The Gate to Everything (Once Upon a Dare Book 1) (2 page)

She loved Jordan, but she’d fallen in love with the “unfamous” Jordan Dean, the one who loved football like she loved cooking. Few people remembered that Jordan had been selected by New York out of college in the sixth round. Grace had been working in New York City with her best friend and chef de cuisine, Tony Marcello. She and Jordan had renewed their friendship when he’d arrived. Six months of hanging out had turned into something more serious, and he’d kissed her one night after taking her home. Grace had been happier than she’d believed possible.
 

No one had expected much of him at the time, and he’d gone from the third- to second-string backup quarterback, sitting on the bench for six long years until he’d decided to go to Atlanta as a free agent instead of returning to Deadwood and buying her dream house.

Everything had changed in an instant: Jordan had finally been given his chance. And he had won like crazy. Not wanting their relationship to end, Grace had convinced Tony to move to Atlanta to open Marcellos, a Northern Italian restaurant growing in acclaim. Grace still intended to have her own place someday, but now she wondered when that would be.

Jordan glanced up to where she was standing, and she caught his frown. He shook off the gorgeous women who’d closed in around him and headed for the stairs. The models were scowling now, but their eyes didn’t shift away from him. Of course, it was impossible
not
to watch Jordan. He prowled with both a casual and determined energy—each step an assurance that he would get his prize. It didn’t hurt that his charm was impossible to resist. Yes, there were plenty of reasons why she hadn’t been able to break things off yet.

“Hey,” she heard him say as he sauntered toward her, and all it took was that one word to make her shiver.

His voice was like extra chunky peanut butter—dark and creamy with a slight bite. As smooth as it was to her ear, it carried perfectly in low octaves across his offensive line when he shouted a play.

He positioned himself close to her on the balcony, resting his forearms on the metal railing. “I’ve been watching you all night. You stepped out for a while.”

“I needed some air,” she said weakly, breaking eye contact with him.

She heard him sigh deeply next to her. “Air, huh? You’re miserable, Grace.”

Her heart broke at the sadness lacing his voice, and she decided against telling him about the Deadwood house selling. What did it matter now? “I’m sorry.”
 

“I don’t like seeing you this unhappy,” he said, not looking at her.
 

Suddenly the weight of all her misery pressed down on her—the media circus he reveled in and she hated, the widening gap between them, and all the lost dreams in that yellow house sold to another family, a family she and Jordan likely were never going to be.
 

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she blurted out, tears suddenly in her eyes.

At his shocked expression, she gestured with her hands. “About us. During the season, we barely see each other.”

“We’ve weathered other seasons before, Grace,” he ground out, his own tension rising.

Happier times flashed through her mind, most of them from his years as a second-string quarterback. Like the time he’d rented a horse-drawn carriage for them in Central Park even though he thought it was hokey. Or when he’d waited hours to get tickets to The Nutcracker.

“Last season changed things.”

“The more successful I become, the more unhappy you become,” he said harshly. “I can’t take that.”

She put her hand on his forearm, and he finally turned to look at her. There was a rare bleakness in his eyes. “I don’t want you to become less successful. I’m glad you and the team are doing so great. I just…don’t fit in with all of this. Jordan, you know me. My dad’s in construction, and my mom’s a nurse. They live a simple life, and they’re happy. With my birthday looming next month, I’ve been thinking about my life a lot. It doesn’t look like I thought it would at this age. I don’t have…”
My yellow house in Deadwood, a ring on my finger, a baby—you.
She was afraid she never would.

“I know there have been a lot of changes for both of us,” he said softly. “Just hang in with me.”

“I’m trying, but I’m afraid…” She trailed off, not sure she could speak the words.

He stood and faced her, towering over her like he always did. “What are you afraid of?”

“That we can’t…make each other happy any more,” she whispered. “That we don’t want the same things.”

His mouth bunched up like it always did from strong emotion, especially after a tough loss. “I know you want a home and a family—and I do too—but I’ve waited so long for my career to take off and now that it has…I want to soak up these years before I retire. I don’t have much time left to play. Six to eight years, Grace. It’s not like being a chef. You can do that for two to three more decades.”

“You’re right about my career having a longer timeline,” Grace said, “but my body doesn’t. Jordan, I’m not getting any younger here, as one of the partygoers earlier so kindly pointed out.”

His eyes fired. “You’re perfect as you are. Don’t let Farley or anyone else tell you any different.”

“I was talking about my biological clock,” she said, her stomach clenching at the words. “Kids.”

“Oh,” he said, looking away for a moment. “Grace, I want kids too. I’ve told you that, but not right now. I can’t give you and a family the time and attention you deserve. But in a few years—”

“I can’t wait anymore, Jordan.” She’d been waiting…and waiting…and waiting. What if their paths diverged more? What if he met someone who was more in line with his path and left her?

“So you want to break up with me.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Hearing you talk, I don’t seem to be good for you anymore, Grace.”

That statement pretty much drove a pitchfork through her heart. “That’s not true. We’re just growing into different people, moving in different directions. Jordan…I still love you. That’s what makes this so hard.”

He caressed her cheek ever so softly. “I love you too, Grace.”

They stared at each other, and Grace could feel the weight of the decision at her feet. “I think we should call it so we can still think back on all the good times we had together.”

Swallowing thickly, he lowered his hand from her face. “There were a lot of those.”

“For me too.”

“Come on,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I’ll take you home.”

The thought of him dropping her off one last time was too much. “I can take a cab.”
 

“Please, Grace,” he said, raising her hand to his mouth and giving it a sweet kiss, a gesture he hadn’t used since their early dating days.

“All right,” she said and let him lead her down the stairs.

Leaving the party proved a little challenging since so many people tried to delay him, but Jordan managed it with the assertive charm he used on the sports media after a game. By the time his silver Maserati GranTurismo arrived from the valet, Grace was holding on by a thread.

They drove in silence back to her apartment in the historic and charming Virginia Highland neighborhood, the soft strands of Usher playing in the background. When he arrived, he stopped on the street and put the car in park.

“I don’t think I can walk you to the door and be a gentleman,” he said harshly. “I wish…we’d had one last time.”

Suddenly, tears were streaming down her face.

“I do too,” she whispered, clenching her fists in her lap to keep from doing something she’d regret.

“At least let me hold you,” he said, and then he was unbuckling his seat belt and hers and putting his arms around her.

She buried her face in his chest and inhaled his sandalwood cologne, trying to memorize the familiar feel of his body against hers. He sniffed in her ear, and then he was leaning back and grabbing her face in his large hands. Illuminated by the low light of the car’s instruments, she could see the tears in his eyes.

“Be happy, Gracie,” he said and kissed her hard on the mouth before releasing her.

She bit her lip to keep from crying out as she opened the car door. “You too, Jordan. I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“Just box up my things,” he told her, facing forward again. “I’ll have yours sent over by courier, and you can send the package back with them.”

Digging into her purse, she pulled out her key ring. He swore fluently, something he knew she hated, something he never did in front of her.

“Keep it!” he said harshly. “Just in case you ever need anything.”

Anything she might have said backed up in her throat.

“Okay, Grace. Now I’ve really gotta go.”

She stepped back and shut the door, keeping a tight grip on the key he wouldn’t let her give back, and watched him speed down the street until he was out of sight.

Chapter 1
      

Three months later…

Jordan privately thought the leather-studded throne was a little over the top. Sure, he’d won his first Super Bowl over a month ago, and it was flattering to be crowned a king at yet another Atlanta Rebels victory party. But the endless celebrations were starting to lose their luster.

Still, he couldn’t deny the chair fit his massive frame and gave him a good view of the party. A brunette whose name he couldn’t remember had plopped down in his lap to drink her cosmopolitan. Her waist-long hair kept brushing his chest whenever she leaned forward to talk to him. She was nearly as tall as he was in her four-inch stiletto knee-high boots, but while she was gorgeous, she didn’t really have anything interesting to say. He was already tuning her out.

He’d been seen with a lot of women over the past few months, which had somehow only made him more popular. He’d been a sex symbol before. Now he was one of the hottest bachelors out there, and women were prowling around him like cats. In fact, his reputation had changed from being a nice guy to a playboy, one his agent and publicist were loving since it was bringing in more endorsements and magazine covers.
 

What he didn’t like was the media asserting he was acting out after being with “Dean’s Dull Girlfriend,” who must have been crimping his style. He hated them talking badly about Grace and hoped to high heaven she hadn’t heard about it. She’d been hurt enough by his fame.

The club’s music pulsed a sensual and enthralling beat while a mysterious blue light covered the patrons like fog. He let the music’s rhythm wash over him as he absently rubbed the model’s hip. After months of a grueling schedule, he was starting to relax. Life was good.
 

Well, he was working on making it good. After Grace…

Stop it.

He had a nice buzz going, courtesy of a steady stream of Jack Daniel’s. He didn’t drink much during the season, respecting his body’s limits, so it felt good to have a few more than usual.

The model on his lap gave him a smoldering glance, her glistening magenta lips pursing. It looked so much like a cover photo for a fashion magazine that he fought a scowl. God, he’d thought he could get over Grace by plunging himself into parties, hanging out with beautiful women, and living the high life. In the beginning, the euphoria of winning the Super Bowl had made him think it was working, but now he had to admit he was getting tired of all the cloying hands.
 

He missed her.
 

The phone in his jeans pocket vibrated, and he angled the model off to the side to dig it out. His heart stopped when he saw the caller.
Grace.
He blinked, making sure it was really her. Hadn’t he just been thinking about her again? Without football to keep him occupied, she was on his mind way too often now. Maybe he was on hers too.

He was assailed with memories every time he scrolled through his call list—the look in her eyes when he brought her flowers, the way she’d laughed and laughed that time she splashed sauce all over the stove after he snuck up behind her and kissed her neck, the sensation of making love to the one woman he loved and trusted and honored more than anyone—but he still couldn’t bring himself to delete her from his contacts. How could you delete the love of your life?
 

Jordan gently pushed the model aside, shrugging off her clingy arms as he hurried to the back balcony of the penthouse.

“Hey,” he said when he reached the outside. “I was just thinking about you. How are you?” The words were small compared with what he wanted to say.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Jordan.” The voice was familiar but formal, and the sound of it twisted the knife still stuck in his heart. “I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.”

He went on alert immediately. “Tell me what’s the matter. Are you okay? Is it your parents?” He’d known Meg and Pat Kincaid his whole life, and they were the salt of the earth.

“No, Mom and Dad are fine. Jordan, I need to see you. I’m sorry, but I think it would be better if you came over.”

She was inviting him over? His stomach gripped with worry. “Stop saying you’re sorry.”
 

Grace cleared her throat. “Okay, I won’t apologize—yet. Jordan, can you come?”

He wasn’t sure what she meant, but one thing about Grace was that she never exaggerated. He tried to rein in his anxiety. “Name the time, and I’ll be there.”