Change of Hart Read online

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  Change of Hart

  Copyright © 2014 M.E. Carter

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  “How the hell do they always know I’m coming?” I asked my manager Adam in an irritated voice, leaning forward to look out the window of our black SUV at the sea of news reporters. “Do they not understand that this is about the kids?”

  Adam chuckled and pressed the lock button on his phone before putting it in his pocket and looking around. “Probably some well-meaning mom on the PTA alerted the press, hoping to get some publicity for the school.”

  I snorted. “This isn’t about publicity for the school. I won’t answer their questions, Adam. Especially not that bitch, April Gill.”

  As the starting defensive lineman for the Dallas Cowboys, I was well known in the area. As the best in the country, I was hounded relentlessly by the media. I tried hard not to let it get to me. It was part of my job. And sure, it was fun seeing my name in lights. But it could get old. All the male reporters wanted to buddy up to me and chat like we were old friends. All the female reporters batted their eyes at me and acted like they wanted to take me home with them. The only reporter I ever got along with was Catherine Hernandez. But of course, she was good enough at her job that she and her husband moved to California so she could take a gig in San Diego. It was times like these when I missed seeing her in the crowd.

  “You don’t have to answer any questions,” Adam assured me. “But be ready, Jason. I’m willing to bet they will be in the school during the pep rally.”

  I sighed as our driver pulled up to the curb. I didn’t usually make public appearances at schools. After coming home four years ago to play for the Cowboys and setting several records in that time, the big wigs liked to reserve me for higher end events like galas for the American Cancer Society and big events being put on by one of my sponsors. It’s not like I minded doing things like this. But I wasn’t really in charge of my own publicity so I usually just went along with it.

  But when I got a call from my high school buddy, Lindsay Miller, who happened to be the music teacher at this school, I couldn’t resist. She was my next-door neighbor when we were kids and we were choir buddies all through middle school. Yes, I admit it. Jason Hart was in the middle school choir. The only thing I could do was carry a tune. Lindsay, on the other hand, had an amazing voice. Scored almost every solo.

  She was also one of the only girls that still treated me like a person once we got to high school, and not some varsity football god. Even back then I craved for people to just like me for me. Sure, I enjoyed the notoriety. What seventeen-year-old kid wouldn’t like getting laid by the hottest girls in school? But to Lindsay, I was just Jason . . . her friend and next-door neighbor.

  We ended up at the same college, but lost touch as my life became more about getting drafted into the pros and her life became more about her music degree. Thank goodness for Facebook. I was stoked when a random memory caused me to look her up online and friend request her.

  “Jason, can you give us any insight into next week’s game?”

  “Jason, do you realize you are on track to break the record for most sacks in the history of the NFL?”

  Dear god, the car door had just opened. I didn’t even have my foot on the curb before I was surrounded by cameras and had microphones in my face. One good thing about choir . . . I learned how to smile through every performance.

  “Thanks for coming out guys,” I said as I made my way through the crowd and to the front door. “But I’m not here to talk football today. This is all about the kids.”

  I kept walking, ignoring the questions being thrown my way, until I reached the receptionist inside the first door. She had a team jersey on and a starry-eyed look. I’d recognize a hard-core fan anywhere.

  “Hi, I’m Adam Roberts,” he said to the receptionist. “This is Jason Hart. He is supposed to be speaking at the ‘Back to School’ pep rally today.”

  “OHMYGOD IT’S JASON HART!” I heard the shriek over my shoulder and turned just in time to see Lindsay jumping up and down like she used to when she made fun of me in high school.

  “Can I have your autograph? Can I have your babies?” She squealed with her hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh.

  I smiled wider than I had in ages. “Girl, quit your fangirl act and get yourself over here to give me a hug,” I said as she ran over to me, throwing her arms around my neck. “You just couldn’t resist making fun of me, could you?” I asked, laughing as I held her tight.

  “I thought your followers were bad in high school,” Lindsay joked. “But geez, these reporters have been camped out here all morning!” She pulled away and smacked me on my shoulder. “How the heck are you, my friend? And forget all this football nonsense. How are you really?”

  She always did cut to the core like that. To her, football was what I did, not who I was. More than once I had kicked myself for letting her get snatched up by her hot shot accountant husband. But dang, it was nice having my friend back.

  “I’m doing ok,” I said, looking around at the school that she called her second home. “Working a lot. Training a lot. Pretty much the same thing I’ve been doing since you’ve known me. How are you?” I asked. “Looks like you’ve got a pretty sweet gig here at Mountain Park Elementary School.”

  She laughed. “Not as sweet as the gig you have, but I can’t complain. Husband is great. Daughter just turned five and she’s great. Job is great. I couldn’t ask for more.”

  “It can’t be that great. Don’t you have to teach kids how to play the recorder?” I asked with amusement.

  She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me. I wasn’t happy with the way the fifth grade performance had been going, so this year I
came up with the brilliant idea of adding fourth graders to the mix . . . you know, to give them an extra year of practice before the show.”

  I laughed. “And how is that going?”

  She sighed and rubbed her fingers in circles on her temples. “I’m about to take out stock in Tylenol.”

  “Your ideas always were better before they came to life,” I joked.

  “Tell me about it,” she said. Adam walked up and slapped a white sticker on my shirt.

  “Here, man,” he said. “School policy. Everyone coming in has to have a name tag.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Adam, this is my good friend Lindsay Miller.”

  Adam stuck out his hand for Lindsay to shake. “Oh, that’s right! You’re the one who coordinated all of this. I’m impressed. Usually we can’t get him off the field to do any PR. I appreciate you helping us show that my boy has a heart.”

  Lindsay laughed and looked at me. “I like you, Adam,” she said. “Why don’t we head into my classroom until the pep rally starts? The kids should be heading this direction any minute and we don’t want to ruin the surprise that you’re here. Um . . . ,” she said, looking out the window at the reporters that were still loitering around. “Unless the surprise has already been ruined.”

  She buzzed us in through the security door and led us into her classroom. The center of the room was open and empty, with some marking tape on the floor, presumably to remind the kids where they were to stand while singing. Some chairs with music stands in front of them were off to the side. A closet door was open. Inside I could see all kinds of music-related items on shelves . . . dozens of xylophones, a couple of keyboards, some triangles.

  “I see you designed your room after Mr. Whitman’s,” I said. Mr. Whitman had been our choir teacher. He was a notorious pack rat and never threw away anything musical.

  “Don’t judge,” Lindsay said. “Music budgets aren’t what they used to be in the schools. This school is lucky to have a music department at all, with all the budget cuts that went through last year.”

  I looked at her with what was probably a look of shock. “Really? Are they cutting music out of the schools? I mean, is your job on the line?”

  She waved me off like I had asked a ridiculous question and walked over to her desk. “Nah. A lot of the music teachers have to split their time between two campuses now. But I’m the head of the arts program here and I’m on the board that writes all the curriculum for the district, so my job is pretty secure.” She sat down in her rolling chair and crossed her arms. “So tell me the truth, Jay, is there a special girl in your life?”

  I turned to glare at Adam as he cracked up like it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. When I looked back at Lindsay, she was grinning from ear to ear. “Um, no,” I said. “You know that lifestyle isn’t for me, Lin. Never has been. I’d rather sow my wild oats.”

  “You’re twenty-nine years old, Jason. Aren’t you tired of oats yet?” she asked.

  I looked at her and rolled my eyes. “I like my oats,” I started. “And until a quality woman like yourself falls into my lap, I’m content to keep it that way.”

  She shook her head. “Jason, you know I love you, but you need to quit being such a man-whore. Your mama raised you better than that.”

  I looked at her and knew she was right. As a single mother, my mom had made me the center of her world for a lot of years. Once I left for college, she started building a life for herself again. Even having a few boyfriends. Gross. I knew she wanted me to have what she’d had with my father. I wanted that, too. But I wasn’t going to force it with anyone. It would happen. Eventually.

  Before I could respond, I heard someone else come into the room.

  “Well hello, Jason. You seem to be buddy-buddy with this lovely teacher.” She walked over to Lindsay and shook her hand. “I’m April Gill, Channel 5 News.”

  Lindsay shook her hand but didn’t say a word. “Just how do you two know each other?” April asked.

  Adam jumped in and started guiding April by the arm to the door. “I’m sorry, Ms. Gill, but Mr. Hart isn’t here to answer media questions today. You are welcome to get all the footage you need during the pep rally, but any request for an interview will need to go through me. Do you have my card?” Adam whipped out a business card and held it out to her.

  April’s eyes narrowed as she answered Adam. “I have your number already. Thanks Adam,” she said with a chill in her voice. Then she turned and stomped away.

  “What was that about?” Lindsay asked me.

  I shook my head. “That,” I answered, “Is April Gill. She is a thorn in my side.”

  “Why?” Lindsay asked. “Don’t tell me she’s one of the oats! “

  I pulled the name tag off my shirt and began absent-mindedly playing with it. “Oh, believe me,” I started, “I do my best to stay far away from that one.”

  “We’ve had a lot of problems with her,” Adam said, sitting down in the blue chair right next to mine. “She is notorious in the locker room for buddying up to some of the team. Then she turns on them once she gets some dirt she can turn into a story for the ten o’clock news.”

  Lindsay raised an eyebrow. “And it keeps happening? Seriously, Jay, what kind of idiots do you work with?”

  I chuckled. “Idiots that get hit in the head a lot on the field.”

  We sat around, catching up on life for about thirty minutes before her principal came in to introduce herself and give us a quick rundown on how the pep rally was going to go. Lindsay led me through a door that brought us backstage.

  While we waited for our cue, I got to peek through the curtains at roughly seven hundred children sitting on the floor of the cafeteria. They seemed to be equally mixed: black, white and Hispanic - with a few Asian children sprinkled in here and there. It was funny watching how they were all fidgety and couldn’t keep their hands to themselves while they were waiting for the show.

  Lindsay had told me Mountain Park was forty-three percent economically disadvantaged. Meaning forty-three percent of all these kids lived in enough poverty that they got to eat lunch for free or a reduced price. That struck me as odd because it didn’t look like any of these kids were poor. They were clean. They were well behaved. They listened well, once they stopped fidgeting. Lindsay said the staff and administration worked really hard to make sure these kids understood that not having a lot of money didn’t mean they weren’t expected to always do their best. And it showed.

  Seeing all of that through the curtains really cemented my respect for my friend. I always knew she was amazing. But little did I know she would make such a huge impact in her community. It made me really proud of all she had accomplished.

  As Lindsay came out from behind the curtain, I positioned myself for my entrance.

  “Hi, kids,” Lindsay said into the microphone. “Welcome back to school! Are you guys excited to have another fantastic year?”

  “Yeah!” I heard the kids respond. Lindsay continued.

  “It is very important to study hard and always try your best, because your future holds big plans for you. But you can’t get there without hard work and preparation.”

  I peeked through the curtains again to see the small faces that were absorbing everything Lindsay was saying. They looked so excited and hopeful about their futures. It made me excited to get to talk to these kids. I needed to show up at more events like this.

  “So today, I have a special person here to talk to you about working hard and always trying your best, no matter what. He was my very good friend in school and he’s still my very good friend! Can you please welcome Dallas Cowboys defensive lineman, Jason Hart!”

  I walked out from behind the curtain and waved amid squeals and cheers as I made my way to Lindsay and the microphone. I was used to hearing people yelling for me, but it made my chest puff up even more to hear all the kids. Something about it being kids made it more exciting to me.

  “You always had a way with a microphone a
nd a crowd,” I said in Lindsay’s ear when I got to where she stood. She rolled her eyes and handed me the microphone.

  I looked around at the sea of young faces.

  “Hey, guys!” I started. “My name is Jason Hart and I play football for the Dallas Cowboys.”

  At that moment, a blur came rushing at me, throwing its arms around my legs.

  I looked down to see a brown-haired little boy, probably only six or seven, clinging to my legs and sobbing.

  “I love you, Jason. I knew you’d come for my birthday. Thank you for coming to see me. I love you so much. You are my hero.”

  I looked at Lindsay who was as wide-eyed as I felt.

  What the hell?

  “I am so sorry, Mr. Hart,” the principal, Mrs. Teske, said. Again. “We’ve never had a problem with students rushing the stage before. He was just a little . . . emotional.”

  I’ll say. Once his teacher was finally able to pry the little boy off me, he sat down with his class and cried for the rest of the pep rally. I spent the next thirty minutes talking about all the hard work it takes to succeed and how even I still did homework in the form of research on other teams. I answered a lot of questions, and listened intently as some of the younger ones misunderstood that asking a question was very different than telling me a story.

  Even after a strange beginning, I was still excited to talk to the kids. But I couldn’t tear my eyes off of that little boy.

  I could understand part of how he felt. I had had the occasional fan get emotional when meeting me. It came with the territory. I’m sure I would have burst into tears growing up if I had ever met Troy Aikman. But something about this felt very different. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, either.

  “Who is he, anyway?” I asked.

  “His name is Jaxon,” said Lindsay, standing by the door of her classroom with her back against the wall. “Please don’t be freaked out, Jay. He has had some hard life changes recently and I suspect having you here just sent him over the top emotionally.”

  I knew better than to ask what “hard life changes” meant. I knew confidentiality was a priority in school nowadays, so I didn’t even bother to ask.