Too Hard to Forget

Book 3: Romancing the Clarksons

by Tessa Bailey

Genres: Siblings; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

This time, she's calling the shots.

Peggy Clarkson is returning to her alma mater with one goal in mind: confront Elliott Brooks, the man who ruined her for all others, and remind him of what he's been missing. Even after three years, seeing him again is like a punch in the gut, but Peggy's determined to stick to her plan. Maybe then, once she has the upper hand, she'll finally be able to move on.

In the years since Peggy left Cincinnati, Elliott has kept his focus on football. No distractions and no complications. But when Peggy walks back onto his practice field and into his life, he knows she could unravel everything in his carefully controlled world. Because the girl who was hard to forget is now a woman impossible to resist.

***

The Romancing the Clarksons series
Book 1 - Too Hot to Handle (Rita and Jasper)
Book 2 - Too Wild to Tame (Aaron and Grace)
Book 3 - Too Hard to Forget (Peggy and Elliott)
Book 4 - Too Beautiful to Break (Belmont and Sage)

Release date: April 25, 2017

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 336

Sample

Chapter Two

Elliott Brooks hated banners.

Most of the time, he could accomplish tunnel vision, seeing nothing other than the green, manicured grass, the yellow practice jerseys, the white lines on his field. But the banners, they were so damn…colorful. They were a fishhook in his subconscious, trying to tug him back to the living and he resented it. Almost as much as the juvenile phrases splashed across the front.

Bearcats on the prrrrowl. Hell. He’d been looking at that damn banner flapping in the breeze since yesterday, when his entire focus needed to be on the practice taking place in front of him. They were matched up against Temple on Saturday and it would be the toughest game of the season. Unfortunately, their staunchest competition was rolling into town on alumni weekend.

Once a year, the University of Cincinnati invited graduates back into the fold, making a big production of their glorious return and every ridiculous activity centered around his field, distracting his players. Goddamn Alumni Week. Hadn’t four years on campus been enough? Some of them had graduated a matter of months ago, and already they needed reminding they were special? It was nothing but a pain in the ass. The marching band starting and stopping, instructions being called out—Raise the banner! Now lower it!—dancers twirling ribbons, cheerleaders chanting, newspaper reporters slinking around, somehow more tolerated than usual because of the almighty spirit of alumni week.

Elliott didn’t have the spirit. He wanted everyone to clear the fuck out so he could worry about winning some football. Isn’t that what everyone wanted from him? Victories? Another trophy for the front office?

Of course they did. At age thirty-eight, it was the one thing Elliott could be relied on to do successfully. Win games.

Across the field, a fresh group of smiling people appeared in the stands, wearing Bearcats sweatshirts, but clearly too old to be students. More alums looking to rekindle their memories, while he strove to forget his own.

Nonetheless, Elliott couldn’t help himself. He scanned their faces, giving a jerky nod to no one in particular when he didn’t recognize any of them. She won’t be here. She never comes. Stop looking for her.

“Drill’s over, Coach. You want to run the offense?”

Elliott cleared his throat way too loudly, thankful for the offensive coordinator’s interruption. Damn, how long had his attention been off the field? Every year. Every year he did this to himself. “Our tight end is dragging ass completing his routes. Let’s run every play in the book that gets him the ball until he wakes up.”

“Ten-four.”

Mentally running through the balance of what they needed to cover before he called practice to a close, Elliott went back to consulting his clipboard. A chorus of squeals from the assembled cheerleaders—past and present—broke his concentration and he gritted his teeth, assuming another one of their long-lost members had returned from on high. Against his good judgment, he’d already checked that none of them were her. No need to look again and feel another damning swoop of disappointment.

It wasn’t until he heard the voice that hell broke loose in his chest.

“All right. Who do I have to blow around here to get a decent toe touch?”

Elliott’s grip on the clipboard went so tight, the heavy plastic cracked. He took several restoring breaths through his nose and mentally counted to ten, before lifting his head. Outwardly, his attention appeared to be on the cycling offense, but his gaze was cut to the side, where at least two dozen girls swarmed no other than Peggy Clarkson.

Lord, he shouldn’t have looked. But then again, he’d never been able to keep his eyes off her, had he? He’d never had the problem before Peggy, or since. They were all students to Elliott, easily compartmentalized. Except for this one girl.

A woman now, he saw, and hell if she wasn’t twice as incredible.

Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…

The prayer went off like a shot in his mind, playing defense against the gorgeous image she presented standing in the area past the end zone in the patch of winter sunlight. She wore black tights…the thicker kind you couldn’t see through. Leggings, he thought they might be called. Leather boots climbed up past her knees to wrap around thighs she’d once opened for him. Eagerly. They led to the firm temptation of her bottom, which he’d once asked her to keep covered in public, during a moment of weakness in the dark, while she took his thrusts. But the fitted, white long-sleeved shirt and furry black vest cut off at her thin waist, inviting everyone to look.

Just like him. Elliott was no longer making any attempt to hide his scrutiny of the new arrival. All the while, he polished the black rosary beads in his pocket, as if acknowledging the weaknesses of his flesh might excuse him for falling victim. A discreet throat clearing from his offensive coordinator told him his interest hadn’t gone unnoticed, either. “You need something, Wayne?” Elliott demanded.

Wayne bent forward to prop both hands on his knees, wisely putting his attention back on practice. “Hey, no judgments here.” The other man tipped his head toward the animated pack of cheerleaders and shot Elliott a look that bordered on apprehensive. “Even I remember that one, and I’m so far off the market, I don’t even remember what it looks like.”

That one. Peggy.

Of course Wayne remembered her. She was impossible to forget.

Didn’t mean Elliott wouldn’t continue to try. With a vengeance.

She’s a married woman. He’d given away his chance. Thrown it right to the wind, and lamenting his decision now wasn’t just pointless, it was masochistic.

Garnering his will, Elliott turned his back on Peggy’s location and…immediately found someone fucking up his formation. Five someones, actually. This was why he resented distractions. They removed focus from the only two constants in his life: football and religion. He’d once allowed the balance to be upset between God and the sport, and as a result, a life had been lost. God’s way of telling him his path in life was unchangeable. He’d been sent to this university to win football games and set an example, to guide good men to better futures, a responsibility entrusted to him by their parents.

And in between, he muddled his way through being a parent himself.

Elliott wouldn’t allow himself time for anything else. He’d chosen football over his family, including his wife. Including his devoutly religious parents, who’d never understood his fascination with the sport. But three years ago, he’d found someone—the only someone—who’d been capable of tempting him away from his responsibilities. Away from his well-deserved guilt. Hope had flared so brightly, he could still remember feeling blinded. But he’d made his choice to live with the guilt. Away from her light.

A choice he refused to question or he risked insanity.

Elliott had made his bed, now he would lie in it. If he didn’t win games, didn’t bring home victories, his sacrificing of those who’d had the misfortune of coming into his life would be for nothing. Football had severed his one attempt at making a family, having a relationship with someone off the field, and it wouldn’t happen again. Not in this lifetime.

*  *  *

Elliott had just blown the whistle to end practice when he felt Peggy approach at his back. Or rather, his players started shoving one another, throwing their chins in his direction like a pack of jackasses. Had he not put the fear of God into these men yet? Tomorrow’s practice was going to be hell.

The hell of right now concerned him more, however. In a matter of seconds, he’d be in her presence again. Her. And there was a good reason for his team and fellow coaches to be staring with their mouths open while Peggy probably swayed up like a runway model. Not only was she a bombshell that always seemed poised to go off any second, but no one ever approached him.

Peggy had no such problem, apparently. In fact, before Elliott even turned around, he could sense her reveling in not giving a fuck, and panic slid into his blood like a sea monster. She’s gotten even braver. Brave enough to divert his path again?

No. Not after all the work he’d done to lay the brickwork.

During those months of madness her senior year, she’d come to him at night. Or vice versa. When no one else was around. They’d be on each other before the sound of the knock even faded. Without restraint. No boundaries. Zero patience.

Being near her was too much of a danger to a man whose entire life was made up of rules. Rules that kept him from looking right or left. Straight ahead only.

Furthermore, someone had been smart enough to keep her.

Someone other than Elliott.

“Head to the showers,” he boomed too loudly, perversely pleased when everyone moved at once, without hesitating, like he’d conditioned them to do. “We’ll be back here tomorrow, bright and early. Scrimmage against the B squad.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Yes, Coach,” came the amused feminine echo behind him. He thought the hour since Peggy arrived had given him time to prepare, but he was wrong. When he turned around, his gut screwed up like a fist. Fuck. Still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. It was more than just her blond pinup looks, though, wasn’t it? Always had been. There was enough sharp wit in those dark gold eyes for a man to get lost. Like he’d almost done. And the wit was only a gateway to the compassion she’d spread over him like warm oil, enticing him to forgive himself. She was so much. Too much.

“Peggy,” Elliott rasped, transferring his clipboard to the crook of his arm, so they could shake hands. A reflexive move. That was how he operated. Handshakes. Giving hugs and kissing cheeks weren’t part of his day. But even the muscle memory couldn’t make it feel natural. Not with her.

One of Peggy’s eyebrows arched at his outstretched hand, but she recovered, twining their fingers together slowly. At the zing of static, the corner of her mouth jumped, like they’d traded a secret, and God help him, his cock thickened in his jeans. “Elliott,” she murmured. “You look exactly the same.”

He took his hand back out of necessity. “Three years isn’t all that long.”

“No, I guess not.” For just a second, he thought her flirtatious smile turned forced, but it came back with such a glow, he figured it was his imagination. “It was long enough for them to put a giant statue of you at the entrance.” Her teeth sank into that full lower lip and held, just enough to drive him a little insane. “I bet you hate it, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Damn. It didn’t seem possible so much time had passed since they’d stood across from each other. Not when she could still call his bullshit a mile away, the way no one else ever had. “They could have waited until I was dead or retired.”

“When it comes to you, I don’t think those things are mutually exclusive.” She hummed in her throat, her gaze tripping over his chest, lower. “Anyway, they already think you’re God, so your immortality is a reasonable assumption.” When she took a step closer, he almost dropped the clipboard. In favor of staving her off or yanking her closer? He had no idea. But she only lifted a finger, trailing the smooth pad across the seam of his lips. “The sculptor didn’t get your mouth right, though. It’s much more generous, isn’t it?” Elliott snagged her wrist and her eyes lit with challenge. “Or maybe the sculptor just hasn’t experienced it the way I have.”

Lust and irritation joined forces in his blood, making it boil. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Peggy?”

The seduction in her expression lost steam. “That’s the first thing you ever said to me.” She visibly shook herself, tugging her hand from his grip. “I’m here for alumni weekend. Obviously.”

Still stuck on the former statement she’d made, it took him a moment to catch up. “You’ve never come before.”

He counted three breaths from her mouth. “Noticed, did you?”

Time out. He would’ve called one if they were in the middle of a game and both sides were firing too hot, swinging on the unpredictable vines of momentum. In many ways, this confrontation so far had been a game. A testing of each other’s strengths. Well, they were standing on his field. And on his field, he didn’t deal well with surprises and unknowns. Time to put everything out in the open, even though he could feel acid rising in his throat. “Are you here with your husband?”

She froze so long, he wondered if she would answer him at all. “Um. No, he—he’s back in California.” A wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “I wasn’t sure…I—I didn’t know if you received the wedding invitation. You were moving houses when I left Cincinnati and—”

“My mail was forwarded,” Elliott said, his voice low. “I got it.”

Peggy backed away with an uneven nod. The currents running between them had changed so abruptly, but he couldn’t decide on a reason. He’d admit to mentioning her husband as a way to throw up a necessary wall between them, but—

Elliott’s phone rang.

He cursed, digging the device from his back pocket, frowning down at his daughter’s name where it flashed on the screen. “Alice,” he said to Peggy, without thinking. “She should be in theater rehearsal.”

“You should answer it,” Peggy said, still backing away from him. Way too quickly. “Maybe I’ll see you around—”

“Hold on.” He should have let her go. God knew he should have. But Elliott didn’t walk away from an interaction without a final score on the board. “Just stay right there.”

She tilted her head. “I’m not one of your players.”

“Please,” he growled.

When Peggy shrugged—and stayed put—Elliott answered the phone, teen angst meeting his ear in full stereo. “Dad, I have to change schools. My fucking life is over. You don’t understand—”

“Watch your language. And you haven’t given me a chance to understand.”

A closemouthed shriek scraped down the line. One with which he was well acquainted. “Kim Steinberg broke her leg skiing this weekend and I’m the understudy for her character in The Music Man and I don’t have the lines memorized. I faked my way through it because she’s never even missed a day of school. Like, ever. Why would she want to stay home when she looks like that?” The sounds of papers being rustled came through the line. “Oh God, oh God. I took the bus home early so I wouldn’t have to face drama practice. The fucking performance is in five days and I—I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You don’t give a shit about my life.”

Elliott watched Peggy’s expression melt into soft sympathy, whether for him or Alice, he didn’t know, but it was too reminiscent of those times he’d confided in her. A rarity for him, to say the least, and something he had no right to miss. “Five days seems more than sufficient to memorize the lines.” He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket. “I have a few more hours here watching game film, but when I get home—”

“I never ask you for anything, Dad.” Her breath snagged on the final word. “I just need help with this. Please. You don’t understand.”

Guilt battled against the never-ending pressure to win, win at all costs. “Alice,” he said tightly. “We’re playing Temple on Saturday—”

Peggy laid a hand on his arm. “I can go,” she whispered, looking a little surprised at herself for making the offer. That made two of them.

“Hold on a second, Alice.” Elliott covered the phone with his hand. Trying not to be obvious, he sucked in the sugar-sweet scent of Peggy. She’d swept it forward on her second approach, and it brought forth memories of her head thrown back on his pillow, her mouth laughing into his neck. “That’s not necessary.”

“It sounds pretty necessary.” She took back her touch, fingers curling into her palm, and Elliott rejected the impulse to smooth them back out between his hands. “Maybe just tell her I’m from the school…a fellow faculty member.”

Elliott couldn’t hide his skepticism. “You still look more like a student.”

She wet her lips in slow motion. “Noticed, did you?” Her low, seductive laugh made his boxer briefs feel two sizes too small. “I’m not meeting with my assigned alumni committee until tomorrow morning. My evening is free.” No longer meeting his eyes, she shrugged. “And I know what it’s like to lose your mother before you’re ready, so I have that in common with Alice. She probably doesn’t even know she needs the girl time.”

Was that true? Before his wife’s death, he and Alice had a relationship similar to the one he’d had with his parents. Functional. He’d been responsible, showing up to school events and teacher meetings when it counted, but never mastering the elusive closeness other fathers and daughters seemed to have. When he’d been with Peggy, right after Judith’s passing, there’d been some progress. Peggy had forced him to open his eyes and see that Alice needed her father. He’d tried to maintain that uphill climb, but over time, they’d slipped back into how they’d been before. Functioning. If she needed something—especially girl time—he’d probably be the last to know.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know about your mother.” He itched to reach out, run a thumb over the curve of her cheekbone. “I appreciate your offer, but I think we both know any kind of involvement with one another is a bad idea.”

“Involvement is a pretty strong word.” A smile teased her lips, but didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re worried for nothing.”

“It’s never nothing with you.”

She held his gaze a long moment, before turning away. “Text me your address, Elliott. My number hasn’t changed.”

Chapter Three

Peggy had spent three years working in retail as a personal shopper so she’d dealt with an abundance of attitudes, which she’d divided into three neat categories.

Number one: the tourist. The women who came in without a hot cent to spend, but couldn’t quite hide their guilt over wasting her time. They did that upside-down smile, shoulder scrunch as they sent her running out into the store to pick up designer labels that would never make the cash register ding. But although they didn’t help Peggy out in the commission department, they were her favorite, because they treated her like an equal and tried to set her up with their sons. Which Peggy never took them up on. Except for those five times.

Number two: the professionals. These women knew exactly what they wanted and didn’t bother looking up from their phones while rattling off sizes and label preferences. Not fun appointments by any stretch of spandex, but the easiest, by far.

And then there was number three: the hell creatures. A retail worker’s worst nightmare, these women took great satisfaction in making others bust their asses. They had no idea what they wanted, but they knew it wasn’t that ugly thing. Peggy had spent many hours attempting to appease hell creatures, wondering why she was wasting her college degree fitting women for outfits in which to kill everyone’s buzz at a party. Oh, she could guess the reason—if she were into psychological self-diagnosis. Which she was not.

Especially as she stood on Elliott’s porch, still reeling over his assumption she’d spent the last three years married. And how she’d done nothing to correct him.

Not only had he sent her packing, but he’d lived through her wedding day without giving it a second thought. He really hadn’t wanted something serious with her. The drea. . .