Free After The Fire (One Pass Away Book 3) by Mary J. Williams Page B

into that. Even from you.”
    “I wasn’t worried about my virtue,” Gaige laughed. “Wait.
    Did you say Dr. Reed ?”
    In the middle of refilling his cup, Terrance didn’t see
    Gaige’s reaction. Disbelief, followed by shock. He held his breath, waiting for
    Terrance to respond. It had been sixteen years since he had heard that name
    except in his memories. Perhaps he had misunderstood.
    “That’s right. Dr. Violet Reed. I met with her in New York
    last week. What?” Terrance set his coffee on his desk. “From the expression on
    your face, I’d say you aren’t thrilled with my news. Do you know Dr. Reed?”
    “No, I don’t know her.” Not the woman she was today. “Where’s
    she staying?”
    Terrance mentioned a hotel near downtown. “But if you would
    like to meet her now, Calvin is introducing her around the offices.”
    “She’s here? Now?”
    Gaige sat up straight. He looked down, checking out what he
    was wearing. Casual but clean and neat. If he remembered correctly, it wasn’t
    very different than the kind of thing he wore sixteen years ago—not that it
    would matter to Violet. She hadn’t seen his clothing. Or his face.
    “Gaige?”
    He jumped at the touch of Terrance’s hand on his shoulder.
    “What is wrong with you?”
    “Nothing. May I use your bathroom?”
    “Sure. Aren’t you feeling well?”
    “I’m fine.”
    Gaige flipped on the light and closed the bathroom door. Was
    he fine? His hand trembled—not a lot. But enough for him to notice. Gripping
    the edge of the counter, he leaned close to the mirror. He looked at himself
    every day. When he shaved or brushed his teeth. He was a man who paid attention
    to his appearance. Took care of himself. He had to. His body was his
    livelihood.
    Gaige Benson—the face of Seattle football.
    His picture was everywhere. On billboards. On the side of
    buses. Banners. T-shirts. Coffee mugs. One couldn’t walk anywhere in the city
    without running into his picture. Then there were the national and
    international commercials. When he stopped to think about it, Gaige was
    sick of seeing himself. He couldn’t imagine why the rest of the world didn’t
    feel the same.
    But this was the first time he really stopped and assessed
    how he looked. As a thirty-eight-year-old man who was about to meet a woman he
    hadn’t seen for sixteen years.
    Had she looked him up online? God . Gaige couldn’t
    imagine the hodgepodge of articles and pictures she would have found. His
    football life was well documented. His high school stats. College. His career
    with the Knights. It was all there. Nothing to be ashamed of.
    Then there was his personal life. He was single. Never married—nor
    engaged. Not even close. But there had been women. Many, many women. Google his
    name and the digital scrapbook would dazzle the most casual observer. Models.
    Actresses. Politicians. Teachers. The job didn’t matter. As long as he found
    her attractive, Gaige was an equal opportunity dater.
    Fine lines surrounded his eyes. Not bad. He moisturized like
    any smart twenty-first-century male. His green eyes were bright and clear.
    Running his hand through his short blond hair, Gaige looked for gray hairs. None.
    Not a single one. Firm chin and jowls—no visible sagging. Not bad. His
    teammates might jokingly call him old man , but in his estimation, he
    didn’t look a day over thirty.
    And Violet didn’t look a day older than the first time he
    saw her. That slight figure he saved from sliding off her hospital bed.
    How did he know? Because like his life, Violet’s was right
    there for him to see—documented in vivid color.
    There were times when Gaige cursed the internet. He wasn’t
    allowed to speak with her. Or touch her. But he could see her anytime his heart
    desired. Pleasure and pain.
    Violet’s eyes were blue. And her smile hadn’t changed. That
    beautiful smile that haunted his dreams.
    Gaige scrubbed a hand over his face. Damn it. He felt like
    an untried