“Come sit and have something to eat with us,” Dad told me. “We’ll tell you everything we told the boys yesterday. Everything the doctors have ruled out, and the tests they still want to run. When we’re done, you can head on upstairs and pack. I already put in to take today off because of the party yesterday, so…if you need help moving anything, we can give you a hand.”

  Tears pooled in my eyes, and a small ball of fear formed in the pit of my stomach, as I nodded and let my parents draw me into the kitchen, moving their plates from the island counter to the proper table. My mother grabbed an extra plate from the cabinet, and retrieved the rest of the pancakes from the oven where they’d been left to keep warm.

  Epilogue

  Echo

  The sun was hotter than any of us could have predicted, and the track felt almost tacky under my running shoes. I shook out my arms and hopped from foot to foot to ease some of the nerves.

  Why did they have to take so long to set up? And there were so many people watching. Not just in the stadium, but how many countries around the world were broadcasting? How many millions—billions—of pairs of eyes were waiting to see who would win?

  I glanced to the side and immediately found Cole watching, and it calmed me. I set my feet against the starting blocks and bent over. The track felt even hotter under my fingertips. And then the gun sounded and I was off, the chaos of the crowd quieting as the air whipped past my ears.

  Cole had been working with me in practice on calling up the frustration that I hadn’t felt in a while and using it to drive me forward. After this race, I would be able to put it to bed once and for all. I just needed it this one last time. The quiet fury when I set that first acceptance letter aside, the guttural exasperation each time I tried to tell Bryce or Dax something and they ignored me, only to take the same advice when Tami or Asha suggested it. The roiling combination of fear and wrath each time my parents had returned from a doctor’s appointment and told me nothing.

  It carried me forward and around the first bend in the track. I saw a flash of bright green from the corner of my eye as I passed another runner. It was all I would allow herself to notice, because of the surge it sent through my legs. I refused to count the women still in front of me as I approached the next bend.

  My top stuck to my chest, a combination of sweat and the breeze generated by my forward momentum. I had a meeting in two weeks with one of the main sportswear manufacturers that did business with Legacy Sports. I’d taken Cole’s advice and reached out to them, at first just letting them know I was going to be leaving my position with the company to attend design school, and when they expressed an interest in what branch of design I was looking to work in, I casually mentioned clothing and having been inspired by the training I had done and where I thought I might improve on traditional cuts, styles, and fabrics.

  It was just a meeting to brainstorm some ideas, but they wanted me to bring my sketches, which Cole and Jen both agreed was a step in the right direction. I rounded the next bend as though that meeting lay at the finish line, and I noticed another colorful flash from the corner of my eye as I passed another runner.

  I had received my class schedule the week before and had another month to buy my books and materials. Jen and I had already found a great place not far from the campus, and had put down a deposit. Even my parents liked the apartment, and they seemed to be getting used to not having me around as much. They had gone against the doctors’ wishes to be here with me, but agreed only to go to my races and not over-expose my father while his immune system was compromised by his treatments. It was something autoimmune-related, they’d narrowed it down that much, but there was no way in hell they were missing me run.

  My grandparents were there, my brothers had made it—Dax and Fox were both missing practices to be there. I imagined I heard them cheering me on as I rounded the last bend.

  It had been my idea to invite Cole’s brother to come, insisting I would pay for him to be there. After all, my trust fund kicked in on my twenty-third birthday. Cole had resisted, mostly the idea of me paying for Alex’s flight, hotel room, and ticket to the events. But his brother was so excited, he’d lamented.

  And then I saw the finish line. It wasn’t more than fifty meters ahead of me, and I let myself count the other women ahead of me. There were only two who might cross ahead of me. I reached deep down and ignored the fatigue that was creeping into my hamstrings and calves, compelling my body to go that little bit faster, to pick up the pace and finish strong. I blocked the other women out once more and focused on the line until it had flown beneath my feet and I could slow down and catch my breath. I did a slow cool-down to calm the pounding of my pulse, and the cacophony of the crowd started to slowly break through my veil of concentration.

  I turned to the board to see the results. E. Coulter wasn’t at the top of the list, but it was second. The knowledge that I’d just won the silver medal finally soaked in, and I broke out into an ecstatic laugh, jumping with joy and running again, this time to the sidelines to find Cole and the rest of my family.

  Despite the confidence everyone had displayed—especially my grandfather, who had ended up in the hospital himself, suffering from an acute anxiety attack not long after the party, I had harbored more than a few doubts that I would actually stand on the podium. This was one instance where I was glad Gramps had been right.

  Cole

  * * *

  They had the podium ready, and there were too many time constraints to allow the medalists to find their coaches and family members in the stands before the ceremony, so I didn’t get to congratulate Echo until after the winner’s anthem had been played and the official photos taken for the global press. My brother had come over to congratulate me on her win, followed very soon by Echo’s family, leaving me with mountains of introductions and small talk to fill the time until Echo was released with her silver medal around her neck and the Stars and Stripes around her shoulders.

  “You were amazing, sweetheart,” her father said as he wrapped her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” she said, hugging him back.

  “I’m impressed,” Rory said, reaching out and lifting the medal from where it hung in the middle of her chest to examine the etching on the front. “You did better than I did when it was my time here,” he acknowledged. “Though, I can’t complain about what I came away with, better’n silver and gold combined, in my opinion,” he added, slipping an arm around his wife’s waist and pulling her in for a kiss. Cameras flashed around them, as they did everywhere the infamous lovers went during the Games.

  Echo’s brothers encircled her to add their congratulations, so I stepped back a bit and let them share the moment together. My brother had already headed back to the hotel for the day. He’d have to fly back the next morning, while the rest of us would remain through the closing ceremonies. I didn’t want to lose out on time with him, but I couldn’t leave without congratulating Echo either. I would have liked a quiet dinner with just the three of us, but now that Echo had medaled, the Coulters would be sure to have a celebratory dinner somewhere outside the athletes’ village.

  Echo would make sure my brother was invited, but whether he would come to such an intimidating gathering…

  “I wanted to apologize, Mr. Jackson.” Rory Coulter’s quiet voice interrupted my musings. I hadn’t noticed the older man slip away from the larger gathering. “I shouldn’t have given you such a difficult time about your training methods. Clearly, they’ve worked for Echo.” He held out his hand for me to shake.

  I hesitated, knowing that it wasn’t enough to truly make up for the humiliation of that party, or that Rory was apologizing for the wrong things, but it was what was being offered. It might be all the apology I would ever be offered, and maybe not. I looked over at Echo and caught her eye briefly, before accepting the older man’s hand and shaking it back.

  It meant more to her than it did to me. I could live with Rory Coulter being a spoiled, rich guy who liked to interfere from time to time—I could be the bigger man. I didn’t want to think about what being an asshole back to him might do to my relationship with Echo, though.

  “Thank you, sir. Coming from you that means…something,” I said and was rewarded with an approving smile from Echo and a satisfied grin from Rory. He clearly wasn’t used to humbling himself, and was pleased with how he’d done. I rolled my eyes as soon as the old man turned away.

  It wasn’t long before there were calls from the press photographers and from her family for Echo to get her picture taken with her coach.

  Echo smiled cautiously as we were pretty much shoved together. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, while she took hold of the medal to be sure it was prominently on display. The camera flashes were blinding.

  “Hey,” I whispered. “Congratulations. I knew you could do it.”

  “Thanks,” Echo whispered back. “I don’t think I’d be standing here now, if it weren’t for you.”

  “Of course not,” I chuckled. “If it weren’t for me helping to keep you sane you’d have killed someone by now, and even if you made bail, they wouldn’t have let you leave the country.”

  Echo laughed and shook her head.

  The cameras quieted as the photographers moved over to snap shots of the bronze medalist and her family and friends, allowing Echo and me a smidge more privacy. From what I could hear, her family was busily debating where they would go for their celebratory dinner, with Bryce purposely confusing things and throwing me a wink.

  “I wish I could kiss you right now,” Echo confessed quietly, her eyes darting past my shoulder. The television crews would be pouncing soon for one-on-one interviews.

  I leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Oh, I have plans to do more than just kiss you later.”

  “Really. And, uh…what did you have in mind?”

  “It involves you wearing your medal and nothing else,” I told her, enjoying the way her breath caught. “I want to watch it bounce between your breasts while you ride me. Wouldn’t be the same if I was on top,” I pointed out. “Though we can always try both ways and see which we prefer. Scientific experimentation, and all that.”

  “Hmm…I think that can be arranged,” she whispered back. “And…maybe you can try wearing it, too.”

  I took a step back to narrow my eyes in confusion while she smirked, her eyes dropping down to my crotch. I shook my head in baffled amusement and rolled my eyes back at her.

  “Ms. Coulter, Ms. Coulter,” a reporter came running over with a microphone and shoved it in Echo’s face. “What are your plans for the future? We saw you compete in the Boston Marathon earlier this year, and there were rumors you might try qualifying for that event here. Will we be seeing you training for that event for the next Olympic games? Or will you be looking for gold in the 800-meters?”

  “I’m not ready to look that far into the future,” Echo responded with a teasing laugh. “I can say that I have some plans along the lines of personal business ventures, and that I’ll be going back to school in conjunction with those plans.”

  “Got anything more specific?” the reporter asked with amused frustration.

  “I know that’s incredibly vague,” Echo conceded. “But things aren’t completely in place yet, and I won’t be making any formal announcements until they are, so I guess you’ll just have to wait and see. But I can assure you there will be announcements coming up…just as soon as I can wrap my head around everything that’s happened today. So I guess…there’s still a lot I want to accomplish, and for now, I’m pretty happy with silver.”

  “And what about your romantic life?” the reporter pressed, still not completely satisfied with her evasive response to his first questions. “Do you have anyone special back home? Did you bring someone with you? Or are you on the lookout here at the Games? We all know how that turned out for your grandparents all those years ago.”

  “Everyone I care about sharing this moment with is here with me today,” she assured the reporter. “And that’s as much about my love life as you’re getting from me. I wouldn’t dream of competing with Gram and Gramps on that front.”

  So far, there had been no tabloid reports linking the two of us together romantically—how the papers had missed that fact, but picked up the idea of Echo contemplating the marathon, I couldn’t be sure—but we still had no plans for going public with our relationship. For once, we had something that was just for us.

  * * *

  The Coulter Legacy is to be continued in Fox!

  Thank you for reading Echo! I hope you enjoyed my latest Player.

  Want to find out what happens with Echo, Cole, and the rest of the Coulters? Meet Fox and Sasha. Sasha is the Fox’s best friend. When she suddenly finds herself without a roommate, Fox volunteers to move in and help with the rent. Only problem is they won’t be able to hide the simmering attraction. And everyone knows it’s a bad idea to hook up with your best friend right?

  Order Fox to find out what happens next!

  If you liked the steamy sport romance of Bryce, you’ll love Kisima and Derek! When up and coming race car driver Kisima Jennings and star athletic trainer Derek Donovan have to work with each other in order to get their lives back on track, sparks fly. A woman all alone in the world….A man too afraid to care for someone…

  Order Race For Love to see how it all plays out!!

  Can’t get enough royals? Meet a cocky, billionaire prince that goes undercover in Cheeky Royal!

  * * *

  He’s a prince with a secret to protect. The last distraction he can afford is his gorgeous as sin new neighbor.

  * * *

  His secrets could get them killed, but still, he can’t stay away…

  Read Cheeky Royal Now!

  Turn the page for an excerpt from Cheeky Royal…

  Also from Nana Malone

  Cheeky Royal

  “You make a really good model. I’m sure dozens of artists have volunteered to paint you before.”

  He shook his head. “Not that I can recall. Why? Are you offering?”

  * * *

  I grinned. “I usually do nudes.” Why did I say that? It wasn’t true. Because you’re hoping he’ll volunteer as tribute.

  * * *

  He shrugged then reached behind his back and pulled his shirt up, tugged it free, and tossed it aside. “How is this for nude?”

  * * *

  Fuck. Me. I stared for a moment, mouth open and looking like an idiot. Then, well, I snapped a picture. Okay fine, I snapped several. “Uh, that’s a start.”

  * * *

  He ran a hand through his hair and tussled it, so I snapped several of that. These were romance-cover gold. Getting into it, he started posing for me, making silly faces. I got closer to him, snapping more close-ups of his face. That incredible face.

  * * *

  Then suddenly he went deadly serious again, the intensity in his eyes going harder somehow, sharper. Like a razor. “You look nervous. I thought you said you were used to nudes.”

  * * *

  I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Yeah, at school whenever we had a model, they were always nude. I got used to it.”

  * * *

  He narrowed his gaze. “Are you sure about that?”

  Shit. He could tell. “Yeah, I am. It’s just a human form. Male. Female. No big deal.”

  * * *

  His lopsided grin flashed, and my stomach flipped. Stupid traitorous body…and damn him for being so damn good looking. I tried to keep the lens centered on his face, but I had to get several of his abs, for you know…research.

  But when his hand rubbed over his stomach and then slid to the button on his jeans, I gasped, “What are you doing?”

  “Well, you said you were used doing nudes. Will that make you more comfortable as a photographer?”

  * * *

  I swallowed again, unable to answer, wanting to know what he was doing, how far he would go. And how far would I go?

  * * *

  The button popped, and I swallowed the sawdust in my mouth. I snapped a picture of his hands.

  * * *

  Well yeah, and his abs. So sue me. He popped another button, giving me a hint of the forbidden thing I couldn’t have. I kept snapping away. We were locked in this odd, intimate game of chicken. I swung the lens up to capture his face. His gaze was slightly hooded. His lips parted…turned on. I stepped back a step to capture all of him. His jeans loose, his feet bare. Sitting on the stool, leaning back slightly and giving me the sex face, because that’s what it was—God’s honest truth—the sex face. And I was a total goner.

  * * *

  “You’re not taking pictures, Len.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  * * *

  “Oh, sorry.” I snapped several in succession. Full body shots, face shots, torso shots. There were several torso shots. I wanted to fully capture what was happening.

  He unbuttoned another button, taunting me, tantalizing me. Then he reached into his jeans, and my gaze snapped to meet his. I wanted to say something. Intervene in some way…help maybe…ask him what he was doing. But I couldn’t. We were locked in a game that I couldn’t break free from. Now I wanted more. I wanted to know just how far he would go.