First & Long

by Jesse Jordan

  “What's that?” I ask, and Nick chuckles.

  “No way in hell you're going to get that single season record now. Unless you plan on pulling some Derrick Thomas level shit for the rest of the season, it's going to be out of your reach.”

  “Right now Nick, I'll be honest,” I say as I shoulder my bag and get in line with him, “football is the last thing on my mind.”

  Nick nods like he understands, but he doesn't. Of course, I'm only telling him a half truth, which sort of explains why. I am kind of thinking about football... and thinking about Monsters. I've played most of this year without watching out for my own, that I'd gotten past the fear of hurting someone. And now, at a point when everything is on the line, and everything seems to be going my way... the Monster sticks its head back into my life, and again I may have altered someone's life forever.

  My hands tremble as I sit down in my seat and pull out my tablet, but it's not flying I'm afraid of. It's myself.

  Chapter 19

  Samantha

  “Dad, I know it's tough for the team, but I've talked with Lincoln... he says it was an accident. He already called the New England quarterback, apologized for hurting him.”

  Dad sits behind his desk, tapping a pencil on his blotter and shaking his head. “Honey, I know you like Lincoln, and yes you're dating... but he sure did pick a tough time to get suspended. Our lead in the division's shrunk to nothing now. And with Los Angeles and Arizona so hot out west, the wild card's looking like it'll be out there too. We either win the division, or we stay at home come January.”

  “I know that Dad but-”

  There's a knock on Dad's door, and Red sticks his head in, a cloudy look on his face. “Vince, you mind if I interrupt?”

  “No, come on in Coach,” Dad says. “Sam and I were just talking about the player situation.”

  “That's good,” Red says. “Because that's what I wanted to talk about too. As you know, two weeks from Thursday's the trade deadline.”

  “Of course, your assistant sent me an e-mail about the players you're looking at shopping for. Any nibbles on trade offers?”

  “No... but I have an idea for some trade bait that'll be sure to strengthen the team,” Red says. “I want to get rid of Lincoln Watson.”

  “Excuse me, Coach?” I ask, shocked. “You want to trade the number one player the Knights have on defense, and the guy who's potentially the league defensive MVP?”

  “If you look at it from a team situation, it's what's best for business,” Red replies, slightly peeved. “Vince, since that penalty on Sunday the team's divided. Lincoln's become a locker room cancer, one that's worse than normal. As the season's gone on he's become more and more arrogant, and some people think it's due to his... social relationships.”

  “That's none of the team's business,” I growl, but Dad raises his hand. “Dad, no! Just because I'm seeing Lincoln doesn't mean a thing!”

  “If you weren't so blinded by your feelings for him you'd understand what I mean,” Red continues. “Miss Porter, you being in a relationship with a player is bad for the team. It was tough enough when you were dating Joe Crenshaw, but Joe's a total professional. He never let who his girlfriend was get in the way of being a team leader. Lincoln though... just today I had to escort him personally out of the practice facility because he ignored team rules to come in, even though he's on suspension.”

  “He came in to call the New England team offices from my office so there was a recording and a witness of it,” I counter. “I don't know what he did after that, but my guess is get his knee checked out. Red, what's the real reason you want this?”

  “Simple... I can trade Lincoln Watson for three players easily. No matter how good he is, he's only one man, and we've got more holes on the defense than one man can fill,” Red growls. “If you were thinking with your head and not... with other things, you'd see what I'm saying makes sense.”

  Before I can reply about how maybe I might be bleeding from my whatever as well soon if he keeps that shit up, Dad raises his hand. “Red, what sort of trades are you looking at?”

  “Right now... I'll admit, I've got nothing,” Red says. “I wanted to inform you first before reaching out to some of the teams that I know need a defensive end. San Francisco's got an overloaded linebacker corps and an extra safety... I might be able to get them to add in a tight end, we're a little shorthanded there and they've got a blocking tight end that can help the run game, take some pressure off of Joe.”

  I roll my eyes, and Dad gives me a questioning look. “You have something to add about taking pressure off of Joe, Sam?”

  “Yeah,” I growl, sitting forward. “Dad, the offense doesn't need another plaything for Joe Crenshaw to build around himself like his own little personal set of tin soldiers. I did the budget breakdown, we spend a greater percentage of our salary cap on offense than any team in the league. For that, Joe Crenshaw's only a middle of the road quarterback this year.” I turn to Red, who's about to retort. “Face it, Red. The best thing this team needs to do is look at drafting a good quarterback out of college, update our offensive schemes from the same decade old stuff we've been doing, and look at moving on from the Joe Crenshaw era next year. As for this year, I guarantee you, you trade Lincoln away from the team, you're going to see your defense collapse and we're going to be watching the playoffs from our living rooms.”

  “Whatever,” Red replies dismissively. “Vince, you made me the team general manager because I've been in football nearly as long as you have. I know what the team needs. And it needs Lincoln Watson to be gone.”

  “Fine,” Dad says, shaking his head sadly. “I like that boy, too. I'm sorry to find out he's been a problem in the locker room... and we need to get to the playoffs this year. See what you can get, Red... but it better be good.”

  Red leaves, and I stare at Dad in shock, my mouth hanging open. “I can't believe you.”

  “You heard Red,” Dad says. “The team has more holes than one man can fill... and Lincoln's difficult to work with.”

  I snort, shaking my head. “You mean Lincoln doesn't like working with Joe Crenshaw. Red's spent every year of his new contract kissing Crenshaw's ass and thinking he's the reincarnation of Joe Montana.”

  “And this year, since breaking up with Joe, you can't stand him,” Dad shoots back. “Now who's being unprofessional?”

  I shut my mouth with a snap, part of me wondering if Dad is right. Joe's a bastard... but that doesn't mean he isn't the Knights' starting quarterback. I spend a minute thinking it over, then shake my head. “Dad, whether Joe cheated on me or not, whether I'm dating Lincoln or not, that doesn't change the football fact that Red's a totally offensive oriented coach. He's always going to try and keep his offense happy, even if it hurts the defense. He won't... no, he can't even recognize that his style hurts the team unless he gets lucky and the defense gets lucky with a player like Lincoln dropping into the team's lap.”

  “And you think you're more qualified than a man who's been coaching for longer than you've been alive? I know I've raised you to be confident Sam, but that's bordering on arrogant.”

  “It's not arrogance, Dad. And yeah, I might never have played football, but I've been around this sport since I was toddling my way down the sidelines in a diaper. Or do you forget who bugged the hell out of Coach Vanderwall back when he was the head coach, insisting on having my own playbook and sitting in on meetings back when she was in sixth grade? Or who spent a year right after college on the road with the team scouts, evaluating players and attending pro days, combines, college camps and more? Dad, I know this sport. I'm not just the former cheerleader. And this team needs more than just Joe Crenshaw and fifty two other guys.”

  Dad thinks about it, then nods. “Fine. Here's the deal, Sam. I'm going to turn final approval of any trades this year over to you. You evaluate them, determine if they really are best for the team or not. You can even override Red if it comes down to it. But there's a risk you're going to have t
o take.”

  “What's that, Dad?”

  Dad tents his fingers in front of him, leaning forward. I see immediately the shark that he used to be, and still is. Here's the businessman who's kept the Knights profitable and making money hand over fist even in the years when the team's struggled to compete. Here's the man who used slick marketing to make the Knights one of the most popular lines of team apparel even with no superstars. Here's Vincent Kennedy Porter Jr.... and he's staring a hole at me. “If you and Red disagree on a trade, and you veto him, you're putting your position with the team on the line. You veto him, and the Knights miss the playoffs? I'm sorry Sam, but you're going to be looking for a new job next year.”

  I swallow, knowing the risk. Even if things all go right, even if I make the right decisions, the team could miss the playoffs. One of our divisional opponents could go on a hot streak. We could suffer an injury at a key position... there's a dozen things that could happen to keep us out of the playoffs. But... I gotta back myself. There's no way I'll be able to take over as owner, or to earn the respect of the Knights organization, if I don't. “Fine. But Dad, you have to give me something in return.”

  “What's that?”

  “If I'm right... I want it in writing, when you're ready to step down as primary owner, I take over.”

  Dad grins, nodding. “And your little brothers?”

  “I didn't say you have to give me all your shares,” I reply with a chuckle. “They'll still be able to be involved if they want. If not, they can be silent shareholders who collect their dividend checks and will have the easy life for as long as they want.”

  Dad taps his chin with his fingers, then nods. “Fine. The boys aren't really into football anyway, they're more into video games and basketball if you can believe that. We can negotiate the financial arrangements later, but you have a deal. If you're right, you get the team. If you're wrong... I wish you all the best in your future endeavors.”

  “Deal.”

  With nothing more to say I get up and leave Dad's office, heading back to my own. It isn't until I'm behind my desk that the shakes start, and I feel the beginnings of a giant headache coming on. What the hell did I just do? Dad is going to have to tell Red about our agreement, and if I know Red, that means he's going to push harder to trade Lincoln. He's a hundred percent sure of his stance... and if another team is willing to offer the right trade bait, Red's going to want to pounce on it.

  If I'm right, I get the team... and if I'm wrong, I'm out on my ass. I'm sure Dad won't tell Red about that part of our deal, but I'm just as sure that Red will read between the lines. He might not get it that I'll get the Knights if I win, but he will know that my position in the team hierarchy will suffer if I lose. Sure, there's a third option, no trade issues arise... but I suspect that if Red dangles Lincoln out there as trade bait, someone's going to bite. Lincoln's too juicy a pickup to ignore.

  “Hey, you look like you need a brain break.”

  I look up, seeing Joe Crenshaw standing in my door. “What do you want, Joe?”

  “I just wanted... I wanted to apologize,” Joe says, seemingly contrite. “The last time we talked, I was a little over the top. I was hurt, you know how it is.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do,” I admit. “Is that all?”

  Joe holds his hands up, taking a step back. “Whoa, whoa, whoa there Samantha. I just came to make peace, that's all. Listen, I've been thinking about it, and I know I fucked up, okay? And... I get it. I can see the appeal Lincoln has for you. So, if you're happy... that's all I can really hope for, I guess.”

  I nod, my headache ratcheting back a little. “Thanks, Joe.”

  “No problem. Hey, it's nearly seven o'clock, how about you check out for the day? I'll walk you down to your car?” he asks. “You know, to talk. Some of what I want to say, it's not the sort of shit that I feel very comfortable with inside the stadium for some reason, you know?”

  I think about it, then nod. Joe deserves a chance to at least say he's sorry in a way he'll feel comfortable doing. “Sure. Let me grab my stuff.”

  It doesn't take me long to pack, just my purse and my laptop, but Joe waits patiently. “By the way,” he says as we head for the elevator, “you're looking stunning recently. Really makes me regret not treating you right.”

  “Hopefully you'll remember that next time you're in a relationship,” I reply. “Joe, I'm not all that pissed at you anymore about what happened, but let's not bring it up anymore, okay? You, me... that's the past.”

  “Nah, it's all cool,” Joe says as the elevator opens. “Like I said, I get it. Lincoln and I rub each other the wrong way because we're both Alpha male types. Two Alpha males... we butt heads. And I'll admit, I'm a little jealous of him, he's got... equipment I can't quite match.”

  I chuckle, nodding. “It is what it is, Joe.”

  The elevator dings, and I go to step out, but Joe gets in front of me, blocking my path. “You know, there's a lot more to being a good lover than just dick size.”

  Before I can react, Joe presses me against the elevator door and kisses me hard. I'm shocked, and nearly drop my bag, which gives him a chance to slip his tongue into my mouth, cupping my breast. Moaning in anger and fear, I try to push him away, but he's strong, and I'm so surprised I don't think to dig my thumbnail into his ribs before he's gotten himself a good feel.

  “What the hell!” I yell when he steps back, holding his side but grinning. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you asshole?”

  “Come on, you were asking for it,” Joe says, grinning. “Besides, you know you wanted it baby. Like I said, two Alpha males on the team... and I'm the top Alpha. You'll figure that out soon enough.”

  Joe walks off, and I'm hot on his heels with the full intention to slapping the everloving shit out of him when I see a familiar Lincoln Navigator pulling out of the stadium parking lot.

  Oh no... no, this can't be happening. Not like this.

  Chapter 20

  Lincoln

  I stare at my monitor as the pre-game shows stream by, barely seeing what's happening. In the week since I saw Samantha kissing Joe, I've gone slightly stir crazy. I'm unable to go to the stadium or the team's practice facilities except for medical treatment, and the docs are saying they don't need to see me, my knee just needs some more rest.

  I tried reaching out to Samantha, but since that day she's been relatively silent, only sending me a few cryptic text messages about how she's working hard, too busy to see me, and that she loves me. If it wasn't for the fact that she said 'I love you,' in each of them, I'd be worried. I haven't voiced my concerns though, or the fact that I saw Joe kissing her the night I'd stopped by the stadium to see if she might want to go out to dinner. It's not the sort of thing I like to do, discussing relationship issues over the phone. Especially if it can lead to breakups, and with what I saw... I need to look Samantha in the eyes when I talk about this with her.

  “Turning to a battle with plenty of playoff implications, the Knights are taking on the Vandals in Atlanta today. Of course, one of the big stories surrounding the game is the absence of Lincoln Watson. After a crushing hit last week in New England, the league suspended Watson for today's game. Some people are saying the punishment was too strict. Terry, what do you think?”

  “No way. You know, I come from an era where quarterbacks weren't exactly protected, but what Watson did... a lot of teams are going to be upset with him about that. If I were an opposing left tackle, I'd be looking for any way, clean or not, to take Lincoln Watson out, just to send a message. With that possibly gimpy knee... I'm just saying that next week, Watson better be careful.”

  “I totally disagree, Terry,” the other commentator says, earning a laugh from Terry. “I've watched that hit a hundred times over the past week, and while the results were disastrous, I truly believe that Watson was going for a clean tackle when things just went haywire. I've had a few tackles that ended up working a lot differently than I expected myself.”

  “O
f course you'd defend the guy, he's a sack artist like you!” Terry jokes back. “Now come on, tell me the truth... back when you were playing, if you'd put a quarterback down like that, wouldn't you be expecting a receipt from the other team next time you faced them?”

  Of course I'm expecting New England to come for my ass if we meet them in the playoffs. Unfortunately, while I hadn't meant to hurt anyone, someone did get hurt. And it's sort of the nature of the game that if someone hurts your guy, you're going to try and smack them right back.

  I sigh and lean back, but my phone rings an instant later. Hoping it's Samantha I lean forward, snatching my phone off my table to total disappointment. My agent, who I haven't heard from other than e-mails all season. “Yeah Tom?”

  “How's my favorite resurgent client doing?” Tom asks. “Resting up to kick some ass next week?”

  “You mean getting pissed off that I'm stuck at home while the Knights are in Atlanta,” I counter. “And as for being your favorite resurgent client, I sure haven't heard a lot from you.”

  “Well buddy, that's because you're not exactly a headache to deal with. Ninety percent, ten percent you know,” Tom explains, using the old adage that ninety percent of his time is caught up with dealing with ten percent of his clients. “No arrests, no scandals until this suspension... you make my job pretty easy. I was going to call you around Christmas, talk about next season, that's when I figured you'd take up more of my time. But that's been moved up.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, wishing I hadn't hired a guy who's an agent for more than just football players. Seriously, he can't talk straight half the time, trying to come off like some big Hollywood power player instead of a sports agent. “Small words, Tom. I'm not in the mood for bullshit.”