And even though I was afraid that my chest might crack open from the pain I was suffering, I squeezed his hand.
“You have it, QB. As long as you want it.”
12
Gideon
That was the best Christmas I could remember since I’d been ten years old.
I’d thought that Peaceful Meadows was going to be my sanctuary, a place where I didn’t have to let anyone in, but as it happened, sharing my home with Sarah for that week made the farm even more perfect. I wasn’t sure how that was possible, but I wasn’t going to fight it, either.
On the morning of Christmas Eve, we got into the pick-up truck I’d bought at the same time I’d moved onto the farm and drove far out into the country, to a tree farm that Ellie Iverson had recommended to me.
“All the tree places close to the city will be sold out by Christmas Eve,” she’d informed me when I’d asked. “But this one—I’ve been using them for years. They always have some beautiful trees, even at the last minute.”
Sarah and I tromped around the evergreens, arguing amiably about the pros and cons of Douglas firs versus Frasier firs, how tall the tree should be and what constituted a well-rounded shape. But when we finally found the pine we could agree on, Sarah hesitated, biting her lip.
“What’s wrong now?” I pulled off my cap and scratched my head. “I thought you said this was the most perfect Christmas tree you’d ever seen.”
“It is.” She raised mournful eyes to me. “But if we cut it down, we’re killing it. It’s going to die, Gideon. And we’ll be its murderers.”
By the barest bit of self-control, I refrained from rolling my eyes. “But just think of how pretty it will look, all decorated. And if it makes you feel any better, I won’t move it from the house until after you’ve gone back to California.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” she shot back. “I’ll still be an accomplice.”
“You folks ready for me to saw this one for you?” The farm attendant we’d spoken with earlier ambled over, holding his saw and ax. Sarah’s eyes met mine, pleading.
“Ah, well . . .” I began, stalling. “I think we like this one, only my friend here–” I jerked my chin toward Sarah. “She doesn’t think she wants to cut the tree.”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded. “Okay.”
“I don’t want it to die,” she explained. “Isn’t there some way we could bring it home, but not cut it?”
I waited for the guy to mock her, to snap that he didn’t have time on Christmas Eve of all days to put up with some bleeding-heart liberal who was afraid of hurting the tree’s tender feelings. But he did none of that. Instead, he grinned at her.
“Sure, there is,” he replied cheerfully. “We can dig up the whole root ball, wrap it up for you, and you can put it in a tub for the holiday.” He turned to me. “And then afterward, you can take it outside and plant the tree. It’s a great cost-effective way to buy a Christmas tree—and it’s better for the environment, too.”
Sarah clapped her hands together. “That would be so perfect, wouldn’t it, Gideon? Can we do that? Please?”
As if I was going to refuse those beautiful brown eyes, blinking up at me? Not hardly.
That was how we ended up with a tree in a tub that I’d had to get at the hardware store on our way home. We stayed up late decorating it, and then we turned off all the lights in the house except the colored bulbs on the tree itself. Sarah found my Christmas records and turned up the volume enough that we could hear the strains of festive music drifting down to us as we sat together on the loveseat, holding hands and enjoying the tree.
When midnight came, Sarah snuggled close to me, her knees folded in front of her.
“Merry Christmas, Gideon,” she whispered.
I kissed the top of her head. “Merry Christmas, princess.”
But all good things must come to an end, and early on the morning after Christmas, Sarah packed up her car to head back to New Jersey. She was seeing her mother and sisters again briefly before catching a flight to San Francisco later that night.
“I’ll be home in time to watch your game,” she informed me, closing the car door after she’d loaded in her suitcases—two this time, because I’d managed to come up with some pretty dang good gifts to put under the tree for her. She was borrowing my bag to get them home.
I made a face. “Don’t worry about it too much. It’s a throwaway game, the one that doesn’t really matter. The season’s over for us, anyway.” I hated to say those words, but it was time to face the truth. There wouldn’t be any post-season play for the Rebels again this year. It sucked, and it made me furious, but the only thing I could do was work toward next season. My focus was already there.
Sarah wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry, QB. But you played your heart out this year. No one can say any different—and if they do, send them to me. I’ll take care of them.” She balled up her fists as though in preparation for a fight, which made me laugh.
“Okay, princess, will do. But let’s try to keep the fisticuffs to a minimum, all right?” I glanced at my watch. “Shit, I have to get ready to go. I’m supposed to be at practice in an hour.”
“That’s fine. I’m out of here, anyway.” She opened her car door and tossed her handbag into the front seat. “Don’t forget to water the tree, and when you have him planted, take a picture for me.”
“I already promised you I would.”
She nodded. “But don’t forget.”
“I won’t, I won’t.” I caught her hand in mine. “Text me when you get to New Jersey. And then again when you land in California.”
“Geez, buddy, give me some space, huh?” She rolled her eyes, acting like my concern was an imposition, but I’d already seen the pleased expression under her teasing.
“Space is one thing we’ve got. Three thousand miles between us,” I reminded her. Taking a deep breath, I added, “I’m going to miss you, Sarah.”
The teasing faded from her eyes. “I’ll miss you, too.”
We were both quiet for a few seconds, before she went on. “But we’ll text, and we’ll call, and I can come visit at some point, and you could come see me in San Francisco. I have more out of the way sights to show you.”
I groaned. “Oh, great.”
Sarah swatted my arm with her free hand. “Watch it there, dude, or I won’t—”
Before she could finish voicing her threat, I grabbed the hand that hit me. Tugging her close, my heart hammering out either a warning or a cheer, I used our joined fingers to nudge her chin upward and kissed her.
It had been a long time since I’d kissed a woman. Hell, I hadn’t kissed anyone since Sarah, when we’d had our so-called one-night fling, but I didn’t count that, because the kiss had come in the course of sex. The last time I’d kissed a woman like this, with no possibility of it going further . . . it had to have been Lilly, back before everything went so wrong.
But this kiss had nothing to do with Lilly. It was all about Sarah and me, and I imbued it with everything that I’d felt over this week with her. Gratitude for her compassion and understanding. Adoration for her fun-loving, adventurous side. Appreciation for the times when we’d simply sat quietly together, with no conversation necessary, and for the long talks we’d had while walking over my land. And whether I liked it or not, frustration born of all the nights I’d only barely made it through without bursting into her room and making love to her until dawn.
Yeah, this was quite a kiss.
I took my time, letting my lips remember hers again, and then gently but insistently nudging her mouth open. Sarah made a small sound that might have been relief or passion, and I groaned in response. Our tongues wound around each other, touching and then drawing back, dancing in a way that made me only want more and more and more.
But now was not the time for more. With regret I didn’t bother to try to hide, I eased back, breaking the connection, pausing only to drop one more fast, hard kiss to her mouth. One more for the road
.
With my finger, I tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“Drive safe, princess,” I whispered, and then I released her and turned back to the house. I couldn’t stand there and watch her go, or I might have done something rash, like begged her to stay forever.
The wind was bitterly cold, but it wasn’t the temperature on this final night of the regular season chilling the hearts all of the Richmond Rebels. The guys on the field and the fans in the stands all knew the hard truth: we’d played well this year, but it wasn’t enough to get us to the playoffs.
We had two minutes left in the fourth quarter, and we were up by ten. Our opponents, the team from Minnesota, had clinched their spot in the post-season last week. That was why tonight, they were playing their second-string quarterback and defenders.
As we huddled prior to the next play, I glanced around at the somber expressions of my teammates, visible even behind their face masks.
“This is it.” I pointed to Iverson. “Give me as much time as you can in the pocket.” I shifted my attention to Leo. “Taylor, go left—they’re going to expect you to head downfield for a pass, but I’m going to hand off to you instead. Once you get the ball, run like hell.” I took a breath. “These dudes—they think we’re done. But even if it doesn’t make a fucking bit of difference to the rest of the world, playing our absolute best to the bitter end is important to me.” I thumped my chest. “It’s important to all of us.”
Around me, the men roared their agreement.
We lined up, and I sucked in a deep breath. The night was still, frozen in time, and then the ball was in my hands. Iverson and the rest of my blockers were fierce, giving me what I needed to make a quick, sharp forward pass to Taylor.
Someone hit me from the right, but it was too late—the ball was already out of my hands. Scrambling to my feet, I shook off Minnesota’s defense and screamed for Leo along with the rest of the stadium.
When he crossed the line into the end zone without an opposing player anywhere near him, it didn’t matter to me that the game was over or that we were done for the year. We’d won. We’d played our best. There was some satisfaction there, mingled with the disappointment.
As the coaches and media flooded the field, I found myself looking around, searching for . . . something. Someone. It was ridiculous, because my family had stayed in New York, and the only other person who I might have cared about was on the opposite side of the country.
I missed her suddenly, with a keenness that made my chest hurt. For the first time, I had a sense that even if tonight meant something different—even if we had a chance to play for the big game—it would feel somehow empty, because Sarah wouldn’t be with me to celebrate.
After a moment, I shook it off and stalked off the field.
***
Sarah: Hey, QB, great game. I know you said it doesn’t count, but you still played your heart out, and even if that W doesn’t matter, you have the satisfaction of knowing you did your best.
Gideon: Thanks. Everyone did the same. I was really proud of my guys. They stuck with it until the end.
Sarah: You all can take a well-deserved break. Right? I know there’s no off-season for you, but maybe just a few days of sleeping in?
Gideon: Yeah, we’ll see.
Sarah: All work and no play makes Gideon a dull boy.
Gideon: Gideon is already a dull boy.
Sarah: Don’t you dare talk shit about my best friend. Hey, how’s my tree?
Gideon: Good. It’s supposed to warm up on New Year’s Eve, so I think I’ll try to get him in the ground that day.
Sarah: What are you doing to celebrate New Years?
Gideon: Didn’t you just read what I wrote? I’m planting our tree.
Sarah: Gideon . . .
Gideon: Sarah . . .
Sarah: Seriously, dude. New Year’s Eve! Your teammates must be having a party or something.
Gideon: Probably. But I won’t be there.
Sarah: You could invite them to your house.
Gideon: Could. Not gonna. Let’s change the subject. How is San Francisco?
Sarah: Nice maneuver, QB. Okay, I’ll leave it alone. SF is fine. Kara and Allan don’t get back until next week, so things will be pretty quiet until then. I could’ve stayed another week on the east coast, but the idea of being at my mom’s . . . let’s just say it didn’t appeal to me.
Gideon: Rick was still there?
Sarah: Apparently. I didn’t see him. Mom made him go out while I was there, between your house and the airport. Dana said everything had been okay, but same old, same old. She thinks he’s starting to get up there in age, worrying about having someone to take care of him, and that’s why he’s back to see Mom. Son of a bitch.
Gideon: I’m sorry, princess. Wish I could make it better.
Sarah: Don’t we all. No worries, I’m not thinking about it now that I’m back here.
Gideon: Good. So in the interest of turnabout, what are YOU doing for New Year’s?
Sarah: Not planting a tree.
Gideon: Good to know. No cheating on our tree and me.
Sarah: Honestly, probably watching TV and going to bed early. I know, pathetic. Also, there’s something about people living in glass houses and not throwing stones.
Gideon: Uhhh . . . okay. I wasn’t going to say any of that. I was going to ask why you’re not going out with any of your CA friends.
Sarah: Um, because none of them invited me? I haven’t been here long enough to know anyone besides Kara that well. Anyway, I’m more in the stay-at-home mood this year.
Gideon: No sexy professor with horn-rimmed glasses beating down your door for a date?
Sarah: Not unless you’re here, precious. ;)
Gideon: I don’t wear glasses.
Sarah: But you could. I mean, just saying. You’d look super sexy in them. Think about it.
Gideon: Yeah, I’ll definitely do that. Meanwhile you didn’t really answer my question.
Sarah: Which was . . .??
Gideon: No date for New Year’s?
Sarah: No, QB, no date for New Year’s. I thought we’d established that when you were here, that I wasn’t dating anyone.
Gideon: That was months ago. I was just checking.
Sarah: If I was dating someone, do you think he’d have been okay with me spending a week alone with one of the hottest quarterbacks in professional football? The answer to that question is no.
Sarah: Also, to be crystal clear, I’m not dating, seeing or sleeping with anyone, here or anywhere else.
Gideon: Okay.
Sarah: That’s it? Just okay? After you give me the third degree?
Gideon: Yeah.
Sarah: What’s wrong?
Gideon: Why is something wrong?
Sarah: I can just tell. Something is bothering you.
Gideon: Not really.
Sarah: Oh for the love of God QB stop being such a baby and tell me.
Gideon: You said I was ONE of the hottest quarterbacks in professional football. Who’s hotter?
Sarah: ….
Sarah: Really, dude? Really?
Gideon: Dying here. Seriously fucking dying. You fell so hard for that.
Sarah: GOOD NIGHT, Gideon.
Gideon: Night, princess.
Gideon: Miss you.
“Maynard. Figured I’d find you here.”
With a great deal of effort, I replaced the barbell onto the rack and turned my head to see who’d come in the door. Corey Iverson stood there, leaning against the wall, waiting for me to finish up.
“Hey, Iverson. What’s going on?” I sat up, swinging my legs to the side.
“Not much.” Corey looked . . . glum. It was a term my grandmother used, the only word I could think of to describe my co-captain’s face.
“Ah . . .” I reached for a towel and wiped off my neck. “Did you need me for something?”
“Yeah. I don’t know.” Restlessly, Corey moved into the room, running his hand over
the equipment. “I called Taylor and asked him to meet me here. I want to talk about the team. The season.”
“This one or next?” I inquired, rising to stand. “And why Taylor?”
“Because.” Corey dropped to sit on a bench press machine. “This team is fucking amazing. We’ve got talent to spare, we work hard, and we don’t shirk. No one’s getting in trouble for DUIs or, God forbid, for beating his wife. No one’s doing drugs, that I know of. And we’ve got leadership, too—you and me, and Taylor, too. He’s young, sure, but he’s smart and he’s got that way about him. He . . . inspires the guys. He can motivate them.”
“Okay, Corey.” I nodded. “You’ve sold me. The Richmond Rebels are an incredible team. But what’s your point?”
“My point is that here we are in the post-season, sitting on our asses—again. There’s no fucking reason why. At the risk of repeating myself, we’re a fucking amazing team.”
“Could it be that there are a lot of other fucking amazing teams out there, too?” Leo stepped in through the doorway of the training room.
“Taylor.” Corey held out a fist for the younger man to bump. “Thanks for coming over.”
“No problem.” Leo sketched a wave in my direction. “Maynard. How’s it going?”
I grimaced. “Like the man said—post-season, and I got time on my hands. Again. We need to figure out this shit, because next year, I don’t want to be able to say yes to the good folks at the Pro Bowl.”
Corey’s face broke into a wide smile. “Did you get the nod for the bowl? Damn, boy! Congratulations.”
I shrugged. “I’m one of six. It’s an honor to be chosen, sure. I’d rather be able to tell them thanks, but I’ve got a previous commitment at the big game.”
“Still, as consolation prizes go, it could be worse.”
“Sure.” I glanced at Leo. “You got any input here? Aside from the possibility that we’re not a bad team, we’re just in a pool of really talented other franchises, that is.”
“Well . . .” He hesitated. “I don’t know . . .”
“Taylor.” Corey clamped his hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Gideon and I here are requesting your input. There are no wrong answers at this point. We need to explore all the different possibilities.”
Sway (Keeping Score Book 6) Page 23
