The Final Touchdown (Knoxville Coyotes Football)

Chapter 1

Gage

Callie

Seriously, Gutierrez, where are you?

I smirk as her name flashes on the screen of my phone. Leaning back in the sun lounger, I close my eyes and let the sun beat down on my face. It feels good—the warmth, the light, the sound of the rolling waves in the background.

“This is what retirement could be like,” my cousin Pablo chuckles, kicking back in the chair beside mine.

I snort and shake my head, keeping quiet on the matter. Since I arrived in Valencia, Spain two days ago to spend time with my family and celebrate my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary, they’ve all been pumping me—even innocently—for information.

“The free agency frenzy is slowing down,” Pablo reminds me.

“It is,” I murmur, knowing damn well that my chances of being re-signed as an unrestricted free agent are looking slim. Part of me wonders if I should have Callie reach out to the Knoxville Coyotes to try to negotiate a deal but…the other part of me wonders if retirement is the right call.

After all, I’m thirty-eight years old and after my ACL tear several seasons ago, I’ve slowed down considerably. My knee still hasn’t fully recovered. Do I want to keep putting my body through the rigorous training sessions when my performance on the field continues to decline?

Do I want to keep putting my mind through the mental agony of not being able to physically rise to the occasion the way I could a decade ago?

I blow out a sigh and consider ordering a cerveza from the nearby stand. The truth is, I don’t know what I want. Now that the season has ended—on an epic high with another Coyotes Super Bowl win—both options are attractive.

One allows me to continue with the life that I know. Football and practices and being part of a team.

The other offers a glimmer of freedom I’ve started craving more over the past few years. More time with my family, attending my nieces’ and nephews’ sporting and school events, hell, a chance to properly date.

My phone buzzes again with an incoming message and I grin when I see her name. Lord knows the only woman I truly want to date is one who won’t have me.

Callie James has been my agent my entire career.

And I’ve crushed on her just as long. Sure, I flirted but she never took my advances seriously.

She laughed them off, twisted my entire family around her finger by being a badass agent and an intelligent woman with a wicked sense of humor, and kept me wishing for more.

Callie:

Gage, come on. What’s going on? This endorsement deal isn’t going to sit on the table forever. In fact, the sooner you sign it, the better position you’ll be in regardless of what you decide to do next.

Sighing, I let my thumb hover over the keyboard.

“Yo, cuz, you want a beer?” Pablo asks in rapid Spanish.

“Hook me up,” I reply, mentally weighing my response to Callie.

Then, I admit the truth.

Gage

I’m in Valencia.

Callie

Spain?

I wince. I haven’t told anyone—not my teammates, not my friends, not even Callie—that I left the country.

Not that I owe it to anyone beyond common courtesy.

But deep down, I know it’s because I’m not ready to make a decision.

I’m not ready to announce my retirement.

Hell, maybe an offer will come through in the next few weeks.

So I hopped a plane and went off the grid. Back to my mother’s hometown and a chance to spend time with my family. The one who always has my back, even though right now they’re acting as nosy as everyone I’m avoiding stateside.

Gage

It’s my parents’ wedding anniversary. Fifty years.

My tongue darts to the side of my cheek as I type out a follow-up. God, I love messing with this woman. If only she knew how serious my sentiments, wrapped up in humor, truly are.

Gage

See what we could have, Cal?

I stare at the screen as the bubbles dance along the bottom, indicating she’s typing a message. They stop. Start again. And then disappear. I wait a few moments until Pablo returns with a cold beer.

“Cheers to you, my man,” my cousin says, placing a beer in my hand and clinking the neck with his bottle.

As I sigh, disappointment rises in my chest that she doesn’t reply. I power down my phone and toss it into my backpack. “Salud,” I reply, taking a long pull.

Then, I close my eyes again.

Beside me, Pablo pulls his wife Martina into his lap and plants a loud kiss on the side of her neck. I hear her laughter, and crack an eyelid to watch as she settles back against his chest. They watch their kids, Jorge and Nico, play in the sand with my brother’s and sisters’ children.

I snap my eye shut. The voices of my family members—a comforting mixture of Spanish and English—wrap around me.

There’s the usual ribbing that occurs when my extended family gets together.

Everyone’s got jokes and they’re well-timed, witty, and hilarious.

There’s raucous laughter. Even with the squeals of the children, I hear my mom’s genuine giggles at whatever story one of her children is retelling.

There’s a not-so-friendly volleyball game taking place between the grown-ups, aka my siblings, and their offspring.

My nieces and nephews span an age range from two to eighteen years.

And as I listen to them swear and laugh and talk, I sink into a feeling that is both contentment and disappointment. I’m content because I love them all as if they were my own children and yet, I’m disappointed that I never tried to create a family. Not really.

There was football and the team and the expectations.

And…there was a woman. The woman. Callie James with her long, dark hair, flashing chocolate eyes, and perfect smile.

God, she’s brilliant. She negotiated the hell out of my contract with the Coyotes.

She’s fierce, shrewd, and ambitious as hell.

She’s also compassionate, funny, and too damn thoughtful.

She’s the full package and because I’ve watched her go to battle for me in ways no other woman has, no other woman ever measured up.

My body relaxes as my mind travels back to one of my first interactions with Callie.

I was in Miami with a few college teammates, soaking up sunshine and enjoying spring break.

She was staying at our hotel, only a few years into her career, and getting a big break to support one of her agency’s tennis clients who was playing at the Miami Open.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I recall that day.

The sunshine swarms around me the second I step outside of the hotel.

I gaze around the expansive property, meticulously maintained and buzzing with bodies.

Women relax in sun loungers. Men huddle by the bar and tiki huts.

Couples canoodle in the swimming pool, away from the squealing children splashing for their parents’ attention.

I’m early. Caleb and Sam are supposed to meet me for a midday beer and lunch before we hit the beach. But we drank heavily the night before and I imagine both of my teammates are still nursing hangovers. Hell, Sam may even still have a woman in his bed.

Stepping up to the bar, I notice a woman walking toward me.

She’s dressed in a red bikini. Her curves are luscious, her full breasts nearly spilling out of the triangle cups.

Her dark hair hangs down her back and curls over her shoulders, midnight black, and her hips switch when she walks.

I can’t take my eyes off her and fuck, I don’t want to.

I smile broadly as she approaches the bar. She stares back, meeting my eyes and giving nothing else away.

“What are you drinking?” I ask, wanting to buy her a drink.

She bites the corner of her mouth, looking me up and down. “Are you old enough to order at the bar?”

I laugh, liking her directness. “Turned twenty-two in February,” I confirm.

Her expression softens at that, and she smiles back. “In that case, a margarita on the rocks. Salted rim.”

“You got it.” I flag down the bartender and place an order for a draft beer and a margarita.

“Are you here on spring break?” I ask.

Her smile grows and she shakes her head. “I’m too old for spring break. I graduated six years ago.”

Damn, I figured she was my age, maybe a year older. Still, her gentle way of shutting me down doesn’t deter me. If anything, my curiosity grows.

“So, just vacation then?” I press.

She studies me for a beat, before coming to a decision. “I’m actually here for work.”

“What do you?” I wonder, thanking the bartender as he places down our drinks.

The woman in red leans against the bar and lifts her margarita. “I’m a sports agent.” She clinks her glass against mine. “Thanks for the drink.”

I nearly choke on my beer. Sputtering, I manage to swallow my gulp of beer and get control of myself.

The woman chuckles, amused. She turns in the direction of her sun lounger. I note the group of friends waiting for her. They stare at us, watching our exchange with humor in their eyes.

“Maybe you’ll represent me one day,” I call out.

She turns and glances at me over her shoulder. Her eyes trail up and down my body, studying me in in a way that makes me stand straighter. Damn, but she is sexy. “Football or rugby?”

“Football.”

She nods. “I hope our paths cross again then.” She continues to walk away.

“I look forward to it!” I call after her.

Her friends laugh and it isn’t until she’s back in their huddle that I realize I never got her name.

“Well played, mate,” the guy beside me at the bar comments.

I can’t tell if he’s being serious or sarcastic and I shrug, loping off to catch some sun and wait for my teammates.

But the following night, before dinner, I see her again.

She’s alone in the hotel lobby and I’m walking to meet Caleb and Sam at the bar. When she notices me, a spark of recognition flares in her dark eyes and she smiles. “Gage Gutierrez. Revered tight end from Notre Dame.”

“You looked me up,” I quip, pride rolling through me.

She nods. “I asked around about you.”

“Why?”