
“Definitely not pro. Not even college. The NFL is a business. That’s how most players approach it, and they should. College has become more like a business, with NIL changing the financial landscape. What I want is that sheer happiness and love a player feels for the game. I want to go back to coach high school. And not just any high school.”
“You want to go home to Hawthorne,” she stated.
“Yes. I want to teach, really teach the game. Get kids to understand it. Like it. Find the pleasure in playing it.” West cleared his throat. “And I want a family.”
Her eyes widened. “A family?”
He grinned. “I know. Coming from me that’s saying a lot. I’ve dated famous women. Beautiful women. Famous and beautiful women. But it was all shallow. Pretty much all for show. I’ve never let my guard down around a woman or ever had a serious relationship.” Determination filled him. “It’s about time I did.”
“What kind of family do you envision, West?”
“Like the one I came from. Where I have a wife I love more than football. A couple of kids I’m crazy about.”
“Will you push a future son into football?”
“No,” he said honestly. “You’ve taught me enough to know that people have to follow their heart. If my kid likes basketball or baseball—hell, if he doesn’t even want to play sports and do marching band or drama instead—that’s fine with me. I’ve come to understand that football isn’t the be-all, end-all in life.” He smiled. “You’ve done some good work on me, Doc. The West Sutherland from a year ago would have thought West 2.0 here was bat-shit crazy. But I’m not. I want a relationship that can lead to marriage. I want kids. I want them to be raised in a small town and have good values.”
“Is this football coaching position even open in Hawthorne?” she asked.
“Not the head coaching job. And I wouldn’t ask for it anyway. I need the seasoning. Besides, my high school coach still holds the job, and he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. It would be a privilege to work under Coach Markham. Frankly, I learned more from him than any other coach I’ve ever had. I still think Coach M has things to teach me.”
Dr. Linda nodded approvingly. “You seem to have your head on straight, West. That’s a good thing. I don’t think we should quit cold turkey, however. Transitioning from a life in the NFL to being a regular guy—wherever you land—will be tough.”
“I get there’ll be roadblocks, Doc. The work we’ve put in together has prepared me for them. I agree that we need to continue our sessions. Maybe once a week?”
“I know the next couple of weeks will be crazy for you. Call my assistant for an appointment to FaceTime our sessions. Then once we’ve spoken, if you feel as if you have a good handle on things, maybe we can go to once a week.”
“Sounds like a plan.” West hesitated. “Thanks again for taking me on as a patient. I know I wasn’t quite into the idea of therapy when we started, but I am stronger mentally because of it.” He smiled at her. “And proud of that mental health, too.”
She beamed at him. “Go play the best game of your life, West.”
Dr. Linda pulled the phone away from her, so that he saw not only her face—but what she was wearing.
A Green Bay Packers sweatshirt.
He burst out laughing.
“I neglected to tell you I’m a Packers fan. My dad was from the Midwest, and he worshipped the Pack. Passed along his love of the team to my brother and me.” She grinned. “But I really do hope you play a wonderful game tonight.”
“Gig ’em,” he said, hearing her echo the same thing as he ended the connection.
At least Dr. Linda was an Aggie. He supposed he’d have to forgive her for the rest.
He tossed his things into a duffel and headed downstairs. Coach Nelson had given West permission to spend last night away from the hotel. His mom had rented a house in New Orleans the day after training camp ended last summer, telling West that she thought the Cowboys would be playing for the title. More than anything, he wanted to break the news to his family about his retirement, instead of them hearing it on social media’s post-game blitz. He couldn’t announce it, though, because Flint Ferris was here.
West had never liked his sister’s husband. Autumn had married Flint during his first year in med school and had worked many a double shift as a nurse, paying to put him through school so he wouldn’t be drowning in debt after he finished his residency. They’d been married six or seven years now, and West had never warmed to Flint. He seemed to treat Autumn too cavalierly, and she always was making excuses for him. Flint was very into appearances. If West told his family now that he was about to play his final game, Flint would splash it all over social media. He’d already asked for pictures with West and posted those. The guy just rubbed him the wrong way.
Because of it, he’d keep quiet now. And hope Autumn would come to her senses and dump this loser.
They were all gathered in the kitchen. He stood in the doorway a moment, drinking them in. Dad was flipping pancakes for brunch. Mom stood behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, snuggling close. Summer was taking bacon out of the oven, while Autumn poured coffee and juice for the group. Naturally, Flint sat at the breakfast bar, scrolling through his phone, not lifting a finger. The doctor seemed to think he was too good for menial tasks.
“Hey, everybody,” West greeted, entering the kitchen.
“I love this suit,” Summer declared, coming and wrapping him in a tight hug. “You always dress well, West. Manhattan men have nothing on you.”
Summer worked for a publishing house in New York as a book editor and had taken a couple of days of vacation to come to New Orleans. She’d shared with Autumn and him that she was writing her first romance novel, saying she thought she could do better than the manuscripts that crossed her desk.
Autumn said, “My turn to cozy up to the past and future Super Bowl MVP.”
He hugged her tightly, wanting to tell her she could do so much better than Flint, but knowing Autumn would never listen. She thought she was lucky to have Flint, who was smart and good-looking. His sister always looked out for everyone but herself.
“You just went and jinxed things. Now, Van Foster will definitely be named MVP.”
“Just because he’s a quarterback doesn’t automatically mean he’ll be the MVP,” Flint said. “Although the winning team’s quarterback usually has the best shot. You were lucky to win it two years ago, West.”
He noticed the annoyance flicker in his mom’s eyes. She came to him, and he wrapped his arms about her, lifting her off her feet.
“Save your strength, West,” she said good-naturedly, brushing a kiss across his cheek.
“Pancakes for you, son?” asked Dad.
“No. I can sit with you a few minutes while you eat, and then I need to head back to the hotel for a team meeting and meal.”
“You be sure and thank Coach Nelson for letting you come stay last night,” Dad said.
Laughing, West said, “He’d rather me be playing cards with my family than hitting Bourbon Street.”
“Well, it was nice of him to allow you to come and be with us,” Mom said. “I need to make him some of my peanut brittle.”
His mom’s peanut brittle was famous, especially among his teammates and coaches. She would send a ton of it to training camp each summer, and guys fought over it.
They gathered around the table, Flint continuing to look at his cell. Mom talked about a new display she would tackle at the public library when she returned to Texas. Dad said the school district was going to hold their job fair next month. As superintendent, he would have a good idea of job openings, but West refrained from asking about it now.
Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after.
He glanced at his watch. “I need to call an Uber.”
“I’ll drop you at the hotel,” Autumn offered.
“Ooh, I want to go, too,” Summer said, scrambling to her feet and taking her dishes to the sink.
“I’ll clean up,” Mom said. “You girls take West.”
Finally, Flint looked up. “Guess I can go, too.”
West caught Dad’s frown. “Since you were too busy to pitch in and cook, why don’t you stay and help clean up, Flint?”
His brother-in-law frowned. “I was checking on patients,” he said brusquely.
“Well, if they’re all fine, you have time to help now.” Dad’s glare had Flint sitting straighter. “You kids go ahead. Flint and I will tackle clean-up.”
He breathed a sigh of relief, glad his brother-in-law wouldn’t be accompanying them.
In the car, Summer said, “I miss driving. I can’t remember the last time I was behind the wheel of a car.”
“You don’t need a car in New York,” Autumn pointed out. “You’ve got subways and cabs.”
“I do love that about the city,” her twin said. “There might be traffic jams on the streets, but the subway can get you across town in minutes.”
“I’m glad Flint and I live close to the hospital,” Autumn said. “I usually walk since we’re only a few blocks away.”
West frowned. “You’re not in the safest neighborhood. I don’t like that. Especially when you pull a double.”
She shrugged, changing lanes. “It is what it is, West. Once Flint finishes his residency, we can hopefully buy a house. I’m pretty tired of cramped apartment living.”
“I’ve seen your apartment. And the complex. It’s really rundown. You should move. Especially if you’re thinking about having kids anytime soon.”
Summer perked up. “Are you and Flint talking about kids?”
“No,” Autumn said quickly, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “He needs to finish his residency and then get established first.”
“You’ll be forty by the time he does that,” Summer retorted. “You’ve always wanted kids, Autumn. More than West or me. I think you should—”
“Mind your business, Summer,” Autumn said quickly.
He didn’t want the twins at war. Usually, they never fought. West decided it was time to speak up.
“Hey, I have something to share with the two of you. And it can’t leave this car. At least until after the game.”
“Please tell me you’re not going to marry Bianca,” groaned Summer. “Yes, she’s gorgeous, but she’s also—”
“I’m not,” he said, shutting down that discussion.
West had made the mistake of bringing the model he was dating to Thanksgiving a few months ago. Since the Cowboys always played on Thanksgiving Day, his mom prepared their holiday feast the day after. He’d never brought a girl home and told Bianca she’d be charmed by his small town and family.
She wasn’t.
They’d fought about it the entire way back to Dallas. He’d called her rude. She’d called him and his family boring. They’d traded insults all the way to her condo. When she got out of the car, she had told him never to call her again. He’d shouted that would be the last thing he ever did before she slammed the door.
Her behavior had been something he’d analyzed. Talked over with Dr. Linda. He’d come to the conclusion that he always dated women who didn’t want to make a commitment, much less think about settling down, because they were safe. They didn’t expect anything from him.
Except great sex, of course.
“Nope. Bianca’s not even in my rearview mirror anymore. This is about something else.”
“What?” Autumn prodded, glancing over at him.
“I’m retiring after tonight’s game.”
Silence blanketed the car. Summer was the first to break it.
“Did you say what I think you said?”
“I did,” he confirmed. “I wanted to tell you two before anyone else.”
“Coach Nelson doesn’t know?” Autumn asked.
“No. No one on the team does. But ten years in the NFL is enough. Most wide receivers only make it three or four years. Other than last year’s ACL trouble, I’ve led a pretty charmed life in the league. I want to go out on top. While I can still walk.”
Autumn stopped at a light and looked at him. “What if the Cowboys lose tonight? Would you feel right going out on a losing note?”
He shrugged. “Then they lose. I plan to play my best, but this is the last game I’ll suit up for.”
“Good,” she said, accelerating through the green light. “You’ve had a stellar career, West. I’m glad you’re ready to hang up your cleats.”
“Will you miss it?” Summer asked quietly from the back seat.
“Maybe. But I’ve accomplished all I set out to do. I’m ready to go home.”
Summer touched his shoulder. “Go home ... as in Hawthorne home?”
He nodded. “I’m tired of the glitz. The travel. I’m like Dorothy because I’ve finally discovered that there’s no place like home.”
Autumn pulled up in front of the hotel where the team was staying. She touched his cheek. “I think you’re making the right decision, West.”
Summer squeezed his shoulder. “Me, too.”
“Not a word to anyone,” he cautioned. “That means Mom. Dad. Flint. This is between the three of us.”
“Agreed,” Summer said. “Have a good game, West.”
“Enjoy your last time out on the field,” Autumn added.
* * *
Hours later, he stood on the sidelines. The fourth quarter had less than ninety seconds to go.
And the Raiders, leading by three points, had just coughed up the ball.
West ran out onto the field with the rest of the offensive unit, adrenaline firing through him. They huddled, arms locked around one another.
Van looked to him. During their two-minute drills, Coach Nelson had entrusted the play calling to his talented quarterback.
“You’re up, West,” Van said, calling the play, one they had practiced a few hundred times in camp and had executed flawlessly twice during the season.
He lined up, face stoic. The Raiders expected the ball to go to him, so he had double coverage. It didn’t matter. Confidence brimmed through him. West could shake the pair.
The center snapped the ball, and West took off, streaking down the field. He cut, his knee holding up, and ran toward the sidelines, cutting again and heading toward the end zone. As he reached it, he glanced over his left shoulder. As expected, the pigskin floated over it and into his hands, Van’s timing impeccable. He crossed the goal line without having to break his stride.
Suddenly, teammates were mobbing him. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He kissed the ball and then held onto it, running toward the sidelines, where he handed it to Coach Nelson.
“Just thought you’d like to hang on to the winning ball,” he said casually.
The head coach bumped his head against West’s helmet. They both watched, seeing the kick was good.
“We’re up by four,” Nelson roared. “Go seal the win, defense!”
The defense dashed onto the field. Van came and slung an arm about West’s shoulder.
“Great catch, buddy.”
“Greater throw, Van. You’ve been on tonight. MVP, all the way.”
The Cowboys defense held the Raiders, and the game ended. West stood, savoring this moment, knowing he would never have this experience again.
But he was still happy with the decision he would now announce.
He hugged teammates. Shook hands with losing players and coaches. Watched the Lombardi Trophy presented to his team, confetti raining down. Heard the announcement that he and Van were CO-MVPs. Then the team retreated to the locker room, where the trainers tossed ballcaps and T-shirts proclaiming the Dallas Cowboys as Super Bowl champions as champagne bottles were shaken and uncorked, spraying the players and coaches.
West took it all in, satisfaction filling him.
The press was waiting, and he went first to Coach Nelson.
“Coach, I’m retiring.”
Nelson looked perplexed, as if West were speaking in Greek to him. “What?”
“I’m done. I wanted you to know before I announce it now.”
The grizzled coach wrapped him in a bear hug. “You deserve it, West. Walk away with your health. But damn, we’re gonna miss you.”
“I won’t pull a Tom Brady on you,” he promised, referring to the famous quarterback who retired—and then un-retired. “I’m done.”
Van Foster joined them. “Hey, let’s go get this over with,” he told the pair.
The three men joined other teammates and reporters in the media room. West made certain he went last, not wanting to rain on the parade going on now. He answered every question asked of him, and when no more came his way, said, “I’d like to add one thing.”
The room quietened.
“I’ve loved every minute playing for the Dallas Cowboys, but a time comes in each player’s life when he knows it’s time to walk away. Tonight’s Super Bowl game was my last. I’ve accomplished everything I ever dreamed of doing, including earning this final Super Bowl ring. Thank you for all you’ve written about me, the good and the bad. Good night, and God bless.”
The room erupted, dozens of journalists calling out his name, firing questions in his direction.
West merely smiled.
And walked away from them—and playing professional football.
Chapter 1
Dallas
Kelby Blackstone bid her assistant goodnight and returned to her office. She tidied up her desk and switched off her computer. Glancing at her watch, she still had a quarter-hour before she needed to leave and walk downstairs to meet Celia and Jessica for dinner. The three had cheered together in college and had also been sorority sisters. Once she moved to Dallas after her divorce, they had decided to meet once a month for dinner and girl talk.
Those women had saved her sanity.
Tonight, they were meeting at a restaurant in NorthPark Center, Kelby and Jessica’s turf. Kelby worked for clothiers Wyndham & Warren, running their social media, while Jessica was a buyer for an exclusive men’s store. Both businesses were a part of the over two hundred stores and restaurants in the shopping mall, one which had survived the death of malls across America, thanks to its unique, one-of-a-kind, upscale stores which appealed to Dallas shoppers.
She picked up her cell and started scrolling through favorite sites. It surprised her that West Sutherland was still getting a lot of press three days after his retirement announcement at the conclusion of the Super Bowl. Although she never watched football anymore, she knew West was one of the premier players in the NFL. She couldn’t imagine why he was walking away at the height of his career. Then again, they had lost touch years ago.
West had been her brother Chance’s best friend, and he had been at home visiting Blackstone Ranch. After he broke up with his girlfriend during their last year in high school, West had asked Kelby if she would accompany him to the big senior events that spring. They had gone to prom together, as well as the senior breakfast and several graduation parties. He had kissed her—once—after that final party. More of a thank you for giving him company during the many events. Both had been surprised by their reaction to the kiss. What had started as a friendly one had turned steamy. Fast. Thoughts of West being like a brother to her had fled, replaced by a deep yearning.
When the kiss ended, they looked at one another. Both had agreed that while something was definitely there, they were headed in different directions and agreed it would be foolish to start up something which couldn’t be finished. West left a few weeks later for Texas A&M, while Kelby moved to Austin to cheer at the University of Texas. They saw one another some during college vacations but had not seen one another since graduation, too busy with their adult lives. She knew Chance heard from West every now and then, but that was it.
Sometimes, though, when she saw a picture on West’s Instagram, escorting another beautiful model or actress somewhere, she couldn’t help but wonder what might have been.
Her cell buzzed with a text from Jessica, telling her that she was heading to the restaurant where they were meeting. Kelby left her office and proceeded to the first floor of NorthPark, ready for a couple of hours of Mexican food and girl talk.
Jessica was waiting with Celia in front of the restaurant, and they exchanged greetings.
“I’m so glad to see you two,” she declared.
“Well, you saw me Sunday night,” Jessica said. “What a game.”
Kelby had attended the Super Bowl party at her friend’s house, mainly to watch the halftime performance and clever commercials. She had talked with all the women present, glancing up every now and then when the guys whooped, watching the replay. West had been a part of those cheers, catching three touchdown passes, one in the final seconds, the game winner. He and the Cowboys quarterback had been named Co-MVPs, something which hadn’t happened since the1970s, when another pair of Cowboys claimed the honor.
“It was a good game,” Celia added, telling the hostess there would be three of them. “But I fell asleep on the sofa and missed the end.”
They were taken to their table and looked over the menu. When the server arrived and asked for their drink orders, Kelby ordered a margarita, on the rocks, no salt. Jessica asked for a frozen margarita with salt.
“And for you?” the server asked, looking to Celia. “Another margarita?”
“No, just water with lemon for me, please,” her friend said. “I haven’t had a margarita since our college days. I got sick on tequila shots and haven’t tried tequila since.”
“I’ll get your drinks right out,” the server promised.
Celia looked eagerly at them, and Kelby had a good idea why.
“Okay. I can’t hold this in any longer. I’m pregnant!”
They squealed, jumping to their feet and exchanging hugs.
“When are you due?” Kelby asked.
“Mid-August. And no, I don’t look forward to being big as a whale during the heat of a Texas summer. Last time when I was pregnant with Sam, I wound up wearing oversized T-shirts and underwear around the house during all of June and July.”
“You’re due right when you start back to school,” Jessica noted. “How long of a maternity leave will you be able to take?”
Celia beamed. “I’m not. Dan just got a promotion a few months ago. Better title. More money. He said I can stay home.”
“That’s terrific news,” Kelby said, knowing how much her friend enjoyed being a mom.
“Two should be it for us,” Celia continued. “The plan is for me to stay home until this one starts kinder.” She rubbed her belly. “I’m hoping for a girl this time. We won’t tell Sam for a while. I know he’ll want a baby brother.”
“We’ll have to talk about a shower once you know the gender,” Jessica said.
“If it’s a boy, I know he can wear Sam’s hand-me-downs,” Kelby said. “But Wyndham & Warren has such cute clothes for baby girls. And remember, I get a huge discount.”
Their drinks came, and they ordered appetizers and dinners. Talk ranged from what they were doing at work to the latest books they’d read and movies they’d seen. While they were waiting for the check, Kelby pulled out her phone and brought up a page of baby clothes, which they oohed and ahhed over.
She set her cell down as the server brought their check. It was her turn to pay. They’d found it was easier to simply rotate between the three of them than have separate checks brought to them each time. She handed over her credit card, and the others thanked her as the bill was processed. She signed and added a generous tip.
Then her phone started blowing up. Ping after ping. Frowning, she picked it up, hearing Celia and Jessica’s cells also start getting multiple texts. She began reading.
Have you seen the news???
Brace yourself, Kelby. Turn on the news.
Glad you divorced his ass.
That last message let her know something was going down with Bax. A sick feeling washed over her. She glanced up, seeing her two friends looking worriedly at her.
“I need to use the ladies’ room,” she said succinctly, leaving the table, cell in hand.
She entered the restroom and a stall, locking it behind her. Immediately, she googled Bax Porter’s name. The screaming headlines jolted her. Bax had been arrested.
For murder.
Kelby leaned against the stall’s door, taking deep breaths. Her ex-husband had turned out to be a horrible mess. In college, he could do no wrong, being named the Heisman Trophy winner his senior year. He was the first draft pick that spring. They had wed after graduation and before he went to training camp.
Then the fall from grace began.
First, he tore his ACL in the last game of the preseason, just as he’d been named the starting quarterback for the regular season. The surgery was complicated, and the rehab was brutal. Bax had verbally abused her, taking out all his frustrations on Kelby. She had been patient. Sympathetic. And never argued back. Football was Bax’s life, and he hated sitting on the sidelines, letting down his teammates and himself.
After his return to training camp the next summer, things went downhill. He was too tentative. Bax had been known as a scrambler, leaving the pocket and often running down field when he couldn’t find an open receiver. Now, he was afraid to run. To throw. When he did throw, his timing was off. He blamed the receivers. The coaching staff. The plays being called. He lost his starting job to the same quarterback who had replaced him, a guy drafted in the sixth round the previous year. Bax became so bitter and impossible to be around that the Browns had traded him. That meant Kelby had to give up the terrific job she’d found once they’d moved to Cleveland.
The nomadic years began then. Bax bounced from one ball club to another, five teams in all. He only started once when the current starter had the flu and had thrown up so much he was hospitalized. Bax continued to suffer injuries, big and small alike. His attitude went from bad to worse. She had followed him around the country, leaving job after job, until it was hard for her to even find one. His drinking had escalated. Then Kelby had found the cocaine, which was the final straw for her. When she confronted her husband about his drug use, he gave her excuse after excuse. She told him she’d had enough and wanted a divorce.
That’s when he’d hit her.
Bax had never struck her before. She had seen other women in abusive relationships and determined never to be one of them. Kelby immediately packed her things and left, contacting a divorce lawyer. They had very little. He had refused to buy a house because he was traded so often. No kids, so no problems there regarding custody issues. She’d later learned that he had a gambling problem, which had also eaten into what money they did have.
Blinking rapidly at the tears forming in her eyes, she continued to read, discovering her ex had shot a bookie whom he’d owed a lot of money to. His booking picture was already circulating online, causing her stomach to cramp painfully. She had taken back her maiden name after their divorce. No one at Wyndham & Warren knew Baxley Porter was her former husband. But it would come out. Already, she was seeing pictures of Bax and her in the stories, mentioning their divorce. She’d lose all privacy in the next few weeks. Her name would be on the internet. Reporters would hound her. She’d had a stable job and life the past five years, but that would be a thing of the past. Being in social media—and knowing how Wyndham & Warren valued their sterling reputation—she knew she was merely part of the fallout.
Should she resign?
Kelby shut off her phone and left the stall, taking a wet paper towel and dabbing cold water on her face. She looked in the mirror. The confident, capable woman she was used to seeing looked hollow.
And scared.
She returned to the table, Jessica and Celia giving her worried glances.
“Are you all right?” Celia asked.
“No. But I’ll have to deal with it. I may not be able to eat in public for a while. Let’s cancel next month’s dinner, and then we’ll see,” she said brusquely, wanting to hurry home and lock the door and hide from the world.
“Don’t shut us out,” Jessica begged.
“I just need to be alone,” she explained.
They left the restaurant, and already, Kelby saw shoppers looking her way. She held her head high as they walked through the mall.
“Let us know if we can do anything,” Celia told her.
Both women hugged her, and Kelby went to her car. She drove home and went inside her apartment, rushing to the bathroom, where she lost all her dinner. She cried as she washed her face and brushed her teeth, wishing the curse of Bax Porter would finally leave her.
She decided to text Chance. He ignored social media and the news, so he would have no idea of the maelstrom coming. Her brother and the Blackstone Ranch wouldn’t be immune. Journalists dug deeply with a story like this one, and they would talk to everyone who had even a remote connection to Bax.
When she turned her phone on, she saw not only a plethora of texts but several missed calls.
Nine of them were from Chance.
Her hands shaking, she listened to his voice mails, wanting to know what he knew before she returned his call. The first two just told her to call him. The next few, she heard the impatience in his voice as he asked her to call him back. Listening to his final voicemail, she heard, “Do you ever answer your damn phone? Call me!”
Things must have gotten bad quickly. Kelby touched his picture, and the phone rang once before he answered.
“About time,” he said grumpily.
She heard the weariness in his voice.
“I’m sorry, Chance. After the news broke, I just turned off my cell. That’s why I didn’t get your calls. Everything about Bax is—”
“Bax? What the hell did that creep do now?”
Confused, she asked, “You’re not calling me about Bax?”
“No. I don’t give a rat’s ass about that loser.”
Taking a deep breath, she told him, “He was arrested for murder. Already, I’m seeing the story splashed everywhere, along with old pictures of the two of us.” She hesitated. “Then if it’s not about Bax, what is so important?”
A long pause, then her brother said, “It’s Dad, Kelby. He’s had a stroke. The doctors don’t know if he’ll make it.”
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