Falling Hard: The Blackhawk Boys, Book 4 Read online

  Falling Hard

  The Blackhawk Boys, Book 4

  Lexi Ryan

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  About Falling Hard

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Other Books by Lexi Ryan

  About the Author

  Falling Hard © 2017 by Lexi Ryan

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  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to institutions or persons, living or dead, is used fictitiously or purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Cover © 2017 by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Created with Vellum

  For all the little girls who prayed God might make them a statue and for the women they became. It was never your fault.

  Acknowledgments

  I always thank my husband first, mostly because he’s freaking awesome and I’m a big believer in acknowledging that. He understands me and my process, and he picks up the slack when getting a book revised to my standards means working on vacation—as it did this time—or a weekend (or three) away from the family. Thank you for everything, Brian. Thank you for believing in me and encouraging me when I need it most. You’re truly my favorite.

  In addition to my rock-star husband, I’m surrounded by a family who supports me every day. To my kids, Jack and Mary, thank you for making me laugh and giving me a reason to work hard. I am so proud to be your mommy. To my mom, dad, brothers, and sisters, thank you for cheering me on—each in your own way. I’m so grateful to have been born into this crazy crew of seven kids.

  I’m lucky enough to have a life full of amazing friends, too. Mira is not only my bestie, she’s half life coach and half therapist. This girl knows all about my daily challenges—from my career woes to my mothering mishaps. She is the bringer of laughter, the giver of pep talks, and the holder of all my (terribly boring) secrets. Thank you for the chatty time, sister. Thanks also to my workout friends and the entire CrossFit Terre Haute crew, especially Robin, who checks up on me when I disappear too long into the writing cave. I’ve been blessed with so many amazing people in my life—from my lifelong friends to my newfound buddies. You encourage me, you believe in me, and you know how to make me laugh.

  To everyone who provided me feedback on Keegan and Emma’s story along the way—especially Heather Carver, Janice Owen, Lisa Kuhne, Mira Lyn Kelly, and Samantha Leighton—you’re all awesome. Thank you to attorney Claire Carter who provided me with information about some legal issues I touch on in this book. Any errors in the interpretation of the law are my own. As always, I owe thanks to many people for helping to make this idea in my head into something worth reading.

  Thank you to the team that helped me package this book and promote it. Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations designed my beautiful cover and did a lovely job branding the series. Rhonda Stapleton, thank you for the insightful line and content edits and for being understanding when I can’t meet a deadline to save my life. Thanks to Arran McNicol at Editing720 for proofreading. A shout-out to my assistant Lisa Kuhne for trying to keep me in line. (It’s a losing battle, but she gives it her all.) To all of the bloggers and reviewers who help spread the word about my books, I am humbled by the time you take out of your busy lives for my stories. I can’t thank you enough. You’re the best.

  To my agent, Dan Mandel, for believing in me and staying by my side. Thanks to you and Stefanie Diaz for getting my books into the hands of readers all over the world. Thank you for being part of my team.

  To all my writer friends on Facebook, Instagram, and my various writer loops, thank you for being my friends, my squad, and my sounding board. Thank you for sharing your wisdom. I’m so proud to call you friends.

  And last but certainly not least, a big thank-you to my fans. I’ve said it before and I’ll continue to say it every chance I get—you’re the coolest, smartest, best readers in the world. I wouldn’t get to do this job without you, and appreciate each and every one of you!

  ~Lexi

  About Falling Hard

  An NFL player with a secret past, and the one woman with the power to turn his world inside out…

  * * *

  Former actress Emma Rothschild is partying in Vegas in disguise. But I’m not fooled. Five years ago, I knew that body better than my own, and I haven’t forgotten a single detail.

  * * *

  When Emma’s unexpectedly left alone in Sin City, I agree to spend the weekend with her. As friends. Why not? If I can knock down the toughest guys in the NFL, I’m strong enough to keep my hands to myself, even if she is the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.

  * * *

  Emma is part of my past—years so shrouded in secrets that not even my best friends know the truth about who I am. I’m a single dad now and not interested in revisiting my old ways or trying to win back the only woman I ever let close enough to break my heart.

  * * *

  But this is Vegas, where all bets are off, and with Emma, nothing ever goes as planned…

  * * *

  FALLING HARD is a sexy and emotional novel intended for mature readers. It’s the fourth book in the world of the Blackhawk Boys, but can be enjoyed as a standalone.

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  Football. Secrets. Lies. Passion. These boys don’t play fair. Which Blackhawk Boy will steal your heart?

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  Book 1 - SPINNING OUT (Arrow’s story)

  Book 2 - RUSHING IN (Christopher’s story)

  Book 3 - GOING UNDER (Sebastian’s story)

  Book 4 - FALLING HARD (Keegan’s story)

  Book 5 - IN TOO DEEP (Mason’s story, coming fall 2017)

  Chapter One

  Keegan

  The marble countertop is covered in red spaghetti sauce, but it’s nothing compared to the face of my fourteen-month-old daughter. Both she and my kitchen look like they were involved in either a gruesome crime or a grade-school food fight. I pull a washcloth from the
drawer and run it under warm water from the faucet. I bypass the messy counters and go around to the other side of the island, where Jazzy sits in her highchair.

  “Here it comes.” I reach for her with the wet rag and she grins, flashing her two tiny bottom front teeth. “Wishy, washy, wishy, washy, wishy, washy, wee!”

  Giggling, Jasmine turns away from the washcloth, dodging my attempts to uncover her rosy cheeks. This isn’t my first rodeo, so I make a sneak attack on the opposite side and wipe her face clean with two swipes.

  “Look at that,” I declare with mock shock. “There is a little girl underneath all that spaghetti sauce.”

  Jasmine giggles again, and I lift her from the highchair. All my friends say Jazzy is the happiest baby ever, and I might be a little biased, but she certainly is the coolest I’ve met. I keep her in my arms and take long strides toward her bedroom.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up before Mommy gets here.” Olivia will be here to pick her up in the next five or ten minutes and she doesn’t like Jazzy to get messy.

  “If you let little girls eat spaghetti, suckers, or ice cream cones, they end up looking like they wandered out of the trailer park. No. Just no.”

  Mommy’s a snob, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. Olivia might not be perfect, but she’s Jasmine’s mother, and for that I owe her everything.

  I lay Jazzy on the changing table, where I make quick work of putting on a fresh diaper and pulling her pink sundress over her head. She rolls over onto her stomach and tries to crawl away from me, and I use her little maneuver to my advantage and button the back of the dress before scooping her into my arms.

  When the doorbell rings, I close my eyes for a beat, holding her and smelling her sweet baby shampoo from this morning’s bath. “Daddy’s gonna miss you this weekend.”

  She reaches up and puts her chubby little hands on either side of my jaw. “Da-da.”

  I’m six foot four and a wall of hard-earned muscle, but when she does that, I’m fucking helpless. “Okay, okay, I’ll buy you the pony, the castle, and the Corvette when you’re sixteen, and anything else you want.”

  Her grin stretches across her face as she smacks my cheeks. I swear, this kid knows she has me wrapped around her little finger.

  “Mommy’s here.” I shift her to my hip as we leave the nursery and walk to the front door.

  “Mama?” Jazzy says, clapping her hands. “Mama. Mama.”

  “That’s right.” I open the door for Olivia and wave her into the house. Her dark hair is down around her bare shoulders. The way she smiles at the sight of our daughter makes something pull hard in my chest—grief for the family we could’ve been. “You don’t have to use the doorbell,” I tell her. “That’s why you have a key.”

  “I know. It just doesn’t feel right to let myself in.” She sweeps her hair over her shoulder and reaches both arms out for Jazzy. “How’s my girl?”

  “She just had dinner.” I hand over our daughter but don’t mention that I gave her spaghetti. That would be asking for an argument. “Another tooth broke through a couple nights ago. She’s a much happier girl now.”

  “I bet she is.”

  “We went to the park this morning and she took a two-hour nap this afternoon, so she should be in good shape until bedtime.”

  Olivia beams at Jasmine as she snuggles her against her chest, and the sight makes my throat go thick. Family. That’s what we should be. That’s what Jazzy deserves.

  Olivia Crowe is the mother of my child, and for a long time I wanted her to be more. When the Gulf Gators signed me after graduation as an undrafted free agent, I moved Olivia to Florida so I wouldn’t miss Jasmine growing up. Sometime during the last year, I’ve accepted that she’s never going to see me the way I’ve always seen her, but acceptance doesn’t mean the sting has gone away.

  “She should have plenty of diapers in the bag.” I nod toward the bag on the floor. “I packed enough outfits for the weekend, and a few extras too. I think she has a couple more teeth trying to break through, so if she gets cranky, go ahead and give her some Motrin.”

  “Keegan, I’m her mother.” She sighs heavily. “Calm down. I can handle three nights with my baby.”

  “I wasn’t trying to imply—”

  “But you did.” She shakes her head and reaches out to disentangle Jasmine’s hand from her hair. “I don’t want to fight. Just go be with your boys and have a good weekend. Tell the crew I said hi.”

  I frown. “You could come, you know. They invited you for a reason.”

  She waves away the suggestion and stoops to grab the diaper bag. “Have fun and relax. You deserve it.”

  I nod. “I will. Thanks.”

  “Hey, babe, are you coming?”

  We both turn toward the door to see my quarterback, Dre Olsen. His face goes pale as he spots me. Well, fuck. Isn’t this awkward?

  I lift my chin. “Hey, Dre.” I look to Olivia and, judging by the way she grimaces, I’m sure the question is in my eyes or—at the very least—what the fuck? is written all over my face.

  “Sorry, man. I didn’t know you’d be here. I thought she was picking her up from the nanny.”

  I smile, but my teeth grit together. Olivia started dating Dre shortly after I moved her down here. I was trying not to push her into a relationship she wasn’t ready for, but I thought we were on the same page—that we’d live together and see if we could give our relationship a go. I rented this beachfront condo that stretched the limits of even my NFL salary, and though we weren’t officially a couple, I thought our relationship was moving in the right direction.

  Just like since the beginning of our relationship, she was doing just enough to keep me on the hook while keeping me at an arm’s length. I found out—in the most awkward way possible—that she was fucking my quarterback. Let’s just say the locker room isn’t the only context in which I can say I’ve seen Dre’s bare ass.

  I turn to Dre—the quarterback, the dream man in Olivia’s eyes. “Do you think you could give us a couple of minutes?”

  “Sure, man.” He turns to Olivia. “I’ll be in the car.”

  She watches him go before turning back to me.

  “You’re keeping Jazzy at Dre’s this weekend?”

  “Where did you think I was keeping her?”

  I turn up my palms. “I don’t know. Maybe that fancy apartment I pay for?”

  She frowns. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. Anything that has to do with Jazz will always be a big deal to me. Okay, Liv?” I drag a hand through my hair. “You picked him. I can deal with that. I’ve had six months to deal with that. But she’s my daughter, and I deserve to know who she’s going to be spending her time with.”

  Olivia nods. “Okay. I’m sorry.” She cuts her eyes away from mine, and I watch as they fill with tears. “I’m just trying to have a normal life.”

  I feel like an ass. A never-good-enough, discarded-for-the better-guy-with-the-bigger-salary asshole. “Just keep me in the loop, okay?”

  Nodding, she lifts onto her toes and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Okay. Thanks, Keeg. You know I love you, right?”

  I’m too busy mentally dissecting those words to respond, so I open the door for her and watch her leave, wondering if she was right and I was the one who never gave us a chance. When she’s gone, I go back inside and lean my head against the door.

  “You say you want me, but you’re so closed off. You say you want this to work, but being with you is lonelier than being alone.”

  The words felt like an excuse at the time—a way for her to justify going after her dream of marrying an NFL quarterback. But maybe she’s right. Maybe I am closed off. Maybe I’m just one of those guys whose long-ago broken heart turned him cold.

  Ten seconds later, my phone buzzes with a text.

  Mason: Are you as ready for this weekend as I am?

  A bachelor party in Vegas with my best friends? I look out the window and watch Dre pu
ll away with the only two people in the world I’d call my family. Fuck yeah, I’m ready.

  * * *

  Emma

  A weekend in Vegas with my best friend—what more could a girl ask for?

  I wander around the massive suite Becky booked for us and shake my head. I know she won’t want me to pay her for this, but I’m going to have to find a way. This is too much.

  “Should we come up with some sock-on-the-door system?” Becky asks as she follows me into the bedroom.

  I turn to meet my friend’s sparkling blue eyes. “Sock on the door?”

  “So I don’t interrupt your much-needed one-night stand.”

  I snort. “Yeah, right. As if I’d even know how to have one of those if I wanted to.”

  “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” She holds out a black wig.

  “What is that?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Uma Thurman’s wig from Pulp Fiction?” When she just stares at me, I sigh. Socks on doorknobs and disguises aren’t what I had in mind when Becky suggested we indulge in a weekend in Vegas. We got a suite at a fancy hotel, and I thought we’d spend our days at the spa and evenings by the pool, with maybe a couple of hours here and there for a game of blackjack or a round at the roulette table. “I get that it’s supposed to be some sort of disguise, but why? What exactly do you have planned? Killing hookers and snorting blow?”

  She laughs. “Look at the good girl who thinks there’s nothing between a celibate monastery life and murder.”

  “I don’t live in a monastery.”

  “Might as well, for all the action that goes down in your place.”