Stadium of Lights: A Second Chance Sports Romance (5 page)

I
had
to do a heck of a lot of pep talking to get myself in the headspace to go to work on Sunday. We had the one o’clock game, so I showed up at eleven to be sure everything was in order—especially since I’d left a mess in the therapy room the day before.

Why did I let him do that to me? I asked myself that question a hundred times between leaving the facilities and heading back the next morning. How was it so easy for him to tear me down, even when he didn’t want to? And he hadn’t meant it, I knew he hadn’t. He was goofing off, joking around, remembering the old days. Just as I had when I reminded him of the time, I’d knocked his front tooth out with a wicked right jab.

Just because you see yourself that way doesn’t mean everybody else does. Another life lesson I tried to teach myself by repeating it again and again. If I still saw myself as geeky, awkward Abby, that was how I would present myself to the world. I couldn’t project my insecurities onto Max or anybody else. It wasn’t fair to them or me. I was sure he’d have questions for me when we saw each other, though I hoped I could deflect. He wouldn’t understand, anyway—always the golden boy, always beloved. Perfect in every way, at least as a football player. And where we’d grown up, that was all he’d ever needed.

The tailgating was already in full effect by the time I arrived at the stadium. I saw all sorts of set-ups—tents, campers, grills with ribs and steaks and burgers and shrimp. How people could eat like that so early in the day was beyond me. And beer. Lots and lots of beer.

I was still chuckling over the revelers as I walked down the hall toward the therapy room. I heard voices coming out of every office, and a few coming from the locker room. The team was already suited up for the most part, ready to hit the field to warm up. I wished them all a good game when I passed them. I hoped I wouldn’t have to treat any of them for injuries that day.

When I reached the therapy room, ready to clean up, I couldn’t have been more surprised to find the shelf and all its contents the way they’d been before I’d knocked it all to the floor. I looked around, stunned. So he’d stayed behind to clean up.

I sighed, wishing I could hate him. The jerk.

* * *

B
y the end
of the first half, spirits were low. I waited for the team to file into the locker room, and I could feel the energy as they did. It wasn’t pretty. It was damned ugly, in fact. We were down 21-7, and the defense had been knocking Max back and forth all day.

I could hear the coach hollering at the players. “Where the hell is my offensive line? What are you guys doing out there? You’re leaving your quarterback wide the hell open is what you’re doing! The man can only do so much. And when he gets the ball into the air, where’s my receivers? Where are you guys?”

Nobody answered, of course, but I could have told him where they were. The defense had their number, plain and simple. We were too focused on the passing game and not nearly as focused on the running game. And they knew it. They were ready for us because they knew the coach was obsessed with Max’s arm. He wanted to pass, pass, pass. Hasn't anybody ever told him the man’s arm would eventually give out if he didn’t start using his running backs?

But it wasn’t my place to say anything. Or … maybe it was.

I stood outside the locker room door, waiting for the coach to finish screaming, then waved a little to get his attention. I had to do something. He was stubborn and ridiculous.

“What is it, Morrison?”

“I’m a little worried about Max’s arm, Mr. Cramer,” I said.

“What do you mean?” His eyes were dark. He was in no mood to be told what to do. I needed to get around that, somehow.

“He told me yesterday after the workout that he felt a little tight. I gave him a few exercises to do, and he said they helped.” I was lying out of my ass, and I could only hope my story wasn’t checked out.

“Okay, So?”

“So—I’m still concerned about the injury. He’s thrown how many passes so far today? And the defense keeps coming at him. One good hit to an already tight shoulder could be trouble.” I was making it up, thinking on the fly. “Meanwhile, Jared’s looking great, and he tells me he feels better than ever.”

The coach stared at me through narrowed eyes. “I’m the head coach here, Morrison. Not you. Understood?” So that was how it would be—sweet, fatherly and respectful six days out of the week and a tyrant on the seventh. He was running Max into the ground, and it was only the first game.

I let him do his job, reminding myself to keep my mouth shut in the future as I went back to the therapy room. He wasn’t the sort of man who took advice well, even if it meant losing the first game of the season due to his pride.

I watched with bated breath as the second half started, praying the team had found it within themselves to rally. There had been much bigger comebacks before, of course. Fourteen points wasn’t such a big deal.

Until it became twenty-one points early in the third quarter. I bent over in my chair, my head in my hands. It was on the first drive of the third quarter, too. Philly had marched the ball downfield with little effort on the part of our defensive line to stop them. I could almost feel the low spirits of the team as they took to the field. One good play might turn it all around—but with the Philly defense reading our offense like a book, that seemed unlikely. I could hardly watch as the players got info formation at the line of scrimmage.

The hand-off. Max stepped into the pocket, looking downfield—then handed the ball off to Jared, who ran straight through a hole in the line and picked up thirty-five yards. I jumped out of my chair, shouting. That was how it was done, and just that one play was enough to put energy into the fans. They’d been waiting for their star linebacker to make a big play, and there it was.

The cameraman caught a shot of Max’s grin as he trotted down to the new line of scrimmage, right up against the Eagles forty-yard line. “Be smart, be smart,” I muttered, staring at the wide-screen TV in the therapy room. I crossed my fingers. “Run it out. Run it.”

And that was exactly what they did. Once again, Jared took the ball, this time carrying it out to the twenty-eight. First down. The fans were delirious—finally, they were getting a show. And the Eagles defense looked bewildered.

“Okay. They’re gonna expect you to pass this time,” I said, pacing back and forth. Not like anybody could hear me—it was probably better that they couldn’t. They’d think I was insane. “You should run it again, but not with Jared this time.”

Only they did try to use Jared, and the defense was gunning for him. They stopped him, causing a loss of yardage. It was second-and-thirteen.

“I’d throw it now,” I mused, chewing my thumbnail. Philly’s coaches weren’t stupid, not by a long shot. It wasn’t easy to fake them out. We could at least keep them guessing—sure enough, the defensive line scrambled to get into position, and took a false start in their eagerness. We got five yards back. I clapped my hands, wishing I could be on the sidelines. There were already other members of my team out there—Chris and Mike, both seasoned vets with the team. It was already decided it would be best for me to stay inside since the guys might get a little rough on the sidelines. Once again, I could handle it, but nobody believed me.

I would still throw, and evidently, Coach agreed with me since Max completed a smooth pass to Trey, one of the team’s receivers. Another first down. The liveliness on the field had picked up considerably, and I saw smiles on the faces of the guys. It was all they’d needed, a string of good plays. One good drive and they already felt like they were back in the game.

A touchdown on that drive. Then, an interception on the Eagles’ next possession which resulted in another touchdown. It was fun to watch them, finally. A field goal. A recovered fumble early on in Philly’s next possession, which was run in for a touchdown. We were ahead for the first time in the game. And we stayed that way for the rest of the game, with a final score of 24-21. We’d shut down the offense.

Or, rather, they had. I couldn’t take credit, even though I felt a sense of joy and belonging when they team celebrated their first victory. They were still on the field, doing short interviews for local news stations. I waited impatiently, wishing I could tell Max how proud I was of him. It would mean talking to him again, but I didn’t mind since I knew he’d cleaned up for me when I ran out in tears. I felt like I owed him an apology for the way I acted before.

I watched as one of the on-field broadcasters pulled Max aside to congratulate him and ask him a few questions. He pulled off his helmet, smiling hugely. Oh, that smile. My heart fluttered before I could tell it not to. Why did he have to be so sexy?

“What do you think gave you the extra strength to get out there and win today, Max?” the broadcaster asked.

“Well, knowing I had my team behind me went a long way,” he said, smiling. “But I have to give the bulk of the credit to a good luck charm who recently came into my life. She had more to do with this than she knows.”

My mouth fell open.

He couldn’t mean …

Just then, a girl with long, black hair nearly jumped Max. She grabbed him by the jersey, turned his face to hers and gave him a big kiss, right there on national television. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she nearly pulled him to the ground. My mouth fell open even further.

A cheerleader. One of our girls.

“Well,” the broadcaster said as he turned to the camera with a grin, “I guess we don’t have to ask who that special good luck charm is. Back to the booth.”

I sat down with a thump, my heart sinking. So that was it. Max was seeing one of the cheerleaders. Why hadn’t he told me that already? He could have told me. I was used to hearing things like that coming from him. There was a girl much prettier than me, much sexier and more desirable who had caught his eye. She was his good luck charm. I should have known.

And there I was, feeling like a fool all over again.

“
W
hat the hell
is wrong with you?” I pulled away from Layla, my head spinning from that kiss. I was mortified. “That was a fucking interview you just interrupted, Layla.”

“Duh. I know. I thought the world should know that you and I are more than just a casual thing. Don’t you think so?”

“What?”

“Stop acting surprised. What’s so bad about them knowing about us?” She pouted, her eyes wide and helpless. I wanted to shake her. The only thing stopping me was the presence of hundreds of other people on the field and in the stands.

“We’re not more than just a casual thing. You’re fucking insane. Stay the hell away from me!” I pushed my way past her, wanting nothing more than a soak in one of the therapy tubs. It had been a brutal game.

“What do you mean by that? You think you can just fuck me and throw me away?” I spun around, even more mortified than before. She was causing a scene in the middle of the field, with goddamned reporters everywhere. They started to notice, too.

“Come with me.” I grabbed her by the arm and wouldn’t let her wriggle her way out of my grasp. What the hell was I thinking, hooking up with her in the first place?

“Fuck you! Let go of me,” she spat.

“Do you wanna be on the front page of the tabloids?” I asked through gritted teeth as we marched to the tunnel together. To think, I had been overjoyed at our win just a minute earlier.

“So what? All publicity is good publicity, right?”

“Yeah, and it’ll get your ass kicked right off the squad,” I muttered. That was enough to shut her up, and only when we got to the relative safety of the tunnel leading to the locker room did I let her go. “You’re fucking delusional? Don’t you every pull a stunt like that again. Ever. You hear me?”

She pouted. “You think you can just use me like a toy whenever you get bored, huh?”

“I swear to God, Layla, don’t make me say shit I’m gonna regret.” I turned away from her, walking toward the locker room by myself.

“Don’t you walk away from me, Max!” she snarled. I tried to ignore her, shaking my head. What the hell was I thinking? The bitch was crazy. She ran after me, pulling down the back of my jersey until I started choking.

“Get the fuck off of me!” I pulled away, facing her again. “We’re over. Got it? Find another guy to sleep with.”

“Fuckin’ asshole!” She threw a pompom at me. I heard a few snickers and chuckles around me. My own teammates. I hoped they were smarter than me and stayed away from her.

“You did this to yourself,” I said, pointing a finger. “You shouldn’t have kissed me out there. That was a stupid move.”

“So I made a mistake! So what?”

“I can’t trust you to chill out, that’s what. Like I said, we’re through. Delete my number.” I didn’t let her stop me that time, walking away while she ranted. She wouldn’t dare go overboard, since she knew I wasn’t lying about her getting kicked off the cheerleading squad. If she opened her mouth to the media, that would be the end of her. Good thing, too, because she was just crazy enough to do something like that. Only she wanted to be a cheerleader more than anything—that was one of the few things I’d learned about her that didn’t have to do with sex.

You just won the opener. Be happy. I reminded myself that we’d just won a tough game, probably the most important of the regular season. It was the game that would start off the entire season, and we’d started off on the right foot. The next game with Denver would be a pushover next to the one we’d just played.

I got to the locker room, where the rest of the team was already celebrating. I joined them, slapping my buddies on the back, congratulating them on solid plays. Everybody had worked hard, everybody had contributed. Yeah, I’d gotten off a few key passes, but our defense had been the reason we’d scored two of our three touchdowns thanks to turnovers—then they’d shut down the Eagles’ offense. I couldn’t take all the credit, and I was a big enough to person to know I couldn’t.

I stripped down, wrapping a white towel around my waist and heading in to rinse off in the shower before soaking. I wanted nothing more than to let the hot water soothe my aching muscles.

And I wanted to talk to Abby. I’d been wanting to talk to her ever since I overheard her and the coach talking at halftime since he asked me on the sidelines how my shoulder felt. She was the reason we’d won the damned game, and I needed to tell her that.

Chad was the only other guy in the therapy room when I walked in—a lot of the players had gotten off the field before I had since I was the one all the reporters wanted to talk to. That was a relief since I didn’t feel like having my personal life on display for everybody.

“Hey, Is this tub free?” Abby stood with her back to me and shrugged her shoulders. Okay, then. I looked at Chad, who also shrugged. So he couldn’t get a read on her, either. At least it wasn’t just me. Maybe she was waiting for me to get into the tub before turning around? That had to be it. She didn’t want to see me naked. That was something new—most women did.

I settled into the bubbling water with a sigh, relishing the way the hot water made my muscles relax almost on contact. Chad and I talked about the game, running over a few of the plays. Then we talked about what we were planning to do after we left for the day.

“Man, I don’t know,” I said. “I was thinking about getting a massage, maybe. Getting something to eat. Nothing major.”

“Not going out with Layla?” Chad asked with a laugh. I shot him a dirty look—and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Abby stiffen. Was that the problem? I was used to her not liking the women I was with, so it was nothing new.

“Nah,” I said, then I waved my hand back and forth in front of my throat to signal him to shut the fuck up. I couldn’t talk about Layla in front of Abby, especially after the mess in the tunnel. I never wanted to see that bitch again. Chad nodded, understanding.

“Well, a bunch of us were gonna go out,” he said. “Just a dinner type thing. Garrett’s fiancée is putting it together. She wants a headcount for the restaurant.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” I watched Abby as she wasted time stacking and re-stacking things. She wouldn’t turn around.

“You in, bro?”

“Uh, which restaurant?” I asked, only half paying attention.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Garrett.”

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good, I guess.” I looked at him, nodding my head in Abby’s direction. He shrugged.

“Hey, Abby? Wanna come with us to dinner tonight?” he asked.

She turned around with a smile. “That’s really nice,” she said. “Thanks for asking. I don’t know, though—won’t I be totally outnumbered by you guys?”

Was she flirting with him? I’d seen flirting in my time—a lot of it—and it definitely looked like she was coming on to him from the way she stood, the way her eyes traveled over the upper half of his body. I glanced at him and saw the way he smiled.

“Nothing wrong with that. You’ll have your pick of us.” He smirked.

“Hmm, I like those odds,” she murmured with a wink. What the fuck had I walked into? Bizarro world?

“Besides,” he added, “anybody with a girlfriend or wife will have their woman with them.”

“Oh.” She pouted. He laughed. I had a hard time understanding what the hell was happening.

She turned to me. “I guess you’ll bring your cheerleader?”

“Huh?” Chad snorted, and I ignored him.

“The one who stuck her tongue down your throat on national TV. I assumed that was your girlfriend, just like everybody else who was watching.”

“Well, this is awkward.” Chad chuckled.

I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of answering. Let her think I was with Layla, it didn’t matter. She was too busy being a bitch to be my friend. I guessed it was stupid of me to think we could be friends anymore—we were both grown up. We didn’t know each other anymore, and we didn’t need each other anymore. When I was friends with her, I needed somebody to like me for me. I needed somebody I could be myself around. I didn’t need that anymore. And she’d needed … what the hell had she needed? A friend. She didn’t have any others back then. But a decade in Europe had changed that, plus a lot of other things. She was a different person. A lot of water under the bridge, like she’d said.

I just wished she would tell me why was all. Why was she acting that way with me? Why did she hate me? I wouldn’t have cared if it had been anybody else—hell, it wasn’t like she would have been the first woman to scream “I hate you!” at me. I was used to unstable women.

I cared what she thought, damn it. I wanted her to think just a little better of me than others did. She knew the real me. Yeah, I was an asshole, and I’d pissed off a lot of people. A lot of women. But she was Abby. She was like my sister. I would always want her to like me, as weird as that felt.

And she didn’t.

Chad stood, wrapping himself in a clean towel. He reminded Abby about dinner, and she said she’d love to go as long as somebody told her where and when. He promised to give her the info. I could tell from the way he looked at her that he wanted to give her a lot more than that. He wasn’t fooling me.

Fuck it. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Not like she’d ever go for somebody like him, anyway. She had better taste. Chad was an all right guy, but he wasn’t in my league.

Why does that matter? I thought about it as she drained the tub Chad had been in. “The maintenance people will clean it out,” I said.

She glanced up at me. “Yeah, I know. I thought it would be nice to drain it for them.” She rolled her eyes and walked away.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, glaring at her. I stood, wrapping the towel around my waist before getting out of the tub. Abby kept her back turned to me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I wanted to tell you something, but you keep turning away from me.” I went to her, putting my hand on her shoulder. “I was going to thank you for what you did today.”

“What did I do? I sat here, since nobody wants me on the sidelines, and watched the game. I might as well have been a fan in the stands.” I could almost feel the cold coming from her. She was extremely pissed at me. And there I was, feeling like an idiot, not knowing why.

“Forget it,” I walked away—no sense in fighting with her in front of the rest of the team. I would never hear the end of it.

I’d only wanted her to know that it was her I was talking about when I told the reporter I had a good luck charm. It was her, not Layla. But if she was going to be too stubborn to listen and flirt with one of my teammates in front of me then I sure as hell didn’t have the time to explain it.