The Pride Promise

By Terra Blakemore

For an East Texas football Lion King and lonely Princess Bride,
what will the end zone and The Pride Promise of one true love be: a
championship ring or wedding ring? Honor’s glory or Grace’s gain?
In a contemporary odyssey spanning twenty years, Honor Careson,
proud NFL quarterback, home-crowned Lion King, an

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: Aug 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781640883147

Terra Blakemore

Terra Blakemore is an avid reader and creative writer with a master's degree in English. She wields words for good and for God through her contemporary novels and her professional website (www.godswordprofessor.com) as God's word professor. Currently, she lives with her family in East Texas where her ministry and mission is to change the world one good word at a time, one great book at a time, and one unique person at a time.

Book preview

Dedication

I dedicate this book to God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

All blessings, honor, glory, and power belong to You—

the King of kings, Lord of lords, Prince of Peace, and Gift-Giver.

Acknowledgments

Foremost, I thank God for loving me and pursuing me; Jesus for saving me and redeeming me; and Holy Spirit for guiding me, teaching me, and blessing me every day. God is the only Author and Finisher of my faith, and I’m one of His original creations—one of His living masterpieces—because all I am, God made me, and all I have, God gave me, and without Him, I could do nothing—including writing this book.

Second, I thank my hometown family in Alto, Texas, who are all together great, and I write in memory of my uncle, William Henry Blakemore, and one amazing Alto Yellowjacket football player and organ donor named Cam’ron Matthews, who reached his end zone in heaven as a sixteen-year-old in October 2015.

I send all love, blessings, and gratitude to my relatives, including my uncle and aunt, Lester and Earnestine Blakemore, and my honorary aunt, Debra Ann McGowan, who have cheered me on and prayed for me throughout my journey with this book; and I give a well-deserved shout-out to my immediate family, in particular my mother, Ruthie, who has been my best friend, strongest supporter, and faithful prayer warrior through every season of my life. Nobody, except God, knows me better. So, thank you, Mama, for believing in me, encouraging me, praying for me, and urging me to follow my dreams.

Next, I thank every minister, worship leader, choir singer, teacher, colleague, and friend who has blessed and encouraged me in this—the overcoming season of my life: Pastors Rudy and CJ Bond, Marilyn Pettigrew, Dr. Linda Gary, Dr. Bridget Moore, Doris Howe, Stephanie Taylor, Hazel Mendez, Brittni Tracy, Carla Thiel, Mary Adams, Gloria Brooks, Karen Peterson, Traci Borum, Jeremy Light, Sarah Harrison, Gloria Mumphry, Dr. Michael Mast, Shannon Cross, Jana Haasz, Jamie Bitzenhofer, Reverend Richard Robinson, Steven Jennings, Dalia Mimms, Ed MacPherson, Dr. Dave Hubbard, Dr. Jim Richey, Debbie Broughton, Loretta Guzman, Betty Avalos, Marie Santiago-Hodges, Donna Mitchell, Felicitas Ruiz, Linda Skinner, Sue Whatley, Sharon Forsythe, Renee Jacquez, Alva Renee, Robin Pendley, Cindy Nick, Roy Benton, Pastor Chad Stafford, Karemn Granberry, Paula Cofer, Onella Brown, Tewania Cook, Wendy Rodriguez, Matthew and Alexis Hicks, Rebecca Coats, Emily Scheel, Alicia Bonner, Jimmy Coats, Johnny Coats, Blake Garibaldi, KaTrena Larkin, James and Vicki Houser, Becky Alt, Lynn Sitton, Forrestine Jones, Jaime Cornelius, Donna Shay, Thomas and Maria Coats, Trina Jones, Wilma Jamerson, Queena Mwanda, N’ericka Carter, and Nadine Antunez.

Finally, I thank my readers—past, present, and future—and the TBN Family, especially at Trilogy Christian Publishing, for partnering with me to serve God and serve others. Thank you for welcoming me into your home and making my dreams of sharing God’s love and ministering through written words possible. May God bless you all, and may you be loved, uplifted, and blessed.

HONOR /änər/

Noun

1. A good name or public esteem: reputation.

2. A privilege.

Verb

3. Regard or treat (someone) with admiration and respect.

4. Fulfill (an obligation) or keep (an agreement).

GRACE /grās/

Noun

1. A charming or attractive trait or characteristic; a pleasing appearance or effect; ease and suppleness of movement; a short prayer at a meal asking a blessing or giving thanks.

2. Unmerited divine assistance given to humans for their regeneration or sanctification; a virtue coming from God; a state of sanctification enjoyed through divine assistance.

Verb

3. To confer dignity or honor.

4. To adorn, embellish.

The Texas Bowl

I returned and saw under the sun that—

The race is not to the swift, Nor the battle to the strong,

Nor bread to the wise, Nor riches to the men of understanding,

Nor favor to men of skill; But time and chance happen to them all.

Ecclesiastes 9:11 (NKJV)

State Championship, Class 5A, Division 1

Heaventon Hope Pride vs. Brookston Raiders

The Astrodome, Houston, Texas

Saturday, December 13

1997—Genesis—The Beginning

Sitting on a bench on the home side, in a stadium packed with screaming fans, Honor Careson glanced at the scoreboard, hoping he needed glasses.

Raiders, 21, Pride, 0. Second Quarter. Eight seconds left.

He grunted and threw his paper cup on the ground.

The Lion King of high school football had been trapped and caged, his fearless Pride wounded and tamed, and now they were all losing heart, waving the white flag and bleeding through their team colors, ivory white and royal blue.

Heaventon Hope Pride had come into the game undefeated, favored to win. But they were losing—giving the game away—yards from the end zone, victory, perfection. Two quarters were gone, wasted, and this was the last game, his last year as team captain, the number-one ranked high school quarterback in Texas. Anything less than a win was heartache, failure.

In the locker room, Coach Keyes yanked his blue cap off and scratched his brown head, his eyes on the players.

"Pride football got us here. Undefeated. Seems like y’all forgot The Pride Ball Seven: purpose, passion, power, protection, precision, partnership, perseverance.

We call you guys The Pride ‘cause you’re a family, and in The Pride Land, everybody works together. Nobody puts himself above the team, the family. He sighed. "Tonight, you’re not in The Pride Land; you’re in the desert, and you’re playing Raider ball.

"The Pride’s a group that hunts, guards, and protects, always working together; a raider is an individual who invades, attacks, and steals, usually working alone. A team is a family and teams win football championships. Loners don’t. That’s why we’ve got to come together, a complete team—offense, defense, and special teams.

On offense, we’ve got to protect the ball, avoid turnovers, make good plays, and get points on the board. On defense, we’ve got to stop the other team, force turnovers, get the ball back, and hold on to it. He slapped his leg. We’ve got to support each other, fight like family, and show some real pride. He put his cap on, tugging the brim. So, get the ball, hold it, commit all you’ve got, and make every play count.

Honor stood. May I speak, sir?

Five minutes.

That was all he needed. Honor faced The Pride, fire in his blood, streaming courage through his arteries and veins. This was his time, their time, for history, glory, fame. We walked on that field undefeated; we’re walking off the same.

He glanced at the offense, the twelve seniors: right and left guards, Fort Corazón and Warner Keyes; center, Bryan Winters; wide receivers, Jerimi Quan and Dance Proudfoot; left and right tackles, Warrior Wynne and Kyle Heaventon, a descendant of Shiloh Heaventon, a rich, black landowner and co-founder of the city of Heaventon Hope on June 19, 1868; tight end, Baylen Hope, a descendant of the second founder of Heaventon Hope, Thomas Hamilton Hope, a wealthy, white businessman, entrepreneur, and friend of Shiloh Heaventon; fullback, running backs, Worth Lovell and Steele Wynne, and halfback, running backs, Jule Scott and Sterling VanDevelde.

These were his teammates, his brothers, his knights in white and blue. They had never let him down. Not once.

Honor raised two fingers. We’ve got two quarters left, and the second half is our time—redemption time. We’re gonna stop the Raiders, completely shut ‘em out. He lowered one finger. All we need is this: One more game. One more win. For Coach Keyes. For Heaventon Hope—The Pride Land. So, don’t give up; don’t give in; don’t quit. Stand up and fight for the victory; fight for the win!

The Pride stood at command, their eyes on Honor.

Get fired up, guys! Go all in! Let’s go out there and rein those Raiders in!

The Pride stomped, clapped, and chanted. Home Pride! Home Pride! Go, Fight, Win! Home Pride! Home Pride! Yes, we can!

Home Pride, Men! Home Pride, Men! Can we promise Coach a win?

Yes, we can! Yes, we can! Yes, we can!

The Pride roared.

Honor pumped his fist, turned to Coach Keyes. "We’re gonna win. That’s a promise—a Pride Promise."

Never make any promises you can’t keep.

Honor had faith to believe the impossible—a complete turnaround, a stunning upset. But maybe Coach’s head wasn’t in the game. Maybe he was battling his other foe—sickness. You’ve been fighting cancer, trying to hide it all season. But we know you’re sick, and that’s why you’re retiring next season. So, this is it for all of us—the final game, the end zone.

His eyes burned, like he’d rubbed hot sauce in them. "You’ve been a father to us, ever since we were freshmen—newbies—Fish."

Coach Keyes called all the incoming freshmen Fish because they were fresh out of middle school and usually didn’t fit in, especially with the upper classmen. Like fish out of water, they usually didn’t fit in or survive in their new environment.

But even as a freshman fish, Honor had wanted to stand out and prove himself to Coach Keyes, showing the varsity head football coach that Honor Andrew Careson was different—no floundering fish but a courageous lion—stronger and smarter—a champion—winner—survivor.

We’re not helpless or lost anymore, Honor said. "We’re not loners or Fish. We’re strong and proud, a family of lions—The Pride—and we love you, Coach, and we’re giving you a championship win, a perfect season."

Coach Keyes clamped strong hands on his shoulders. I’ll be happy with a perfect effort.

That didn’t guarantee a victory, not like perseverance or perfection.

We’re not quitters. We’re winners. You’re always drilling us on Home Pride Lesson 1: We’ve got to go all in and commit our whole hearts if we love something or someone, and Home Pride Lesson 2: Sometimes, our setback is God’s setup for success and victory.

Coach Keyes nodded. Those were lessons my daddy taught me.

At least his daddy had cared enough to spend time with him, talk to him, and teach him. All Honor’s dad was good for was preaching and serving God. He hadn’t even shown up for the biggest game of Honor’s life. Luckily, Honor had backup: Coach Keyes, Sergeant Corazón. They always made time for him, because they believed in him and in his dreams.

And Honor wasn’t about to give up on Coach Keyes or his big dream—his football legacy—a winning season.

We’ve got this, Coach. We’re all in. We’re gonna win. Tonight, against the Raiders, every other day against cancer, ‘cause losing is not an option. Not for us, not for you.

That’s Home Pride, son. He hugged Honor and stepped back, clapping his hands. Now, c’mon. Let’s huddle.

The Pride formed a circle, every guy’s arms around his teammate, his brother.

Coach Keyes smiled, like a new hundred-watt bulb had been plugged into him.

"Some people read history; some people write history; and some people make history, so go out there tonight and do what great teams do—make history, finish strong—‘cause it’s not where you start in life but how you finish.

Go out there fired-up, proud, and courageous as one team, one family, one pack, and be drivers on the field, not passengers, and show the Brookston Raiders what Heaventon Hope is about—Family, Faith, Football, Heart, Soul, and what? He tugged his right ear.

Home Pride!

The Pride charged back on the field, ready to pounce on the Raiders.

After the kickoff, they took control, driving the ball into the end zone.

The Home Pride fans went wild, screaming and cheering, waving blue and white rally Paws and clanging cowbells.

Swept up in the tide of victory, The Pride forced turnovers, made interceptions, protected the ball, and scored touchdowns, completely shutting the Raiders down in a spectacular 56-21 comeback.

They had won. They were State Champions. Undefeated.

Raiders’ fans dropped their black and white flags and sobbed, stumbling out in droves.

Home Pride fans hugged and danced, hopping, singing, and cheering, tossing confetti like they were celebrating New Year’s Day.

Honor, Fort, and Warner high-fived each other and hugged Coach Keyes.

While the team roamed the field, Days Peyton, a twenty-something dark-haired, green-eyed sports writer from the Heaventon Hope Herald, stopped Honor, Fort, and Warner, and pushed his gray recorder in their faces.

"So, you’re all seniors; you’re undefeated; you won State. The newspapers have labeled this team The Perfect Pride, and sports writers have crowned Honor the Lion King in The Pride Land of East Texas. With all the hype—the buildup—what’s next? He glanced at Honor, shifting his recorder. You first."

I’m headed to Gainesville, the University of Florida. I’ll be majoring in business, playing ball for the Gators. I’m pushing for the Heisman trophy. But my real dream is the NFL, playing as starting quarterback, making the Super Bowl, and winning a championship ring before I turn forty.

You dream big, don’t you?

Big dreams are the best kind.

Days laughed. I was a big dreamer too. I wanted to be a sports novelist, a best-selling author.

What happened?

Life interrupted.

How old are you?

Twenty-three.

You’ve got time then. Anything can happen, even your dreams.

We’ll see. He turned to Fort. What are your plans?

Heaventon Hope University, a major in criminal justice.

You don’t want to travel, see the world outside of Heaventon Hope?

I can travel anytime, anywhere. Heaventon Hope is home.

Which direction you headed? he asked Warner.

The University of Colorado. I’m playing for the Buffaloes.

"What’s your big dream?"

Warner’s dark-brown face split into a grin. Coaching—college football.

Days stepped back, holding up one finger. One last question. He cleared his throat. You graduate next year in May. In twenty years, when you’re about thirty-seven or thirty-eight, you’ll likely be back home for your class reunion: Where do you see yourselves—personally, professionally? He looked at Warner. We’ll start with you.

Hopefully, I’ll be back in Texas, hanging out with my dad, Elliot Keyes. I’ll be married, have some kids, and I’ll make a real impact in my players’ lives.

Days turned to Fort. And you?

I’ll be a police officer, working with my dad, Sergeant Emilio Corazón, and I’ll keep our family name and legacy alive, with a great wife and three great sons.

Days frowned. No girls? No daughters?

Fort lifted his shoulder. We Corazóns have plenty of girls, more than enough. We need some boys—sons. Every generation there’s only one son. If anything happens to him, our family name is wiped out.

Gotcha! Days focused on Honor. "In twenty years, how do you see your life?"

Successful, favored. I’ll have it all: fame, fortune, and freedom. I’ll be retired from the NFL, living in a big city, making deals and making money.

Is there a wife in the picture? Kids?

Honor shuddered. "Wives and kids aren’t in my plans. I’m a free agent—not any girl’s boyfriend, any woman’s husband, or any kid’s father. For me, a good life is playing football, getting into the NFL, and starting my own business."

Ever consider working with your dad?

Honor laughed. I’m no preacher, just a preacher’s kid.

Days turned off the recorder, smiled, and shook their hands. Thanks, guys. Great game. I wish you the best. If I’m around in twenty years, I’ll come back and wrap up the story.

Honor waved. Till next time.

Same here. Days slipped the recorder into his pocket, then strolled past the Home Pride Band marching back on the field.

Warner ran off, looking for his dad, but Honor and Fort stood on the sideline watching as the band played the Boyz II Men’s song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday. The band saluted The Pride, then left the field, passing in front of the coaches and players still present.

Honor savored every moment, every sight and sound, all the pomp and circumstance. He was watching the band members pass by when cheerleader Collins Vayney bounced in front of him, in her blue, black, and white uniform, and draped her brown arms over his shoulders.

Naturally, Honor didn’t mind her undivided attention. Collins had been circling him since freshman year when he’d first made the football team, replacing senior quarterback Jett Dawson. Since then, she and Honor had been playing this game of hide and seek, cat and mouse. She wanted a boyfriend, a steady guy on hand; he just wanted a good time, no long-term girlfriend.

Standing beside Honor, Fort elbowed him then mumbled, Beware of Captain Hook!

Collins ignored Fort and smiled at Honor. Congratulations!

Maybe Fort would take the night off from guard duty and behave for once. Thanks.

Collins flounced her brown hair and snuggled against him. Mom’s in Dallas again, working late. So, I’m home alone and—

Let me guess, Fort said. You’re throwing a party.

Honor groaned. Fort couldn’t help himself. Not really. He’d been protecting Honor since they were ten years old.

One day in June when Honor had gotten fed up with his dad, Pastor Joel Caleb Careson, breaking promises, he had run away from home. On his bicycle on a quest to catch fish in the largest lake in the city, Honor had nearly drowned when he finally caught a fish but lost his balance and fell in the deep end of Harvey Lake. On a boat with his dad, Sergeant Emilio Corazón, Fort had seen Honor splashing in the lake, and his dad had dived into the water and rescued Honor, pulling him to safety.

Since then, the five-foot-eleven black-haired, brown-eyed, olive-tan sergeant had been Honor’s hero and his son Honor’s overprotective guardian.

Collins rolled her eyes at Fort. I’m having a victory celebration. Tomorrow night. She looked at Honor. I want you to come.

Fort cleared his throat. Careson’s busy. He can’t come.

Collins frowned. You have plans already?

Honor nodded. Every Sunday is Careson Family Day. Sorry.

Come in May then, for my graduation party.

I dunno—

I’ve got a surprise for you; it’s free.

Maybe I’ll stop by, check it out.

You’re the best! She hugged him, then kissed him, deeply, thoroughly, and Honor kissed her back, relaxing in her arms.

Fort coughed and wouldn’t stop, and Honor wanted to hit him, tell him to get lost.

Collins pulled back, tension running in lines across her face. What’s your problem?

Had something nasty in my throat. Fort faked a cough. Tick-tock, tick-tock, crocodiles and clocks, predators and pirates on the docks.

Collins glared at him. That’s not funny. Leave us alone!

Sorry, but I can’t leave Peter Pan. He might get lost or, worse, hooked.

Get a life! Collins faced Honor. "I’ll see you later, without him—the annoying sidekick." She strutted off the field, her chin up, her head high.

Fort slapped Honor’s shoulder. Hard. Are you crazy, stupid?

Honor rubbed his shoulder. Why’d you hit me?

Collins! She’s nothing but trouble.

She’s not that bad.

Fort snorted. She’s the predator; you’re the prey.

She wants attention. She’s got money and friends but no stay-at-home parents. Her dad left her and her mom, and her mom’s a lawyer, always working, hardly around.

Fort raked layers of black hair from his olive tan forehead. Don’t let Collins suck you in, Careson; she’s not a victim. She’s rich and spoiled, used to getting anything she wants. Which is you. In her hook, in her bed. The only free favors she’s offering are beer and sex. So, you’d better be careful. Better yet, don’t go to her party in May.

I told her I’d drop by.

It’s a trap, a setup.

I can take care of my—

Trust me, Careson.

All right, Fort! I won’t go.

Pride Promise?

Pride Promise.

Honor faced the Home Pride band. Every member marching toward him was smiling, except one—the last one. A flute player. A classic beauty. A solo in a symphony. Beyond pretty, the girl was gorgeous. Dark brown curls hugged her shoulders, massive and wild, and striking blue-gray eyes complimented her royal blue and white uniform.

Who was she? Honor felt the earth move, his whole world shake, and he elbowed Fort. You know that girl?

Never seen her.

Everyone’s jazzed, having a party. But she looks unhappy, sad.

Why do you care?

I’m just curious.

Sure you are.

He turned. You got a problem?

His face was red, his forehead puckered. You’re worse than Don Juan. Seriously. All you do is play the field. You’ve got girls galore chasing you, trying to bait-and-hook you. Collins, for one. You don’t need more followers, more cheerleaders pinning their hopes on you, trying to get a commitment.

Honor looked away, tracking the band, the flute player. I like the game, the feeling of winning—the prize, the trophy, the girl. That’s all. I kiss. I hug. I flirt. I never hurt anybody. I never cross the line. I don’t want to get trapped by some girl and end up married, stuck at home with a wife and kids.

"Life isn’t a game; it’s a gift, Careson. Don’t you want to be in love, have some kids, a family legacy—sons?"

That’s your dream. I want to play football, have freedom.

Fort sighed. You think going to Florida will get you into the NFL?

Florida’s got three NFL teams: The Miami Dolphins, Jacksonville Jaguars, and Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

We’ve got the Dallas Cowboys.

I’m leaving Texas.

Why are you running away?

Wasn’t that obvious? Honor glanced at Fort. Dad, God, church.

Your dad’s a good guy—a great preacher—

Don’t defend him! It was my last game, the State Championship, and he missed it. On purpose. He put church first and me, his first son, last, as usual.

Your dad loves you. He’d give up anything for you.

Not God or his church.

Aren’t you being selfish?

Maybe I’m tired of getting sidelined—competing with God for my dad’s attention, time, approval, and heart, and always falling short, losing ground, and ending up on the bench, alone and all forgotten.

Careson—

Here she comes. He stepped in front of the girl and smiled. Nice flute.

She stopped, frozen in place.

Honor waited, anticipating her voice.

But she huffed and marched around him, like her white shoes were on fire.

Well, that was different. Honor chased her down, grabbed her arm, and swirled her around. Wait!

She stared at him, frowning.

Honor picked her up. Cheer up! We won! We’re champions! Home Pride! He robbed a kiss from her cheek and waited for a smile, but her light-brown face just got darker, redder.

The band’s leaving. I’ve got a bus to catch.

"So, you do have a voice. You can talk."

I can kick and bite too. You wanna see?

No, thanks, Beauty.

Put me down, Beast.

He laughed. Sure. He lowered her to the ground, his arms snugly around her.

She squirmed. Your hands.

Too tight?

They’re on me.

That a problem?

Let me go.

Only if you smile.

I don’t have time. But I’ll scream and make a scene.

You look too classy, like a silent film. No screaming, horror show.

I’m a closed book—off limits—so let me go.

The girl was different, hard to read. Usually, it didn’t take any effort to get a girl to like him, to fall in line like the others. You’re a puzzle, a mystery then?

She raised her chin. I’m the play you’ve seen and the character you can’t fathom. The clue you find and the case you can’t solve. I’m the Lady Mysterious, God’s unmerited favor.

Honor was curious, hooked. Who are you?

You tell me, Detective.

I like games—challenges—but even I need help sometimes.

The girl sighed. "Am I Juliet from Romeo and Juliet, Kate from The Taming of the Shrew, or Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing?"

Any of those your real name?

She rolled her eyes. Of course, not.

Honor smiled. You’re clever.

And you’re stalling—wasting my time.

He wasn’t dumb. Was that what she thought? My GPA’s 3.98.

Mine’s 4.0.

So, she was smart, hard-working. You got me.

But you don’t get me.

I’m not done yet.

Here’s another clue, more about me, less about you.

Bring it on.

Are you any lady’s Romeo, Petruchio, or Benedick?

Sounded like a pop quiz. But he was up for it. He loved to read. Sports. Classics. History. Adventure. Even Shakespeare. I’m no lady’s husband, no lady’s keeper, and no woman’s man.

Then we have nothing in common. I’m a lady—no playboy’s girlfriend, no quarterback’s tramp.

Oh no! She was one of those—Do-not-touch, I’m-saving-myself—girls. A keeper, not a loser.

Honor lowered his hands, released her. You win, my lady.

I’m not your anything. Got that? She backed away and held her flute like a woodwind sword.

The girl was serious, a real challenge. But he hated losing more than anything. So, maybe he shouldn’t give up so easily, not yet. You a senior?

Do I look 65?

How old are you?

Fifteen on January the fifth.

From Honor’s side, Fort laughed. She’s a kid, Careson—a newbie, a freshman fish!

She glared at Fort. I’m a person, nobody’s fish.

Maybe you’re a mermaid, like Ariel.

Maybe you’re a dwarf, like Dopey.

I’m taller than you.

Big deal! She pointed at Honor. Compared to the six-foot-two giant, you’re a smurf—tiny and blue.

Fort sputtered, clenched his hands. At least I’m not fourteen. I’ve got a license; I can drive.

The girl stood tall, nearly six feet, and she was calm, collected. "I’m surprised you can do anything with such a big head and small brain."

Fort’s jaw dropped.

No girl had ever matched him word for word. No girl had ever left him speechless. Honor was impressed. What’s your name?

Her eyes met his. I’ll tell you if you leave me alone, let me catch my bus.

He’d say anything for a name. Deal!

Grace.

What’s your last name?

Goodbye! She ran away.

Honor slapped his leg. We’re not done yet!

Fort clapped his hand on Honor’s shoulder. "For the first time ever, I just got dissed and you just got sacked by a Home Pride girl.

She was intense, like water and ice to your fire and flame. She’s no fan of yours either, and you dropped the ball. You let her go, without getting her full name. That’s unbelievable!

Honor crossed his arms. No girl had ever run from him, ditched him, hated him, or gotten the best of him. At any time. "I’ll find her again, win her over to my side, too. That’s a Pride Promise."

Chapter 1

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.

Isaiah 43:18 (NIV)

Jacksonville, Florida

Friday, February 25

2005— Seven years later

It’s all over. Gone. Honor Careson sat on a bench in the Jaguars’ locker room, slumped against Don Sharp, his agent, a trash bag and box of memories at his feet. They tossed me. For no good reason. He rubbed his hand over his coarse hair and met Don’s green stare. I’ve been here two years, thought we were family. Why’d they trade me?

Money, QB. They want a profit, not a family. You’re in the NFL, and guys come and go all the time. It’s nothing personal, just good business. Don pat his leg, his red hair as bright as his mood. "Cheer up! This trade is a good deal—your ticket to the starting lineup, fame and fortune, the Super Bowl, that championship ring. Houston wants you."

Honor sighed. I’ll be twenty-five on April 22. I’m nowhere near my lifetime goals, my dreams of a Super Bowl victory and a championship ring before age forty. All I’ve been doing here is playing backup. In Houston, I’ll likely be warming the bench, playing backup to the backup.

Where’s your hope, your faith?

On the sideline.

Don frowned, then clapped his hands. Enough with the pity party! Show some gratitude! You’ll be back in Texas, near your family.

Texas. His family. A weight pressed on Honor’s chest. I haven’t been back in six years.

You’re always secretive—about your past, your family. What happened?

"I got drunk at a cheerleader’s weekend house party when I was eighteen and slept with the girl. She was my first. After I got home Monday morning, Dad was waiting for me with a Bible in his hand, a sermon on his lips, and an ultimatum for me. He wanted me to respect him and God or get out, find somewhere else to live.

"We got into a fight—the worst one we’d ever had—and I raged against Dad, without mercy, shame.

"I called him a terrible dad, said he was an anchor, holding me down, and I was a ship, ready to sail. Said I was done trying to please him and God, trying to win their love, acceptance, and approval. Then, I ran upstairs, grabbed my suitcase and letterman jacket and stormed out, on my way to Gainesville, Florida.

Along the way, I hurt some good people, broke all my promises. I even let down my best friend whose dad had been killed that Sunday. I was selfish, rebellious, and unstoppable. Football was my life—my identity—my ticket to freedom, and a winner was who I was—all I ever wanted to be. But nobody, including my dad, ever understood that or me. So, I cut ties with everybody, ventured out on my own, and stayed away from home. Now, I’m stuck; I can’t go back.

"You can always go