Chapter 3

THREE

It was still drizzling several hours later when Shane walked from the practice facility back to the main office complex of the Blaze. Earlier, he'd managed to endure the press conference, followed by a meet and greet with trainers and coaches who hadn't been paraded through the conference room that morning. Fortunately, Roscoe had taken off shortly after the media session. But not without a lecture.

"I know it's asking a lot, but try to play nice, Shane," Roscoe chided him before he left. "Smile for the media and suck it up. And, Hank's assistant is off-limits, if you know what's good for you."

There was no way Roscoe could have picked up on the sexual tension between Shane and Carly. It was just typical Roscoe, practicing damage control. But Shane knew enough to steer clear of her.

"Don't worry, I learned a valuable lesson in San Diego," Shane said. Roscoe just grunted, slapping Shane on the back before heading to New York.

Locating his locker, he unpacked the few things he'd brought with him on the plane. A three-day mini-camp began in the morning, and he'd finally get an opportunity to let his arm do his talking. Shane was always more comfortable dealing with adversity on the field than off.

The drizzle cooled him off as he walked. Next on his schedule was a private meeting with Coach Richardson. Something he was not excited about. Up until this morning, Shane had been looking forward to playing for the man. Richardson had been a pro-bowl player in his day and had evolved into a top-notch coach, one who was known and respected for his fairness and integrity. That image was destroyed this morning.

The guy was married to a woman with cancer, for crying out loud. Shane shook his head in disgust.

The same disease that took Shane's mother's life some twenty years ago. Thinking of the coach's three children, he grew angrier. That anger certainly had nothing to do with the fact that the coach's hands had been all over Carly. No, he was upset that both Carly and Coach Richardson had somehow disappointed him.

Shane was someone who expected very little from people. Most people betray one another. It was a fact of life he'd grown up learning the hard way. It was the reason he didn't let anyone close to him. Let them in, and they'd just screw you over later on. He didn't want to delve too deeply into the particular reasons for his disappointment with the coach and Carly, however. That would only lead him to admit to feelings he didn't want to feel. He needed to forget about the Blaze's sexy siren and concentrate on learning the team's system so he could play football.

Stepping into the main office building, he combed his fingers through his hair, trying to dry it. Not knowing where the coaches' suite was located, he stopped to ask at the security office just inside the front doors.

"Shane Devlin, as I live and breathe," a voice called from the back of the office.

Shane looked up to see a shiny-headed, African American man striding across the office, smiling with his hand extended in greeting.

"Donny Carter?" Shane smiled his first real smile in a long time. "What are you doing here?"

The two men clasped hands and then leaned in to tap each other on the back.

"Been here for a year now. You're looking at the head of security. So watch your ass!" Donovan teased.

Donovan Carter grew up in the same small Pennsylvania college town as Shane. Donovan's father had been the chief of police back then. Chief Carter probably had done the most of any adult to keep Shane from ending up in jail—or dead. In return, Shane let little Donny shadow him around the football field, picking up all the right moves to earn a commission to the Naval Academy as a tailback on its football team. His senior year, Donovan blew out his knee in a game against Michigan, ending his dreams of playing in the NFL.

"I told you I'd make it to the pros somehow." Donovan smiled as he leaned his hip against the desk behind him.

"What were you doing before this?" Shane was a little ashamed that he had lost touch with Donny over the years. But then again, Shane had put much of his past behind him.

"Oh, I did my stint in the Marines, working for Naval Intelligence. And before you say anything, I've heard all the jokes about me not having enough intelligence for the job." He put his hands up and laughed.

"How are your parents?" Shane propped a shoulder up against the wall, relaxing for the first time that day.

"Mama's good. She's already called this morning. It's all over ESPN about you signing with the Blaze. She's sending a box of cookies later this week. She made me promise to share."

"I always knew I loved your mama. How about your dad?"

Donovan's smile dimmed a bit. "Oh, he passed a few years ago. He had a heart attack in his sleep. Mama was just glad he died peacefully and not by a bullet."

Shane felt his chest tighten as his shame grew. Donovan and his family had been a lifeline for him while growing up, and Shane hadn't even bothered to keep up with them after going on to college. He should have. But that was his father's hometown now. Not Shane's. He didn't want to know what was going on there.

"I'm sorry." The words sounded hollow, even to Shane.

"Hey, he's in a better place." Donovan jumped off the desk, quickly changing the subject. "You got a place to stay? I've got a two-bedroom condo I just bought down in the warehouse district on Federal Hill. You're welcome to crash there 'til you find some place."

"Thanks, man, but I think the brass wants to keep an eye on me. They've leased me a place in some gated community a few miles from here. I'm sure it's a good distance from any decent nightlife."

"Yeah, that may be a little tame for a player like you, but I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, right?" Donovan teased.

They both agreed to catch up over dinner and a few beers at the end of the day. Donovan pointed him toward the coaches' suites in the other wing of the building. Shane made his way to his meeting with Coach Richardson feeling a little better about his day.

The feeling was short-lived, however.

"Coach Richardson had some pressing commitments outside the office this afternoon, but he'd like you to meet him at his house," the coach's secretary told him. "It's only about ten miles from here, hon. Here's the address. Just plug it into the GPS in your rental car and you should find it without a problem. The guard at the gate knows Coach is expecting you."

Shane could only imagine what the coach's pressing commitment was this afternoon. Getting down and dirty with the GM's assistant. His gut clenched again at the thought. He was just about to ask if he could reschedule the meeting for the next morning, when a young woman he'd seen hovering outside the conference room earlier in the day raced into the office.

"Amy, what've you got there?" the coach's secretary asked.

"Has Coach left for the day?" Nearly out of breath, she peeked into the coach's darkened office.

"Yeah, hon, he has."

Amy swore, then colored brightly as she saw Shane standing there. She turned back to the coach's secretary.

"Carly left these forms and she needs to review them and send them off to the Commissioner's office first thing in the morning. I was hoping Coach could give them to her. I know they're getting together tonight."

Jeez, did everyone on the team know they were having an affair?

"No problem." She plucked the envelope from Amy's hand and handed it over to Shane. "Shane is headed to Coach's house. He'll take it."

Was she kidding? Take something for the coach's girlfriend to his house? Where his wife and kids lived?

Shane was about to tell them both what they could do with their envelope when his agent's parting words from earlier echoed in his head: play nice. Right.

These people were just a means to an end, Shane reminded himself. So what if they weren't who he desperately wanted them to be. Nobody ever was. Wasn't that the main reason he kept to himself and trusted no one? The only thing he should be focused on was playing every game and breaking every one of his deadbeat dad's records.

Flashing both women his most charming Devlin grin, he took the envelope and headed for what would certainly be an interesting encounter. On his way out, Shane stopped at Donovan's office and left him a note rescheduling dinner for the next night. There was no telling what was waiting for him at Coach's house.

Twenty minutes later, Shane pulled into a long driveway that wound back behind a massive stone home. The plush front lawn was meticulously manicured, lovingly kept up as if the Blaze were going to play their opening game on it. He pulled back behind the house, toward the three-car garage. A carriage house stood farther back, with a basketball court and a swimming pool beyond that. The Richardsons lacked for nothing, it appeared. Shane parked the car in the roundabout in front of the garage. One of its doors stood open, revealing a veritable sporting goods store: bikes, scooters, Rollerblades, hockey sticks, and every type of ball imaginable were strewn across the floor.

The windshield wipers squeaked to a halt as Shane turned off the ignition. Getting out of the car, he noticed a large, dark-haired woman, dressed in jeans and a chamois button-down shirt, standing at the trash cans just inside the garage. Her hands went to her hips as she greeted Shane with a smile that seemed to encompass her entire face.

"You must be the new guy," she called out. "Come on in out of the rain. Your California blood can't be used to this cold." She waved him through to a door in the back of the garage. Shane followed her into the garage, not bothering to dispute her assumption he was Californian by birth. What did he care what these people thought of him. He just wanted to get this meeting over with as quickly as possible.

"I'm Penny, the housekeeper," she prattled on, her back to him as she led the way. "Coach said to expect you. He and his family always like to welcome the new players their first night in town. The Richardsons are good people."

He thought Penny might be singing a different tune were she aware of the coach's fling with the GM's assistant. But, Shane figured it wasn't his place to burst that bubble. They entered the house through the mud room. A row of floor-to-ceiling cubbies similar to those in the training facility were lined up along one wall. Each contained assorted jackets, more sporting equipment, backpacks, and shoes. Stepping over a pile of shoes scattered about the doorway, he carefully dodged two umbrellas drip-drying on the floor.

The conflicting aromas of garlic and freshly baked brownies greeted Shane when they stepped into the kitchen. The room was massive but homey, richly adorned with stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, and warm walnut cabinets. CNN droned on a flat-screen TV mounted above a gas fireplace, lit to ward off the chill brought on by the spring rain. A bulky sofa and two chairs took up the area in front of the fireplace, while a large farmhouse table occupied the spot in front of a huge picture window. Three teenage girls were spread out at the table, a laptop and notebooks covering its surface. They giggled as Shane walked in.

"Ignore the coven over there," Penny said, her tone admonishing the girls. "They're supposed to be working on a presentation for school."

Penny motioned for him to have a seat in one of the stools parked along the island at the kitchen's center.

"Coach will be here any minute. He just ran out to pick up some softball cleats for his youngest," Penny said.

Shane suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the coach's house, surrounded by his family. He knew what the coach was doing and he didn't think it had anything to do with cleats for his kid. He remained standing in hopes of making a quick exit as Penny set a plate of brownies on the counter, still smiling at him. She took another plate over to the table where the girls were seated.

"Where'd Emma run off to?" Penny asked.

"She's in the other room printing," one girl managed to get out before shoving an entire brownie in her mouth.

The garage door opened as Penny headed for the back stairs. "Shane, I'll be right down. I'm going to check to see if Lisa is awake. I know she wants to meet you."

Shane could feel his palms begin to sweat. He had to get out of there. He had no intention of meeting the coach's wife. The warm domesticity of this house was suffocating him. With the exception of his buddy Roscoe's house, Shane didn't do the family thing. It was all too unnatural for him.

He turned toward what he thought was the back door, only to collide with a teenage girl—Emma, he assumed. Papers she'd been holding went flying across the floor and she quickly bent down to retrieve them. Wavy strawberry blond hair hid her face as long, slender fingers efficiently snapped the papers off the floor. He was reminded of Carly and her long fingers passing over her reams of paperwork earlier that morning. God, he had to get out of there! He felt as if the pocket was closing in around him.

"We're hooooome!" a young girl's voice sang out.

Emma looked up at the same time. Shane felt as if he'd been blindsided and thrown to the turf for a loss. Blue eyes eerily similar to the ones that captivated him in Cabo San Lucas stared at him. A soft, shy smile adorned a face with a familiar smattering of freckles across her nose.

"Sorry," Emma said. "I didn't see you standing there."

Shane felt the air leave his lungs as they both found their feet .

"Look, Em," the younger girl cried. "Daddy got my ruby red cleats! Aren't they the bomb?" A pixie version of the coach danced around the kitchen, bright green eyes shining as her ponytail flounced behind her.

"Molly, your uniform is bright orange. Have you no fashion sense at all?" Emma practically wailed at her sister.

"Who cares! I like 'em. I'm going to go show Mom. I know she'll love 'em." Molly bolted for the stairs, grabbing a brownie as she went.

"Dad, how could you? She'll be a fashion don't!" Exasperation adorning her face, Emma stood facing her father.

Matt Richardson smiled, leaning down to kiss his middle child on the forehead—much as he'd done with Carly earlier in the day. Shane's gut clenched even tighter.

"I pick my battles where I can, sweetie pie. Red cleats are a fight I don't care about winning."

Clearly Emma didn't agree with her father, letting out a huff as she walked back over to her friends.

"Welcome to Camp Chaos," Coach grinned, extending his hand to Shane.

As the two men shook hands, the back door crashed open and loud footsteps thundered into the mudroom.

"Get off my case, Aunt Carly!" a male voice yelled. "You're not my mother!"

And there it was. Confirmation that Shane was an ass. Carly March wasn't fooling around with the coach. They were related somehow. He'd fumbled the play. Badly. Hell, he never should have pushed her buttons earlier in the day. He couldn't decide if he was relieved she wasn't having an affair with the coach or scared shitless about how and when she'd reveal the accusations he'd hurled at her. Right now, he was having trouble just getting a breath into his lungs.

A blur resembling a large teenage boy raced by .

"Hey! Christopher James!" Coach yelled. "You get back here and apologize to your aunt!"

Carly entered the kitchen, her shoulders slumped. Shane tried to blend into the wall behind her. She'd changed from her uptight power suit into designer jeans that, from Shane's vantage point, fit her to perfection. A fuzzy sweater jacket in a soft shade of lavender hugged the rest of her body. Her hair was loosely pulled back and tied with a ribbon. The kitchen, boisterous only moments before, was now silent as the girls stared at Carly.

"It's my fault, Matt," she said softly, dropping her keys on the countertop. "I overstepped where I shouldn't have."

"I don't care where you stepped," Coach bellowed, making his way toward the stairs. "He has no right to speak to you that way."

Clearly sensing an impending explosion, the girls at the kitchen table silently packed up their things.

"Devlin, make yourself at home while I take care of this," Coach called out as he stormed after his son.

Carly tensed at the sound of Shane's name. Slowly, she turned to face him. He was prepared to see anything in her eyes except the sadness that emanated from them. Man, he had totally misread the situation. Forcing her chin up, she grabbed her purse and keys off the counter.

"I'm out of here," she said to no one in particular.

"Aunt Carly! You can't go," Emma cried, throwing herself in her aunt's path. "You promised to help me pick out what I'm wearing to the Spring Fling, remember?"

"Look, I'll go," Shane said. "You should stay and be with your . . . family." He stepped past her and headed toward the door. The sooner he got out of there, the better. The fact that he was still standing told him Carly hadn't mentioned his earlier accusations to Coach. But that didn't mean she wouldn't rat him out now. He needed to get far away from her.

Besides, the woman was making him crazy with her multiple personalities. One minute, she was a sexy siren in a Mexican bar. The next, she was a chilly, uptight professional. And right now, she looked as if someone had just killed her dog. The vulnerable look in Carly's eyes was something he couldn't deal with. He didn't want to deal with the feelings it was stirring up in him. If he stayed, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from gathering her up in his arms and holding her until the look of sadness left her beautiful face.

And he'd never done that before.

"No one is going anywhere," a female voice called from the top of the stairs.

Despite being pale and thin from months of chemotherapy, Lisa Richardson was beautiful. Dressed in black yoga pants, a light pink cashmere V-neck sweater, and a pink batik scarf covering her head, she slowly descended the stairs. Shane was struck by the drastic difference between how the coach's wife handled her disease compared to how his own mother had.

Ovarian cancer had overwhelmed Marie Devlin at twenty-nine. She'd been an eighteen-year-old townie when she got pregnant by the local college's star quarterback. Bruce Devlin was only twenty. They were children with a child of their own when they married. The first few years of their marriage had been a whirlwind. Bruce won the Heisman trophy and signed with the Philadelphia Eagles. Shane had fleeting memories of those early, happy years. As Bruce became a superstar—leading his team to a Super Bowl championship—his eye and heart began to roam. Marie became despondent as the relationship unraveled. Her diagnosis with cancer kept Bruce in the marriage, but not at home. Not that it mattered. His injury and subsequent drug addiction rendered him useless in encouraging her to fight the disease. In the end, not even her ten-year-old son could coax her to fight. To live.

Lisa was different, Shane realized right away as she stood in front of him. Her lips were brushed with a shiny pink gloss and a crisp, clean perfume permeated her skin. It was obvious that she'd chosen to fight her disease. For her husband. For her children. And for herself. Shane wanted to hate her for it. But one look into her big brown eyes and he knew he couldn't.

She smiled the same soft smile Emma offered him earlier.

"Welcome to Baltimore, Mr. Devlin."

Shane took the hand she offered as her husband appeared at her side.

"Lisa, honey, you should be resting." He wrapped his arm protectively around his wife's shoulders.

Shane felt like an idiot. It was clear he'd jumped to some very wrong conclusions.

"Don't be silly, Matt, I'm fine." She trailed a finger down her husband's chest. "I'm just going to have a cup of tea by the fire and let the girls practice their presentation on me. After that, Carly and I need to catch up on her trip to Mexico. She's been home for two days and I haven't heard the juicy details."

Shane sensed Carly stiffen beside him.

"Li, I've got a pile of paperwork I left on my desk that I need to have finished by the morning. Can we get together for lunch tomorrow?" she asked.

"Actually, I have your papers in the car." What was he thinking? He'd just blown the chance to get her out of the house before she could fill in Coach on his earlier wrong assumptions.

Carly turned to him, blue eyes wide and blazing. The look she threw at him should have shut him up. Except it didn't.

"Your secretary asked me to bring them," he babbled on. Crossing her arms beneath a pair of very nice breasts, she contemplated him for a long, silent minute. If he were smart, he'd stop provoking her. Except he really liked provoking her. Clearly, he had a death wish.

Finally, her eyes broke contact with his and Carly turned to her sister with a smile. "Bring on the lasagna," she said cheerily. Too cheerily. Shane was left to wonder when she might let the axe fall.

"Good. It's all settled then. Shane, you and Matt can have your meeting, Carly can do her paperwork, and afterward we'll all enjoy a nice family dinner."

Whoa, family dinner! No way!

"Oh, I couldn't impose, Mrs. Richardson," Shane backpedaled. He'd rather be tackled by a three-hundred-fifty-pound defensive lineman than sit through a meal making nice with the coach's family.

"Nonsense. Penny made her famous lasagna. It's tradition to have a new player over for dinner. Surely you don't have other plans already?" She eyed him carefully. It was the second time today he'd misread the play. He looked at the coach, who simply raised a brow at him.

"No, ma'am," Shane sighed.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Carly cover up a snort as he followed Coach out to his office in the carriage house.