Holiday Huddle (Appleton Falls #1)

Chapter One

Harte

It’s said life begins at forty, but not in the NFL. Of course there were other active players my age, but they were the superstars teams wanted. There was no place for older second stringers in the world of football.

At least that was what my ex, Maya, had told me with a curl of her lips.

Lips I’d once known the feel and taste of as well as my own, sneered at me with disdain when I sat on the bench week after week.

All the years I’d been a starter, she could brag and be that football wife—getting the best tables at restaurants and wearing the top designer clothes sent to her.

Then I didn’t make starting quarterback after Devlin Summers retired, and she became restless. Unhappy. Ultimately unfaithful.

If I could be truthful with myself…I probably should’ve never gotten married.

I’d wanted to live a little. But I was raised to be a dutiful son.

We’d had a quiet, uneventful life in our small town—my mother staying home to take care of me, and my father working as a manager in a big-box store.

Dinner on the table at six thirty every night and church on Sunday.

I was brought up to listen to my elders and that meant following the path my parents told me I was destined for.

School, football, marriage. Mostly, I was a people-pleaser who wasn’t the type to stand up for what he wanted.

But at eighteen, does anyone really know what they want, except to live their best life?

I’d known what wasn’t going to happen. In the NFL, there was no room for a man who liked men as much as he liked women.

Not that I’d ever had a chance to explore that side of me—my small Minnesota town hadn’t exactly made it easy, and I’d been scared to death anyone would find out, especially my parents.

We’d had a good enough relationship, but my mother seemed not to know what to say to me other than “Do well in school and Don’t talk back to your teachers.

” My father would take me out in the yard to throw footballs, all the while lecturing me on women.

“You’re a good-looking boy. They’ll try and trap you, Harte, ’cause you’re gonna be a football player.

Don’t get a girl pregnant, ’cause you’re gonna have to take care of that baby.

Make sure you marry her first. And stay away from drugs.

You can get to the NFL if you play it smart. ”

As quarterback of my high school football team, I’d been a star, a standout. Image was everything. I’d kept my head down, stayed out of trouble, and done as told. I could ill afford to explore a sexuality that would keep me from what my parents and coaches all said was my destiny.

Still, a man could dream.

But when I’d finally gotten there, on the field, surrounded by the roar of the crowd, I’d allowed the hype of potential stardom to sweep me up and carry me on its shoulders.

Maya Delman had been the head cheerleader and first runner-up for Ms. Teen Minnesota.

And she’d wanted me. She’d pulled me into her dazzling orbit, and I’d willingly given up control.

Maya had wanted to get married after I’d been drafted and had brushed aside my wishes to wait and see how my rookie year turned out. We’d had an expensive, splashy wedding, where teammates I’d barely known came as my guests. My college teammate, David Charles, was my best man.

After that, Maya continued to enjoy the football-wife world and happily spent her time decorating our home, only showing up to division playoff games.

If I mentioned having children, she’d brush me off with the excuse that we were too young and there was plenty of time. We should be free to enjoy our lives.

Maybe that should’ve been my first clue. Over the years, there’d always been a reason to put off even a discussion of starting a family. She’d entice me with sex and sweet words of how without kids, we’d get to spend more time only the two of us, and I’d let it slide.

Then I was traded and got to play in the Super Bowl, and though we didn’t win, my star burned bright.

I was living the life. The dream my parents had for me, though neither lived long enough to see it happen.

My mother died from leukemia the year after I was drafted—three months from diagnosis to death.

My father fell asleep at the wheel after he was asked to switch his shifts to nights.

He crashed into a tree and died instantly.

As an only child of only children, I had no family other than Maya, and I clung to her, wishing we could start our family, but she continued to push me off, and I retreated.

I was traded to the Brooklyn Kings and though they were Super Bowl contenders, I’d had a feeling my glory days as a player were waning—I’d been hurt and sidelined for half a season, but I’d tried my best. I’d expressed my fears to my wife, the person I shared my life with, expecting sympathy.

Instead, Maya had yelled at me and said I had a loser attitude and ended our conversation, refusing to take my calls after that.

On the bye week, I’d gone home to Minnesota, hoping to see if we could somehow find our way back to each other.

Instead, I’d found the house emptied and a note saying she was leaving me.

She’d fallen in love with David. My best friend.

While I’d been in New York City playing, Maya had flown to California, where David’s team was located, to meet up with him.

We had no prenup, and I wasn’t about to fight for someone who’d cheated and no longer loved me. I had my pride. I wondered if David was the first, but it didn’t matter. Once was enough for me. Maya got her divorce and half of everything per Minnesota law.

With Devlin Summers as the franchise quarterback, I wasn’t ever going to be a starter again unless he got injured.

And when he and Brody retired and came out, I had hopes until the Kings acquired Patrick Sloane.

I knew then that my days on the team were numbered.

I didn’t begrudge Patrick the position because I was realistic and understood the game was a business.

He was young, and I wasn’t. I was on my way out.

Foolishly, I allowed my personal unhappiness over my divorce to bleed into playing football.

I wasn’t at the top of my game, so it came as no surprise that my contract wasn’t renewed.

Cut loose from the Kings, I had my agent make discreet inquiries to see if any other team might be interested.

That came up a big fat zero, so I took some time to sit in a hotel room, wondering what the hell I was going to do with the rest of my life.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore—most of all, me.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harte,” my agent argued.

“You’re a healthy young guy with plenty of money.

Start a foundation, get involved in charities.

Talk to Dev and Brody—they have a bunch you can work with.

I can see if there are any broadcasting positions open, if you want.

Honestly, I think you should see a therapist. All the players do after they divorce.

The best thing you can do is keep busy.”

I took his advice and joined Dev and Brody’s summer camp for kids in Georgia, and they had me on their podcast, The Huddle.

After the podcast, Dev rested his chin in his hands. “What’s wrong, Harte? I mean, I know it’s hard—your marriage broke up and you retired, but are you okay? Talk to us.”

Unexpected emotions rushed through me. I never talked about myself. There was little to say. My secret would be safe with Dev and Brody—of all people, they’d understand—yet I was uncomfortable in my own skin and wasn’t ready.

My laughter was without humor. “I wouldn’t exactly say I retired. No team was willing to sign me. I’m just…I guess it’s harder than I thought to go home again and start over. Lots of memories, not all of them great.”

“Then move. You can go anywhere.”

“I could. I love the forest and mountains. I’m never happier than being outside, fishing in the warm weather or walking in the snow. But not Minnesota.”

“We have a place in Georgia and a cabin upstate in New York,” Brody said. “Why don’t you come visit us and see? Maybe you’ll wanna get somethin’ nearby.”

These guys were too damn sweet. I hardly knew them, yet here they were, offering me their home and hospitality.

“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

And I did. I liked their home in Georgia, but I fell in love with the Adirondacks as soon as I drove up to their huge cabin.

Within a month I’d found my own home, in Appleton Falls, less than a mile from Dev and Brody’s.

Keller Williams, who’d retired after an injury and now coached high school football, lived about twenty miles away, as did Elijah Randolph.

It was becoming a regular little retired-footballers’ enclave.

I closed on the house right before Thanksgiving and moved in the first week of December.

Appleton Falls was picturesque—it could’ve been the greeting-card standard for small towns—and the residents went all out for the holidays.

A huge Christmas tree dominated the town square, and every storefront was decorated like a Christmas present.

The iron-filigreed lampposts lining Main Street were draped with evergreen and huge red-and-green bows, and a sled piled high with gift-wrapped packages sat outside city hall, along with a menorah as a nod to Jewish residents.

A lit canopy of stars, angels, and reindeer rose above the shopping district.