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  Warning: Please note this novel contains explicit sexual content and crude language and is intended for mature audiences. Parental/reader discretion is advised.

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  Cover designed by Sofie Hartley of Hart & Bailey Design Co.

  Editing provided by Missy Borucki

  Book formatting provided by Stacey Blake of Champagne Book Design

  Proofreading provided by Robyn Crawford of Eden Books

  [email protected]

  Publication Date: September 26th, 2018

  The First Lights

  Copyright ©Christy Pastore 2018

  All rights reserved

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Playlist

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Afterword

  Books by Christy Pastore

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For Danielle and Millie.

  To the ones who seek the light in times of darkness.

  Hello Summer by Danielle Bradbury

  I Hate Love Songs by Kelsea Ballerini

  Sleeping With Ghosts by Placebo

  Three Chords & The Truth by Chase Rice

  Remind Me To Forget by Kygo, Miguel

  Simple by Florida Georgia Line

  Call Out My Name by The Weeknd

  Sanctify by Years & Years

  A Girl Like You by Easton Corbin

  Burn Out by Midland

  Don’t Change by INXS

  Ritual by Wrabel

  GOODMORNING, Goodbye by FRENSHIP

  Everything’s Gonna Be Alright by David Lee Murphy, Kenny Chesney

  Bad Blood by Taylor Swift, Kendrick Lamar

  Natural by Imagine Dragons

  When The Curtain Falls by Greta Van Fleet

  Take Me Home, Country Roads by John Denver

  Cheers erupted around the locker room as Coach Marsden spoke about our playoff win today against the Patriots. The city of Indianapolis would be rocking an all-night party, and not by setting things on fire, turning over cars, or destroying businesses on Mass Ave. No, this was a civilized Midwestern city. The fans were the best, and we were on our way to giving the people of Indianapolis a long overdue second Super Bowl win.

  After Coach was finished the room thinned. Reporters wrapped up their interviews. The coaching staff congratulated me as they walked out. My teammates continued celebrating as they packed up. My mind was focused on our next game: the AFC championship.

  “Come on, Wyatt, victory celebration at Taylor’s house,” my teammate, Theo, called out across the locker room. We broke more passing records today, and Theo scored four of our seven touchdowns of the game.

  “Nah,” I replied, pulling my black t-shirt down over my chest. “Gotta get home, Kate and Sydney are coming back from California. Next time.”

  I hadn’t seen my wife, Kate, and our daughter, Sydney, in two weeks. Kate’s mom had just moved into a new place in Palm Springs and Kate was helping her get settled.

  “Ah, well, I can’t blame ya,” he said, slinging his gym bag over his left shoulder. “Tell Kate and Sydney I said hello.”

  “Will do.”

  I made it out of the stadium and the lingering press line in less than thirty minutes. As I climbed into my silver Audi, I swiped my phone to life. No messages from my wife, yet. I double checked her flight schedule again before pulling out of the parking lot.

  Traffic was fairly light on my way home which was unusual for game day, but I’d take it as another win. I didn’t like the idea of Kate flying commercial. I told her that I’d charter a private plane, but Kate insisted on keeping our lives as normal as possible for Sydney’s sake.

  “Wyatt, our daughter will appreciate things more if we don’t spoil her with endless luxuries.”

  I couldn’t argue with my wife’s logic. At least Kate allowed me to arrange for a car service to pick them up since I could not. Snowflakes danced across my windshield, as I maneuvered the car onto the exit ramp. My phone pinged as I flipped my turn signal. When I reached the stoplight, I checked my messages.

  Kate: Congrats on the win today. I’m watching the highlight reel on ESPN now.

  Kate: Collinsworth has such a hard-on for Branson, just like he did with Brady.

  Kate: We’re on our way! We’ll be home in less than an hour.

  When I finally made it home, I swiped my phone open to reply to Kate’s messages. I took stock of the wine selection opting for a bottle of Italian Chianti, Kate’s favorite. I poured myself a glass of whiskey and then settled into my chair flipping the TV to our local ABC station.

  “Snow is moving into the Indy metro area. You can expect a steady wintry mix over the next few hours.”

  I didn’t remember falling asleep, but when woke up my house was shrouded in darkness except for the light from the television screen. It was just after eight when I checked the time. Can that be right?

  “Kate,” I called out. “Kate, are you here?” My eyes flicked to the unopened wine bottle as I trekked
through the kitchen towards the front door. Peering out the window, the snow was heavy—a whiteout. My heart hammered in my chest as I fumbled with my phone and hit Kate’s name on the screen. As I turned to walk back towards the living room, lights splashed across the wall drawing my focus back outside.

  “Thank fuck, they made it home.”

  I pulled open the front door and walked outside to find a police car parked in my driveway instead of a town car. Two officers stepped out of the vehicle. Words spun around me like the mostly inaudible cheers from the stadium crowd. At that moment, my knees gave out, and I fell to the ground. The news hit my heart with a gut-wrenching blow. Voices carried the words I dreaded hearing. I closed my eyes hoping the earth would open up and swallow me.

  Four Years Later, July

  “Gentleman, pick up the pace. Sampson, you are six point eight seconds behind your average. If you’re not careful, Gibbons is going to steal your starting spot.”

  “Coach, I don’t know what these fools are complaining about, I could run another ten miles,” Tim Clarke, my kicker, bellowed racing by me running backwards.

  Scott Miller, my starting fullback followed steps behind Clarke. “Come on, boys, run until you fly!”

  “Come on, Coach, it’s July. Do you have to make us run on the hottest day of the summer?” Brandt Davis groaned as he jogged by my position on the track. He was probably going to be my first string QB this season.

  Brodie Walker, one of my wide receivers, sailed by me. “Yeah, Coach Hamilton, it’s hot A F out here.”

  “Well, you signed up for training camp, and I don’t control the weather, Walker.”

  Hot A F. I laughed to myself. Would Sydney be saying shit like that? She would be eight now, definitely not. I took a deep breath and stared up at the blue sky allowing myself to think about the two of them for a moment. The wind kicked up rustling through the tall grasses and purple flowers planted at the side of the track.

  It had taken me almost two years to pull myself from beneath the darkness that cloaked my life since Kate and Sydney died. Since I wasn’t going back to the NFL, I decided to put my college degree to use taking a job as a high school history teacher. Coaching and teaching had given me a purpose—something to be proud of and take back control of my life.

  My father had begged me to move to Florida to be near him and Mom, but I preferred the solitude of mountain life to the beach life. Not to mention the fact that Florida was downright miserable in the summer. My brother, Chase, suggested Montana, saying it was just what I’d needed. He wasn’t wrong.

  “Let’s push it on the last laps, guys. I want to see some hustle.”

  Groans and claps filtered through the pack as they whizzed by me.

  “Excuse me, Coach Hamilton,” a raspy, feminine voice called out from behind me. I debated on whether or not to turn around. That voice dripping with sex appeal probably belonged to the mother of one of my players. And the way my heart pumped a bit faster at the sound of my name rolling off her tongue, I knew that was not a good sign. I even considered running across the track to finish the laps with my guys.

  I refocused. Standing in front of me was a gorgeous beauty with wild, light brown hair that looked as if the strands were kissed by the sun. Her cotton shirt clung to her breasts, and her white denim shorts showed off her tanned legs. She had ink and a lot of it. Tiny black, geometric shapes and swirling scripts decorated both of her arms. Tattoos weren’t my thing, but I’d never seen a woman inked like this and it was giving me some seriously dirty thoughts.

  Okay, snap out of it dickhead, there are kids in the vicinity.

  “Yes, how can I help you?”

  “My son, Luke, told me this morning that he forgot to turn in his registration form for your training camp even though I gave him the money and signed the paperwork weeks ago. Apparently, he had . . . well, that’s not important. Anyway, Luke is here now.” The wind whipped her hair across her face as she jutted her chin towards a kid leaning against the fence that surrounded the stadium. “Where can I turn in the money and the paperwork?”

  “Missus . . .” I glanced at her hands as they gripped the strap of her purse. No wedding ring.

  “It’s Richman, and . . . Miss is fine.” There was a hint of hesitation in her voice as if she had to think about it.

  “Miss Richman, the camp is full. I’m sorry that Luke was unable to register by the fifteenth.”

  “Full? I don’t even see an entire team on the field,” she protested. “There are only ten players out there.”

  “There are thirteen players,” I corrected.

  “Okay, surely you have room for one more kid. Besides, thirteen is an unlucky number.” She shifted, kicking a small rock with the heel of her black boots. “I was out of town last week, or I would have made sure Luke dropped off the paperwork personally.”

  Thirteen was my number when I played in the NFL. I was amused, irritated, and intrigued, staring at her beautiful flushed face. “Miss Richman, I don’t make the rules so that they can be broken. If Luke wanted to attend the camp, he would have been registered on time.” I waved my stopwatch in the air signaling the final lap.

  “I’m going to speak to the athletic director—this is ridiculous.”

  This woman is a fighter. Persistent.

  “Fine, you do that. I’m sure that Mister Jones will see things from my side.” After a deep breath, I added, “Perhaps Luke should have spoken with me about the situation instead of sending his mother. That would have shown me more determination and probably convinced me that he really wanted to be here.”

  Narrowing her blue eyes, she stepped closer to me, every step sending fire through my veins. She paused as my guys crossed the finish line. I instructed them to take a water break and cool down.

  “If this is a football camp, why are they running laps around the track? Shouldn’t they be running passing and rushing drills and working out plays instead? Perhaps, my son knew this camp would be a waste of his time.”

  Wow, that was a ballsy move on her part. I hadn’t had a woman challenge me in quite some time. Insulting me on my field and within earshot of my players wasn’t going to fly.

  “Miss Richman, you should work on your social skills. You’ll find that you’ll catch more flies with honey,” I spoke calmly but firmly. “I need to run my camp and, quite frankly, you’re wasting my time. Have a good day.”

  “Mom, I said that I was sorry,” Luke groaned, as we carried the last two bags in from the truck.

  “Honestly, Luke, you have to be more responsible. I can’t do everything around here by myself. We agreed that I wasn’t going to be a helicopter parent. You’re going to be seventeen next month. You need to be accountable for your actions.”

  “Yeah, a seventeen-year-old with no license and at a new school.”

  “We’ve had this conversation, Luke,” I sighed. “You’re going to wait until the spring.”

  “Mom, stop punishing me because you’re afraid what will happen if I start driving.” My son lifted his brown eyes meeting mine; disappointment clearly etched on his face. More and more each day he developed his father’s features.

  He wasn’t wrong, the reason for him not having his license was entirely my fear. I still wanted to think it over, but perhaps he could take the driving tests next month.

  “What if I go back and talk to Coach Hamilton myself this afternoon?”

  I let out a deep breath as I unpacked the groceries. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea. He’s not going to let you into the camp. He was quite adamant about that fact.”

  “Yeah, probably because you insulted him,” he shot back. “Coach Hamilton is a big deal, and now he hates me. I’ll never get a starting position.”

  I tossed him the box of Cheerios to put in the pantry. “Oh don’t be so dramatic, there’s no way he hates you. Missing one training camp that isn’t even a requirement can’t keep you from working hard and earning a starting position.”

  He l
et out a sigh, barely tolerating me. “Now, what am I going to do all week?”

  I rested my hip against the counter. “You can do anything, but watch TV and play video games. How about clean out the garage? Clean your room. Go on a hike. Ride your bike. Read a book down by the lake. Call a friend. Get out of here and enjoy the beautiful day.”

  “Okay, okay, I got it,” he grumbled and shuffled out the door. “I’ll be out of your hair the rest of the day.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” I called after him. The slamming door confirmed that he was upset with me about losing his television and gaming privileges.

  God knows that I wasn’t winning any mother of the year awards, but my kid needed to learn some responsibility. Part of me wondered if Luke’s father and brother were here would he be adjusting differently. I peered through my blinds to check on Luke. He was cleaning up the yard removing garbage and sticks.

  Good kid. Smiling, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and then poured some lemonade. I retreated upstairs to my bedroom, replaying my conversation with Coach Hamilton. My thoughts shifted to his green eyes and the perfectly manicured scruff that covered his face. I’d seen his picture in the papers and on the television. Wyatt Hamilton was far more handsome in person. He stirred an avalanche of emotions inside me. I think I kept talking to him, kept pushing him earlier because I actually felt something again. If I was being honest, it felt good—too good.

  Since my husband, Carter, died, I hadn’t thought much about men. Aside from swooning over the dad on the show, This is Us. I rarely thought about moving on, even though my sister, Ryleigh, tried desperately to encourage me to start dating. My focus for the last year and a half had been Luke and making sure that he was growing up to be the kind of man his father had been.

  I flopped back into my reading chair. It felt wrong to have these thoughts about another man. Carter and I were high school sweethearts. We met my freshman year, his junior year. I never dated anyone but Carter. He was my first everything. We got married shortly after he graduated college and then I got pregnant with the twins. I was weeks away from turning twenty-one when I found out that I was going to be a mom.