Chapter 1

DREW

Iopen the heavy wood door and hold it for Travis to grab. Travis is my best friend and the best offensive lineman on the Dallas Mustangs football team. We were both drafted six years ago and roomed together for the first two years. He's still racking up the statistics, but give him a few years, and he'll be a football god. He's the key player to protect our quarterback. If the Mustangs keep him, he'll rival me for the salary amount in my contract.

The dingy, old entry leads into a dark, shabby, barren dive. Peanuts crush under my feet as the smell of stale beer turns my stomach.

"How can a bar smell like old beer at noon?" I've got more money than all but one player on my team. I'm the highest paid tight end in professional football, but I drink at dive bars in the middle of the day. Well, during the off-season at least. I could afford to hit up one of the better bars, but nobody bugs me here, and I'd have to put up with autographs and selfies if I went somewhere respectable. I nudge Travis. "God, I hope they've got the kitchen going. I'm hungry."

Travis shakes his head. "I came to drink, but I do love their nachos." He raises his hand at the bartender. "Beer, bartender! And nachos, and keep ‘em coming."

I saddle up to the bar next to Travis. "Did you bang the blonde from last night?" Travis is built like a tank with large gorilla-sized hands that contain grown men determined to crush our quarterback. He's a few inches shorter than me, but outweighs me by seventy pounds. And women love him. I'd never actually known anyone with a dimple until Travis.

He leans back and cracks his neck. "Three times and then left her wanting more."

"You dawg. Did you give her your number?"

Travis spits out his beer. "Hell, no. You know how it is."

"Yeah. I get it."

The bartender sets down the orange gooey sauce covered tortilla chips, topped with seasoned meat and pico de gallo. "Thanks, man." Travis flicks his head at the bartender. He smirks at me. "Did you stay with Stacy last night?"

"Yeah. I'm certainly not going to have any chick at my place." I bob my head for emphasis. "She and I were in the middle of our second fuck when her roommate got home." I smirk, remembering the threesome. "What can I say, she joined in. Stacy's good and all, but her roommate is hot."

"I love that kinky shit." He scoops the cheese that pooled on the side of the plate onto a chip. "You like that, too. Everybody's seen that video you did in college. The three girls and the spanking bench were cool. I have to admit I was impressed. You banged them all in under thirty minutes. Better than any porn I'd seen, up until that point." He winks.

I don't get to respond as an adorable redhead strolls up to the bar, plopping herself onto the stool next to me. "Hi." She bats her eyes like a movie ingenue trying to get the attention of any red-blooded male.

I nod. "Hello there."

She leans in. "I'm Sadie." She looks past me and smiles at Travis.

"I'm Drew and that's Travis."

"Well, you're big boys." She glances at the bartender. "Can I get a mojito?" She turns back to me, shrugging like she's trying to convince herself as much as the rest of us. "It's five o'clock somewhere."

I lift my glass. "Damn right. So, Sadie? Do you come here often?"

"Every once in a while. My ex used to work here."

"Nice. Isn't that weird? You're not worried about his being here?"

She smirks as she sips the drink the bartender set down. "He's still in jail, I think."

"In jail? Sounds like a real winner. Dodged a bullet there."

"Don't I know it." Sadie touches my arm. "He was always a piece of shit. I just didn't figure it out in time."

Travis ends a call on his cell phone. The color drains from his face as he speaks. "I need to grab an Uber and head to the airport. My ma's in the hospital."

"Do you need me to come?" I turn to stand up from the stool. He's my best friend, and I'd do anything for him.

"Thanks man, I'm good. I'll call and let you know what's going on." Travis puts his hand on my shoulder and walks out the door.

Two hours later, I finish my second pitcher of beer, and Sadie slurs her order to the bartender, who shakes his head in disgust. "You're cut off. I can call you a cab."

Sadie knocks her glass across the counter. "What the fuck? Make me another. I've only had a couple."

The bartender cringes. "You've had five, and that's more than you usually drink."

She giggles. "Um, no. You can't count." She nudges me. "Right?"

I shrug. "No idea." The bar is filling up with patrons. The rowdy groups seem to know one another as people acknowledge the newcomers with warm greetings. Luckily, the baseball cap is working, and no one has noticed me so far. Usually by now someone has recognized me and made a scene.

She grumbles as the light spills into the bar from the afternoon Dallas sun. She holds up her hand to block the light. "Ah fuck."

"Yeah. That light is bright." I turn on the stool to see why it's been held open for so long, as a fist rises from below and clocks my jaw. It knocks me off my stool, slamming my side into the metal rung underneath the bar, where you normally rest your feet. "Fuck!" My jaw feels like a hammer slammed into it. I watch worn jeans move around the turned over barstool. A guy with dirty shoes, screaming about Sadie, tries to kick me, getting his foot caught in the spindly legs of a stool. Time slows as I scramble up off the floor and jump to my feet. "What the fuck?" I throw my arms up, either to protect myself or because my balance is crap.

"She's mine." The man bellows as my brain tries to catch up to what's happening. I grab the edge of the bar as the man throws a second punch. I dodge, springing up on my toes, and throw my fist to catch the man as he moves forward. The man's knees buckle, and he hits the floor.

"I'm calling the cops." The screaming bartender yells with spittle hitting the bar.

The woman rushes to the floor to check on the bear of a man who's lying beneath my feet. I shake my head, trying to bring the moment into focus. Wow, the man on the floor is bigger than Travis. He's a little older with more miles, but he's got size. The man starts to get up, swinging his arms before he's back on his feet. He looks like an animal on skates, trying to get his feet under him while coming for me. I drive my fist down onto his nose with blood spraying across his face and on Sadie's pants, and the guy resettles on the floor.

Sadie cries out. "No. Don't hurt him."

"Don't hurt him?" I throw my hand toward the man lying on the floor. "He started it. What the fuck is going on, Sadie? You know this guy?"

"Yeah. He's my man, the one that went to prison. I told you."

My lightheadedness wanes. Either the beer is wearing off or my adrenaline spike is hiding the pain. The loud bar is now as quiet as a mortuary. "You're worried about him? He's a piece of shit. Your words." The man is on the floor beneath me, and I resist the temptation to thrust my shoe into his side. I bark at him. "I'm not fucking her. We're just sitting next to each other at a bar."

The man shakes his head as his eyes spin around. Sadie whimpers. "Get up John. John?"

The groan from the floor reminds me that the man is still a threat. I glance down at the same time the man swipes at my feet. Normally light on my feet, as a professional athlete, capable of vaulting grown men as I snag the football and run for a touchdown, I wouldn't let anything knock me off my feet. Still, the fuzziness overwhelms my balance, and I fall, banging my head on the sticky concrete floor.

Sadie's scream clears my head as a hand grabs me off the floor. My eyes open, staring at my driver, Clyde. "Hi. When'd you get here?"

The driver chuckles. He shoves the man on the floor back down as he pulls me onto my unstable feet. "I heard the ruckus and thought it might be you. Time to go Mr. King."

I lean on the driver and hustle with him out the door. "I need to pay the bar owner."

"It's okay. I threw five hundred bucks on the bar before I grabbed you."

"Thanks."

"Just add it to my tip." He opens the back door of the sedan and shoves me inside. "We should take you to the emergency department."

"I'll be… What?" What did he say?

The driver swings the car into traffic and fifteen minutes later, he helps me out of the car, walking us into the Dallas Baptist Emergency Department. His loud voice surprises the person at the desk. "Hi. He needs a doctor."

She looks at me as recognition hits her face, and she's star struck. "Is that…?"

He clears his throat. "It doesn't matter who he is until he's inside the ED with a doctor looking at him."

"Okay. Yeah. Hold on." She picks up the phone and a moment later, someone walks out with a wheelchair.

The driver drops me gently into the chair. "Remember the big tip you owe me."

I wave as I put my hand over my eyes to block the bright fluorescent lights. "Thanks."

"Sure. Call me, and I'll come back and get you."

I continue to stare at my driver, desperate to remember his name as he walks away. The pretty woman gets my attention. "Mr. King?"

She pushes the wheelchair through the double doors, and I lift my head to see Mia Campbell, one of the Campbell wives and a nurse practitioner here at the hospital. "Hey, Mia." The Campbells are an uber-rich family in Dallas with a former vice president as the patriarch. I've met a couple of them since they own my condo building and a two-square-mile quadrant area around it. My favorite restaurants and bars in the Quad are owned by Campbell cousins. Mia's husband is a surgeon here too.

"What happened?" She asks, with that concerned-mom look.

"I got into a bar fight." I cringe. It's going to be all over social media because some patrons got all or most of it on their damn phones.

She leans down and slides her hand under my elbow. "Let's get you onto the bed."

I almost make a comment about getting her into bed and remember which family she's involved with. Don't want to piss off the Campbells. And some of the cousins are bigger and meaner than me. I stretch my neck.

"Drew?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Kind of rung my bell."

Her pretty eyes scrutinize my swelling face. "You've got a bruise on your jaw, and there's a cut on your temple. Anywhere else?" She hands me an ice pack for my jaw.

"My ribs hurt like a bitch, and my head feels like I've been hit by a Mack truck."

"Okay. I'm going to give you a neuro exam."

She asks me questions, and I answer, but as the words come out, I forget the question. Mia seems content with my answers. She shines a bright light into each of my eyes. "Ouch. You're making my head pound more."

Mia completes her exam and ends with a nod. "Your exam is normal, but you probably have a mild concussion. I'm going to get an x-ray of your ribs."

I adjust myself on the exam bed. "Ouch. Fuck, my head hurts."

She frowns, offering the same expression my mother used to give me when I did something stupid. "I'm sure it does. Are you nauseous?"

"Yeah. But that could be the booze."

"How much did you have to drink?"

"Um. A pitcher and a half of beer. Maybe two. I feel pretty sober now. Adrenaline is a marvelous thing."

"Okay. When was your last concussion?"

I stare at the pretty redhead.

"Drew? Your last concussion?"

"Oh. Um. Seven years, I guess. Junior year in college. I've been pretty lucky in the pros."

"That's good. Do you want me to notify anyone?"

I blow out a big breath. It's not like I've got a family or a girlfriend. Just rip off the Band-Aid. Better call Lily before she hears about it from someone else. She's a brilliant agent, but she doesn't like to put up with my shit, and she's warned me. She is going to be pissed again. This is my third. No, fourth bar fight in the last five months. She scolded me last time, and I hear her in my head. ‘Stop drinking, carousing, and fighting. The Mustangs won't take much more from you'. "Can you call Lily and tell her I'm here?"

Mia nods. Lily is one of Mia's friends. It will be easier coming from her. Mia pulls her cellphone from her pocket and steps out of the room.