CHAPTER FIVE
PAIGE
The last thing I needed was Beaux Hale walking into my life, and if that wasn’t the last thing, the very last thing I needed was him being so darn nice to me.
It muddled everything I wanted to believe, that he was the guy he’d been at dinner before he apologized.
Instead, he kept his distance for the most part. He was polite, respectful, with only a small amount of flirting.
At least until he explained why he wanted to take me to dinner.
Was my exhaustion and stress so noticeable? Apparently it was because he brought it up and a quick check in the mirror after he left proved the bags under my eye true.
Darn. I’d even paid a fortune for concealer and foundation to hide all that and it still showed.
It still didn’t mean I was going to go to dinner with him.
It’d be dumb.
It’d probably be fun.
I didn’t have time for fun.
Needless to say, he left me so distracted that about halfway through the morning, I’d dropped enough cans of oil, the concerned glances I received from Lance and Mike, our main two mechanics, eventually turned to annoyance.
I debated calling Hannah for advice but didn’t. Her advice would be something along the lines of, “Ride that buckin’ Bronco until you’re too sore to walk.”
Which was more descriptive and visually appealing than helpful.
Eventually, I took an early lunch. I was a whole lot annoyed, a little bit turned on, and questioning if taking Hannah’s assumed advice would really be such a bad thing.
What harm could a simple dinner bring? I’d get a free, decent meal, something I could desperately use, and I’d have conversation. It was the conversation Beaux wanted to have that made me uncertain.
After lunch, I went home and hung out with my dad for a while. Then I helped him out of his wheelchair and into the car, and we returned to the garage.
I barely had him settled back in his wheelchair when a black Cadillac Escalade pulled into the lot.
“What the hell?” I muttered as Beaux Hale climbed out of the gleaming SUV.
He wasn’t the only one, either.
Close on his heels were Oliver Powell, Kolby Jones, and Danny Rudolph.
Holy mega load of pheromones.
“Christ on a cracker,” my dad said, sitting in his chair at my side.
I looked down, unable to hide my excitement for him. Beaux didn’t have to do this. Nothing like this. I’d expected a signed shirt, a photograph, hell, maybe a football. But with four guys from the Rough Riders showing up and walking through our parking lot carrying what looked like a large gift bag, I barely registered the work and blaring music from inside the garage screeching to a halt.
“The hell?” Mike asked. He rushed up and stopped at my dad’s other side while wiping his grease monkey hands on a towel.
“I might have neglected to tell you the truck you’re working on belongs to Beaux Hale.”
Mike’s eyes popped wide. “You shittin’ me? That piece of crap?”
“Hey now,” Beaux said, sidling up to our small, completely enamored group. “That’s ol’ Betsy you’re talking about.”
Mike, barely twenty-one, was a foster kid when he started working for my dad. As soon as he aged out of the system, he moved into the crummy apartment above the garage. He’d become like a brother to me over the years and was usually unflappable. Watching him stammer around this group of guys made me smile. “Sorry, man. It’s just…wow…holy shit. You’re Beaux Hale, and Oliver Powell, and —”
“Kolby Jones,” Kolby cut in.
“Danny Rudolph,” the last guy said, grinning. “We know our names. And you are?” He held out his hand and Mike’s trembling one slid into it, cringing as he saw the oil on his palm.
“Mike. Mike Hannover. Damn glad to meet you guys.”
The awestruck young man flashed his wide eyes to my dad as my dad introduced himself, barely keeping his composure. My dad wore his emotions on his sleeves, almost all of them always full of joy and love. In my entire lifetime, he’d raised his voice so few times I could count them on one hand. The worst being when I’d passed out at a high school party and didn’t come home until the next morning. I was so hung over I practically crawled into the house at eight o’clock. Even then, my dad had been more worried than pissed.
It wasn’t a surprise to see his excitement shining clear on his face. If he could get up and jump to show his glee, he would. Damn the strokes that took away his ability.
“You must be Sam,” Beaux said. “Your daughter Paige told me you were a big fan of ours, so the guys and I got together today after practice and got some things together for you.”
Christ on a cracker was right. My dad clutched the handle of his wheelchair with one hand, the other one limp in his lap.
I looked away from the men and gritted my teeth. He was only fifty-five years old, had always worked out and taken care of his body. The strokes had destroyed his physical strength and I hated it. I hated seeing him turn into a man he’d never been and yet he handled it with such grace. Tears welled in my eyes and I forced them down.
This wasn’t about my grief or my frustration.
“Damn,” Dad said, as Beaux opened the bag. If they noticed he couldn’t move his arm, they didn’t say anything.
Oliver Powell reached in and the first thing he took out was a jersey with his name and number on the back.
“We all signed this. Didn’t know who your favorite player was, so we went with mine because I’m pretty much the shit,” Powell said, smirking at Beaux.
“Right, of course,” he replied.
“No. This is good.” Dad tried shaking the awe out of his expression but it was fruitless. He was in absolute heaven. “This is…shit, honey,” he said. He clutched my hand with his good one and I held it firmly, looking down at him. The tears in his eyes mirrored my own blurry vision. “You did this for me?”
I squeezed his hand tighter. “You deserved it. It was just a simple favor I asked.”
“One we were more than happy to give,” Beaux said. He took out a football next, and a quick flip of it showed it covered in Sharpie marker. “It’s not a game ball, but we used it at practice today. All of us signed it, including the coaches,” he said, setting in my dad’s lap. None of them had blinked at my dad’s disability.
None had given me a look of pity.
They were just being nice. An onslaught of emotion slashed through me and I tried to hide it.
Beaux had done this for me, for my dad.
All to get into my pants? I was starting to doubt that was all he wanted. Seemed like a lot of work for little reward—for him, not me. With the way Beaux used his body not only on the field but standing in front of us, moving smoothly and confidently, his grin never slipping, I knew a night with him would be more rewarding than I could imagine.
And damn it. My heart was softening.
“We’ve got one more thing for you,” Kolby said. He stepped forward with a white envelope in his hands. “Season tickets to the games.”
“Holy crap!” Dad shouted. Forgetting about the jersey and the ball, he let go of my hand and reached for the envelope, clutching it in his hand. “You kidding me?” He looked at me and smiled wide. It’d been years since I’d seen him this happy. “What the hell did you say to them, girl?”
“Before you get too excited,” Kolby went on, “those are tickets for my suite. I get it for my ma and daughter. Just thought you’d want some company, and I know Mya would. But if you think she’d be too much for you—”
“No problem. Love little ones. Been on Paige’s butt to give me some grandkids of my own but she’s too damn stubborn to listen to anyone. Told her I wasn’t going to be around forever and she needed to give me that joy of seeing her holding her own newborn. Nothing better, man, holding life you created and been entrusted with it.”
Kolby grinned with pride. “Definitely understand that.”
Damn it. I’d flushed from head to toe when he mentioned my name at first, but all that turned to grief I tried to keep buried and locked down tight as he continued speaking. Already overwhelmed, it was impossible to keep a lid on it.
I sniffed, swiped beneath my nose, and turned away, brushing tears off my cheeks.
“Aww. Damn. I’m sorry, girl.”
“It’s fine, Dad.”
Next to me, Mike had slid to my side and he pulled me against him. I was falling apart in front of some of the best players in the country. How humiliating.
I couldn’t stop it.
“It’s all right,” Mike said. “Give yourself a second.”
I rested against his shoulder, nodded my head and waited until I could inhale deeply.
“Thank you,” I said. I looked at all the guys. Most were trying not to make it obvious they had observed me fall apart. All except Beaux. He looked at me with knowing and understanding eyes so intently, my knees buckled. I grabbed onto Mike and faked a smile. “This is really nice of you. Too nice. It’s too much.”
“Nonsense.” Dad patted the envelope on his lap proudly. “I’ve always said when someone gives you a gift, you let them have the joy of giving it to you. No such gift is too much if it’s given selflessly.”
“We’re honored if you accept them. Any fan of ours we meet we try to do right by,” Rudolph said. “We have the means to be generous and we like doing it. Beaux here, though, more than most.”
“I would have got you your own box but Kolby said his ma likes company. There are tickets for four for you so you can bring anyone you want.”
Dad squeezed my hand. “Know who I’ll invite. Thanks.”
“Me?” Mike said.
“Not on your life.” My dad glared at him. “You still like those damn Patriots.”
The players groaned but I rolled my eyes. This was an argument that grew old years ago.
“Aww, come on, Sam.”
“We’ll see.” He nodded, head trembling a little bit and turned back to Beaux. “Can’t thank you enough for this, honest, son. You’ve made an old and sick man thrilled today. But I also hear we got your truck in the back? What’s wrong with it?”
“According to your daughter, my Betsy needs to be sent to the Ford graveyard.”
“Yeah,” Mike said. It was back to work talk in a flash. “She’s not really wrong about that either. Your truck is worth more for parts than it is to fix. I mean, you can swing it obviously, but to be honest, you’re looking on the downward slope of it lasting much longer unless you want to invest in a complete overhaul.”
“Was afraid you’d say that. We’ve had a good run.” His eyes slid to me and his grin went feral. There was no other way to explain it. Full bottom lip, thinner top one pulled into a smirk that said his kindness was over, and now he was coming to collect. “Hopefully that means Paige’ll swing by the dealership with me tonight before we head to dinner, then.”
“Ah.” My dad shot me a look, eyebrows raised. Surprised and cautious at the same time. “So that’s what the gifts are about? You trying to impress my daughter? Or me?”
Good Lord. Heat traveled down my spine. I kicked my dad’s chair playfully. “Stop it, Dad.”
“No, sir.” Beaux shook his head. “We’d have done the same even if I didn’t think your daughter was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
Strangle him. I was going to wrap my hands around the quarterback’s throat and throttle him until he lost all the blood in his brain. Which couldn’t be much at the moment.
“Well, damn,” Dad said, laughing. “You got balls, son.” He took my hand. “You want to take her out, what are you waiting for?”
Beaux’s look was just as intense as it’d been earlier as he looked at me. Watchful. Hopeful. Confident. He showed more emotions in his eyes than anyone I’d met and I barely knew him. He held nothing back. “I’m waiting for Paige to say yes.”