Marrying the Football Billionaire Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Stephanie Street

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Invitation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Author’s Note

  Find Stephanie Street

  Contemporary Novels by Stephanie Street

  Young Adult Novels by Stephanie Street

  Invitation

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  Chapter One

  “Chris Bragg is having the game of his life tonight and the fans are really loving the show.”

  “You said it. And what a time to prove he deserves an extension on his contract, during the Championship game.”

  Oakley Abbott tuned out the commentators on the television and focused on the book she was reading on her Kindle. She’d take a sweet romance over football any day of the week. But there wasn’t much else happening on a Sunday afternoon in February, so she’d accepted the invitation to watch the game, eat good food, and let her mom smother Kaden, her two-year-old son.

  “Mom, don’t give him anymore juice. It messes with his system.” Oakley’s mom didn’t know when to say ‘no’ to her only grandchild and even at his age Kaden recognized an easy target.

  “Oh, stop. He’s only had one cup full.” Mercy Abbott rose from the floral sofa in the family room, her flowing skirts whipping around her ankles as she led Kaden by the hand into the kitchen. “Come on, baby. Grandma has a cookie with your name on it.”

  Oakley sighed, resigning herself to an evening filled with a hyped up, gassy toddler. But there was no stopping her mom when she was determined to spoil Kaden. It could be worse. At least he had one set of grandparents who cared to spend any time with him.

  Like it always did, thinking about her ex and his family gave Oakley indigestion. Great, now she and Kaden both would have an upset stomach. It was a good thing Wes was out of their lives for good. She’d never been more thankful than the day he signed away his parental rights to Kaden.

  “Woo!” Oakley’s brother, Rafe, jumped up with his hands in the air. “Did you see that pass?” he asked the room at large but their dad, Jerry, was the only one paying attention.

  “If we don’t win this game, I’ll eat my shoe.” Jerry shook his head, his gun-metal gray hair sticking in places to the faded upholstery covering his ancient recliner.

  “That’s disgusting, Daddy,” Lucy, Oakley’s younger sister and the baby of the family, murmured from the family room floor. She held her phone in her hand and had barely glanced up from the thing a single time since Oakley and Kaden arrived more than two hours earlier.

  “We’re gonna win. Dad’s shoes are safe.” Rafe sat back down and Oakley wedged her cold toes under his leg. He glanced down scowling. “Hey, get your feet out of there.”

  Oakley wiggled her toes deeper. “My toes are cold.”

  “You need a man. Desperately.” His eyes never left the television.

  Oakley pulled her head back. “No, I don’t.”

  Rafe spared a precious glance away from the game and pointed to her legs which appeared to have been cut off at the ankles, she’d pushed them into the cushion so far. “I beg to differ. If you had a man he could sit on your cold feet.”

  Oakley pushed at his shoulder. “Just watch your game. I’ll move them once they’re warm again.” She did not need a man, had barely gotten rid of the last one, in fact.

  “Oomph.” Kaden jumped on her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

  “Cookie, Mommy!” He held a grubby offering in her face.

  “Gee, thanks, bud,” she grunted, but couldn’t get upset with him. Her mother wasn’t the only one who spoiled Kaden. All her son had to do was look at her with his baby blue eyes and sweet baby smile and she was done, completely at his mercy.

  Oakley stared at the chocolate chip cookie in his sticky little hand and tried not to cringe. Eating food Kaden had touched kind of grossed her out. Her son knew how much she loved cookies, however, so she wouldn’t disappoint him by turning it down.

  “Mmm-mm.” She took a bite. “So good. Did you get one for Uncle Rafe?”

  Kaden’s eyes widened. He shot a worried look at his uncle. Rafe, who never let anything take priority over his nephew, even a Championship game, turned to Kaden with a heartbroken expression.

  “You didn’t get me a cookie?”

  Kaden leaned over to give Rafe a hug. “I get one for you, Unca Ray.” Then, scrambling off Oakley’s lap, he raced for the kitchen, calling for Grandma.

  “Better get one for Aunt Lucy!” Oakley glanced at her dad. “And Grandpa!”

  Jerry winked. They all loved Kaden. He’d wormed his way into their hearts from day one and with his sweet hugs and kisses, he wasn’t getting back out. He could make even the grumpiest grump smile. Rafe, for instance.

  “Man, that kid’s cute.” Rafe shook his head and smiled. “As much as I hate that you were ever married to that jerk, Wes Stewart, at least you got Kaden out of the deal.”

  Oakley already knew how her brother, heck, her whole family, felt about Wes. And they were right, the only good thing that had come out of that relationship was Kaden.

  “Oh, dang!” Rafe cringed back into the sofa a few minutes later, drawing Oakley out of her depressing thoughts about her ex.

  “What happened?” She was only mildly interested. Football really wasn’t her thing.

  When Rafe didn’t answer, Oakley tuned into the words coming from the television. Unlike the rest of the game, the noise from the stadium of frenzied fans had quieted to an almost eerie hush. The announcers spoke in soft, almost reverent tones.

  “In case you missed it, Chris Bragg, outside linebacker for the Denver Thunder is down,” said one announcer.

  “Chris hasn’t moved since he was hit,” said the other.

  Oakley focused on the scene taking place on the football field. At least twenty people surrounded the injured player. The camera zoomed out from the action surrounding him, panning over the field and into the stands. Players knelt on the turf, concern etched on their faces. A small circle of men from both teams held hands, praying with their heads bowed. Fans watched, some with tears in their eyes, as medical personnel worked on the man laying entirely too still in contrast to the commotion going on around him.

  “Th
e network has opted not to show a replay of the hit that has injured Chris Bragg due to the nature of his injury. Obviously, Chris won’t be returning to the game. It’s taking some time for the excellent medical personnel on hand, from both teams it appears, to help Chris from the field. We’ll go to a commercial break while they do their job.”

  The image on the television switched from a view of the football field to a commercial for soda featuring a well known movie star. The abrupt change broke the intense trance we’d all been sucked into watching the drama unfold on screen.

  Rafe leaned back into the sofa cushions. “Well, that just stinks.”

  “Yes, it does.” Mercy stood behind the sofa wearing her mother’s heart on her sleeve. “That poor man. I hope he’s going to be alright.”

  Jerry rose from his recliner and stretched after sitting for so long. “I’m sure he’s going to be fine. And now’s as good a time as any for a bathroom break.”

  Oakley watched her dad kiss her mom on the cheek as he passed and wink at Lucy over Mercy’s shoulder. He ruffled Rafe’s hair and smiled at Kaden before dropping a hand to Oakley’s shoulder, instilling his own strength into each member of his family before leaving the room.

  As always, Oakley appreciated her dad’s solid presence. Jerry Abbott wasn’t a rich man according to the world’s standards. He didn’t wield power like a CEO in a board room or a politician running for office. Instead, he was humble, working hard as a mechanic in the auto shop he’d inherited from his father to provide his family with everything they could possibly need. They’d done without some wants, but always had what they needed. His stable influence more valuable than any amount of money he could ever make.

  Oakley wished Wes had been the same kind of man. When they married she thought he would be, but it turned out he was selfish. Ultimately, she realized he was only concerned with himself, what he wanted, and what was good for him. When Kaden was born and Wes realized he’d have to share his wife with his own son, he turned into someone Oakley didn’t recognize. It didn’t take her long to come to terms with the fact that things just weren’t going to work out between them. Kaden needed her and Wes needed to grow up.

  “Mommy, my tummy hurts.”

  “Oh, no!” Oakley pulled her son from her brother’s lap and into her own arms. She kissed the top of his head. “Should we head home?”

  Kaden nodded, rubbing his sleepy eyes. His cheeks were flushed. It had been a long day and he was tired.

  “Okay, baby. Let’s get our stuff.” Oakley held Kaden as she rose from the sofa, then propped him on her hip. He tucked his head into her shoulder, his body limp.

  “You need some help?” Rafe stood and stretched, looking just like their father.

  “Yeah, can you grab Kaden’s bag and my purse?”

  “Sure.” Rafe went to retrieve the bags from the hall by the front door.

  “Do you want some food to take home, Oakley, honey?” Her mom followed them to the door.

  “No. I have plenty of food, Mom.” Mercy worried about them living by themselves. But after the first few months of living with her parents after her divorce, Oakley knew it would be a mistake to stay. She needed space to raise her son the way she saw fit without constant interference. Not that she wasn’t grateful to her parents, she was, just from a distance. And not even a great distance since she lived only three miles away.

  “And you’re bringing Kaden by at two tomorrow?”

  Oakley’s mom watched Kaden while Oakley worked. “Yes, my shift starts at three.” An hour was a long time, but dropping Kaden off with her mom was never quick. It always took fifteen minutes or more talking to her mom and reassuring Kaden she’d be back as soon as she could. Then, it was a fifteen minute drive to the restaurant where she waitressed if traffic was good and if it wasn’t, well, that was why she always gave herself a buffer.

  Mercy waved from the front porch while Rafe stowed Oakley’s bags in the front seat of her ancient Honda Civic. If it wasn’t for her father and brother both being mechanics who were willing to fix the vehicle for free, she’d have had to get a newer car long ago with money she didn’t have. It was difficult enough paying rent and utilities for the tiny house they lived in and Oakley dreaded the day when the Honda gave it up for good.

  “Bye,” she called out the car window as she pulled away from the house where she’d grown up. The drive was short, but Kaden still fell asleep in his carseat on the way, leaving Oakley alone with her thoughts, plagued with wondering how the injured player from the game was doing now. She’d have to remember to ask Rafe next time she saw him.

  Chapter Two

  “It’s going to take more time. There’s no way of knowing exactly how much of the nerve damage will be permanent. But I can tell you with a certainty, you will never get back the range of motion and strength you once had. Certainly, you will be able to function, but not at the level required to play professional football. I’m sorry, Chris. I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

  Dr. Spalding, the neurologist who’d been working with Chris since he was injured, was right. The news wasn’t what Chris wanted to hear at all. It had been months since the hit that left him unconscious and broken on the bottom of a pile of men weighing nearly three hundred pounds each. But they hadn’t caused his injury. It was just a freak thing.

  As far as Chris could remember, he hadn’t done anything different during that play than he’d done in any other. For goodness sake, he’d been having the best game of his career with five tackles, two sacks, and a forced fumble which had been converted into a touchdown.

  His performance had come just in time, too, since his contract ended after the season was over. It had been imperative to show team management he could still perform at thirty years old. Winning the national title and earning MVP for the game would have solidified his continued place on the team.

  But now?

  Chris stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

  Dr. Spalding shook his hand. Sympathy pulled at the other man’s mouth and Chris fought down the urge to rage at him. But the prognosis wasn’t the doctor’s fault. It just was.

  And Chris’s football career was over.

  Instead of joining the team at practice later in the fall, Chris Bragg announced his retirement after eight seasons and two Championship titles with two different teams. It had always been his dream to play long enough and well enough to earn himself consideration for The Hall of Fame. If only he’d had a few more seasons.

  But it wasn’t meant to be. Not when he had sporadic numbness throughout his entire left arm and pain in his neck and shoulder that never seemed to go away no matter how much physical therapy he did or how many pain killers he took. He’d decided to keep up with the physical therapy, but ditch the pain killers the same time he realized he was done playing football. It wasn’t worth risking becoming addicted. Pain management was something he’d been discussing with his physical therapist and they’d decided to keep a schedule of strengthening exercises, stretching, and chiropractic care. Even though Dr. Spalding hadn’t cleared Chris to play football, he did expect Chris to be able to gain more range of motion and experience a decrease in pain over time.

  Chris hoped he was right.

  “I can’t believe it, old man.” A meaty hand slapped down on his right shoulder, the one that didn’t have nerve damage. Chris would know that hand anywhere. He stood up from kneeling in front of his locker in the team dressing room and held out his hand.

  Terrance Rogan, middle linebacker and unofficial leader of the defense, accepted it and pulled Chris into a spine-cracking hug.

  “I’m not old.” Chris made a pained face while stretching his torso.

  “Tell that to your hair.” Terrance’s white teeth contrasted brilliantly against his dark skin as he teased Chris about his prematurely gray hair.

  “You just wish you looked as distinguished as me.” Chris struck a pose and mimed straightening a non-existent tie.
He’d learned long ago to embrace the physical feature that set him apart from other young men his age. It was that or beat everybody who teased him to a bloody pulp. While that had been tempting, it wasn’t sustainable. Owning his differences had the unexpected result of gaining a lot of respect on the field and in the locker room, not to mention the other aspects of his life.

  Terrance scoffed. “Dude, I got more game than you ever dreamed of having. It just wouldn’t be fair if I was distinguished, too.” Terrance wasn’t known for his humility. In fact the only thing larger than the man himself was his ego, which wasn’t that uncommon among professional athletes. Still, it was a good thing the big guy could back up his big mouth.

  Chris snorted as he turned back to his locker. “What are you doing here so early?” Terrance was always one of the first guys in the building, but it was early even for him.

  “I heard you were here. Wanted to say goodbye.” Terrance sat in front of the locker beside Chris’s. It belonged to their friend and fellow defensive player, left tackle, Tyler Miller.

  “Aw, that’s sweet.” Chris thumped his fist over his heart, making a joke rather than get sentimental.

  Terrance’s expression turned fierce. No one would accuse him of being sweet with that face. “What did you just say?”

  Chris shook his head, not taking his friend’s show of masculinity seriously. “I said, I’m retiring, not dying. You can come see me anytime.”