Forging glory, p.1
Forging Glory, page 1
Forging Glory
Forging
Book 1
Lainey Davis
By Lainey Davis
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© 2023 Lainey Davis
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Content Note
About This Book
Also By Lainey Davis
1. Wes
2. Cara
3. Wes
4. Cara
5. Wes
6. Cara
7. Wes
8. Cara
9. Cara
10. Wes
11. Wes
12. Cara
13. Wes
14. Cara
15. Wes
16. Wes
17. Cara
18. Cara
19. Wes
20. Cara
21. Wes
22. Cara
23. Wes
24. Cara
25. Wes
26. Cara
27. Wes
28. Cara
29. Wes
30. Cara
31. Wes
32. Cara
33. Cara
34. Wes
Epilogue: Wes
Author’s Note
Also By Lainey Davis
For Jenni Hermoso
#ContigoJenni
Content Note
This book contains inappropriate and harassing behavior from a male character in a position of power. Some readers may find his actions and the dynamics disturbing or uncomfortable. Please read with discretion.
The author in no way condones this type of conduct. The character’s behavior represents an unfortunate reality for many women and people of marginalized genders. His characterization aims to bring awareness to systemic issues in sports culture and society as a whole.
While the depicted events are fictional, their impact is very real. If you find this content too upsetting, you may want to pass on this title. Please take care of yourself.
About This Book
My only dream was going pro ... until she blazed back into my life.
Cara Moreno - my biggest regret - just signed with the women's soccer team in my city. I tell myself to keep my distance ... but I can't stay away.
She says the most powerful man in the sport is set on destroying her career. That behind closed doors, he's hurting her and everything she's worked for.
I doubted her once before and rejected her. Now, I'll do anything to make things right and protect what’s ours.
Exposing the truth means risking my career. But how can I chase my dreams knowing hers are slipping away?
With both our futures on the line, I’m ready to risk it all and expose the truth. Losing her once was devastating enough. I won't let her down a second time.
What we share is electric and protecting her feels worth any sacrifice. This time, I'll fight for her trust…and hopefully her heart.
A high-stakes, sizzling sports romance, Forging Glory delivers courage, second chances, and a fight for love against all odds.
Also By Lainey Davis
Bridges and Bitters series
Fireball: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Sam and AJ)
Liquid Courage: A Marriage in Crisis Romance (Chloe and Teddy)
Speed Rail: A Single Dad Romance (Piper and Cash)
Last Call: A Marriage of Convenience Romance (Esther and Koa)
* * *
Binge the following series in eBook, paperback, or audio!
Brady Family Series
Foundation: A Grouchy Geek Romance (Zack and Nicole)
Suspension: An Opposites Attract Romance (Liam and Maddie)
Inspection: A Silver Fox Romance (Kellen and Elizabeth)
Vibration: An Accidental Roommates Romance (Cal and Logan)
Current: A Secret Baby Romance (Orla and Walt)
Restoration: A Silver Fox Redemption Romance (Mick and Celeste)
* * *
Oak Creek Series
The Nerd and the Neighbor (Hunter and Abigail)
The Botanist and the Billionaire (Diana and Asa)
The Midwife and the Money (Archer and Opal)
The Planner and the Player (Fletcher and Thistle)
* * *
Stag Brothers Series
Sweet Distraction (Tim and Alice)
Filled Potential (Ty and Juniper)
Fragile Illusion (Thatcher and Emma)
A Stag Family Christmas
Beautiful Game (Hawk and Lucy)
Stag Generations Series
Forging Passion (Wes and Cara prequel)
Forging Glory (Wes and Cara)
Forging Legacy (Wyatt and Fern)
Forging Chaos (coming soon)
* * *
Stone Creek University
Deep in the Pocket: A Football Romance
Hard Edge: A Hockey Romance
Possession: A Football Romance
Chapter 1
Wes
I’m alone.
I’m aware of that reality before I’m fully awake in a room where I should have the gorgeous body of Cara Moreno draped over my chest.
I can’t fight the disappointment that simmers, even though I know what last night was to both of us. It was a celebration. Releasing a pressure valve. We both have a lot riding on the camp from this weekend and riding each other was a celebration and a release.
Except, it didn’t feel that way to me.
I did things with Cara that I’ve never done before, never wanted to do. I felt like we had a connection and a lump forms in my throat realizing that was clearly a one-sided assumption. She didn’t even leave a note. I reach for my phone to see if maybe she texted me, and it starts ringing in my hand.
Unknown number.
I have to answer it, in case it’s an offer, but I’m not prepared for the volume that comes bellowing at me at … I glance at the alarm clock … 6:30.
“Wes! Baby!”
“Hello?”
“Don’t you know my voice, kid? That’s okay. Listen, your Uncle Hawk told me to give you a ring, said you’re going to need me today.”
I comb my memories, trying to place the too-chipper voice on the other end of the phone. “Brian?”
“The one and only.” My uncle’s sports agent starts praising my game, comparing me to the family legacy, whatever that means. I wake up more fully and start to process the meaning of his call.
“Wait. My uncle called you?”
“Damn right he did, and not a minute too soon. The sharks are swimming outside your door, baby.”
I glance toward the hotel door and see a bunch of slips of paper on the carpet. Huh.
“Listen,” Brian continues. “I’m not going to dance around. You know I was a good partner for your Uncle Hawky and made him a shit-ton of money over the years. I can guarantee you the same treatment and the second you sign an agreement I can text you. I can be on the phone with those sharks in the lobby of your hotel. Where do you want to land, Wesley? Name your team.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “Name my team? Seriously?”
He sighs. “Okay, not quite that awesome. But give me a ranked list. Word on the street is your debut will be electric.”
If my uncle called his agent, that means Aunt Lucy wasn’t kidding when she hinted that my “subterfuge” worked in my favor. I snuck out here to California against the advice of my parents and without their support. I gave up my college scholarship for this try-out and I almost can’t believe the gamble paid off. My stomach flutters and I stand up, pacing the floor. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, with obvious sex-tousled hair, swollen lips, and scratch marks on my chest.
Cara sticking around to celebrate would have been too good to be true.
Last night she made me feel like I can do anything, achieve anything I want.
This morning, it’s all happening … but she’s not here. And neither is my family.
I sigh as Brian talks about numbers and sponsorship plans. It all sounds great, actually. So maybe it was better to have one perfect night than keep things going and grow frustrated with one another. We both will be diving headfirst into intense schedules and camera shoots and too much travel. That’s no way to kick off a relationship.
“Sounds perfect, Brian. Text me the thing to sign.”
I feel a pang of sadness that my dad isn’t here with me when I sign my first contract with an agent, that I’ll most likely be signing with a pro team in a few hours without my family celebrating. My Aunt Alice would have made a grain-free cake out of vegetables or some shit. My cousins would have gotten kazoos and done a damn parade around the Highland Park fountain if I’d looped them in.
Or they wouldn’t have done anything. My mom would have cried and my dad would have glowered at me, and I would have stayed in school another year. If I’d stayed in school, who even knows what would have happened. I probably would have blown my ACL. I can’t grieve what didn’t happen any more than I can regret my choices.
Brian texts me an agreement and I sign it with my finger on my cell phone, alone in a dark hotel room.
I should want to call my cousins, or the guys from my college team, but the first person I think of is Cara. Did she get a similar offer this morning? Should I find her room and go another round with her to celebrate, possibly real quick before we both fly out? Does she have an agent? Maybe I should send her Brian’s contact info…
These thoughts swirl in my mind as I brush my teeth and slip into the only clean clothes I have left, sweats and an old Pittsburgh Forge t-shirt of my Uncle’s.
I step out of the elevator on the ground floor and turn the corner, toward the conference rooms. I’m about to video call Brian when I see something that halts me in my tracks.
Lou Rubeo, president of Soccer USA, has a hand on Cara’s shoulder, his lips a centimeter from her ear. I watch as his other hand moves to brush a hair back from her face, the same face I had my lips all over just hours before.
I feel nauseated, watching this man put his hands on the woman of my dreams. I guess if she can sneak out of my bed and into his arms an hour later, she’s not the woman I thought she was.
I don’t know why she is going for a high-powered soccer executive, and I don’t have time to care. She’s on her path and I’m on mine. I’m glad she’s not looking toward me. I am glad she doesn’t see my face as I stab the call button for my agent.
I turn on my heel and walk toward the conference room.
Chapter 2
Cara
One Month Later
My roommate, Jay, slides down the hall of our apartment in her socks, singing some wake-up song she says she learned at camp as a kid. I throw a pillow at her from my bed. “I’m going to start sleeping with the door closed if you keep doing that.”
She pokes her head into my room, a toothbrush dangling from her mouth. “You should probably sleep with the door closed anyway, Moreno. What’s wrong with you?”
“Remember how I said my parents were deep into Catholic school dogma?” I shrug, sitting up in bed. “I wasn’t ever allowed to close my bedroom door except when I was changing. I guess it’s hard to break that habit.”
In college I had three roommates from my soccer team. We called ourselves the Midfield Mamis, and we lived in a two-bedroom apartment near campus. I’m not sure if we closed our bedroom doors then because we all went to bed super early or if we passed out exhausted from training and studying. Jay continues brushing feverishly as I try to gather my hair off my face. I swear it got bigger as I slept or else it’s just making itself at home in the Pittsburgh humidity. I’m told I’ll get used to the weather here—balmy one minute, windy the next, but rarely sunny.
Jay rolls her eyes. “We can make our own house rules now, Cara. Ones that make sense!” She slides away, humming as she finishes her dental scrub. She and I are rookies on the Pittsburgh Hot Metal. We met at the tryout camp a month ago and I was excited when she asked if I wanted to find a place with her near the stadium in Pittsburgh.
I kick my door closed and change into workout gear. I can’t stop smiling as I pull on the black socks, shorts, and t-shirt for my team. I want to pinch myself and make sure this is real, that I am actually a professional soccer player.
This has been my goal, my dream, for as long as I can remember. And now that it’s here, I love that I still have goals, things to work toward. I want to start in a game and score for my team. I want to be chosen for the national team and play in the Olympics.
Everything I’ve ever wanted relates to soccer, to physical achievement and competition. I remind myself of this each time I think of that try-out weekend in California. When I secured my spot on this team. That weekend I also met someone I could very well have lost myself to.
It would have been easy to fall into Wesley Stag. I could bask under his intense gaze, writhe in pleasure as he strummed my body for hours. Everything was intensified with Wes, and the way he focused on my pleasure…it shook something inside me.
Growing up under such strict rules meant sex—even solo sex—was forbidden and had to be a stolen moment. It took me years to own my sexuality and that night with Wes was an epic, shattering explosion of pleasure.
I snort and slam my dresser drawer shut because those hours were short-lived. He made that very clear by refusing to answer my calls or respond to any of my texts.
Ghosted.
Ditched like the one-and-done I should have assumed I was to him. I brush my teeth and weave my curls into a long braid, definitely not thinking about the slide of Wes’s fingers running through my hair, massaging my scalp.
“You ready to head out?” Jay jangles her car keys in the hall, pulling me from my heated reminiscing.
“Yep. Wait. I need protein.”
I pull my door open and grin when I see my roommate holding one of the egg muffins we prepped on our day off. We filled cupcake tins with scrambled eggs, turkey sausage, feta cheese, and spinach, so we’d have a quick breakfast that met all our nutrition guidelines from Coach Lucy.
The fact that we both eat them cold while leaving the apartment at the last possible second solidifies our status as best roommates ever. Some women wake up early to perfect their makeup. Jay and I sleep in and bond over food. We operate in practiced efficiency as we approach the car, me holding both our bags and tossing them in the back seat while Jay navigates her keys, muffin, and coffee mug, still humming camp songs.
The September sun is just starting to rise as Jay’s Honda pulls into the lot outside the stadium. The women’s team has the field first today, and I love our cardio session by the river. We run laps and agility ladders as the freight trains roll past. We sprint in intervals as the tugboats blast their horns behind the coal barges chugging up the Monongahela River.
I feel part of the industry here, maybe because my team is named for the liquid iron still manufactured in the valleys nearby. When Coach tells us to start running the steps in the stadium, my legs threaten to liquefy from the exertion. But I remind myself that I am forged of strong will. I fought to get here. I’ll fight to stay here.
The whistle blows, signifying the end of morning workout, and I sink into one of the benches near the grass. One of the trainers tosses me a drink, and I shield my eyes from the sun as I chug it down, watching as the men’s team takes the field.
And of course I see him. My regrettable dalliance, Wesley Stag, plays striker for the men’s team here. I can’t let go of what happened in part because I see him every damn day at work, and the hot dummy doesn’t even look at me.
I suck down the rest of my drink, glaring at him, until Lucy waves us all to join her in the tunnel. “I’m turning you over to Coach Ben, folks. I believe you have film next, then lunch and afternoon drills.” She pats her clipboard and waves as we all pull off our sneakers.
I must carry a sour look on my face the rest of the day, because Jay asks me about it on the way home. “You’re usually in a better mood after chicken teriyaki.” She lowers the volume on the radio, inviting me to spill my guts as we navigate traffic on the Fort Pitt Bridge.
I can’t help the sigh that rumbles out of me as I plunk my head against my window. “I saw Wes again today. He didn’t look at me.”
