“Ready to be honored and shit, hero?” Jo Jo asked him as he walked past. He ruffled Sam’s short hair.
“No,” Sam said. Jo Jo laughed, not realizing Sam was dead serious. He hated being the center of attention. And he’d endured it all week. For Jane. Who hadn’t even called.
King came up behind him and pounded lightly on his shoulders pads. “Get it together, Sammy,” he warned. “You agreed to it. I know it sucks, and you’re going to hate every minute, but there are a bunch of guys out there who can’t wait to be recognized for their service. So suck it up and smile for them.”
“I never wanted to be a poster child,” Sam said. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “This blows.”
“Come on, now,” Nigel said. “Do it for us. I, for one, am going to tell all the ladies that I am a close personal friend of the Rebels’ number-one hero and Internet sex sensation. I’m hoping I’ll get some pussy out of if. You wouldn’t want to deny me that, now would you?”
Sam laughed in spite of himself. “Okay, when you put it that way.” He looked back at King. “I’ll do it for Nigel.”
“That’s the Sam in team,” King said. “Try to work his name into the speech.”
Cass straddled the bench next to Sam. “I spoke to Joey DeMarco yesterday. He said the Packers just want a clean game today. No one’s going to be making any statements one way or the other about the whole mess you guys have been dealing with this week. So we’re solid.”
Sam let out a big breath. That was one worry off the list.
“Good,” King said. “I wasn’t looking forward to breaking heads today.”
“You always look forward to breaking heads,” Cass said with a grin. “This is football.”
King let out a big, booming laugh and Sam couldn’t help smiling. He hadn’t heard King laugh a lot this week, and he’d missed it.
“You got to go, Sammy,” King said, pointing at the clock on the wall. “Melody Ann said she wanted you to meet them on the sidelines by eight.”
“This sucks.”
“You already said that.” King sounded unsympathetic. “Go. I bet she’s watching.”
“I bet she’s not,” Sam said, getting a little angry. “The least she could do is call just to say ‘Fuck off. It’s not going to work.’ ”
“Which is why I’m still hopeful,” King said calmly. “She hasn’t called to say that, at least.”
Sam’s anger deflated. “Yeah. Okay.” He grabbed his helmet. “I’m going. But I’m not going to like it. I may even hate it. I’m not having any fun.”
“No one said being a grown-up was fun,” Cass told him. “We’ve got your back. Don’t worry.”
—
King fidgeted in the locker room, helmet on and ready to go after Sam left. He didn’t like sending him out there alone. Sam didn’t like too much attention; everyone knew that. When Melody Ann had told them what she was planning, it had sounded like a good idea, the perfect way to polish Sam’s tarnished reputation. But they hadn’t really thought it through. Sam had to give a speech on live TV in front of over 65,000 fans. This was the first sold-out game in Rebels history. Melody Ann had said that was probably due to him and Sam, because they’d sold the last 15,000 this week. Great. They wanted a dick show and the team was sending Sam out there like a sacrificial lamb.
“Hey, King,” Reyes called out. “Your phone is ringing.”
King pulled off his helmet and went back to his locker to check the phone. It might be Sam. Maybe he needed something, like King out there with him. He punched in his passcode and saw that he had a text, not a call. He checked his messages and got a little light-headed when he saw that it was from Jane, and that it had been sent to both him and Sam.
I’m here.
That was it. Nothing else. Did she think someone was hacking his phone?
Where? he texted back. Two could play this game.
Used the tickets you sent.
So she was in the box. He sat down on the bench. What did that mean? She was in the box for family and friends. Significant others. Did she know that? If she did, did that mean she was going to give them another chance?
Why didn’t you call? he asked her.
Didn’t want to distract you before big game. Good luck!
He laughed in disbelief. Only Jane would consider a text from her a distraction. Like they were concentrating so hard on the game they’d forgotten about her.
That’s it?! Not a word in almost a week?
I have issues. Please don’t be mad. Why isn’t Sam responding?
He has to give a speech before the game. Veterans Day.
Okay. Tell him I said good luck.
Oh, he’d be telling Sam a lot more than that.
We’ve missed you.
I know. I heard. She added a little heart emoji. What the hell did that mean? He and Jane were going to have a serious conversation about how to text properly.
I missed you, too. That was better. Can I see you?
Now?
I’m in the hallway. Melody Ann brought me down.
And she didn’t think to tell him this first?
“King!” Darius Alvin was hollering at him from the locker-room doorway. “Hurry up, man, or you’re going to miss Sam’s speech.” King looked over and saw Jane peeking in the door. She had a red wig on and was wearing high heels and a slinky dress. She didn’t look like Jane, although she looked damn good.
“Someone here to see you, mate,” Nigel called back.
“Don’t take too long, King,” Cass warned from the doorway.
King ignored him as he tossed his phone into his locker and grabbed his helmet. He took long strides to the door and caught it before it closed. Jane was standing by the wall across the hallway, biting her lip.
“Bad time?” she asked, with a hesitant smile.
“Never. What’s with the wig?” King reached for her hand and pulled her away from the wall and into his arms, ignoring the rest of the team as they filed past behind them.
“Disguise to evade the press,” she said.
“Good one.” He rubbed his hands on her back, his calluses catching in the slippery material of her dress. “I missed the hell out of you.”
“You did?” Jane asked, like she didn’t believe such a thing was possible.
“I did.” King dropped his helmet to the floor and cupped her face in both hands. “I missed your jokes and your sensible nurse shoes. I missed your big heart and your kisses, and the way you challenge me. I missed my Merida.” He fingered the ridiculous wig she was wearing.
“She missed you, too. How can I make it up to you?” She stood there with her head tipped up, devouring him with her eyes, and King cursed the game he had to go play. He’d never wished he could skip a game before in his life.
“Just by being you,” King told her with a smile. “I suppose you know by now that I love you.”
“I heard,” she said, fighting a smile. “So why haven’t you kissed me yet?”
“Because I’m crazy,” he told her right before he pressed his lips to hers. He wrapped her in his arms and felt a little tug as she grabbed his jersey. She tasted so good, and felt so right. Everything about her was perfect. Suddenly the world stopped tipping around him and he stood on solid ground, like the part of him that had been missing just locked into place. He broke the kiss and gazed at her for a few seconds. He understood the phrase “stars in your eyes” now. Jane had them. He probably did, too.
“You make everything make sense,” he told her. “Don’t go away again.”
“I won’t,” she whispered. “Because I’m crazy in love, too. It just took me a miserable few days to realize it. We don’t make sense, you know. You’re wrong.”
“We make perfect sense,” King argued.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I say so and I’m the King.” King let her go and grabbed his helmet. “I’ve got to go. Sam’s about to give his speech. See you after the game?”
“Ye
s.” Her smile said more than that, so for once that was all she needed to say to make King happy.
—
Sam squinted at King, trying to understand what he was saying. King was on the sidelines and Sam was standing out in the middle of the field. It was a commercial break. They’d already introduced the representatives from the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and Coast Guard. They were all about twenty years older than Sam. For some reason, that made him feel better. They got through it and were living normal lives, able to participate in something like this tribute without excessive nerves. Maybe someday Sam would be the same.
“Do you have nightmares?” Sam asked the Marine.
The Marine looked startled.
“Uh, no,” he said. “Why?”
“Just wondering,” Sam mumbled.
“Don’t listen to that jackass,” the Navy guy said. “I was on the USS Cole. I have nightmares. We all have nightmares.”
“Still?” Sam asked, his heart sinking.
“Sure,” the Air Force guy said. “It’s normal. I mean, not every night.” He gave Sam a questioning look.
“No,” Sam quickly agreed. “Not every night.”
“That shit sticks with you, kid,” the Navy guy said. “Just scrape it off and keep on going.” The others all agreed.
Suddenly the cameraman was signaling to them and counting down on his fingers. Sam’s stomach nearly revolted but he swallowed it down and focused on the camera lens, pretending the stadium was empty. It was hard when he could hear the noise of over sixty thousand people.
“Please welcome Birmingham’s own Sam Taylor, an Army veteran who served two tours in Afghanistan, where he was wounded in combat and received a Purple Heart.”
Shit, they had to mention the Purple Heart. The microphone was shoved in front of him.
“Hey,” he said, and the stadium erupted. It was so loud he couldn’t even hear himself think. He grinned and waved and the noise got even louder. If this was all it took, he was going to coast through this.
“Go on,” the announcer whispered at him, motioning him to keep talking. “They’ll quiet down.”
“So, they asked me to get up here and say a few words about what it means to be a veteran,” Sam said loudly, and the crowd did begin to quiet down. “It made me think. Kind of hurt,” he said with a laugh, rubbing the side of his head. The crowd laughed with him, and suddenly he loved everyone in the stadium. “Anyway, that’s a tough question to answer. I mean, we all joined for different reasons. Some of my friends joined so they could go to college on the GI Bill.” More cheers. “Some joined because they wanted to learn a trade. I joined because I wanted to belong to something powerful, to be part of something bigger than myself.” The crowd went wild and it took about a minute for the noise level to go down again. “But we all made a commitment to defend the United States and what she stands for. For freedom, and justice, and liberty. I think we did a pretty good job.” This time the crowd noise was insane, and he and the vets behind him waved to the crowd together. The Marine was wiping tears away. Finally Sam said, “That’s about it, really. Being a veteran means I did my job, that I believe in what I fought for, and that, every day, I think about my service and the buddies I lost along the way. That’s what it means to me. Thanks.”
The crowd cheered some more, and then they began to chant, “Sam, Sam, Sam,” and all he could do was shake his head in wonder. When had he become this? He wasn’t even sure what they were cheering for. His service? Because he was a Rebel? Because of those damn pictures on the Internet? He didn’t even know anymore. Fact is, he didn’t care. This wasn’t his life. His fifteen minutes of fame would fade away. He wasn’t a franchise player. He was solid, and he had his days. But he knew who and what he was, and he was okay with that. He felt a sense of peace come over him as he walked back to the Rebels’ sideline. Whatever life threw at him, he could take it. But he wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines and wait for the chance to play. He was going to go after what he wanted. He wasn’t going to let Jane hide anymore, and he wasn’t going to be embarrassed about what he and King had. That was his life. Them. He smiled at King and walked over to where he was standing. King looked very agitated, which wasn’t his usual style.
“Didn’t I do a good job?” Sam asked, wondering what had King so wound up.
“She’s here.”
“What?” Sam asked, confused.
“Jane. She texted us, but you were already out there. I saw her. She’s here. In the box. She used the tickets,” King said, and pointed to the Rebels’ family skybox. Sam spun around and looked up, trying to see Jane in there, but it was too far away.
“What did she say?” he asked, looking back at King.
“She said she missed us, she’s crazy in love with me, and she’s going to see us after the game.”
Sam had to squat down, ass on his heels, and take a deep breath, because he got a little light-headed. “She’s crazy in love with you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” King said with a big, booming laugh. “Pretty good, huh?” He slapped Sam on the back. “Don’t worry. I think she’s waiting to tell you in person, like she did me.”
“Then that’s pretty great,” Sam said. He stood up and pointed at the skybox, hoping she could see him. Then he blew her a kiss and pulled his helmet on.
Chapter 36
Jane was pressed up against the glass, waving wildly at Sam as he blew her a kiss.
“He can’t see you, dumb-ass,” Randi McInish said. “He’s too far away.” Jane had just met her when she snuck into the skybox. Randi was a cop who was involved with the Rebels quarterback and a coach, one of the infamous Rebels threesomes. Jane didn’t think Randi liked her much.
“He blew me a kiss,” she argued.
“Well, he’s not stupid. He knows where the box is. Jesus.” Randi plopped down in her seat beside Jane. “I can’t believe I got roped into babysitting you.” Randi was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She was gorgeous. Curvy, with wild, curly hair and freckles dotting her café au lait complexion. She was seriously foulmouthed, which would have made Jane laugh under different circumstances. Jane felt foolish and overdressed in the clingy wrap dress and high heels Margo had bought her. She wished she’d worn her usual jeans and T-shirt. At least she’d been able to take off the itchy wig once she was in the box.
“I don’t need a babysitter.” Jane sat down, trying to keep track of where Sam and King were on the sidelines. “What are they doing?” she asked, frowning. The team was lining up on the field, but Sam and King were still on the sidelines. “Aren’t they playing?”
“They play defense,” Margo explained patiently. “The Rebels won the coin toss and chose to receive first.” At her blank look Margo continued. “The Rebels are on offense first. Sam and King will play when the other team gets the ball.”
“Look, I don’t like you very much already,” Randi said. “Are you telling me you don’t know anything about football? Not even the basics?”
“I know the injury statistics,” Jane said. “I’ve wrapped broken arms and ankles and heads from football injuries. Seen more concussions than I can count. I know they run into each other a lot, thus the injuries. And everyone is chasing a ball.”
“Am I going to have to spend the whole game listening to her explain football to you?” Randi complained, and made her feelings clear with a loud raspberry. “Because, if so, I may have to shoot you.”
“Randi,” Chloe Alvin snapped. “Quit being such a bitch.” Her husband was one of the oldest players on the team, and she was sort of the unofficial den mother up here, as far as Jane could tell. She was tall and thin, with dark-brown skin and long, straight hair. She looked like a supermodel in a pencil skirt and silk blouse with sky-high heels.
“I am a bitch,” Randi said. “So that’s kind of hard to do.”
“You got that right,” some smart-aleck girl said from the back of the room. Randi turned and glared at her.
“You have less right to be her
e than she does,” Randi told the girl. “He’s just fucking with you. She’s a future baby mama.”
“Whoa,” Jane said. “I wish everyone would stop trying to get me pregnant.”
“TMI,” Randi said. Just then Ty Oakes, the Rebels quarterback, got hit after he threw the ball, and Jane saw Randi’s fingertips turn white as she dug them into the arm of her chair. Other than that, she still looked cool as a cucumber, but she wasn’t fooling Jane.
“I can’t believe we haven’t met yet,” Jane said, trying to take Randi’s mind off the game. “Most of the cops in Birmingham have been through my ER for one reason or another.”
“They took me to UA when I got shot,” Randi said, not looking away from the game.
“Wow, someone shot you,” Jane said, deadpan. “Go figure.” At that Randi turned slowly to face her, then she grinned.
“Go figure,” she said. “I was working undercover as a hooker.”
“Now you’re just giving me freebies,” Jane complained. “You should at least make me work for the insults.” At that, Randi laughed.
“Okay, one bitch to another,” Randi said. “Why’d you disappear? That was seriously not cool. Sam and King nearly lost their minds this week. The whole team has been off. They’ll be lucky to get out of this game with points on the board.”
“What?” Jane asked, shocked. “But, why?”
“One man down, the team goes down,” Randi said. “Ty said they’ve really gelled this season. They’re working as a unit, finally. Sam and King have a lot to do with that.”
“How?” Jane asked, truly curious. “Because of their relationship?”
“Oh, hell, no, that’s new,” Randi said with a snort. “Half the team nearly wet themselves over that. The other half said they knew all along. No, because of who they are. King’s always so laid-back, right? The islander with the surfer attitude, he helps everybody maintain their equilibrium. And Sam…well, he’s Sam. He’s quiet, and fucked-up, and he makes you want to take care of him.”
“He is fucked-up,” Jane said with longing. “And I do want to take care of him.” She thought about how Sam was when they were making love. She wanted that Sam, too, the dominant one who ordered her around and fulfilled all her fantasies. And King, who would do whatever she or Sam wanted, give them whatever he thought they needed. “Both of them.” She looked down at them and saw they were jogging out to line up on the field. “Oh, they’re playing now.
Jacked Up Page 25
