Kickoff Page 4

  “Cocky to the point of stupidity isn’t. I don’t like that kid.” Carter shook his head as Tyler overthrew his intended receiver by a mile and a defensive back intercepted.

  “We don’t have to like him to win with him.”

  “No, but it makes our jobs a hell of a lot easier.”

  HughJack grimaced at Tyler’s bad play. There’d been no pressure on him to throw the pass, but he’d made a hurried decision, which could’ve resulted in a score by the opposing team if they’d been playing a real game.

  “We have a lot of work to do.”

  Rachel said nothing but couldn’t agree more.

  Chapter 4—Safe Is Good if You’re Talking Baseball

  Derek couldn’t sleep, and it wasn’t just Tyler’s snoring keeping him awake.

  One of HughJack’s first team-building exercises required the entire team to spend the night before the home game in a nearby hotel, and Tyler had been assigned as his roommate. The team had gone over game film ad nauseam. Damn, but it’d been painful. Even more painful had been trying to keep his eyes off Rachel, who sat off to the side in the front of the large room. She’d been hot in a matching tracksuit in Steelheads blue and green. He’d forced his gaze back to the large screen multiple times, only to find his gaze and his attention drifting back to her.

  “Ty? You asleep?” Derek directed his question to the large, dark lump in the bed a few feet across the room.

  “Mmmmm.” The lump moved and grumbled.

  “Ty.” Derek aimed a pillow and pegged his cousin on the head.

  Tyler shot up in bed and shook the hell out of the alarm clock. Then he jerked his head in Derek’s direction. “What the fuck do you want? It’s three fucking thirty in the morning.”

  “I can’t sleep.” Derek smiled in the darkness.

  “Tough shit. I fucking can.” Tyler collapsed on the bed with a dramatic groan.

  “I need to talk.”

  “I don’t. Go to fucking hell.” Tyler pulled the blanket over his head and turned his back.

  “Ty?”

  “Goddammit. Would you shut the fuck up!” Tyler sat up in bed and glared at him. Even in the darkness, heat radiated from his pissed-off expression.

  “Remember when we were kids, and we dreamed about this?”

  “I never dreamed about this.”

  “Not this, specifically, but playing for the Steelheads.”

  “Why don’t we go back to sleep, and we can dream about it some more.”

  “Look, I’m serious here.”

  Dead silence. Derek waited—he knew Tyler better than anyone.

  “Crap.” Tyler took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah, I remember. We dreamed about winning the Rose Bowl for the Cougs, and we did it. Harris to Ramsey, remember that? We heard it over and over again from high school through college.”

  “Junior high.”

  “Yeah, whatever. We’re gonna hear the broadcasters say that again.” Tyler’s voice softened. He flopped back on the bed and turned toward Derek, bumping his elbow on the wall in the process. “Shit. Dammit. Fucking nightstand. How the hell do they expect us to sleep on fucking baby beds?”

  “It’s a queen bed,” Derek pointed out, grinning at his cousin’s tirade. Tyler had a short fuse, short memory, and short attention span. “It’s not quite like we imagined, is it?”

  “Hell no. I thought I’d get at least eight hours of fucking sleep a night until they assigned you as my fucking roommate.”

  “We thought we’d waltz out of college straight onto the pro field and win a championship for Seattle in our rookie year.”

  “So our schedule’s off.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  “What the hell has you feeling so despondent?”

  “I’m impressed. That’s a big word for you.”

  “I read the dictionary in my spare time, asshole.”

  Derek sat up and placed his feet on the floor. He put his hands on his knees and propped his head in his hands. “What if I don’t make it?”

  “Quit dropping my fucking passes, and you’ll make it.”

  “Is that the only adjective in your vocabulary?”

  “Fuck yeah, but it’s versatile. I also use it as a verb, adverb, and a noun.”

  “I’m surprised you know what those are.”

  “Are you questioning the validity of my 1.5 GPA?”

  “HughJack doesn’t seem impressed. I don’t think he likes me.”

  “Football’s not a popularity contest. He doesn’t like anyone.”

  “Good thing for you, or he wouldn’t hire you as a stadium beer vendor. Really, though, I can tell he’s not thrilled with me.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve seen him watching you.”

  “Yeah, in disgust.”

  “Look, buddy, we’ve been in this together since diapers. I’m not going through HughJack hell alone.”

  Tyler might be an ass, but Derek loved him like the brother he’d never had. He’d give his life for Tyler and Tyler for him. They’d been raised together from birth. Derek’s mother had considered her children a burden and hated ranch life. She’d escaped to the city as often as possible and dumped her kids on her sister-in-law.

  Derek still remembered the day she’d left to try her luck in Hollywood. It happened to be his eighth birthday. Some producer filming a movie on the ranch next door lured her away, not that it took much. She said she’d be back, but the days turned to weeks, then to months. Her phone calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether.

  Their entire family had survived in a numb state of limbo. Every night Derek rode his horse until it was too dark to see, or he played basketball in the driveway, shooting basket after basket until his legs wobbled and his arms shook when he took a shot. His ten-year-old sister holed up in her room and escaped into her books. His father sat in a chair in the living room and looked out the bay window for hours on end. He’d sip a whiskey and stare into the darkness, searching for headlights coming up their long driveway. He left the porch light on because “Mary always hated how dark it is in the country.”

  Months later, on the arm of a popular actor, Mary Ramsey, now Mona Lea, smiled for the cameras at the Academy Awards. The next day she served his father with divorce papers. Dad turned off the porch light that night and moved the chair away from the window.

  Tyler’s mom took care of Derek and his older sister while his dad worked the ranch. His dad remarried a wonderful woman three years later who Derek considered his mother.

  His mother. How had his thoughts twisted around to that taboo subject? When he’d been a teenager, he’d called her, asked to visit, and been told to go to hell. No one except Tyler knew about that devastating phone call, not even his dad.

  “Hey, did you fucking hear anything I said? Shit, you wake me up and then you don’t even fucking listen.”

  “Sorry. I took a walk down memory lane.”

  “Rachel?”

  Derek laughed, a sound that was short and pained even to his ears. “I wish it could be that simple.”

  “Hell, it is. You make things too complicated. Just get her in bed and screw like rabbits. You’ll feel much better for it. Then maybe both of us can get some sleep.”

  “Like that’s going to happen. My life for the next several months is football,” Derek vowed, more to himself than his cousin.

  “Seven months counting the playoffs and Super Bowl.”

  “The Steelheads have never been to the Super Bowl. Hell, they haven’t been to the playoffs in twenty years.”

  “The longest drought in professional football.”

  “That’s a record to be proud of.” Derek sighed.

  “Gotta be proud of something. We’re going to change all that. Deal?” Tyler reached his hand out in the darkness, Derek leaned forward, and they shook on it.

  “Yeah, deal. Ty, one other thing.”

  “What?”

  “Could you find another word other than the F-word?”

  “Fu— W
hat’s the matter, am I disturbing your virgin ears?”

  “I just think it loses its effect if you use it every other word. Save it for when you need a little emphasis.”

  Tyler chewed on that for a second. “Fine. I’ll think up something else. Good frigging night.” He rolled over and was snoring within seconds.

  Derek lay on his back and stared at the ceiling for a long time. His lifelong dream hovered within his grasp, yet he hung on by a thread. Any second that thread could break, leaving only regrets and wasted chances.

  His life had to be all about football; nothing would get in his way. No distractions allowed—not even Rachel.

  Definitely not Rachel.

  Chapter 5—Down and Almost Out

  Rachel stood on the edge of the field near Coach Carter. Grinning with excitement, she breathed in the sights and sounds of the stadium—the blare of the announcer, the images flashing on the large scoreboard, the beer and hot dog vendors wandering the aisles.

  On the field, players clustered in groups to review certain aspects of their game.

  HughJack stalked from place to place, barking orders, doling out encouragement, and making notes on his clipboard. Commanding respect, he intimidated with a glare and praised with a nod.

  Derek ran wind sprints from one end of the field to the other with a couple of other backs. Breathing hard, he paused, hands on hips, and stared into the distance. She wondered what he was thinking.

  She loved football season and everything that went with it. Even though she’d never played the game, butterflies raged in her stomach when the team stepped onto the field for the first game of the season. Adrenaline rushed through her veins at the roar of the crowd on the kickoff. Not that the Steelheads had enough of a crowd to cause a roar, but hey, there was always tomorrow. She was a longtime fan, and her heart soared when they won and ached when they lost.

  She hoped to be a valuable, permanent part of building the Steelheads into a winning team, making a difference, and bringing a community together. First, she had to prove her worth. She’d watched Derek and the rest of the offense closely all week, written down observations on her clipboard, and discussed her thoughts with Coach Carter. He listened and made his own notes, but so far, she hadn’t seen any indication he was following her suggestions or doing anything with the information she’d gathered.

  She’d have to try that much harder to earn his trust and respect, and damn it, she would get there.

  All week she’d managed to avoid any personal contact with Derek, yet she couldn’t deny the attraction she’d always felt for him was still there, no matter how hard she tried to squelch her feelings. Her gaze always found him on the field. When she wasn’t looking at him, her body was still super-aware of his presence. As if through some unspoken agreement, he, too, had avoided her. They hadn’t spoken one word since that first day she’d literally run into him in the parking lot.

  Many of the times she was stealing glances at him, she caught him looking at her. His interest gave her heart hope and filled her head with dread. She couldn’t go there. Ever. Again. She was a professional coach, and he was a player. End of story.

  Besides, she reminded herself, he’d callously thrown her to the curb without so much as a glance back and not just walked but run away.

  They’d been done before they’d ever started. If only she hadn’t been stupid enough to sleep with him. If only she didn’t know what he looked like naked, how he felt sliding into her, how his mouth teased hers until she was writhing under him and begging for release. One weekend of passion had turned into a lifetime of regrets. If only they’d not taken it to another level and stayed friends.

  There was no turning back now, no escape from the past and no escape from her body’s desire to go there again.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The All-Pro linebacker charged like a rhinoceros on steroids and rammed into Derek just as he caught the ball. He went one way; the ball went the other. His body crashed into the ground so hard his teeth should have been drilled right through his skull. At least that’s what it felt like inside his helmet.

  Hauling himself to his feet, Derek ignored his complaining muscles and limped to the huddle. The entire Milky Way galaxy swirled in front of his face. Leaning in to hear the call, he rubbed his bruised hip. He’d be lucky to remember his name, let alone the play.

  Across the huddle, Tyler shot daggers at him with laser-sharp blue eyes. “Shit, hang on to the fucking ball, will ya, asshole?”

  Derek ignored him. He’d grown immune to Tyler’s insults years ago. Besides, there wasn’t much to say. He’d dropped another perfect pass and added one more nail in the coffin of his pro-football career.

  With a disgusted snarl, Tyler turned to the rest of the team and called the play, his back rigid with anger and frustration. His day wasn’t going much better than Derek’s.

  Derek threw a bone-jarring block on the next play, allowing their running back to move the ball to midfield, which felt damn good even as his shoulder hurt like hell. On third down, Tyler put up a long bomb. It was overthrown. Derek didn’t stand a chance in hell of catching it. Even so, he got a few fingers on the ball before it bounced into the arms of a defender.

  Pissed as hell, Tyler stalked to the sidelines. Derek hobbled behind him. Every bruised muscle in his body protested the slightest movement while his brain swam around in his skull like fish in a fishbowl.

  Skirting the coaches and their disapproving glares, he slumped onto one of the benches. As he swigged down some water, his cousin slammed his ass down beside him, fire in his eyes.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, Ramsey? I used to throw a ball anywhere in your vicinity, and you’d catch it. Fuck, now you’d drop a fucking beach ball from three feet away.”

  “Hell if I know.” Derek couldn’t muster the energy to shoot back a smart-ass reply. Defeat weighed on his shoulders, and he’d never worn defeat well.

  “Well, whatever the fuck it is that you don’t know, you sure as hell had better figure it out and fast.” Tyler’s eyes flicked to HughJack as the coach scribbled on his clipboard.

  “I wish I could.”

  “Look, buddy.” Tyler leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Coach had enough confidence to put you with the first string. Pull your fucking head out of your ass. I want that guy back who flipped the world off and proved them all wrong. Can we say Rose Bowl? How about Olympics?” Tyler tapped on his cousin’s forehead. “Hey, are you still in there or did they operate on your fucking head at the same time they fixed your fucking knee? I never thought I’d see the day that you’d lose your fucking nerve and fucking give up.”

  “I haven’t lost it.” Tyler was right, unfortunately. He hated it when Tyler was right. Giving one up made his cousin an insufferable asshole, even more than usual.

  “You gave up on me out there. What the fuck was up with that?”

  “I didn’t give up. It wasn’t a catchable ball.”

  “Since when is a ball I throw your way uncatchable? You didn’t use to think like that.”

  He didn’t. In the past, if it was still in the air, it was catchable. Once again, Tyler was right. “I tried.”

  “Yeah, right. Fucking bullshit.” His cousin stood and moved a few steps away to watch the defense from the sidelines.

  Derek put his head in his hands. Damn. Damn. Damn. He took deep breaths, grasping for something to hold on to, to use against the despised self-pity bubbling inside him.

  The last preseason game. Final cuts on Monday. He teetered on the edge of making it or breaking it. A dismal pro career with a dismal end—in with a bang, out with a fizzle.

  Well, not if he could damn well help it.

  Irritated at Tyler and angry with himself, he ground his self-pity into the turf and savored the anger. Anger gave him ambition, renewed his drive, and brought out the fight in him. Derek stood and squared his shoulders. Enough of this crap. Hands on hips, he stretched his hamstrings and prepared to reenter the battle.

/>   “Let’s go! Don’t fuck this one up.” Tyler smacked him on the shoulder pads as the offense trotted onto the field. Derek followed him to the huddle, head held high. Determination radiated through his body. Three quick plays later, they were on the twenty-three-yard line, fourth down and six. Tyler wanted to go for it. Coach let him have his way.

  Tyler bent down in the huddle and ignored the play the coach sent in, a run straight up the middle. As they broke the huddle, Tyler turned to him. “This is it, fuckhead. You’d better catch this one, because come Monday, after the final cuts, your ass better be on this team.”

  Derek nodded. If he fucked this up, he’d screw himself and Tyler. His cousin skated on thin ice too. Rumors of a trade circulated around the league. Tyler’s antics and attitude didn’t impress the new coaches.

  Talk about pressure. He sucked in a long breath, said a silent prayer, and called on every bit of skill and luck he possessed. Do or die, now or never, sink or swim. All those clichés came down to this defining moment. His future hung on this one pass. He knew it. Tyler knew it.

  Relax. Find the zone. Don’t try too hard. Stay loose. He hadn’t come this far, battled through adversity, and clawed his way back to lose it all now.

  Tyler audibled at the line of scrimmage. Derek leaned forward and shot off the line as soon as the center hiked the ball. Sprinting downfield, he executed his pattern perfectly, then turned on the speed, leaving his defender eating his dust. Pounding into the end zone, he spun around at just the right moment.

  Badly thrown, the wobbly pass soared too high. Derek needed every physical skill he still possessed and instincts he’d once possessed. He focused on the ball to the exclusion of all else. Placing his trust in his gut, he reached for the intangible something that had eluded him the past few years.

  Leaping into the air, he tipped the ball off the fingers of one hand into the other hand. It bobbled and bounced off his fingertips. He juggled it better than a circus clown until it fell into his hands. His long fingers wrapped around it.

  A second later, two defenders nailed him at full speed, their intention to teach him how to fly without wings. His body catapulted through the air before gravity brought him down with the assistance of a 260-pound tackle. The impact forced the air out of his lungs.