Fourth and Goal (30 page)

"What's wrong?” Rachel blinked, bleary-eyed, and watched him from the warmth of the bed.

"Ryan fell out of his wheelchair and can't get up."

"Oh no. I'm going with you.” Rachel stumbled out of bed and tried to put both feet in one pant leg. He hoped to hell he didn't have two people to take care of tonight.

"I think he's embarrassed. When we get there, you'll need to wait in the truck.” Derek steadied her as she attempted to dress herself. A simple feat for most people, but for her an accident in the making.

"I don't mind.” She untangled her legs and finished the job without bodily injury to either of them.

Derek tore down his driveway and drove like a crazy man to get to Ryan's trailer. He made it in record time. A single light glowed inside the house; no car was parked in the gravel driveway. Where the hell was the kid's mother? He'd not had the
privilege
of meeting her. According to Mitch, she'd never attended Ryan's games, even when he'd been healthy and a star.

Derek rattled the doorknob, but it was locked.
Shit
. He debated on busting down the door but decided to test his other options first. Walking around the dump, he found an unlatched window. He lowered his big body through it, slipped, and landed on his ass between a chair and the wall.

"You okay?” He heard Ryan ask.

"Just bruised my butt. It's not the first time that's happened."

"Rachel's wearing off on you."

Derek chuckled, glad to hear Ryan's sense of humor hadn't deserted him. He pulled himself to his feet and hurried into the kitchen. Ryan, no more than a sack of bones and a shadow of his former athletic self, lay on the floor, peppered with cereal flakes. Derek caught a whiff of urine and feigned ignorance.

He knelt next to the kid, who smiled feebly up at him. “You sure nothing hurts? You didn't break anything?” He ran his hands down Ryan's body, checking for broken bones but not finding any. Grabbing a nearby towel, he wiped the blood from the kid's chin and face. The cut appeared superficial.

"Nope. I'm fine. I'm really sorry I bothered you."

"You are not bothering me. Hang on. Let me get you up.” Setting the brake on the wheelchair, Derek put his hands under Ryan's shoulders and lifted him. The kid's light weight alarmed him. Setting him in the wheelchair, he knelt and brushed the cereal off his clothes. His eyes met Ryan's. If he'd inherited one shred of acting ability from his mother, he called it forth. No way did he want Ryan to see how much the kid's rapid decline unnerved him.

"Where's your mom?” He ground his jaw so hard his head hurt.

"Um, uh, working?” Ryan ducked his head and wouldn't meet his eyes. Derek knew instantly. She wasn't coming back. He'd seen the same expression in his bathroom mirror as a little boy.

"Working? Are you sure?"

Ryan shrugged one bony shoulder.

"Ry, be straight with me. Where's your mom?"

"I haven't seen her in over a week. I think she skipped out. Some of her stuff is gone."

"Oh fuck. Are you serious? You've been all alone for a week?” Derek knew all about mothers who didn't give a shit. If he got his hands on the woman, he'd use her for a tackling dummy.

"She's done it before, but I was able to fend for myself until she came back. This morning I could put myself in the wheelchair, but tonight I couldn't.” Ryan bit back a sob, his positive attitude deteriorating with this recent humiliation. “This sucks."

Derek stroked his ruffled hair. “I know it does, buddy. I know.” He'd gladly trade places if he could.

"Even worse, I wet myself."

"Hey, no big deal. We'll get you cleaned up."

"Are the child services people gonna take me away and put me in a home to die?"

"Not a chance.” Derek gulped back the conflicting emotions boiling inside him: concern for Ryan's living arrangements, white-hot anger at the kid's mother, grief for a young life without a future.

"What's going to happen to me?"

"We'll figure something out. You're not alone, buddy. You've got me, your coach, Rachel, all your teammates. We'll be here."

"Do you mean that?” Ryan swiped at the tear sneaking down his cheek. Derek's throat tightened, but he pulled it together.

"Of course I mean that. I'm here now, aren't I?” Ryan looked up at him with such despair that a wave of pain jolted him. Derek swallowed.
Shit
. How could this happen to a kid like this? He had everything going for him, his whole life ahead of him.

It wasn't fair. It fucking wasn't fair.

He wanted to shake his fists or break something and shout to the heavens at the injustice of it all, but now wasn't the time. Ryan needed him to be strong.

Tears streamed down Ryan's cheeks and dribbled off his chin, leaving wet spots on his T-shirt. Kneeling, Derek wrapped his arms around the stricken teenager. They hugged each other tightly as sobs racked Ryan's body.

This once vibrant, active kid had been reduced to this. A lone tear left a wet track down his cheek. He held on tighter.

"I love you, buddy,” he whispered.

Minutes later, Rachel found them that way, hanging on to each other.

Rachel helped load Ryan's stuff in the back of Derek's truck; then they took him home. Derek cleaned him up and dressed him for bed while Rachel fixed him a sandwich.

An hour later, she peeked in the door of Derek's guest bedroom. Sprawled on his stomach and buried under a mound of blankets, Ryan slept soundly. His mouth lolled open. The thick down comforter concealed his thin body. Derek peered over her shoulder.

"He crashed."

"I bet that's the first good sleep he's had in a while. No kid should be shouldering the burdens he has in the shape he's in.” Rachel left the door slightly ajar.

"His mother should be thrown in jail for neglect and abandonment.” Derek's face hardened, lined with tension and frustration.

"She probably would be if we could find her."

"The bitch isn't worth the effort.” He shook his head in disgust and walked down the hall. Rachel followed.

"What are we gonna do? You're not here enough to take care of him. Even if you were, you don't have the time. I could be here for him, but I'm not strong enough to lift him."

"You lifting Ryan conjures up a scary vision. You're challenged maintaining your own balance."

She glared at him but couldn't refute the facts.

"Let's worry about all this tomorrow. It's late.” Derek rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Sure.” She followed Derek to the bedroom as a plan formed in her mind.

Ryan would spend his last days knowing he mattered and people cared. She'd see to it.

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Rachel threw open the door and hugged her father. Stepping back, she looked him up and down. “Dad, you look really good.” She sniffed the air but didn't smell any alcohol on his breath. He'd combed his hair, put on clean clothes, and shaved. No bloodshot eyes, plus his alert expression boded well for the day.

"Thanks, hon.” He smiled and almost reminded her of the father she remembered. Almost. She'd take
almost
any day compared to where he'd been a few months ago.

"How's your new job?” He'd taken a job at a gym about a month ago and worked with several college athletes. It wasn't coaching, but at least he felt involved in sports again.

"Keeps me busy and out of trouble."

"Good.” For the first time in months, a seed of hope took root inside her. Perhaps everything would be okay after all.

"And yours? Are you keeping those jocks in line?"

"Yes, Daddy, I am. I picked up some rookies too, along with Derek and Tyler."

"You'll do great. You're so organized.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “Dang, Rae, that smells good. You'll make someone a good wife yet.” He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes.

"Dad, you know I'll never be anyone's wife. I'm too much of a tomboy for that."

"I guess I'm to blame."

"I guess you are.” She tucked her hand around his arm and escorted him into the small living area where Mitch, their oldest brother Riley, Riley's family, and Ryan watched football. The noisy, raucous group brought back fond memories of Thanksgivings when her mother was alive and life had been so different.

She stood there for a moment and watched her father take a seat between two of her brothers. Immediately the men launched into a spirited discussion regarding the Thanksgiving Day game between the Jacks and the Buccaneers.

Hustling to the kitchen, she hurried to finish the meal before the game started. She didn't want to miss a second of it.

Several hours later, she stood on the porch and waved good-bye to the last carload of McCormicks. Thanksgiving had gone off without a hitch. The food was cooked just right, the men fat and happy. Her father stayed sober. And Ryan had one of his good days, soaking up the novelty of what was most likely his first “family” Thanksgiving.

Derek, Tyler, and teammates treated them to a nail-biter, but they pulled out a victory in the last minutes.

The next few weeks sped by. She spent her days scheduling activities for various players. Her father was right. She did have a knack for it and managed to sock away a little money.

Derek and Tyler were in high demand. They couldn't possibly meet all the requests, so she funneled several appearances to her other clients, offering two rookies in place of one of them. Most organizations were glad to get a Jack at all. The team was a hot commodity in the Northwest and getting hotter with every win.

Through the players, she met their wives and significant others. Their generosity made it possible for her brother to offer Ryan a home. Rachel worked out a schedule so someone was always with him. The poor kid deteriorated a little every day, but he hung in there like a true competitor.

Her brother's team won the state championship, and the Jacks, well, they kept winning—the hottest team in the league at nine and four with three games to go before the play-offs. They were fighting for the division championship and a bye for the first play-off game. They weren't blowing their opponents out, but finding ways to win. When one guy had an off day, another stepped in to take up the slack.

Rachel worked with Derek and Tyler one or two nights a week, though their tight schedules didn't allow for more than that.

Football fever consumed the city like nothing it'd seen since the Sonics won the World Championship back in the seventies.

Through it all, she refused to look to the future, kept putting off a confrontation, convincing herself she needed more time.

The wild ride just got wilder. Rachel held on tight and kept Derek sane.

"Rachel, you're having second thoughts. Going soft on me, aren't you?” Mitch's angry whisper barely carried to her ears. He threw himself back in his chair in a dramatic display of exasperation. Lacing his hands behind his head, he glared at her.

Rachel glanced toward Ryan's open door and lowered her voice too. “No, it's not that. I find it hard to believe the Derek I know would do such a thing."

Mitch snorted. “Oh really? And what would the Derek you don't know do?"

"Mitch, don't be a jerk.” Rachel grabbed his arm. He allowed her to pull him out of the chair and lead him outside. She shut the door behind them.

"Me? Be a jerk? What about you? You're backing out, just like I knew you would."

"I'm not backing out—exactly. I think we need to talk to Dad again. Get more information. I think we jumped to conclusions."

"Dad's done all the talking he wants to do. How about I talk to Derek and get more information?"

"No, Mitch, please don't.” Panic welled up inside her. If Derek suspected what she'd been up to all these months, he'd never forgive her, let alone trust her. He already had trust issues with women anyway. “I know him. He's not the type of person to shave points."

"You're saying our father is?
Our father
. Yours and mine. The man who lived and breathed football, loved the game like no one else. The man who taught us both everything we know."

"No, not Dad. Never.” Rachel's mind rebelled at the thought.

"Then who?"

"Tyler?” Even as she said it, she struggled with picturing Tyler as the guilty party.

"If Tyler did it, his cousin sure as hell knows. Do you think knowing but not doing absolves him of guilt?"

"I don't know what to think.” She looked away, as confused as ever. “There has to be an answer to all this."

"You'll never find it unless you ask the right questions."

"I will. I promise."

"I want to be there."

Rachel shook her head and spoke through gritted teeth. “Mitch, I said
I'll
handle it."

"He's using you, Rachel, and you're in denial. You've built a fantasy relationship around a fantasy man.” Mitch squared his jaw and lifted his chin, the epitome of stubbornness.

"If he's going to come clean, it'll be to me alone. I can't have you there.” Anger and fear battled for dominance inside her.

Mitch considered her words, not looking the least bit happy. “When are you going to talk to him?"

"Give me two weeks."

"You've got one. The deeper you get into this, the more your objectivity is compromised."

Rachel glared at him. “Fine. I will handle it."

Mitch snorted in disbelief.

Derek knocked on Mitch's door and waited. Derek ignored Rachel's brother at the best of times and plotted his imaginary demise at the worst of times. Hard to believe they'd once been good buddies.

Mitch opened the door. His smile fell from his face. One side of his lip lifted in a snarl. The man wore his displeasure with as much pride as a soldier wore his medals. Derek beat down the urge to growl in response. What the hell were they—a couple of cavemen battling for prehistoric supremacy? Well, this Neanderthal refused to be baited into a fight.

"Where's Ry?” Derek kept his expression blank as he drummed his fingers on the doorjamb. Tension ricocheted off their bodies like a barrage of bullets hitting steel.

"Tyler's treating him and his buddies to pizza.” Mitch started to shut the door. Derek stuck his big foot in it.