Going Long (Waiting on the Sidelines)

by Ginger Scott

  “Yeah, it does,” he let out a heavy sigh, but collected himself. “I still have some things to work through, though. I can’t formally declare or sign with any representation, so I’m going to talk to Dylan Nichols. Brent said Dylan would give me a call. I think it’s his son, and he’s a little more off the radar. He can put feelers out, I guess, without it being front-page news.”

  “Ah, I see,” I said, nodding and smiling as if he could see me. When I remembered that I was home alone under my covers, I let the frown reign again.

  “You sound tired, do you want to go to sleep?” Reed asked in response to my silence. Suddenly, the thought of hanging up with him frightened me.

  “No, no. I mean, yes, I’m tired, but… can I just keep you on the phone for a while? You know, maybe fall asleep with you near? Unless you have something to do.”

  “Why, are you asking me to talk dirty to you, Nolan?” Reed put on that deep, devilish voice that normally had my heart racing. But tonight that was the last thing I wanted.

  “No,” I giggled, hoping it sounded genuine. “I just miss you. Is that okay?”

  “Of course. Get comfortable, and turn off the lights. I’ll tell you a story, okay?” he said kindly. I knew what was coming. Sometimes, when I was really stressed, Reed would retell the story of our relationship, about the first time he danced with me, the first time he held my hand, when he wrote me a letter telling me he thought I was beautiful. He never retold any of the bad parts, about how his ex-girlfriend Tatum had bullied me and kept us apart. And normally, I didn’t give thoughts of her the time of day. But tonight I was instantly zeroed in on my memories of Tatum, primarily her pregnancy scare…and how that almost ruined Reed’s life.

  I nestled into my covers and pushed my pillow up to my face, muffling the sounds of my crying while Reed spoke sweetly in my ear. So much for pretending.

  Chapter 3

  Reed

  Game day had me pumped. Oregon was in town, and this game mattered more than most. Oregon was our biggest divisional competition.

  Noles liked to pretend that the Devils would give us a run for our money, but not this year. I was glad, too, because the line last year really did a number on me. I was pretty sure I cracked a rib, though I’d never mentioned that to anyone. There was this unspoken rule about bringing up your injuries. If you said them aloud and a member of the coaching staff heard, they had to follow through with MRIs and doctors’ opinions and shit. But if you never said them for anyone to hear, and no one asked, then those smaller injuries could sort of slide under the radar.

  There were a lot of people that hated that side of the game, and I get it. But hell, I wanted to play, and if they had to tape my neck together just to hold my head on in order for me to do so, then I was fine with that. The lawyers, though? Well, not so much. So we kept our mouths shut, and played, no matter how much it hurt.

  So far, I’d been lucky. No big hits to threaten my clear mind and strong arm. But I knew that big hit was always looming. I saw it in the eyes of every angry linebacker that looked right through me, every single game, sometimes even during practice. That’s why my draft entry this year was so important. The longer I put it off, the bigger the risk that I would become damaged goods, unwanted in the only world I’ve ever really wanted to belong.

  I had to make Nolan get that. I know deep down she understood, and I hated that I was making my priorities bigger than hers. Selfish asshole. That’s how I felt. But whenever I tucked it to the back of my thoughts, it found a way back to the forefront with news about someone else’s career-ending injury or some sad story about a washed up athlete working as a real-estate agent. Or my own damned brother and his pathetic, plastic life that I didn’t want in the worst way.

  But now it was time to clear my head. The walk from my dorm to the workout room was my favorite, especially on Saturdays. The campus was empty, so I slid by unnoticed. The truly dedicated academic sorts, filtering in and out of the main library on the weekends, couldn’t give a shit who I was, and it was glorious.

  September in Tucson was hot. Hell, October was hot, too. But September was downright brutal. Frankly, it gave us an edge when the West Coast teams came to town. When you practiced every day in the searing 100-plus degrees, playing a few hours during an evening game was no sweat, literally. The visitors were usually less fortunate, heat exhaustion quick to settle in.

  The sun was lighting up the nearby desert hills, and the sky was on the brink of turning the most awesome orange. There was a faint and familiar smell of rain and dust in the air from the faraway thunderclouds. Everything about the desert was home to me, but I mostly loved taking it in because it reminded me of Nolan. I can’t explain why, maybe it was all of the times I’d kissed her at sunset. But it did. And this walk…this time of the day? Well, it was just my favorite.

  My phone rang as I opened the door to the workout room. I pulled it from my pocket, recognizing my dad’s ringtone right away. Dad thought it was hysterical that I gave him ZZ Top’s Sharp Dressed Man. It was Nolan’s idea because of the crazy-ass suits my pops always wears.

  I dropped my bags by a bench just inside, and swiped my phone to answer. “Hey dad, what’s up?” I said, sliding my feet from my shoes and getting my gear ready.

  “Hey, Kid. You ready for tonight?” he asked, as excited as ever. No one would argue my pops was my number-one fan. He was my champion and rock, too.

  “Hells yeah,” I laughed a little, sitting down to try to pull at the laces on my cleats with my spare hand.

  “Good, good,” dad chuckled. “Noles is coming, yeah?”

  “Of course! She doesn’t miss a game,” I smiled as I spoke.

  “Good,” Dad paused for a bit, which made me a little nervous.

  “Why? What’s up,” I was suspicious now and stopped what I was doing.

  “Nothing, nothing at all. It’s just, well… Mom’s coming tonight, too. She’s got a lunch set up tomorrow for you to meet Dylan.”

  “Oh, okay, that’s fine. Noles is okay with whatever, you know her,” I relaxed a little.

  “Yeah, I know she is. I just don’t want Millie to get to her, that’s all,” Dad said, acknowledging the shitty attitude my mom always put out whenever Nolan was around. I didn’t want to admit it, but she had never warmed to Nolan. I finally talked to my dad about it one night after an especially Millie Johnson-Snyder type of evening that sent Nolan home in tears I was sure. He just told me it was part of my mom’s flawed personality and that I needed to write it off and tell Nolan to do the same. As much as I didn’t want to think badly about my mom, I had to agree with him.

  “Alright, I’ll make sure I make Noles deliriously happy before she has to spend a second with Mom,” I laughed a little, though I wasn’t kidding, and I was already coming up with ways I could boost my girl’s confidence before my mother tore it down.

  “Okay, Kid. You’re a good nut, you know?” Dad said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I laughed. “You on your way?”

  “Sure am. I’m going to pick up Dylan for the game. If I get there early, we’ll stop by, sound good?” he said, I heard a honking sound in the distance over the phone.

  “Yeah, that works. Hey, though, Pops? Why don’t you go focus on driving now, huh? I’m gonna let you go, okay?” I insisted. I had an irrational fear of car crashes; I knew this. But being careful wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

  “You got it; see you in a bit,” Dad said, hanging up almost mid word. He was so awkward with his phone as it was; the thought of him pushing buttons while he cruised along the highway in his big-ass truck, going well over the speed limit, was about all my mind could take. That stubborn ass had a death wish, I swear! But not on my watch.

  I’d been massaged, whirl-pooled, stretched, taped and wrapped. This was the part before the game where I sat on the training table with my legs dangling, listening to my favorite playlist; it was a new one Nolan had made for me. She sent me a new one every few games, always with some funny s
ong that she said was the key to defeating my opponent. Colorado State had a John Denver tune, which was about as rockin’ as on-hold music, but fuckin’ funny nonetheless. The Cal game was a series of Beastie Boys songs—I kept that one around because it was just badass.

  Lying back, I shut my eyes and readied myself for her latest masterpiece. The first one was some rancid song from the ’90s; I think it was that chick that was married to Kurt Cobain? I couldn’t even make it through the first verse without sending Nolan a text. I knew she was still in Coolidge.

  Uh…grunge? What the hell?

  I flipped to the next song, which was some old punk tune. Not half bad. This one I could take. I smiled as soon as my phone vibrated in my hand with her response.

  Hey, first of all don’t knock Hole. Vintage Courtney Love was the shit. Second, she grew up in Portland : - )

  I laughed. It was a stretch, but she’d found an Oregon connection.

  OK, good tie-in. But still, she’s not helpin’ me out here. I’m going to need to pull out my own stuff if this list doesn’t get any better.

  I waited for just a few seconds before she responded.

  Song 11. Trust me. XXOO, leaving now. See you soon! I’m in section 111 with Sarah. I’ll catch up with you and your dad after, ok?

  I scrolled to song 11 before responding, and when I heard the familiar riffs of Thunderstruck start, I got a huge-ass grin and wrote her back immediately.

  Ahhhh, now that’s more like it. You do know me after all. Now, if I can just get you on board with Jay-Z and Kanye…

  I waited, but there wasn’t a response, so I knew she must have left. I tucked my phone into my bag and lay back, getting lost in Nolan’s latest soundtrack, which, thankfully, got a lot better and rocked out for the remaining songs.

  Dad showed up about an hour before the game, just like he always did. Buck Johnson had a special pass, and he got to wherever he wanted in the building—probably any building, I thought—on campus. His name was on more than a few gold donation plates throughout the athlete quarters, and most of the coaches knew him by first name. Hell, Coach Toms, my quarterback coach, had bought every family automobile from Johnson Buick in Tucson since the late ’90s. To say my dad was tight with the staff around here was putting it mildly. They were family.

  Manly hugs and pats on the back were being passed around. I just watched, leaning on the table. My dad could work a room. I hoped that one day I’d have a tenth of his charisma. The love fest was soon broken up by a series of whistles and catcalls. I watched my roommate, Trig, jump up on one of the benches and cover his mouth, waving his hand like he’d just bit into a hot pepper. He was starting to laugh a bit with surprise when he locked eyes with me, almost as if he was trying to give me a warning telepathically. His message, however, hit me too late. I was suddenly in the presence of a five-foot-ten-at-the-very-least blonde with legs that could make even the most faithful of boyfriends turn flirtatious and stupid.

  My elbow slid from the table, making it impossible to hide my gawking. I hadn’t even pushed my eyes upward to take in her face yet, but I knew from everything I’d seen so far that she was hot…like…supermodel hot. I saw my dad put his hand flat against her back and lead her closer to me, and for a moment, I understood. “Ah, I bet this is his latest girlfriend,” I thought.

  “Hey, Kid. You said you were ready. You don’t look it to me, you look lazy,” my dad kidded, but with a bite of truth. “Do I need to have a talk with Toms? Is he letting you slack off?”

  My dad’s belly laugh was iconic. I watched him nod to Coach Toms across the room, who acknowledged my game-readiness with a smile and thumbs up. “Kid’s always ready, Buck. Born ready,” he yelled over his shoulder as he headed into the front office to choke down some dinner.

  “Yeah, he sure was,” my dad said, reaching over to give me a hug now. My eyes finally found the spectacle standing behind him—her blue eyes crystal and perfect, not a hair out of place. Her silk blouse was so tight over her chest, leaving little to my imagination, though what my imagination was doing needed to be stopped, immediately. This was difficult because she was smiling now, and it was the kind of smile that reeked of whatever that thing was that kept heroin addicts coming back for more. Trouble. It was trouble.

  “Dylan Nichols,” she said, holding her perfectly manicured fingers out for me to touch, her eyes drilling into mine, and her shiny lips stretching into a smile that showed off her very expensive teeth. Shit! This…is Dylan?

  I reached out and shook her hand, removing the grin from my face and pulling out my best indifference despite the worry that now consumed the pit of my stomach. “Nice to meet you,” I said—friendly, but nothing more.

  “We made good time,” my dad piped in. “Thought I’d get the introductions out of the way, before we meet up with your mom tomorrow.”

  Mom. That’s what it was about Dylan. She was, in so very many ways, Millie Johnson-Snyder. No wonder my mom liked the Nichols family so much.

  “My dad’s told me a lot about you, Reed. He’s a big fan,” she said with a certain air of confidence.

  Okay, flattering, but she wasn’t flirting. This was good.

  “Your numbers look good—impressive, in fact. You could go higher than Patricks did last year, but only if the timing’s right.”

  Dylan Nichols knew her way around the business of football. “Thanks,” I said. One-word answers were safe.

  “We’ll talk more tomorrow, sorry. I didn’t mean to let business creep in before your game. Habit, blame my dad,” she giggled, but not in a girly way. She was Millie…and Nolan was going to flip the fuck out at lunch tomorrow.

  “I gotta go get ready,” I said, slinging my jersey over my shoulder to take her hand one more time in a business-like shake. “It was nice to meet you, Dylan. My girlfriend’s excited to meet you, too,” I said, forcing the words from my mouth and putting them where they didn’t belong, but wanting to make my relationship clear—probably wanting to clear my own conscience a bit, too. The part about Nolan being excited, however, was overkill. All I had going for me now was playing up the humor in the misunderstanding of gender-neutral names, something Nolan could relate to. But I knew even that wouldn’t soothe the discomfort she was sure to feel when she was sandwiched at a table between the young and seasoned versions of my mother.

  Dylan left my mind the second I stepped through the tunnel. Truth was there wasn’t much room for anything other than winning when I was on the field. I always had the gift of concentration. It was my edge, and it’d taken me pretty far.

  We ended up defeating Oregon 14-21. Their defense was everything I’d expected it to be, punishing, tough, brutal and strong. But they didn’t break me. I’d made it through one more game with my wits still with me.

  “You comin’ out with us tonight, Johnson?” Trig said as he walked by on his way to the showers, smacking my head with his rolled-up towel, “Or your girlfriend got you on a leash tonight?”

  I knew he was only teasing, but it pissed me off. “Fuck off,” I said, shoving him a little.

  “Shit, man. I was kidding. Noles is my girl, you know that,” he looked offended.

  “Sorry, just a little stressed…” I said, my mind bouncing between wanting to talk to Nolan about the draft, warn her about Dylan and then…Dylan. “Yeah, we’ll probably come out with you guys. Where you headed first?”

  “Cooler’s, I guess. They never charge,” Trig said, flipping on the water to his shower.

  “Okay, we’ll meet you there,” I said, turning to the hot water now streaming at my face.

  I lucked out when I hooked up with Trig. He came to Arizona from New Mexico, and the man was a quarterback’s dream. If I put the ball anywhere near his shadow, he was catching it. We were both Johnsons, which had become the favorite headline for the campus paper. ‘Johnson & Johnson.’

  Trig came from a big family, and he was the youngest. He had four brothers who all played college ball. His oldest brother, Miles, was a le
ft tackle for the Cardinals, and we got some pretty sweet seats to some of the games thanks to that little connection. Trig understood my pressure better than anyone else on the team, and he’d been there to talk through a lot of the draft shit when I wasn’t ready to bring it up to Nolan. And after, when it freaked her out, he was there for that, too. His girlfriend went to UofA with us, and they’d been dating about as long as Noles and I had. Trig was looking to enter the draft this year, too. But his girlfriend, Amy, was all for it. And I envied him for it.

  Nolan and Sarah were waiting on the leather sofa at the main entrance to the athlete quarters, their feet folded up in their laps. The girls had grown closer in college and even more so when Sienna moved in with her boyfriend. I was glad that Nolan had someone like Sarah to look after her. She’d told me off a time or two, and I’ll be honest, it made me nervous. I wanted that same toughness at Nolan’s side when I wasn’t around.

  “Well, how’d I do?” I asked, kicking at Nolan’s folded legs a little.

  She stood up, pulling her shirt down over the top of her shorts, always modest and still so damned unsure of her beauty. Chewing at the inside of her cheek a little, she put her thumb to her lip like she was considering something. “Hmmmm, I don’t know, Johnson. I’d put you at about eighty percent,” she nodded, acting with disappointment.

  “Eighty percent, huh?” I said, rushing her a little and swinging her over my shoulder to carry her through the doors. Her giggling started then, the best sound in the whole damn world. “Eighty percent?”

  I took off running, leaving Sarah behind. Nolan knew exactly where I was going as she started slapping at my back and threatening me that I’d better not. When we got to the main fountain at the center of campus, I pulled her back over my shoulder and held her in my arms as I pulled off my shoes with my feet.