Dare To Love Series: Hot Dare (Kindle Worlds Novella) (8 page)

Five minutes went by faster than during the fourth quarter when the Thunder was trailing by seven. The dude in the Parasailing company shirt let out an ear-piercing whistle, letting Colt know it was time. He grasped the straps on the swing thing with a loose grip as the man reversed the towline crank, starting Colt
’
s descent from the clouds. He had to hand it to Angie, that was pretty fucking awesome.

The parasail jerked. Not enough to scare him, but enough to snap his attention to the fact that he was still pretty damn high in the air.

A second jerk was accompanied by a sharp tearing sound. His gaze dropped to the rope connecting him to the boat below. The towline had gone from a smooth rope to a shredded mess. A third jerk and the strands might disintegrate before his eyes, sending him plunging into the ocean or slamming into the beach. His pulse came to a dead stop before coming back on-line with a panicked pace. Acting on the same instinct that told him where the quarterback would throw the football before he even released the ball into the air, Colt reached up and wrapped his fingers around the line.

A second later the line snapped in two.

A cry rose up from below. “Don
’
t let go!” Angie screamed.

That wasn
’
t going to happen. He white-knuckled the rope, holding on for dear life. Muscles and tendons burning, he fought the parachute
’
s drag and pulled the line in closer, winding his wrist so the rope circled his hand. The rope cut into this palm, chafing away layers of skin, and pain blazed its way up his arm, setting fire to every tendon and muscle from his fingertips to his shoulder.

“We
’
re bringing you in, sir,” the captain yelled.

The towline yanked Colt forward. Something in his wrist twisted and popped. Agony ripped through him and a wave of nausea hit so fast that his hold on the rope slipped. It tore through his grip, ripping away skin and leaving only raw pain in its wake. He clamped his hand closed just in time, blocking out the agony darkening the edges of his vision.

Every second in his downward journey. Every foot in altitude he lost. Every layer of skin burned away by the rope. He ignored it all…closed his eyes tight…gritted his teeth…absorbed all the misery being inflicted on his body until, finally, he collapsed on the boat
’
s raised platform.

Adrenaline leeched out of his body, evaporating right as the screeching pain of his wrist and palm crashed into him like a defensive tackle hopped up on steroids. The throbbing extended up his arm to his shoulder, the one he led with when he tackled. If it was fucked, so was his career—his whole life.

Angie rushed to his side, crouching down beside him as the boat sped toward the dock. “Are you okay?”

“Fuck no, I
’
m not okay.” He lifted his arm to show her the ruined mess of his palm. The move forced a branding iron of burning-hot agony deep into his wrist, which had already ballooned up to twice its size.

“Shit.” She reached out to touch him, but pulled back at the last second and fisted her hands by her side. Her big brown eyes were wet with concern. “We already called the ship
’s doctor. He’
s going to meet us at the dock. Everything
’
s going to be okay.”

Impotent rage spiked in his blood, it was the only thing that quieted the screams of agony from his arm. It was fine and dandy for her to be worried now. She
’
d told him it was safe. He didn
’
t know what kind of research she
’
d done into the parasailing company
’
s safety record, but it obviously wasn
’
t enough and he was the one who
’
d be paying the price.

“No, it
’
s fucking not going to be okay. I just got back from an injury. I
’
m thirty years old and I
’
m breaking down like a refrigerator that
’
s been dropkicked into hell. Plus I
’
ve got a hungry backup who wants my job more than he wants to breathe. This could be my career.”

“It
’
s too early to freak out about that now,” Angie said as she unsnapped the safety harness from around his legs and waist, her gaze never meeting his.

The forced calm in her voice and neutral expression on her face told him exactly how much he needed to be freaking out as they zoomed toward the nearby dock.

The ship
’
s doctor stood on the boat dock. A ship
’
s purser sat on a nearby ATV, presumably to get them back on board as quickly as possible so he could receive medical care. A dark emptiness filled him at the sight. Fucking doctors. No good news ever came from them. All they wanted to talk about was being cautious, taking a wait-and-see approach. They never understood the position he was in—how easy it would be for the league to leave him in the dust.

And Angie thought it was too early to freak out about a little thing like his entire life going straight to hell.

“No, it
’
s not too early,” he snarled, focusing his pain and frustration on her with the single-minded tunnel vision that helped him lead the league in sacks a few years ago. “It
’
s too damn late to stop myself from taking a stupid fucking risk because it was suggested by a hot broad I was banging.”

She flinched as if he
’
d struck her.
“You
’
re in pain. We
’
ll talk about this after you see the doctor.”

Talk.
Talk.
As if that would stop his life from crumbling underneath him. “If this screws me from getting my starter position back, we don
’
t need to talk at all.”

Her jaw tightened and her eyes went blank as if she could stare straight through him. “I see.”

“I fucking hope so,” he shot back.

She stood and whipped her head to the side, but not before he saw the moisture glimmering in her eyes.

The boat puttered to a stop at the dock. Angie stepped to the side, making room for the doctor who hustled over. He gave Colt
’
s wrist a brief look before nodding to the boat
’
s captain and his assistant.

“I
’
ll need to take a closer look on board, but it looks pretty minor all things considered—could be a severe sprain, possibly a break,” the doctor said as he stood. “Let
’
s get you out of here.”

A sprain. That was the best pain reliever out there. Colt
’
s head started to clear. Even with a wrist brace he could still clean the field with LeRoi.

The guy in the parasailing T-shirt helped Colt to his feet and started to lead him off the boat.

Angie pivoted, turning away from him. Her shoulders sank and her head dropped forward. A new kind of ache twisted him up. Fuck, he was twelve kinds of an asshole.

“Angie, I—”

“It doesn
’
t matter, Colt.” She turned to face him, her head again held high, and gave him a tight smile. “It never really did.”

But it had…and he
’
d fucked it up.

Chapter Eight

Angie
paced the small confines of her tiny cabin as the sun set on the horizon. For a day that had started out so full of promise, she was relieved to see it end. She popped a pair of aspirin into her mouth and dry swallowed. That would fix the jackhammer going to town behind her eyes but it wasn
’
t going to do a damn thing about the rest of the mess she
’
d made of Colt
’
s career and her prospects for promotion—not to mention the wreckage of her heart.

She
’
d known better—
known better
—than to get involved with a Thunder player. There was a town out there in the Florida swamp missing its idiot. Still, she couldn
’
t stop thinking about Colt. His cocky determination. The way he
’
d opened up to her the other night. The way, when she was with him, she couldn
’
t see anything but possibilities.

Then, everything had gone horribly wrong.

The way her heart had fallen clear to her toes when she realized something was wrong with his parasail towline. The pain carving his face into a mask of agony when he
’
d finally gotten back to the boat. The impact of his accusations and the guilty voice in her head telling her she should have known better than to cajole him into going parasailing. It was reckless and if she
’
d been thinking about business instead of how much fun it would be to experience an adventure with Colt, she would never have made such a huge mistake. He could have been killed.

Her cellphone rang and her heart stopped before kicking back into a rhythm so fast, she could barely hear the ringing over the blood coursing through her ears. She hit answer with a shaky finger.

“
Hello.
”

“Word is that he
’
s going to be okay,”
Mystie said.
“Just a sprain.”

Thank God.
Angie collapsed onto the bed with enough force that one of the pillows bounced off the mattress. “Thanks for gathering the information for me, Mystie.”

“What good are my dad
’
s connections if I can
’
t use them for my own purposes?”

The adrenaline in her veins tapered down from a full-on raging river to a trickle and exhaustion set in—not to mention the knee-knocking ache in her chest that wasn
’
t about to go away anytime soon. “Let me know how I can return the favor.”

“Will do, but why didn
’
t you just ask him yourself?” Mystie asked. “It seemed like you two were close judging by that kiss on the Lido Deck the other night.”

Had it been just this morning that Colt had asked her if she liked Chinese? Tears sprang to her eyes and her throat clamped shut. Now that she knew he was going to be alright, anger surged to the surface.

What had he called her? A broad he was banging. That was it. That
’
s all she
’
d ever been to him. That their connection had meant more to her than to him didn
’
t matter because it had never been meant to be and she should have accepted that from the beginning. It would have saved her a hell of a lot of heartache.

“Close? Us? No. I was just his VIP liaison. That kiss was just cover for some aggressive female fans.” Her voice hitched on the last word as the crack in her heart finally gave way. “I gotta go, Mystie. I have to explain everything to my boss before someone uploads the video to social media and the whole thing goes viral.”

She hung up without waiting for a response, curled into the fetal position and stopped trying to hold back the tears. She
’
d known better, but here she was, just like one of the many women in the front office who
’
d mistakenly believed that what they had with a Thunder player was different.

It never was.

“
Young
’
n
, you are one lucky son of a bitch.” Darius had appointed himself Colt
’
s shipboard nurse and had refused to leave the cabin with the ship
’s doctor.
“You just dodged a bullet.”

He didn
’
t feel like it, and it had nothing to do with his sprained wrist. He hurt like he
’
d just taken a shotgun blast to the chest. He stared at the black guard holding his injured wrist in place. The pain meds the ship
’
s doctor had given him a few hours ago had kicked in, but had one unintended side effect. It didn
’
t dull the agony weighing him down. On a scale of one to ten on the asshole odometer, he
’
d been at one hundred and twenty-eight. Angie would never forgive him and he couldn
’
t blame her.

“It
’
s all over the place—social media, the fan forums, the news,” Darius continued. “That bitch almost got you killed…”

Heat blasted through him and Colt shot up, fisting his uninjured hand, trying to remember everything the man had ever done for him so he wouldn
’
t rip his fucking head off.

His mentor held up his hand and continued to pace, seemingly oblivious to how precarious his life was at the moment. “Obviously you just need to toss this fish back in the ocean and go find another piece of ass to distract you on your last night on board. What about that Mystie chick who keeps following you around?”

“Get out.” If he didn
’
t, Colt wasn
’t sure he’
d be able to stop himself from taking out all of his anger at himself on the man talking shit in front of him.

“Not her? Okay, how about the redhead and brunette from the other night?” Darius asked. “A little tag team action will make you forget that crazy bitch faster than you can do the forty.”

Something snapped inside him and Colt rushed Darius, shoving the bigger man up against the wall hard enough that the flat-screen TV hanging from the wall rattled. “Stop calling her that.”

“What? A bitch?” He over-enunciated the word ‘bitch
’
, drawing it out and taking an already ugly word to the next level of insult.

Colt pressed his forearm against his mentor
’
s throat, red fury eating away at his sense of self-control. “I
’
m gonna let go and you
’
re going to get the hell out of here.”

Darius brought up his hands to Colt
’
s sternum and shoved hard.

Caught unaware, Colt flew back. He slammed against the opposite wall, the impact reawakening the shards of pain slicing away at his wrist.

“Young
’
n, you must have been dropped on you head on a near constant basis as a child to be this fucking dumb,” Darius said, anger puffing out his cheeks and making the veins along his neck bulge. “A bitch never gets between friends…unless she
’
s not a bitch all. Is that what you
’
re trying to wrap your pea-size brain around? The fact that you—the king of not giving a damn about anything other than football—finally found something that matters more than the gridiron?”

That wasn
’
t it. It couldn
’
t be it. He
’
d just wanted to take her to his favorite Chinese place, the one where he wasn
’
t Colt “45” Butler; he was Colt “
extra fried rice
” Butler.

But certainty hung around his neck like an anchor, dragging him down the wall until he his ass met the cabin floor.

“You don
’
t know what you
’
re talking about,” Colt mumbled.

“Of course I do.” Darius crossed the room and sat down beside Colt. “You fucked around and fell in love. It happens. So stop being such a dumb shit and do something about it.”

“You got me mad on purpose.” To force him to act the truth that had been right before his blind eyes the whole time. God, he had fucked this up royally.

“Of course I did, you moron.” The older man slapped the back of Colt
’
s head. “Have you ever heard me call a woman a bitch before? Hell no. I was raised by a single mother who to this day would slap the stupid out of me if she knew I
’
d said that…so keep your mouth shut if you happen to run into her.”

He slid a side-eyed glance at his former mentor. “So much for the fearless Darius Washington.”

“Shee-it, you
’
ve never met my mom.
” Darius chuckled. “So what are we going to do about your girl?”

Colt
’
s brain went blank. Women came to
him
. They always had. If one left, there
’
d be another to replace her. But there wasn
’
t anyone who could replace Angie and she rightly hated his guts right now.

“
I don’
t think she wants to be mine.”

“Then you better figure out what you can do to show her that you realize what a total asshole you were and that it will never happen again. I suggest going big.” Darius held his hands as far apart as possible. “When it comes to begging for forgiveness from a woman, I always recommend begging with a capital B.”

Colt racked his brain. “Flowers?”

Darius looked at him as if he
’
d just suggested sending her a bag of shit. “You are a hopeless loser. We need reinforcements.” He pulled his cell from his pocket.

“Who are you calling?”

He scrolled through his contacts. “
Mystie.
”

Blinking in surprise, Colt couldn
’
t connect the dots. “Why?”

“Up until I retired,
I
was her favorite player. She was president of my fan club for my entire fifteen-year career. Hell, she
’
s been to the house. Shontelle and her get their nails done together. Trust me, Mystie will have ideas.” He touched his screen and held the phone up to his ear.

Mystie was a great Thunder fan and all, but when it came to a last-minute plan to win back Angie, he didn
’
t see how she could help. “I
’
m not going to like this.”

Darius cut him a hard look. “You like the idea of losing Angie more?”

That was all it took to smack the hesitation from him. “No.”

“Then shut up and do whatever Mystie tells you to.” Darius walked out onto the balcony. “Hey girl, we got us a situation.”

The chances of Darius and Mystie coming up with any kind of plan that would help him get back Angie were slim to none. He
’
d have to figure out something as soon as they got back to Miami. They worked at the same place; it wasn
’
t as if he wouldn
’
t have the opportunity—

Work
.

Someone had taken video of him being towed down to the boat and the aftermath. Manny and Coach Cater might chew his ass up a bit for taking a chance like that, but Angie could lose her job.

Pushing up from the wall, he ignored the throbbing in his wrist and focused all of his concentration on what he could do to fix any potential fallout before it happened. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and dialed the number for the Thunder front office. The receptionist picked up on the third ring.

“Mr. Dare, please. It
’
s Colt Butler.”