Freight Train

  Freight Train

  Copyright © 2017 by Sapphire Knight

  Cover Design by CT Cover Creations

  Editing by Mitzi Carroll

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  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.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Freight Train (Dirty Down South, #1)

  Some people have to wait their entire lives to meet their favorite player. | I raised mine. | -Football moms everywhere

  WARNING

  Football is like life; | it requires perseverance, self-denial, hard work, sacrifice, | dedication and respect for authority.

  Saturday, Game Three

  Four days later...

  There are four seasons in the South: | Winter, Spring, Summer and Football. | University of Alabama | Monday...

  Winners are not people who never fail, | but people who never quit.

  It’s hard to beat a person who never gives up.

  Game five- | One week later and three hours until game time...

  There’s only two things you can do | when someone says you’re not good enough: | you can prove them right, or you can prove them wrong.

  Wins and losses come a dime a dozen. | But effort? Nobody can judge that. | Because Effort is between you and you.

  Two weeks later...

  Tom Brady: | Making football relevant to women since 1996.

  Game day...

  Playing football with your feet is one thing, | but playing football with your heart | is another.

  It’s not about being the best. | It’s about being better than you were yesterday.

  Later that afternoon...

  If you don’t believe in yourself, | why is anyone else going to believe in you?

  Ability is what you’re capable of doing. | Motivation determines what you do. | Attitude determines how well you do it.

  Success isn’t owned, it’s leased. | And rent is due every day.

  Be strong when you are weak, | brave when you are scared, | and humble when you are | victorious.

  When my body gets tired, my mind says, | “This is where winners are made.” | When my mind gets tired, my heart says, | “This is where champions are made.”

  Remember, if you are not playing your heart out, | someone else is. And when you meet him, | he will win.

  I don’t care if everyone doubts me, | as long as I believe in myself.

  It has little to do with the number on my shirt | or the roar of the crowd. But everything to do with the | dream in my heart and the desire to give everything I have.

  Do your job.

  You get to decide the legacy that you leave.

  Valentine’s Day...

  It’s not about who’s in your path. | It’s about who’s in your huddle. | Two years later

  Stay up to date with Sapphire

  THE REAL HEREOS DON’T HAVE THEIR NAME ON

  About the Author

  My husband - I love you more than words can express. Thank you for the support you’ve shown me.

  My boys - You are my whole world. I love you both. This never changes, and you better not be reading these books until you’re thirty and tell yourself your momma did not write them!

  My Beta Babes - Thank you for all the love you’ve shown me. You’ve all helped me grow tremendously in my writing, and I’m forever grateful. I was seriously freaking out over this book and y’all gave me the reassurance and confidence that I needed to keep trucking on. This wouldn’t be possible without your input and suggestions.

  Photographer and friend Wander Aguiar – Thank you for your friendship and sharing your talent with the world. You’re truly a class act.

  Model Conor Cushing – Thank you for being my Tyler Owens in Freight Train!

  Editor Mitzi Carroll – Your hard work makes mine stand out, and I’m so grateful! Thank you for pouring tons of hours into my passion and being so wonderful to me. One day I’ll meet you and one day I’ll squishy hug you!

  Sapphire’s Naughty Princesses – You ladies are brilliant; thank you for everything that you do to help promote my work and for all your support and encouragement. Some days it’s one of you that keeps me writing my next book, excited to bring you a small escape in this world. Thank you for giving me a piece of your heart—I adore you!

  My Blogger Friends –YOU ARE AMAZING! I LOVE YOU! No really, I do!!! You take a new chance on me with each book and in return share my passion with the world. You never truly get enough credit, and I’m forever grateful!

  My Readers – I love you. You make my life possible, thank you.

  Some people have to wait their entire lives to meet their favorite player.

  I raised mine.

  -Football moms everywhere

  My kid.

  Jr, this one’s for you.

  My first born, my momma’s boy. I love you more than you’ll ever know.

  Thank you for making me proud, for making my life wonderful.

  My existence wouldn’t be complete if you weren’t a part of it.

  Oath Keepers MC Series

  Exposed

  Relinquish

  Forsaken Control

  Friction

  Princess

  Daydream

  Baby

  Chevelle

  Cherry

  Oath Keepers MC Collection

  Oath Keepers MC Hybrid Collection

  Russkaya Mafiya Series

  Secrets

  Corrupted

  Unwanted Sacrifices

  Undercover Intentions

  Russian Roulette

  Vendetti Family

  The Vendetti Empire

  The Vendetti Queen

  Vendetti duet

  Dirty Down South

  Freight Train

  3 Times the Heat

  Standalones

  Unexpected Forfeit

  Tease

  Gangster

  WARNING

  This novel includes graphic language and adult situations. It may be offensive to some readers and includes situations that may be hotspots for certain individuals. This book is intended for ages 16 and older due to some steamy spots. This work is fictional. The story is meant to entertain the reader and may not always be completely accurate. Being a New England Patriots’ fan isn’t required to read this, but Sapphire highly recommends you become one as soon as possible. Any reproduction of these works without Author Sapphire Knight’s written consent is pirating and will be punished to the fullest extent of the law.

  Football is like life;

  it requires perseverance, self-denial, hard work, sacrifice,

  dedication and respect for authority.

  - Vince Lombardi

  Another day in the life of a college student equals me doing loads of homework and reading the next preorder that hits my Kindle tonight. The homework bit sucks, but not the reading; I’ve been waiting three months for this new release from one of my favorite authors. I’ll happily be staying up until my eyes feel like needles are scraping against them with each blink while I busily flip page after page of wh
at’s sure to be an amazing read.

  Tomorrow’s Saturday so at least I’ll get to sleep later than I usually do during the week. That has to be one of the hardest parts about going to college—making myself go to bed so I can peel my lids apart the next morning. Being in my second year, I still haven’t learned my lesson, and I don’t see it changing anytime in the near future either.

  I’m a bit of an overachiever when it comes to classes and reading. I’ve always been that way though and still love getting good grades at the end of each semester, so I continue to study my butt off when others are out living it up. Most people come to college for the ‘experience,’ also known as hooking up with lots of men, partying, and overall acting a little crazy.

  Not me. I enjoy my quiet life and being a bookworm. I’m not a saint by any means; I’ve had dick before, but not much. Around the dorms here, it seems like everyone and their best friend loves to brag about who they’re dating or sleeping with. I think it’s a bit trashy, to be honest. I’m not stuck up, really; I just have standards.

  So far the college guys around campus haven’t been up to par to meeting my criteria, unfortunately. Granted, I haven’t actually looked for a guy since I’ve been here. The past few, brief boyfriends were plenty for me.

  Life seems so much smoother when you just go with the flow. My best friend is different on the other hand, always gushing over someone new. I’ll only be here for another year so what’s the point of putting myself out there, you know?

  Not to mention, my father would probably shit a brick if he got wind of me doing the same stuff everyone else does. We didn’t qualify for any financial help besides my partial scholarship, so he forks out my college fund. The only thing he asks in return is for me to do my best. I think that’s pretty reasonable and he doesn’t bug me too much. A call here or there and the rest of the time is just me on my own in Alabama. He’s a few states away if I ever need him, and I love visiting him when I have breaks, but we aren’t that close anymore.

  It’s the weekends that are the hardest, I reckon. Once my schoolwork’s all caught up, and my latest book is read, it can get lonely. I have my bestie, Brianne, with whom I share my dorm, but she stays busy with plans. Don’t get me wrong, I’m always invited, but that’s not my thing.

  I wish I were the more outgoing type, but a few friends have always been plenty to me. It’s the whole quality over quantity logic, and then throw in the fact that I can be a bit of a smartass most of the time; well, only some people seem to get me.

  “Hey lady, you hanging out here tonight?” Brianne nods towards my twin-sized bed. It’s shoved over in the opposite corner of hers and piled with throw pillows. I freaking love throw pillows; you can stack them any which way to get comfy. Those things are important when you’re an avid reader.

  She grabs her purse and slides on her sandals, floating around the room.

  “Yep, a new book to read.” Smiling, I wave my Kindle at her like it’s an actual paperback or something.

  “Well, have fun and tell me about it later, okay? I’m off with Justin!”

  “Who’s Justin?”

  She shrugs, shooting me a goofy smile.

  Laughing, I call, “Be safe,” as she heads out the door.

  Another night to myself. Thank God for my next book boyfriend to keep me company.

  Saturday, Game Three

  I’m down after the snap.

  Fuck.

  This lineman is crushing my chest and feels like a goddamn fridge on top of me. “Get off me, man.” Grumbling, I push against the mammoth, attempting to get the huge guy to roll off without squishing me further.

  Marlyns—number eighty-eight—struts past us to line back up and gets me with a swift kick to the ribs on his way. Praise God for pads or these assholes would hit me with cheap shots every flipping game.

  Jumping to my feet, I head towards the line. “Briggs, switch,” I call out to my teammate.

  “What?”

  “Take RB.”

  “I’m not a running back, dude!” His eyes grow wide, the black paint on his cheeks smeared down part of his cheeks from him wiping away sweat.

  “I’m team cap, right? Switch.”

  “Fine, but you tell Coach this bullshit’s on you.”

  He shakes his head, but listens and takes my position. I hit the line, pointing at Marlyns, ready to get some payback.

  It’s on; I’m getting your ass for that shot.

  The snap’s called, and in no time, I’m on Marlyns. Grabbing him right around the ribs—in my ever-perfect tackle—he hits the ground. Hard.

  Rising, I start to climb off him right away. Enough of those powerful drives from me and he’ll feel it later. His ass will be stuck in an ice bath all day tomorrow trying to erase the battering his body will take in this game. Fair is fair in football. He wants to hurt me. I’ll give it back tenfold.

  “That all you got Owens? You hit like a bitch, yo! Did your mom teach you that shit? Bet her dumb ass can outdo you. You a fuckup like your momma, boy?”

  My mind jumps to my mom’s smiling face in the backyard with me. We’d toss the football every evening so I could practice my catching. Different flashes hit me from my entire childhood. One after another—her grinning at my antics; laughing when I’d act foolishly; cheering me on at every single game and telling me that I was her star. I couldn’t imagine a more caring person than her.

  Shaking the thoughts off, I come back to the here and now, realizing that my hands are wrapped around his chin guard—yanking and pulling until the snaps rip free. I jerk his helmet completely off and toss it to the side, landing blow after blow to his face. Right to the nose, left to the cheek, right to the front teeth, and another right to the mouth.

  I get some good punches in before I’m pulled off him, and he’s on his feet, yelling with blood covering his face.

  “Fuck you, bitch! Watch your back, son; I got you, just wait!” he hollers, spitting a tooth out that has me chuckling.

  “Better thank my momma, Marlyns; she’s the one who taught me how to throw a hook.”

  Shooting him the bird, three angry refs are suddenly in my face shouting to get off their field. Coach Stratton runs over, arguing and screaming back at them about uncalled flags against me all night. Regardless of the cheap shots, the refs have to kick me out. I get it, rules are rules, and this is college football.

  My buddy, JJ wraps his arm over my shoulders and walks me over toward our bench, “I have your back, Ty. You good, bro?”

  Meeting his concerned brown eyes, I nod and sit on the hard metal seat.

  I’m not really all right, though. I’m never okay without my family watching me from the stands. But I have to suck it up out here because I’m Tyler ‘The Freight Train’ motherfuckin’ Owens and I run college football. Welcome to my life.

  Four days later...

  Climbing the stairs to my parents’ weathered house, my brother Nate meets me on the porch.

  There’s nothing quite like being home, no matter how used to the college life I get. The feeling of driving onto the property alone feeds my soul. There’s the sweet scent of the grassy fields lingering in the air, along with old, towering trees and plenty of land surrounding. It all makes my chest warm, my stomach finally settling from knowing that my family’s here.

  I’m a strong man on my own but aligned with my two older brothers, we’re a force to be reckoned with.

  “Back for the weekend?” Nate grumbles, gesturing to my duffle bag.

  I figured he’d be giving me grief as soon as I arrived. I find it hard to believe he didn’t hear about me wigging out at the game and going crazy on eighty-eight from Duke. I was suspended for this weekend’s game, and I’m lucky that’s the extent of it. The school attempted to push for me to have to sit out of four games but Coach fought with the board over it and got the punishment reduced. Still, one game could do some damage come draft time.

  “Nope, I have practice on Sunday. Coach is gearing up; he thinks D
ame One is tough this year.”

  He chuckles shaking his head, “When will that old man learn that no one’s as dedicated as Bama boys to football?”

  “Fuck if I know. He’s making the whole team geek out about it.” Complaining, a shudder shakes me inside, thinking back over the hectic training he’s been inflicting upon us daily; my calves still hurt from running the stairs and my biceps have had to be iced everyday this past week.

  “Chill Ty, we all know you’ll lead them to a win.” He waves me off, used to watching me play throughout the years. He knows how dedicated I am to the team and the sport.

  My room’s littered with trophies not only for winning football games but also for being the most valuable player and for defense as well. I have some from when I was younger from track also before I bulked up. Once I hit my junior year in high school, the track coach cut me. I was faster than everyone, but our football coach wanted me completely dedicated to his sport only, and in Alabama, football takes priority.

  Nodding, I toss my duffle bag at him and chuckle. It hits him in the stomach and falls to the floor as his eyes grow wide, his eyebrows shooting up.

  “Oh, I thought by that, you’d at least carry my bag for me, since I’m getting the win and all,” I cheekily retort, like I’ve done many times before to pester him when we were growing up.

  He shakes his head, lunging at me over the bag and I jump across the few stairs on the old rickety porch, taking off in a full sprint. Football player and grown man or not, my brother will frog me like no other if he gets the chance, and Nate is not a small guy. He’s like me, used to working the ranch and playing some type of sport growing up. He loved them all and floated between different sports each season.

  When it all boils down to it, this is how Nate and I are, the constant teasing and one-upping each other. I’ve always been the pesky younger brother, bothering my two brothers, Nate and Clyde. We’ve stayed pretty close growing up together. We all have our own lives but guard each other with a fierceness no one wants to cross. You don’t get one brother after you, but all three. We’ve always been that way; well, at least since my parents passed away.