Win Me Over (33 page)

They'd made arrangements with the hospital to deliver it after visiting hours. Bennett stopped outside a patient room and turned to Callie, a giant fake check in his hand. The real check was in her purse. “Thank you. For everything.”

She wrapped her fingers around his neck and reached up to place a kiss on his lips. “Don't thank me anymore. I didn't do this for you.”

“I know, but I'm still grateful. I don't deserve you, Callie Daniels.”

“I know.” She grinned.

“Coach Clark?” A young girl peeked out the door. Tate's sister. She gave them a small smile. “Hurry and come in.”

They stepped inside. Mr. Grayson stood when he saw them. “I thought I heard you out there. I'm so glad you're here.” He nodded to the bed. “Look who's here, Tate.”

Callie held back a gasp. The bed was slightly elevated, tubes and wires everywhere, beeping. But the most amazing sight was that Tate's eyes were open. Distant and a little expressionless, but open. His father had ahold of his son's hand.

“Tate?” Bennett said; his voice was a mixture of shock and pure joy. He sat on the opposite side of the bed and grabbed Tate's other hand, the sight nearly yanking Callie's heart out of her chest. The boy's eyes slid in Bennett's direction. “Hey, man. God, it's so good to see you. You feeling okay?”

He blinked slowly, and Bennett smiled. “Good. We miss you.”

Callie glanced around the room. It was like a florist had exploded inside the space. Flowers, balloons, cards, posters, stuffed animals. It was insane … and wonderful.

“Everyone's asking about you. Can't wait for you to get back to school.” Bennett's head jerked down to where his fingers joined with Tate's. Callie could see that Tate was lightly squeezing Bennett's fingers. “I know. You're ready to get back, too. You just have to do some more healing.”

Tate's eyes slowly closed and then opened again. Bennett used his free hand to pull open his jacket and show off his T-shirt. “You'll never believe this. You have your own hashtag.”

Callie covered her mouth, not wanting to kill the beautiful exchange by crying or, worse, giggling. She glanced over at Mr. Grayson, who had tears rolling down his cheeks.
That poor man.
She couldn't imagine what hell he was living through. His daughter put her arms around his neck.

Callie lifted the envelope with his name on it from her purse and laid it on the table behind his chair. She and Bennett had discussed it and decided that Grayson seemed the type of man who would rather find out about the money in private. She'd written him a short note, telling him that she and Bennett wanted to do whatever they could to help him and his family through this time.

They hadn't known for sure at the time that it would include Tate's recovery, but it appeared that might be the case. Thank goodness.

“They said it's like a miracle.” Mr. Grayson finally spoke. “I don't care what they call it, as long as I have my son.”

She and Bennett stayed a little while, telling Tate about the night's win, chatting with Tate's nurse. When they were finally walking through the parking garage, Bennett turned to Callie. “Maybe I should take a year off from coaching.”

“Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. I've been so focused on it for so many years. Maybe it hasn't been healthy.”

“Except now it won't be your only focus. You have me.”

He took her face into his hands and tilted it up, his eyes serious. “Forever right?”

Callie smiled. “If that's what you want.”

Bennett took her into his arms before placing a kiss on her forehead. “It is. If you're willing to put up with me.”

“Bennett. I'm bitchy and a know-it-all. You'll have to deal with plenty of my shit.”

His shoulders shook and he hugged her tight. “I'm sorry about last night. We should have won that dance competition.”

Callie looked up at him and shrugged. “We should have, but it's okay. I'm happy because I did even better than that. I won you.”

 

Epilogue

Three months later …

Callie stepped into the ballroom and took in the beauty of the rich decor. The Evan Award dinner was an elegant affair by anyone's standards. The tables were draped with cream-colored tablecloths and topped with beautiful candle centerpieces. A small band played in one corner and a bar was open in the other.

Callie took Bennett's hand and let him lead her to their assigned table.

“Here we are,” he said, nodding to the table. “Mr. Bennett Clark and Mr. Bennett Clark's guest.”

“Well, they must not know how important I am,” Callie teased.

“No, they have no idea. Thank goodness I do.” He helped her remove her jacket and draped it over the back of her chair before leaning into her ear. “You look so sexy tonight.”

Callie smiled as Bennett placed a kiss on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

Eventually they were joined at their table by three other couples, the men all coaches from around Missouri. One of them was also nominated for the Evan. All of them asked Bennett about Tate, each showing genuine concern and interest. Callie realized that what Bennett had gone through was all of those men's worst nightmare. A player injured beyond repair. Changed … forever.

Tate was recovering. He was home, going through physical therapy, talking, laughing. Doing quite well, actually. He had made a miraculous comeback.

But he would never play football again.

Bennett was still dealing with that truth. It wasn't easy and some days were better than others, but he and Callie were handling it together. He tried not to shut her out, and if it looked like he might … she pushed her way back in.

Callie squeezed Bennett's hand under the table as they spoke to the other couples.

They ate a delicious meal, drank champagne, and when it was finally time for the winner to be announced Callie squeezed Bennett's thigh.

He didn't win.

As soon as the other man's name was called she turned to Bennett. He gave her a wink and then started to clap for the man as he made his way to the podium.

She couldn't help it; she wanted to cry a little bit. He deserved this. Had gone through so much this year. The past eight years. But he didn't look sad. He grabbed her hand this time and lifted her knuckles to his lips. He hadn't won and he was soothing
her
. Was she that obvious?

They listened to the winner's acceptance speech. He was funny, genuinely surprised to have won, and very gracious. Callie clapped when he said “thank you” for the final time and left the stage.

A low hum of conversations struck up around her and Bennett as the servers began to bring dessert. He began to rise from the table. Callie looked up to find him holding his hand out.

“Dance with me,” he said.

She placed her hand in his and stood. “I'd love to.”

They walked to the small area cleared beside the band, and the man playing the bass nodded and smiled. Bennett turned and took her into his arms, her favorite place to be. He was wearing his tuxedo—with a shirt, vest, and tie this time—and he looked so sexy it should be illegal. She leaned her face into his chest and inhaled the scent of his cologne.

“Are you disappointed?” she asked quietly.

“No.” He looked down at her.

“Not even a little?”

“Callie.” He laughed. “Are
you
disappointed?”

“Of course not. I just know you like to win. And of course I like to win. But winning isn't everything.” She shrugged.

“No, it isn't.” He turned them gracefully, a slow waltz.

“Well, I still love you even though you aren't the winner of the Evan Award,” she said.

Bennett chuckled and kissed her on the forehead and then looked into her eyes. “I love you, too.”

She leaned her head on his chest and let him lead her around the dance floor. After a few minutes she looked back up at him.

“You're a pretty good dancer, Coach Clark.”

“I have a good teacher.”

“You're damn right you do.”

 

Read on for an excerpt from the next book by
Nicole Michaels

Draw Me Close

Coming in Winter 2016 from St. Martin's Paperbacks

 

Derek Walsh shut the door to his truck quietly and exited the barn at the back of his friend Mike's property. He'd been using the space as his makeshift office while he worked on the house for the past couple of months. He didn't normally spend so much time on location. Shit, he didn't normally reno houses, especially not hundred-year-old farmhouses.

His normal work was commercial building design and contracting. Modern, sleek, highly functional. Expensive. The past eight years he'd worked his ass off. Long and hard hours, but they'd been worth it, and now his business was doing very well for itself. He'd established his name in the Kansas City metro area as one of the most sought after architects. He was proud, but exhausted, and this personal project for his best friend had come along at just the right time. A diversion of sorts. And the main reason for which was inside the old farmhouse at this very moment.

Lindsey Morales.

Derek stopped in the yard and glanced up at the shadowy house, trying to imagine what she might be doing right now. He was nearly aching to see her face. Desperate. In fact, he was shocked that he'd managed to go this long without seeing her. It had been nearly five months since they'd last talked. That hadn't gone so well.

Derek watched as a snowflake fell, nearly glowing in the moonlight, before he continued his way around to the front door.

For Derek, Lindsey would always be
the one that got away
. No, he couldn't even say that. More like,
the one he pushed away
. But here he was, ready to surprise her, and he had a good idea of how she was going to react. It wasn't going to be pretty.

She was going to be pissed, but the question was, would she show it? Before the run-in last fall, he would have bet no. She would throw out nice words and fake smiles, anything but reveal her true feelings. But after the last time he'd tried to force her to speak with him in person, he wasn't sure. That day she'd caught sight of him and took off running, locking herself in Anne's bathroom. After she'd
yelled
at him.

He still smiled when he thought about it. Not because he wanted her to be angry, but because she'd shocked him. The Lindsey he'd known years ago didn't wear her heart on her sleeve. Apparently things had changed. God, he hoped so, because running meant there was still something there … some feeling. Even if it was hate, it was at least a strong emotion. He could work with that. For Lindsey, he'd do whatever he could to make things right. She wasn't going to get away from him again.

They had unfinished business and he was dying to be in her presence. Look at her. Smell her. Touch her—although he knew that would probably never happen. Couldn't blame a guy for trying though.

Since joining the project as the interior designer, she'd avoided the job site while he'd been there, but he could always tell when she'd stopped by. The crew had gotten used to seeing little neon sticky notes all over the house with very brief, sometimes bossy, instructions. She used a lot of exclamation points. Things like
Don't paint this!!!!!!
or
Please move the electrical outlet over here!!!!
She had no trouble showing her emotions on a 2x2 piece of paper. Too bad he hadn't realized that eight years ago, he'd have bought her a stack of them.

Derek slowly opened the front door. Thank goodness it didn't creak anymore. He'd taken care of that himself. Stepping into the entryway, he gently closed the large door behind him before wiping his work boots against the makeshift entry rug.

And then he heard her. He grinned.

Lindsey was singing. It wasn't great singing, but he was pretty damn sure she wasn't trying to be great. This was a woman who thought she was alone, trying to impress no one. He recognized the song instantly and it surprised him a little bit. He stepped slowly down the long hallway that ran alongside the staircase and then glanced around the corner into the kitchen.

The first thing he saw was her long brunette hair. He couldn't help remembering what it felt like between his fingers—so silky and thick. It was a living thing, her hair. He loved it, the way it complemented the warmth of her skin and her sparkling hazel eyes. She was a beautiful woman. The most beautiful he'd ever had the pleasure of touching, which didn't say much for his ex-wife. Lisa was attractive, but no one had or ever would be Lindsey.

He bit down hard on his bottom lip—holding in a laugh—as she belted out another line, doing her best Steven Tyler impersonation. She was going to be really upset with him when she turned around.

He had no doubt that she'd chosen a holiday—and a Sunday night—to come out because she planned to be alone. When Mike had let it slip-on-purpose that he knew Lindsey was going to come by tonight, Derek had quickly processed three thoughts. One, Mike was a really good friend. Two, why the hell didn't a gorgeous woman like Lindsey have plans on Valentine's Day? Three, thank God, she didn't have plans on Valentine's Day. Now here he was, ready to back her into a corner, literally, if he got the chance.

He leaned against the door trim, arms folded across his chest as she continued to sing, humming a few notes as she took a measurement and then made a quick note on a giant spiral notebook. A block of neon sticky notes sat off to the side. The woman was like a walking office supply store. She made her way down the counter, and then stopped to write another note.

He took in her little setup. She'd brought herself an entire meal. Beer included. Huh. Was she drunk? No, she didn't seem to be drunk, just oblivious to the fact that she wasn't alone since she had headphones in.