Chapter One

Sixteen Years Later

What do you plan to do when your playing days are over? The question had rolled around in Dre's mind since the team doctor asked it at his physical this morning. His accomplishments in the NFL far exceeded anything he'd expected to do, and he had multiple options for his future, but he wasn't ready to hang up his cleats. He only needed to score six more receiving touchdowns before he broke the record for running backs. Once he accomplished that, he'd think about his future.

Dre turned into the parking lot of Goodson High School. A Hummer came from the other way and passed him.

Wait. Is that Mac Wallace?

He stopped short and twisted around to do a quick double take, only able to make out the back of a head through the Hummer's tinted windows. He grabbed his phone to take a photo of the license plate when another car drove up behind the Hummer and blocked his view.

What was he doing? He wouldn't recognize a fleeting glimpse of someone he hadn't seen in years. His subconscious must be playing tricks on him because he'd recently learned Mac had been released from prison.

He drove to a visitor parking spot and focused on his reason for being at the school. This morning, his mother texted him a picture of Jamaal's progress report with the word Help! He'd driven straight from Dallas to Katy after his physical. He slid from his truck and started toward the school.

A man and a teenage boy with spiked red hair and a black nose ring approached the school from a row over and made it to the walkway the same time as Dre. The boy pointed at him. "A.B."

Dre had gotten the nickname in college. He took off his sunglasses and stored them in the neck of his t-shirt.

"I attended football camps you coached during the summers when I was in junior high."

He studied the boy. "Kirk?"

"Yes, sir." The kid's smile widened. "I can't believe you remember me."

"You were a killer right guard."

"Thanks. This is my dad, Buster."

The tall, thin man stepped closer. "I went to camp every day to watch."

"Nice to meet you." Dre focused back on Kirk. "Are you still playing football?"

"Yeah, I made all-district last year as a junior." Kirk's chest puffed up.

"Way to go, man. What are your plans after high school?"

"I've been accepted to Colorado School of Mines on an academic scholarship."

"Congratulations. That's a tough school. I'm impressed." Dre held out his fisted hand.

Kirk beamed as he eagerly fist bumped him.

"You better hurry, Kirk. You're late for practice," Buster said.

The boy walked backward. "Good to see you again, A.B."

"You, too."

Kirk entered the school.

"Your talks during those camps really stayed with Kirk." Buster wiped his forehead. "I heard what you said to the boys and how you didn't tell them if they worked hard enough they could be a pro ball player and give them false hope. You emphasized getting an education without pushing college. You suggested other avenues, like trade schools. I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated that."

"Calvin Banks, the current athletic director for the district, coached me in high school and stressed the importance of an education." Dre frowned. "I attempt to do the same with the boys who attend the camps while trying not to sound like a hypocrite since I play professionally."

"I never considered anything you said to the boys hypocritical."

"Good to know." He shook Buster's hand and then entered the building. Huge sheets of decorated butcher paper hung on the white cement walls with colorful cheers written on them. He checked in at the desk situated at the front door.

He'd attended Montgomery High School, a different school within the same district as Goodson. He tugged his phone from his pocket and located the text from his mother with Jamaal's progress report to find the classroom number and teacher's name. Weldon. The woman manning the front desk told him where to find the room number, and he easily made it to the right room. He opened the door thinking he would be taking a step back in time. He couldn't have been more wrong. The inside looked nothing like his high school classrooms. Eight large tables had four chairs around each. One wall was a huge white screen, and the others were filled with lockers, posters of historical figures, and math equations. No teacher's desk.

At the clicking of heels, he turned.

A young woman dressed in jeans and a shirt with a blue Lemur, the school mascot, stepped into the room. Recognition shone in her expression before she started toward him. Her eyes, a color of green he'd never seen on a person, reminded him of a granny smith apple. Blonde, wavy hair bounced around her shoulders. Her lips were plump and pink and her petite body lusciously round in all the right places.

Heat scorched through him.

Damn, she's hot.

She looked young, though. Surely, she's a teacher.

Right!?

He stood, completely awe-struck.

The only explanation for his strong reaction to her was that he hadn't been with anyone in a long time. It felt like it'd been a lifetime since he'd held a woman in his arms. Since he'd touched, tasted, teased—

He forced his eyes away from her. He couldn't have these kinds of thoughts if she was a student.

Like a magnet out of control, his gaze returned to her. He wasn't a stranger to beautiful women. He'd been with his share, and since Anita's betrayal, he'd been wary of all of them. But his self-protective instincts failed him now. He wanted to know everything about her.

She stopped a yard away from him. "I'm not changing your nephew's grade, Mr. Biel."

Thank goodness, she's the teacher.

Without giving him time to respond, she continued, her voice determined. "Your nephew received a syllabus the first day of the semester. He knew my expectations."

Having a hard time listening to her, he'd become too fixated on her looks. How did her guy students stop staring at her long enough to listen to anything she said, much less comprehend her lessons? No wonder Jamaal was failing. Were any boys in her classes passing?

"How old are you?" he asked, abandoned by his signature finesse.

Her face, and the little he could see of her neck in the crew-neck shirt, flamed red. "I can't understand how that's relevant or any of your business."

"It's just ... you look young. At first, I thought you might be a student."

"Is that an insult?" She crossed her arms, clearly pissed. "Or a compliment?"

Damned if he knew. "An observation."

She didn't have an instant comeback, which gave him time to put this uncharacteristically strong attraction to her into perspective. Jamaal needed to be his focus. "Can we start again?"

She nodded.

"I'm Andre Biel. You're Ms. Weldon?"

"Quinn Weldon." She set her phone and the folder in her hand on the desk next to him. He checked her hands for rings and saw none. The scent of cherries surrounded her, sweet and alluring. "Are you here about your nephew?"

"Yes."

"Save your breath, Mr. Biel." She put a shaking hand to her forehead, appearing slightly rattled. "I'm going to tell you the same thing I've told the others. I will not change any grades."

What others?"I don't want you to change Jamaal's grade."

She froze. "You don't?"

He shook his head. "He must require tutoring if he's failing, though."

"I can't pass him to play this Friday," she defended.

Dre looked her straight in the eyes and spoke slowly. "I don't expect you to pass him."

Her expression changed from self-protective to apologetic in a blink. "Please forgive me. Jamaal is a well-behaved kid, always respectful when he makes it to class."

"When he makes it? What does that mean?"

"This class is right after his athletics, and most days he's late or doesn't show up at all. He always has an excuse slip from his coach. And I guess he doesn't need to be in class since he's scored hundreds on his tests."

He couldn't understand how Jamaal could make such great grades without attending class. "Why's he failing?"

"Homework counts for half his grade, and he hasn't turned in any of the assignments. I'm sure he thought he didn't need to do the homework since he's already taken Geometry."

"Geometry? The progress report said math. I didn't realize he was taking Geometry. He did well in it last year. Why would he take it again?"

"I wondered the same thing. My question is why the counselor allowed him to sign up for it when he made an A in the class."

"Did you ask the counselor?"

"She's on maternity leave. I did check Jamaal's records. He's starting high school with enough credits to be a sophomore."

What was going on? Why would Jamaal repeat the class?

"He can raise his grade by turning in the homework he's missed. I can't give him more than fifties on the late assignments, but with his zeros becoming fifties and being averaged with his tests, he'll be passing for next week's game."

"That's kind of you."

"I'm not doing it especially for Jamaal. All my pupils are afforded the same opportunity."

"I see." He leaned his leg against the table. "Shouldn't he be in Algebra II? It's the next class, right?"

"It is."

"Do you teach Algebra II?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I want Jamaal to have teachers who care about his education."

She studied him then pulled a pencil and a piece of paper from the folder on the table. She wrote something and handed it to him. "I don't teach Algebra II. However, these are the hours I'm around for tutoring if he needs help."

"Thank you."

Buzz. The phone on the desk vibrated. She checked the screen, and her brow dented in concern. "I'm sorry, excuse me, I need to get this." She picked it up and slid her finger over the phone as she walked away. "Grandpa?"

While she listened, her body tensed. Even from her profile, he saw her stiffening posture and crestfallen expression. Anxiety seared his chest. At times, his empathy for other people hit him so strongly he experienced physical discomfort.

Ms. Weldon rushed to a locker and twisted the dial to the right, to the left, and back to the right before opening the door. She grabbed a purse and slipped it on her shoulder, then picked up a tote bag. Hurrying back to the table, she set the bag down and stuffed the folder inside. "I'm on my way. I'll be there as soon as I can."

She threw her phone into her purse. "I hope I was able to answer your questions. If you'll excuse me, I have to go."

"Emergency with your grandfather?"

"He was in a car accident. Luckily no one's hurt." She unplugged her laptop and stowed it in her bag. "He shouldn't be driving. When you reach eighty you should have a driver at your beck and call twenty-four-seven."

"I agree. But from experience, I know most elderly people treasure their independence."

"Yes, they do." She took one last peek around the room before she reached for the bag.

~

Mr. Biel extended hishand toward Quinn's tote, and her gaze collided with his. When she didn't hand him the bag, he raised his brows. She let him take it and started across the room. He beat her to the door and held it open. What a gentleman—how reassuring there were some left in the world.

They hustled side-by-side down the mostly abandoned hallway.

Yesterday, she'd learned Andre Biel, a well-known NFL pro, was Jamaal's uncle when Coach Moon burst into her room insisting she pass Jamaal in order for him to be eligible to play Friday night. He went on and on about the boy's talent and explained his relation to Andre Biel. Since Coach Moon's plea, she'd been approached by another coach and a teacher suggesting she rethink her evaluation of Jamaal's grade.

So when she walked into her classroom and saw Andre Biel, she'd been ready for a fight. Shame on her for assuming he came to argue with her. Once she realized they were on the same side, she'd looked at him—truly looked at him.

She hadn't been ready for his handsomeness—his pleasing dark, angular features, and mesmerizing light-brown eyes. Describing him as in shape would be a vast understatement. Ripped, his arm and chest muscles strained against the black t-shirt he wore. Black hair clipped short, it resembled a military cut.

If she hadn't sworn off athletes, she'd fangirl all over him. She'd only known of one media story about him circulating a couple of years ago and couldn't even remember what it was about.

Embarrassed by the way she'd automatically assumed he'd insist she change his nephew's grade, she considered how to make amends. She respected and appreciated how he wanted the boy to earn his way. "I apologize for how I came off at first. I'm usually not so rude."

"No need to apologize, I didn't make the best first impression either. I committed a cardinal sin asking your age."

She pressed her lips together to stop a smile, but couldn't. "That did catch me off guard."

"Please forgive me," he said.

"All's forgiven."

Even though his test scores were perfect, she couldn't pass Jamaal because of the neglect of his homework. Being a new teacher in Katy, Texas, she expected to encounter challenges yet hadn't anticipated a situation like the one she now faced. Talk about playing defense.

For a man who led a brutal life on the field, Dre's soft-spoken voice and movements were gentle. When most people would've gotten frustrated with her abruptness, his demeanor never changed, and he didn't raise his voice.

Once at the hallway to one of the back exits, she stopped. "I'm just out this door."

He held out her bag. "I hope all is well with your grandfather."

His kindness instantly calmed her. Their hands brushed as she grabbed her bag, and a pleasant tingle spread through her.

He smiled, like maybe he'd felt it too.

She realized that, while wildly attracted to him, she was remarkably at ease with him.

What powers did this man possess?

Life's most persistent and urgent question is, "What are you doing for others?"

~ Martin Luther King