Forward Passes (Seattle Lumberjacks) (27 page)

Chapter 28

Final Seconds

Tyler stood next to his locker. He listened to the sounds of men getting ready for the third pre-season game. The veterans razzed the rookies. Cleats clattered on the floor. Familiar smells filled his nostrils, and a little tendril of excitement ignited his soul.

He couldn’t kid himself. So far training camp was tough. The first two pre-season games even tougher. For a few weeks, the press dogged his every step, resurrecting the rumors of a fictional DUI and his time in rehab. No charges were filed for the lip he’d given the officer after ramming his car. His attorney insisted he was off the hook. The rehab rumors might be tougher to overcome, but he’d cleaned up his act, and his improved attitude spoke volumes.

Tyler didn’t miraculously get his game back overnight, but he was on the right path. Maybe HughJack couldn’t see it. Maybe Murphy still questioned his dedication and his fire. Maybe the team still treated him with guarded respect.

Tyler would battle his way back and push aside the doubts. He’d learn to relax, let things happen, not force them. He’d find the zone again, that space where the best athletes went in their heads, time slowed down, and every move became crystal clear.

Tyler strapped on his pads and stared at two small photos taped to his locker: his father in his pilot’s uniform stood next to his helicopter and Ryan, in healthier days, holding a football.

At that moment
he knew
.

You are proud of me, aren’t you, Dad? Ry?

Yeah, they were and so were Uncle Art and all the other Harrises whose blood ran through his veins and all the Harrises yet to come. Yeah, they’d grow up loving Twin Cedars and preserving it for the next generation and so would he.

Tyler had refocused on the game, at peace with himself and his direction. Training camp didn’t tell him much. Some of his passes reflected the quarterback he once was, others not so much. Regardless, he’d resurrect his old killer instincts and relentless drive to succeed or die trying. He’d had some great practices, taken no prisoners, and forced the Jacks’ defense to do their job, especially Murphy. The old guy huffed like a rusty industrial fan as he chased Tyler around the practice field trying for a sack.

Speaking of the devil...

Murphy walked up to him and blocked access to Tyler’s locker. They glared at each other, eye to eye, man to man. “I don’t like you very much, and I sure as hell don’t respect you.”

“I don’t fucking like you either.” Hey, the conversation merited use of the F-word. Tyler sneered at the ass. He did respect Murphy. The guy was everything Tyler used to be. Murphy left it all out on the field.

“I’ll be watching you, fuckhead. Let’s see if you can play like the champion you’re supposed to be.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He pushed Murphy aside to get his cleats from his locker. Murphy stepped back, not causing a scene in front of the team. Both men were fully aware that several sets of eyes absorbed their every move.

“I want that ring. I want it so bad I can taste it like the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I want it so bad I’d give my left nut for it. Hell, I’d give both nuts. I want a ring. If you fuck this up for me, I’ll destroy you. I promise.”

“Damn, I’m scared.” Tyler held his hand over his mouth in a yawn. “Can’t help it that you’ve been a loser all your life. Don’t hold me responsible.”

“You and I need to spend some time in the ring.”

“It’d be my pleasure. I’d love to whip your ass once the season ends.”

Murphy nodded. His face set in stone. The linebacker turned back to his locker and his posse of young players.

Tyler snorted with disgust. He reined in his emotions, forced his mind back on the game, nothing but the game. Murphy didn’t deserve to be a blip on his internal radar. Tyler sat on the bench, head down, and closed his eyes. He practiced every technique he knew to get in the right state of mind.

The guys left him alone, knowing he needed time to focus and visualize the game. Instead, he kept visualizing purple.

Damn.

He missed Lavender like he’d miss his throwing arm. When he’d first come back from the islands, he’d expected her to call, been certain she’d call. Instead, nothing. Silence. Nada. As the days turned to weeks and months, he’d become less certain. Yet, something told him they weren’t finished. Not yet. If he knew his purple lady, and he believed he did, she missed him as much as he missed her.

They had unfinished business. She’d left an empty hole in his heart, even as she’d helped him fill the emptiness since Ryan’s death and even his father’s death years ago. Football had filled that void once. And once again, it was all he had.

After the season ended, he was going after her.

“Hey, Ty, it’s time.” Derek slapped him on the shoulder pads.

“Yeah, right.” Tyler stood and jogged after his teammates down the tunnel leading to a packed stadium of rabid Jacks fans. The team surged around him, running onto the field. He paused at the tunnel opening. His fingers flexed on the helmet in his hand. The stadium roared. Blue and gold towels waved in the crazed crowd. The green turf spread out before him. Eagerness thrummed through him. Anticipation churned in his gut.

This was his stage. His. He owned it. He’d owned it since the day he’d first picked up a football and toddled toward his father with it clutched in his tiny hands. He’d own it this year.

Several plays later, Tyler stood on the sidelines and watched the defense crush the Saints, pinning them back to their own 15. Grudgingly, he admitted Murphy was brilliant. The guy was everywhere, barking orders to the defense, sacking the quarterback, stuffing their opponents running game up their ass. Murphy played like a man with something to prove, and he played like a guy in his twenties. No way in hell would Tyler give anything less on the field than the Jacks’ pain-in-his-ass defensive captain.

The Saints punted. Special teams downed the ball on the Jacks 45. Tyler strapped on his helmet and sprinted onto the field. Derek flanked him. Bruiser Mackay, his running back, dogged his heels, constantly yammering to carry the ball. Tyler called the plays, his confident tone and aggressive stance demanded respect. He got it. At least to a point. The guys watched him warily. He’d disappointed them before. Now he’d work twice as hard to gain back their trust.

Things were as they should be.

Maybe.

He waited for the rush of adrenaline and wasn’t disappointed. It coursed through his veins, stampeded over his earlier doubts. He could do this. He wanted to do this.

His teammates stared at him from around the huddle and waited for the play. The stadium crackled with electricity.

Tyler Harris took his position behind center. He didn’t like what he saw and audibled a different play. He barked the signals, set the team in motion. Pads smacked against pads. Linemen grunted as they protected the pocket. Receivers ran their routes. Tyler scanned the field, spotted his open man and snapped the ball into the air. The tight end hauled it in for a first down and then some. Tyler marched his team down the field until a quick toss to Derek in the end zone netted their first score of the game.

The crowd erupted with their approval. A slow smile crossed Tyler’s face. Satisfaction warmed his insides. Determination flowed through his veins. His body thrummed with pure joy.

He loved this game.

He was back.

* * * * *

Lavender sat in the stands between her brother, Andy, and her father. Andy taught high school on the Eastside and following the family tradition, coached football and baseball. Lavender had made several of his high school games, even though the ferry ride to the mainland every weekend proved to be time-consuming.

So much had changed over the past few months. She’d called her father and arranged a meeting with him and her brother. They talked it out, had a good cry and agreed to forgive and move on. Her grandmother found out and threw one of her maniacal fits, but Lavender didn’t cave this time. She held her ground.

Together with her brother, she met with Doris and Larry a few weeks ago. They told Doris they’d like to have a relationship with her, but regardless they’d be having a relationship with their father also. Doris would hear nothing of it. Larry, on the other hand, surprised them. After Doris stormed out of the room, he promised them he’d get her into counseling. He’d keep the lines of communication open with them.

The old mansion was a flurry of pounding and sawing as carpenters and craftsmen worked to restore it to its former splendor. Homer supervised the remodeling when Tyler’s sisters weren’t in residence. The two women sent the workmen cowering for cover.

Lavender accepted her father’s invitation to attend a Jacks game for a couple of reasons. One, to be with her father and brother. Two, to see Tyler. She missed him. He’d been right about a lot of things, and she owed him an apology.

Hopeful that she could have it all, Lavender watched the last piece of her life’s puzzle on the field below. Tyler Harris commanded his team, the picture of absolute confidence. When the defense went in, Tyler didn’t sit on the bench. He roamed the sidelines and shouted encouragement to the defense when needed and chewed ass when deserved.

She stole her brother’s binoculars, ignoring his annoyance. Tyler looked good. Really, really good. She’d stalked the Internet for the past months and found little gossip about him. He’d been laying low, working out, studying the game. She’d expected nothing less. One small article she read made her proud. Tyler had become a regular at several veterans’ facilities in Seattle over the past few months, along with the cancer ward at the children’s hospital. She gave herself a little credit for pointing out to him the good he could do as a local celebrity. He’d obviously taken her advice to heart.

He’d either be happy to see her or snub her. She didn’t know what his reaction would be; she only knew that if she didn’t try, she’d wonder for the rest of her life what could have been.

One step at a time. First, she’d confronted her grandmother with the truth. Then she’d reconciled with her dad. Now she’d figure out where she stood with the Jacks’ sexy quarterback.

Selecting Tyler’s cell number, she texted a picture of Tyler on the field and a picture of her in the stands, hoping he hadn’t changed his number in the past few months. As soon as he checked messages in the locker room after the game, he’d know she was there.

She’d tell him she loved him. Then the ball would be in his hands, literally.

* * * * *

Reveling in their victory, Tyler wasn’t in a big hurry to leave after the game. He stood in the locker room and savored the moment. The place buzzed with excitement and the promise of a new season and a new beginning. Hell, yeah, it’d be an uphill battle to win a third championship. The entire league gunned for them, but Tyler believed in his guys. He hoped they believed in him.

As the locker room started to clear out, he made his way over to Murphy’s locker. The guy shoved his wallet in his pants then met Tyler’s direct gaze.

Tyler held out his hand in a peace offering. “Good game.”

“Don’t expect me to say the same of you.” Murphy snubbed him, ignoring his outstretched hand and concentrating on the contents of his locker. “Your receivers caught some uncatchable passes.”

So that’s how it’d be played out with Murphy. “You’re an asshole.” Tyler growled at the jerk. Hey, he’d offered a truce. The guy threw it in his face. “Your attitude, not mine, is going to damage this team. If we lose the championship, it’ll be on you.” He moved closer, getting into Murphy’s space. “You know what? I think you’re disappointed I had a good game.”

Murphy studied him long and hard. “For the average pro quarterback that performance would’ve been good. For you, it was mediocre.”

Tyler’s eyes widened in false shock. “Murphy, you’re getting soft, man. That sounded suspiciously like a compliment.”

Murphy narrowed his gaze, irritated most likely with himself. “You’re a prick.” He grabbed his jacket and stalked out the door.

Shaking his head and chuckling, Tyler yanked on his navy Jacks sweatshirt and grabbed his car keys. He paused to look around the empty locker room. This season would be his biggest challenge, but he felt up to it. Rejuvenated. Ready to face the world. Either Murphy would come around, or he wouldn’t. People used to say Tyler had a chip on his shoulder. Murphy sported a boulder. Tyler didn’t give a shit. They’d win with the jerk or without him.

He was getting his game back. Today he’d bask in the win, enjoy the journey, just like Lavender suggested. At the thought of her, the now-familiar ache built in the pit of his stomach and radiated outward. He’d started to dial her number so many times in the past month and chickened out. He sighed and pressed his forehead against the wall for a moment.

His cell phone chirped, indicating a text message. Tyler pulled it out of his sweatshirt pocket and tapped the screen. His blood stopped circulating, his lungs quit pumping air, his finger froze as he saw Lavender’s name on the message. He tapped the picture and opened it. A picture of him on the field. He tapped the next picture. Lavender in the stadium.

She’s here. In Seattle.

His soul sang for joy, and his body hummed in response. Licking his dry lips, he tapped the screen to dial her number. And waited. It seemed like a lifetime, but the phone only rang a few times with an eternity in between each ring.