Second Half Read online

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Encroachment

  Copyright © 2016 by Monica DeSimone

  Edited by Nadine Winningham

  Cover Design by Pink Ink Designs

  Photography by Eric David Battershell Photography

  Formatting by Pink Ink Designs

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For Coach

  Love is patient and kind;

  love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude.

  It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful,

  it does not rejoice at wrongdoing,

  but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things,

  believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

  Love never ends.

  1 Corinthians 13:4-8

  Oklahoma State University

  “OH GOD,” I MOAN, as I dig my hands into the sheets and curl my toes into the mattress. “Please, Derrick. Please.” I beg, my head tossing from side to side, eyes closed, and lost in ecstasy. Pure ecstasy.

  “Jesus, Duchess, you’re killing me.” Derrick looks up at me from between my legs. “I need to be inside you. Right the fuck now!” He takes one lingering lick from my ass up to my slit, doing wicked things with his magical tongue. One last suckle to my clit, then Derrick slowly moves up my body, placing gentle and loving kisses the entire way. And it’s erotic as all hell.

  “You are so fucking beautiful.” He looks down at me. His eyes are a vibrant electric blue right now, as they always are when Derrick is turned on.

  “I love you, Derrick.”

  Derrick pushes his cock into me. “God,” I moan. He’s big. Big hands, big heart, big cock. Derrick is six foot five inches, 220 pounds of perfectly sculpted, demanding, funny, and generous man, and I can’t get enough of him. The tight fit of him inside me brings both pleasure and pain, it’s almost spiritual. He feels like heaven. “So good. I’m close, Derrick. Please, please don’t stop.” I pant. He’s only just put his cock into me and I’m ready to orgasm. My nails dig into his ass to get better purchase and push him even deeper inside of me.

  He moans, his breathing getting heavier as he continuously pounds into me. One deep thrust after another. His magnificent athletic body starting to strain above me as he nears his orgasm. Taking my left leg, Derrick brings it up and over his shoulder for deeper penetration.

  My eyes close and roll up into my head. I’m so close and running solely on instinct. “What the fuck, Derrick?” I groan, when he suddenly stops moving.

  “Look at me, Zo” he growls, and I can’t. I’m lost in the sensation of him inside of me. The perfection that overwhelms me every time he slides his cock into my pussy. “Look. At. Me.” He says again, punctuating every word with a deep, hard thrust into me.

  Finally looking up into his eyes, my breath catches at the emotion in them. “I love you so fucking much, Zoey. You are my world, we’re the home team. Never doubt that.” And with one final deep thrust, he comes inside of me. The sound he makes as he climaxes is so primal, almost animalistic, and it pushes me into my own mind blowing orgasm.

  I’m adrift and he is my anchor.

  I sprawl out on top of him after catching our breaths. Derrick strokes my back lazily and kisses the top of my head. “Zo, I promise nothing is going to change. I am going to marry you. We are still on schedule.”

  I kiss his chest just above his heart. Derrick is the beginning and the end for me. He’s promised to marry me since my sophomore year, and I believe him. But he’s graduating in May while I still have another year left of college. That isn’t what worries me though. The NFL draft does…and it’s happening tomorrow.

  Derrick is one of the best wide receivers in college ball. Tall, wide shoulders, narrow hips, muscled legs that push determinedly off from the line of scrimmage, and hands that can catch anything, he's physically perfect and built like a wide receiver should be. At twenty-two, he’s played ball for over two thirds of his life. With three high school championships and three NCAA National Championships, Derrick has a natural athletic ability and an unflappable composure that makes him a valuable asset. All of which hasn’t gone unnoticed.

  If all the coaches, agents, and analysts are correct, then Derrick and Ben Anderson, his quarterback and best friend since childhood, will end up being drafted and on the same team, again.

  Being the daughter of a professional football coach, I know the sacrifices required to make it in the industry. And make no mistake, football is an industry. My father spent more hours on any field—practice or stadium—than he did at home. The hours during the season are outrageous, but what most people don’t know is that they don’t decrease any in the off-season.

  Dubbed Coach’s Shadow at three years old by the press, I was the curly haired blonde that followed Coach Robert “Mac” McEvoy around from one end zone to the other. Everyone thought it was adorable how the coach’s daughter trailed him around the field. Dad and I were photographed everywhere. Sports Illustrated, People, even Time magazine had us on the cover. No toddler should ever be exposed to the press to that extent. Mac and I were, and still are, fair game for the media. And whenever he has a successful season, which is often, they trot out the old pictures along with new ones that they might have gotten of us over the years, and it becomes a circus once more.

  The “Coach’s Shadow” headlines have started up again, but now they have a new spin. “Stepping out of Coach’s Shadow and into another’s” was last night’s caption. Derrick thought it was funny; me, not so much.

  To say that the whole NFL draft is freaking me out would be an understatement. It has put another layer of stress on Derrick’s and my relationship. Being on edge and withdrawn hasn’t helped. Derrick has been overly attentive to me and that pisses me off. But not having any control over my future has sent me into a downward spiral. My mind is a chaotic jumble; unable to focus on any one thing for more than a few minutes at a time. Maybe I should take one of my mother’s philosophies and put it to work. It’s the tree that bends with the wind that survives, and Applebee’s are survivors. My mother never considered herself to be a McEvoy, which meant that my sister and I were not considered ones either.

  I could be that tree that bends in the wind.

  And survive.

  WE’RE ON DAY TWO of the draft. Derrick and Ben decided to
stay at school instead of heading to New York. My small off-campus apartment has been invaded. There’s a camera crew here. The guys tried to block the media, but their agent vetoed that idea. Derrick and Ben are big shit and everyone wants to be a part of this. So here we are. The three of us, their agent, Derrick’s dad, Ben’s parents, my dad, two cameramen, one producer, and a soundman are all anxiously awaiting today’s picks.

  Derrick and I are on pins and needles as our attention is on the television screen. Yesterday, the 49ers drafted Ben in the first round. We all screamed and went insane for him. That’s exactly where he expected to end up. Today, the 49ers went with a left guard as their second pick. They needed one; they have some major line issues that need to be shored up, and quickly. But this means that Derrick and Ben won’t be teammates any longer.

  The commissioner returns to the podium and puts the Carolina Panthers on the clock. It takes them one minute and thirty-seven seconds to come back with their pick.

  Derrick Hendrickson. Wide Receiver. Oklahoma State University.

  Everyone is overjoyed and excited over Derrick becoming a Carolina Panther. A chill snakes down my spine and my stomach drops to my feet that are no longer steady where I stand; our future is about to drastically change.

  Eight Years Later

  “I DON’T REALLY CARE what you think I wanted,” I say to my florist, Thomas. “What I ordered was sunflowers and you send me calla lilies!” Sure calla lilies are one of my favorite flowers, and Thomas knows this, but that isn’t quite the point here. “I need a flower with a backbone, not a withering beauty”.

  “I’m sorry, Zoey, I wasn’t able to get the sunflowers. It’s March, and they are almost impossible to get this time of year.”

  “I have three hundred people showing up in six hours and my entire theme is fucked up thanks to you and your fucking calla lilies!” I exclaim as I pace the ballroom.

  The ballroom itself is stunning. Mahogany woodwork and shades of beige on the walls give it a masculine feel, but the multi-tiered chandeliers throughout the room add a feminine touch, making it perfect for tonight’s event. Classy and elegant was what came to mind the first time I walked in. I knew this was a place Mac would enjoy being in. Georges, my event coordinator and owner of the venue, has an eye for beautiful things and bought this old Victorian in Weehawken that overlooks the Manhattan skyline and turned it into a showplace. Completely rehabbing the entire venue and turning it into three amazing ballrooms, each spectacular in their own right.

  With the dark woodwork and light walls, we decided to go with gray, white, and red linens. I know that it sounds like a lot, but combined together, the colors give the room a 1920’s gin room feel. We’re using the smaller round tables so that it has a more intimate feeling. The venue even got me the tulip flatware I wanted. The wholesaler didn’t have them in stock anymore, but Georges managed to make it happen for me. Everything was coming together for this evening’s First Annual Coach’s Shadow Ball. Everything except for the flowers.

  “White calla lilies do not work with my theme, Thomas, they just don’t. They are throwing the entire mood off.” I state. “I need strong and bold! Not a romantic love song.”

  “Fucking idiots,” I mutter to myself. “This is what happens when you deal with incompetents.” I make another round of the ballroom.

  Every server, bartender, and worker within ear shot has made it a point to avoid me. There is no way they would attempt to approach me right now. In fact, I’m pretty sure that the building could be on fire and they would leave me inside to burn. I know I’m out of control, but quite frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck!

  While I slightly relish their fear, I do feel kind of bad that the workers are afraid of me. Even my own assistant, my sister, Claire, wouldn’t return my calls this morning. Well, fuck all of them! My anger flares again. It isn’t their name on the line. Not to mention the twenty-five young athletes depending on tonight’s funds. Without the money, we won’t be able to break ground on the foundation’s new facility. Sure the players will still be able to attend camps this year, but tonight’s money will solidify the foundation’s new facility and dorms.

  Determined to make the Coach’s Shadow Foundation a success, I have worked my ass off getting the top camps, NFL referees, coaches, and professional athletes on board. As the original Coach’s Shadow, I want the world to know how much my father meant to me. It’s been eighteen months since Mac passed away, but his legacy will live on.

  Tonight is the culmination of sixteen months of hard work and many sleepless nights. I have the best athletes in the state ready to attend the camps. The top officials in the country are lined up for the scrimmages and for the classrooms. I even have a former head coach and hall of famer as a board member for Christ’s sake. He coached Mac in college and is doing this as a personal favor. What more do I need to do to get these cheap bastards to let loose of their money?

  Still pacing and so engrossed in my own tirade, I forget Thomas is still rambling on about the flowers. “Thomas, this is not a negotiation. I really don’t care what your excuse is. I have a signed contract for fifty sunflower centerpieces. You either produce them, make this one of your donations, or I will make sure that you do not get another dime from anyone. Ever. Now, you have five hours to do your magic, and I truly mean magic. But come 6 p.m. tonight, there had better be fifty centerpieces with sunflowers in them or an invoice stating that you are donating the calla lilies.” I hang up my phone and plop down onto the floor.

  “Oh my God…What else can happen to make this night a disaster?” I ask the cosmos.

  Not even ten minutes later I get my answer when Claire comes looking for me.

  “I see you managed to scare off the staff and piss Thomas off all in a matter of minutes.” She says in greeting.

  “Fuck off.” I give her the look that makes others cower in fear. It works on everyone but her. Immune bitch.

  “Calla lilies, Claire. Look at this room and tell me calla lilies go in here.” I wave my arm around dramatically.

  “Zo, you are going to have to deal with the calla lilies. They are beautiful, and I know you love them. They are all over your house. Besides, Thomas says that is what you are getting, as a donation, although he wasn’t happy about it.”

  I arch a brow at her. Usually, Claire just calls me on being dramatic and bitchy. But now, she’s trying to mollify me. And she won’t make eye contact. She looks everywhere but at me.

  Which means she’s about to drop a bomb.

  “Zo, I know that you’re on edge right now, but I have some news that will make the sunflowers seem like nothing. And as an FYI, I brought the blue Xanax, so please just remember to not kill the messenger.”

  Here it comes. The hammer is about to drop. “Seriously, Claire, the only thing that could make today more of a nightmare is if Ben doesn’t show.”

  “You haven’t checked your text messages in a while have you?” She asks.

  “No, I haven’t. I’ve been slightly busy this morning.”

  “Okay, so here’s the deal,” she begins, “but you have to promise me that you will not freak out.”

  “I mean it, Claire, outside of Bennie not showing up, I’m good.”

  “Yeah...well,” she hedges.

  “What are you trying to tell me? Ben is coming, right?”

  “Hello, Duchess. Great room, but I would have thought that you would’ve gone with a stronger flower. One with some backbone, you know?”

  That voice. I know it too intimately to ever be able to forget it. “Claire,” I look up at my sister with pleading eyes, “tell me he isn’t here. Please tell me this isn’t happening to me, today of all days?”

  “What’s that? I think I hear Georges calling.” Claire bends down and kisses my forehead, before softly saying, “I love you, Zoey, but you are on your own. You are going to have to deal with him at some point.” And like the coward she is, she makes a hasty retreat.

  I look up and over at the six foo
t five inch, 220 pound—give or take a few—snake in the room. Derrick-fucking-Hendrickson is standing there in faded blue jeans that hang just right. A black Henley pulled to capacity with his arms crossed over his chest. His signature Chuck Taylor’s. And a cocky smirk on his face. He’s all “fuck you and the world” confident. The bastard knows how I love a confident man. It’s sexy on him. Jerk!

  Are those new tattoos on his arms? Yummm!

  Focus, Zo! The enemy is at the gates and I’m still sitting on the floor.

  In any good battle, the one with the higher ground usually wins. So I quickly stand and brush off my yoga pants as if they are made of silk. But Derrick still has the advantage and he knows it. At five foot two, and a hundred and two pounds fully clothed and soaking wet, I only ever came up to his chest, maybe his shoulder depending on the shoes I wore. But here and now, in my own beat up Chucks, I have to look up at him.

  “What are you doing here, Derrick?” This is my event, and he was most definitely not invited. “You hate charities.”

  “Zo, Ben called me this morning. Apparently Suzie was having labor pains,” he says. “Why am I telling you this? Haven’t you even bothered to check your messages? Cause I know for a fact that the two of you talk all the time.”

  “I’ve been busy, in case you haven’t noticed.” My reply lacks conviction and is about all I can manage through the sudden guilt. Suzie has been my best friend since freshman year of high school. And I’m finding out from Derrick that she’s in labor with only her doofus of a husband there to support her. I snatch my phone up to check for anything from Ben or Suzie.

  “Yeah well,” he drones on, and I only catch pieces of what he’s saying. I stopped listening to him when he said Suzie was in labor. “Ben needed me to fill in for him tonight. He doesn’t want to leave Suz alone. So here I am.” Derrick stretches his arms out wide, showcasing the beauty of his chest and arms. Yep, definitely a few more tattoos.

  “What do you mean she went into labor? She isn’t due for another four weeks. It’s too soon! The kid hasn’t cooked long enough,” I recheck my phone. There isn’t even one message from Suzie or Ben, so I know that my future godchild is not on its way. But what if something happened and they couldn’t call me? My mind instantly goes to all the things that could go wrong with Suzie’s pregnancy. I’m a worrier, always have been, especially with those I love.