FURY: A Rio Games Romance

  FURY

  A Rio Games Romance

  Alison Ryan

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  The Birth of Champions

  1. Logan

  2. Logan

  3. Logan

  4. Solomon

  5. Solomon

  6. Solomon

  7. Solomon

  The Making of Champions

  8. Logan

  9. Solomon

  10. Solomon

  11. Logan

  12. Solomon

  13. Logan

  14. Logan

  15. Solomon

  16. Logan

  17. Solomon

  18. Logan

  19. Logan

  When Champions Rise

  20. Solomon

  21. Solomon

  22. Logan

  23. Solomon

  24. Logan

  25. Solomon

  26. Logan

  27. Solomon

  28. Logan

  29. Solomon

  30. Logan

  31. Solomon

  32. Logan

  33. Solomon

  34. Logan

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Also by Alison Ryan

  Copyright © 2016 by Alison Ryan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations

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  Created with Vellum

  For my father… Who taught me everything I need to know about being a champion in this life…and the next.

  “The real glory is being knocked to your knees and then coming back. That's real glory. That’s the essence of it.”

  Vince Lombardi Jr.

  The Birth of Champions

  Chapter One

  Logan

  Logan Lowery was Chuck Lowery’s daughter.

  That’s how she’d always identified herself since she could remember. It’s what happened when you were the only child of the small town hero.

  “How’s your daddy doin’?” the cashier at Hobby Lobby would ask her. “Does he think he can get you girls to state?”

  Logan would shake her head and put on her best smile. “He aims to, ma’am. He sure does aim to.”

  1996

  “Do you have a minute, Denny?” Chuck Lowery was a bundle of nerves.

  “Sure, coach, come on in.” Denny Jamieson, athletic director at Montgomery High School, welcomed Chuck Lowery, the school’s baseball coach, into his office.

  “What can I do for you, Chuck?”

  “I’ve been doing some thinking. What would you say to me switching from coaching baseball to softball?” There was a long pause after that sentence. Denny was waiting for the punchline.

  “Are you serious?” he asked Chuck as he leaned back in the chair behind his desk.

  “I am. You could promote Coach Jessup right into my spot. He’s great with pitchers and I think he’s ready to handle the program. Hell, we have six starters coming back and three of our best four pitchers. He could have a real shot at state,” Chuck explained. He’d been practicing this conversation on his own for two days.

  “That’s exactly why I can’t figure you wanting to step down. I mean Mary works hard, but the softball team hasn’t had a winning record in years. You made it all the way to the regionals with almost all underclassmen. We’ll start the season ranked in the top ten in the state. What’s gotten into you?”

  Chuck sighed. It was time for the pitch. “If I’m going to make the switch, I want to leave the next man up something to work with. That’s only right,” Chuck explained. “And I want to coach Logan. You remember how hard she was on her momma. We aren’t going to have any more kids. Logan’s it and I want to give her everything I’ve got.”

  Denny recalled Chuck’s wife, Tracy. She’d had difficulties during the birth of their daughter, Logan. He knew how important family was to his old friend. He nodded in agreement as Coach Lowery spoke.

  “But why now? Why not win a state title with these boys you’ve got, let Logan grow up a little bit, and see if she even wants to play softball? Or any sport for that matter?”

  Chuck Lowery grinned. “She’s my daughter, Denny. With the genes she’s got, what do you think she’ll want to do?”

  Montgomery High School’s athletic department was salivating for any and all children produced by the union of Chuck and Tracy Lowery. Chuck had won thirteen varsity letters as a Montgomery High School Tiger. He’d started three years in football and basketball and all four years as a power-hitting third baseman for the Tigers’ baseball team.

  Meanwhile, his high school sweetheart, Tracy Thompkins, was earning a pile of varsity letters of her own, playing four years of varsity volleyball and basketball. A state championship eluded them both, but college scholarship offers did not. Tracy stayed local and played college basketball at Wright State, while Chuck accepted a baseball scholarship to Clemson University.

  After three seasons at Clemson, the Detroit Tigers drafted Chuck Lowery, and his inevitable ascent to Major League baseball commenced. Following two seasons in the minors, he reached the big leagues the same year he asked Tracy to marry him.

  Life, as it’s wont to do, turned the tables on the Lowerys when they least expected it.

  Trying to score from first base on a hit into the gap in right field, Chuck rounded third base and immediately pulled up. Stepping on the bag at third, he’d felt a pop in his right knee, followed by an explosion of pain.

  Reconstructive surgery and long, painful physical therapy, with Tracy at his side, followed. By the end of the season, he felt ready to play, but the Tigers thought it best he wait until spring training the following year. In the off-season, Chuck and Tracy had their dream wedding in Hawaii, and by the time he reported to Lakeland, Florida for spring training, she was expecting.

  Chuck’s knee felt good, his young bride was glowing, and life couldn’t be better.

  But just like that, things fell apart again.

  On a road trip to Seattle, after a game in which Chuck went 2-4 with a single, a triple, and two runs scored, the manager summoned his young star to his room to inform him that he was being sent home to spend a few days with his wife, who’d miscarried that evening.

  Losing the baby was hard on the young couple, and Chuck struggled at the plate once he returned to the lineup. After going 0-3 in the first game of a home doubleheader against the Twins, he came to the plate in the second inning of the nightcap. He drove a ball up the middle and took off for first base. His sprint beat the throw to first by an eyelash, but as he jogged back to the bag, pain shot through his surgically repaired knee. He was replaced by a pinch runner, and as he limped to the dugout, though he didn’t know it at the time, he was walking off a major league field as a player for the last time.

  Another surgery followed, more physical therapy, then a third operation on the same knee, and finally a realization that it was never going to heal quite right. The Tigers reassigned him to the minors and he spent a season riding busses, staying in cheap motels, and struggling with a knee that never felt quite right.

  Tracy graduated Wright State with a degree in secondary educat
ion, and with Chuck’s athletic career appearing to be finished, she encouraged him to complete his degree and join her in the teaching profession. He’d have a foot in the door toward coaching, and he was certainly qualified to mold young athletes in a number of sports.

  Teaching positions became available at their alma mater, Montgomery High School, first for Tracy, then Chuck, and when the ex-major leaguer applied for the open baseball coaching position, it was a no-brainer.

  The Lowerys struggled to conceive a second time, but when news finally came that Tracy was pregnant again, Chuck couldn’t have been more thrilled. The idea of coaching his son, helping him achieve the big league dream that ended so painfully for his old man, gave Chuck’s life the equivalent of a second wind. His enthusiasm for coaching, teaching, and his marriage, exploded.

  As Tracy began to show, Chuck prayed fervently each night – a prayer of thanksgiving and of hope. Thanks for giving that baby inside his wife another day. That tiny heartbeat getting stronger. And hope for another day. Just one more day. Make it through tomorrow and worry about the next day when his head hit the pillow that night. He thanked God for all he’d achieved, all with which he’d been blessed, and offered it all up if his baby would be allowed to live just one more day. Another miscarriage would be too much.

  When the news came that the baby wasn’t going to be Charles Lowery Junior, it hit Chuck hard. He’d never stopped to consider that he might have a daughter, rather than a son. He was one of three brothers and Tracy’s three siblings were all boys.

  What did he know about raising a little girl?

  Any trepidation, disappointment, or concern vanished, however, the first time he held his daughter in his arms and stared into her bright blue eyes. She was a big baby, nearly ten pounds, not an ounce of which was hair. She was as bald as an egg. She was the most beautiful thing Chuck Lowery had ever seen. He wept as he held her, and both sets of grandparents had to wait a good, long while before they got a turn with the new arrival.

  The delivery was tough on Tracy, and she spent a week in the hospital after hemorrhaging and enduring an emergency C-section. During her convalescence, the new parents agreed not to tempt fate by trying for more children. They’d guard their blessing jealously and raise her the best way they knew how.

  Logan Grace Lowery, named for Chuck’s mother’s maiden name (Logan) and Tracy’s mother’s first name (Grace) would never lack for love.

  But Denny Jamieson didn’t know most of this. Chuck had to somehow really convince him on this one.

  “The reason I’m so pumped up for this, to start coaching softball, is that it’s going to be an Olympic sport! Can you believe that? My baby, in the Olympics? Hearing that anthem playing and watching her wearing a medal in, what would it be, 2012 or 2016? Hell yes. There can’t be anything better than that.” Chuck sold the dream to his athletic director with his customary exuberance.

  Denny laughed at his new softball coach’s excitement for the athletic future of his newborn daughter, and then raised his hands, showing his palms in surrender.

  “I can see there’s no changing your mind on this, Chuck. Let me talk to the other coaches and the administration. I’ll get it all worked out. But you have to tell your team. They’ll be crushed. But if you’re being called to do it… If it’s for Logan… Well, then I understand.”

  “Thanks, brother. Make some room in the trophy case for some softball hardware.” Chuck Lowery had never been more excited.

  The two men embraced, parting with pats on each other’s backs.

  Logan Lowery, the golden child, was destined for softball glory, first at Montgomery High School, and then in the Olympics.

  Until she wasn’t.

  Chapter Two

  Logan

  Logan Lowery didn’t sprout a hair on her head until she was nearly five months old. Not even peach fuzz. Which didn’t do a thing to wipe the smile from her face. If ever a baby was happier than Logan Lowery, there’s no record of it. She slept through the night for the first time when she was just five weeks old, and on the rare occasion she did find reason to cry, it was a small, sweet sound. The nurses told the Lowerys Logan had “a pretty cry.”

  When her hair finally arrived, it seemed to be making up for lost time. The blonde curls piled up overnight, and no matter how they were styled, wrapped, or tied, they had a mind of their own and spilled into Logan’s face, causing her squeals of delight.

  She decided at just a day past eight months old that crawling wasn’t getting her where she needed to be quickly enough. So she pulled herself up and began to cruise along the sectional and around the ottoman in the Lowery living room. After a week of that, she figured it was time to walk.

  Chuck Lowery’s heart broke with every split lip, black eye, and bruised cheek, but Logan’s reach far exceeded her grasp and she spent a month falling down more than she walked. No matter how terrible the tumble, however, she gritted her teeth (well, gums, mostly) and got right back up to try again. Stumbling became walking, then running and climbing, but no matter what toy was put in front of her, she always looked for a ball.

  Daddy may not have gotten the boy he’d planned for, but there wasn’t a boy for a hundred miles, or up to a year older than Logan, who could keep up with her.

  She grew quickly, but never lost her coordination. By the time Chuck and Tracy signed her up for basketball and tee ball, even the parents of boys she played against demanded to see her birth certificate.

  “She can’t possibly be five years old!” they insisted.

  But she was. She’d simply inherited the athletic genes of both her parents and had a ready supply of bats and balls of all sizes. And she did what Lowerys had always done on the diamond and court; she dominated.

  Schoolwork didn’t come quite so easily, despite having two parents who were educators. Logan was just too full of energy to sit still long enough to pay attention. Each day was a sprint, from the moment she woke up in the morning to whenever she collapsed at night, usually downstairs on the couch, from which Daddy would inevitably carry her up to bed.

  She became the stereotypical tomboy, eschewing dolls and pretty things for bumps and scrapes, dirt and sweat.

  At eight years old she noticed some kids kicking a soccer ball as she left a softball game (she’d hit two home runs) and she asked her parents if she could play that as well.

  Soccer was one sport neither Tracy nor Chuck had played, and their knowledge beyond “you can’t use your hands” was limited. But they found the local league and signed her up, and the whirlwind of blonde curls that was Logan Lowery had discovered her passion. Basketball was a game of stops and starts, and softball only allowed for a handful of trips to the plate each game and even when she pitched there just wasn’t enough action for her.

  Soccer, on the other hand, let her run, run, and run some more. Her coach quickly discovered that she was tireless and aggressive almost to a fault. He placed her at center midfield and told her she could go anywhere she wanted, as long as she was helping the team.

  The cries for a birth certificate resumed as a new set of parents watched their daughters wilt under the intensity of Logan’s relentless pressure. Tracy had a copy laminated and carried it with her to all of her daughter’s games.

  Although Logan still played softball and basketball, she really only made the concession to appease her parents. She knew quitting basketball would hurt her mother and giving up softball would devastate her father. The Olympic softball dream was something with which she was all too familiar, and her dad made sure she didn’t miss a pitch when the United States team was playing.

  Her waning interest in sports other than soccer didn’t translate, however, to diminished success in those endeavors.

  By the time high school rolled around, a ninth grade Logan was the finest all-around athlete at Montgomery High, regardless of gender or age. Her early growth spurt ended during middle school, and although 5’9” was still tall, it wasn’t freakish. She filled out into a
mature athlete’s body, and although some guys were intimidated by her musculature, her ready smile, happy blue eyes, and blonde curls left her with no shortage of suitors. She went out with groups of friends, but there never seemed to be time for one boy or for any sort of relationship to develop.

  Logan’s sophomore year was when all her father’s hard work paid dividends. After helping Montgomery High’s soccer team attain the best record in school history, and the basketball team to within four points of the state tournament, her buzz-saw pitching and powerful bat helped fill the hole in her school’s trophy case that Chuck Lowery had urged the athletic director to make room for way back when. A state championship on her resume brought recruiters out in droves, and the dream (if not Logan’s, then definitely Chuck’s) was blossoming nicely.

  Until the morning that summer when the family gathered for breakfast, divvying up the Dayton Daily News over waffles and scrambled eggs.

  “That’s bullshit!” exclaimed Chuck, dropping his coffee mug to the table like a gavel, surprising his daughter and wife, who threw him a disapproving glare.

  “Sorry, honey. I just… you won’t believe what it says here. Baseball and softball are getting dropped by the Olympics! Starting in 2012, they won’t be in the Olympics anymore. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  With that, Chuck Lowery rose, head slung low in defeat, and stumbled off toward the stairs and back to his bedroom.

  Logan and her mother looked at one another in shock.

  “That can’t be right,” her mother said, walking over to the pick up the newspaper Chuck had thrown on the floor. “How can the Olympics get rid of softball? It’s one of the most popular sports played…”