Touchdown on Love

by Lorana Hoopes

  After sitting, he untied his shoe and stretched his leg out.

  She started at his knee, her fingers probing down his leg. He tried not to flinch at her touch. It certainly didn’t hurt, but it was igniting things in his body that he hadn’t felt for years.

  He was so focused on the memories that he had stopped paying attention to where her fingers were until she pressed on something that sent a pain up his leg and forced him to jump and cry out in pain. Her eyes flicked to his, brimming with concern.

  “That hurt?”

  “Just a little.” He clenched his jaw to keep from showing her how much. “I probably just need to ice it more.”

  “Mason, I don’t think you should be running on this ankle. I’m not sure this is a twisted ankle or even a strain or sprain. In fact, I’d like to get an MRI. I’m afraid you’ve injured your Achilles or you might be developing tendonitis in it.”

  “What? No. I’m too young for that.” There was no way he was getting an MRI. He knew what the recommendation for Achilles tendonitis was - rest - and there was no way he was not playing. “It’s a simple sprain, that’s all. Look, I’ll take it easy today and soak it more tonight. After Sunday’s game, we’ll have another week off. That will give it plenty of time to heal.”

  Clara was not convinced. That was evident by her pursed lips and folded arms, but he knew she wouldn’t fight him on it. At least, not yet. He’d just have to tell the offensive line coach he needed to play conservatively and let his ankle heal. As long as it didn’t get worse, he didn’t think Clara would rat him out. At least he hoped not.

  7

  Clara

  Clara kept an eye on Mason during practice. He didn’t appear to be favoring the ankle, but she also knew he was a master of disguising injuries. She had seen it first hand in high school when he’d strained his shoulder and played anyway because a scout was coming. Thankfully, he’d been able to catch with the other hand and he hadn’t done further damage to his shoulder, but this ankle injury was a whole other matter. If it truly was Achilles tendonitis like she suspected, continuing to play on it could lead to a rupture.

  “You watch any harder and you might stare a hole in the guy,” Davis said, coming up beside her. Davis was one of the other trainers, and she liked him. He seemed approachable and down to earth and the wedding band on his hand assured her he wouldn’t be flirting with her unlike some of the other men who had approached her over the last few days.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m worried about Mason. He came in Monday with a slight limp, and while he swore to give it some rest, it sure doesn’t look like he’s resting it to me.”

  “Did you examine him?”

  “As much as I could.” She shrugged and blew out an exasperated breath. “I think it’s Achilles Tendonitis, but he refuses to get an MRI to verify.”

  Davis let out a low whistle. “Well, I can see why. If that’s what it is, it would take him out of the game this weekend and maybe the rest of the play-off games if they win.”

  “I know, but wouldn’t that be better than it rupturing?” She bit her lip, unsure of what to do. On one hand, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure, and she didn’t want to jeopardize his playing time if she was wrong. She also didn’t want to be responsible for a worse injury if she was right.

  “You can’t make him listen to you though. Massage it after every practice, make sure he’s icing it and resting it at home, and tell Justin if you’re really worried. That’s about all you can do.”

  Clara nodded. That was sound advice, and she had been following the first step since she found out about it. Perhaps, she could offer to make him dinner tonight to make sure he was resting it properly at home.

  “How is the ankle feeling?” she asked as Mason climbed up on her table that afternoon after practice.

  “Are you asking as my trainer or my friend?” he asked with a hesitant smile.

  “Both. I wouldn’t be doing my professional duty if I didn’t check up on you, but as your friend, I’m worried you’re pushing it.” She unlaced his shoe and pulled it off, watching his face for any indication of pain.

  “I really think it’s getting better. Felt no pain today.”

  Clara pulled his sock down and carefully unwound the tape. “It’s still swollen though, Mason. I’m not sure you’re giving it enough rest.”

  “Well, I try to put it up at night when I get home, but I do still have things to do after practice. You know eating, cleaning, etc.” He flashed her a charming smile as if that made it all better.

  “Yes, and speaking of which, how about I make you dinner tonight? That way you can totally put your foot up and ice it, and I’ll feel a little better about how much you’ve been running on it.” She threw the question out there but kept her eyes on his ankle as her fingers massaged the tissue around the tendon.

  “You want to make me dinner? To rest my foot?” She could hear the disbelief and the note of teasing in his voice.

  “I do. Plus, it would give us some time to catch up. We haven’t really gotten to talk much.” She really did want to know how the last few years had been for him, whether he was dating anyone, if he still cared about her.

  “Are you sure that’s allowed? I think Justin might have his sights set on you.”

  “Ew.” She scrunched her nose and stopped massaging his ankle to look at him. “He’s got to be close to forty, right?” Realizing she had spoken the words aloud, she quickly scanned the room to make sure Justin wasn’t around. She liked him. As a boss. But there was nothing beyond that. Not for her at least.

  Mason chuckled and flashed her a wink. “Yeah, I think he might be just over forty and recently divorced. Hot commodity on the market. You might want to snatch him up before someone else does.”

  Clara swatted his leg. “No thank you. I don’t date my bosses anyway. That never works out well.”

  Mason’s brow lifted in curiosity. “Tried that once, did you?”

  She flashed a small smile in return, but she didn’t tell him about the guy her father had most recently pushed on her. He hadn’t really been her boss, at least not her direct boss. No, he’d been bigger than that - the assistant head of the Athletics Department at the University of Texas, and she still hadn’t broken up with him directly. She figured he had gotten the hint when she stopped returning his calls and moved, but she still felt a little badly for the way she had ghosted him. However, Mason did not need to know about that, so she deflected his comment and changed the subject. “Anyway, dinner?”

  Though she didn’t look at him, she could feel his gaze raking over her, trying to figure out what she wasn’t saying. He’d always been good at reading her, but she hoped he wasn’t doing so now. “Okay, dinner sounds good.”

  “Good.” She finished massaging his ankle and handed him some Ibuprofen and her business card. “Take these, get cleaned up, and then ice that ankle. Text me your address, and I’ll be there around seven.”

  Mason popped the ibuprofen and pocketed her card. “Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” He put his sock and shoe back on, flashed her a little wave, and sauntered out of her office.

  Clara collapsed into her chair and dropped her head in her hands. She hoped she hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

  8

  Mason

  Mason felt strange sitting on his couch and waiting for Clara to show up. He certainly didn’t mind propping his ankle up; he’d had to work hard to keep from showing the pain on his face when she’d been massaging it, but sitting around was not his style.

  His phone chimed, letting him know a text message had arrived, and a moment later, a knock sounded at his door. He smiled as he cleared the message from Clara letting him know she had arrived. While he appreciated her thoughtfulness, the text was unnecessary.

  “I thought I told you to rest that ankle,” she said when he opened the door.

  Mason chuckled and shook his head as he stepped back to let her enter. “I was resting it until someone k
nocked on my door. As you don’t have a key, and I assume you haven’t gained the ability to walk through walls, I figured I would get up long enough to let you in.”

  A light pink color spread across her cheeks. “Oh, I guess that is true. Well, now that I’m here, I’d like you to get back to relaxing while I get this set up.” She nodded toward the large container in her arms.

  “Are you cooking here or is it all prepared in that thing?” He indicated her bundle, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I’m just asking because I’d like to know where to sit to rest up.”

  Clara shot him a narrowed gaze, but the corners of her lips twitched. “You can set up wherever you want to eat. It’s all prepared; I just have to dish it out.”

  “Fine, let me show you the dining room.” Mason led the way out of the living room and to his spacious kitchen and dining area. Though his ankle was still throbbing, he made sure to walk evenly on it. Letting Clara know he was still in pain was not an option.

  “You’ve got a nice place here,” Clara said from behind him. “I’m glad to see you’ve done so well.”

  His house was larger than the one he’d grown up in, but it was no mansion. Clara was used to a much nicer place with her father’s money, but her words still made him smile. He’d often wondered if her money had been part of the issue that drove them apart. She’d never seemed to let it when they’d dated, but perhaps her father had convinced her it would one day. Having her compliment his house helped ease those fears a little.

  “Thank you. It’s modest, but I also sent a large part of my signing bonus to my parents for them to make improvements on their house. Are you going to need anything?”

  “Just plates, utensils, and cups, but I can find them on my own. You take a seat.” She pointed to the table and then set her contraption on the bar. “Do you have an ice pack? I’d like you to ice it while I get set up.”

  “There should be a cold one in the freezer. I always have a few on hand.” He sat down in one of the chairs, propping his ankle up in another as she crossed to the stainless-steel freezer and opened the door.

  After pulling out an ice pack, she wrapped it in a paper towel to keep the chill from burning his skin and then placed it on his ankle. Mason tried to calm his racing heart as her fingers touched his skin. It had been like this every day this week. He knew there was nothing going on between them right now, but every time he was around her, his pulse raced.

  “That okay?”

  He nodded, his throat constricting at the tenderness he saw in her eyes. Why did she have such an effect on him? Especially after the way she broke things off with him. He should be mad. He should hate her, but he couldn’t do it.

  She returned to the bar and opened her contraption, pulling out a large bowl that he assumed held the spaghetti as well as a smaller bowl and a rectangular pan. Then she turned and began opening his cabinets, pulling out plates, forks, and cups. She looked so at home in his kitchen that he found himself imagining her there every day. What would it be like to come home to a cooked meal instead of take out or whatever he grabbed on his way home?

  Clara scooped out spaghetti onto each plate. Then she opened the smaller bowl and added salad beside the noodles. Finally, she pulled a piece of garlic bread from the rectangular container and placed one on each plate. With a flourish like a well-trained waitress, she delivered a plate to him and set another one down for herself.

  “This looks delicious, Clara,” Mason said as his stomach rumbled. The smell of the garlic and spices was enticing and sent his mouth watering. Pasta was not normally on his diet during game season, but he figured one night wouldn’t hurt, and he had run hard today. That much was evident from the throbbing in his ankle.

  “It should be. It’s my mother’s recipe, the one you loved in high school,” Clara said with a smile.

  Memories of dinners spent at the Bradford’s flooded Mason’s mind, and the need to know what really happened burned once again in his chest. “I always loved Italian night at your house.” Clara’s mother had been Italian though Clara resembled her English father more.

  “Yeah, they were good.” Clara’s voice was soft with wistfulness, and though Mason wanted to probe the past, he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

  “Well, to a nice dinner between old friends,” Mason said, lifting his glass.

  “I’ll drink to that.” Clara lifted her own glass and clinked it against his.

  The conversation stalled as they ate, each seemingly lost in their own worlds. Though he tried not to stare, Mason’s eyes flicked to Clara several times throughout the meal. How many times had he dreamed about meals like this with her? Too many to count, and a part of him still didn’t believe it was real.

  “Clara, what really happened between us?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  Her expression tightened, and he immediately wished he could take the question back. “It was a long time ago, Mason. Can’t we just let it go?”

  “I just need to know, Clara. You said it was because we were too different, but look at us now.” He motioned with his hands to the table. “We’re having dinner together, we work for the same team, we like the same food; what makes us so different? Was it just because I was poor?”

  Her mouth dropped open as if he’d slapped her. “Mason, no, I would never break up with anyone simply because they had less money than I did.”

  “Then, why, Clara?” He was pushing the subject and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. The need to know the real reason burned within him like an eternal flame.

  “I can’t…” She shook her head, her words trailing off.

  Anger flared up inside Mason. “You can’t? Or you won’t?”

  “Mason, you don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t understand. You know what? I’ve lost my appetite and I feel like going to bed.” He pushed his chair back and stood, but his ankle wasn’t prepared for the weight, and he grimaced before grabbing on to the table top.

  “Your ankle isn’t better, is it?” Clara’s voice was low and serious. “Mason, if it’s not getting better, you have to skip Sunday’s game and let it rest.”

  Mason shook his head and placed the rest of his weight on his ankle, ignoring the pain licking up his calf. “You know what, Clara? You might be my trainer, but you lost the right to tell me what to do years ago. I’m playing on Sunday, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  With that he whirled away from her and headed upstairs. She could see herself out, and he could lock the door later.

  9

  Clara

  Clara watched Mason limp up the stairs and bit her lip. That hadn’t gone the way she’d wanted it to at all. Perhaps she should have just told him the truth, but she knew the moment she did, his view of her would change forever. And she wasn’t ready for that yet.

  Even worse, she’d upset him, causing him to aggravate his injury. Every bone in her body screamed that he shouldn’t play on Sunday, but he wasn’t going to listen to her. Did she tell Justin then? If she did and Mason was benched, he might never forgive her. But if she didn’t and he got injured, could she forgive herself?

  “Lord, I need some advice,” she whispered softly as she gathered up the dishes. Mason had made it clear he wanted her gone, but she wasn’t about to leave him with a sink full of dirty dishes. Especially when it had been her idea to cook for him.

  When the dishes were washed, she gathered her own supplies and packed them back in her carrying case. With a final glance up the silent stairs, she sighed and headed back to her car.

  As soon as she slid into the seat and the door closed behind her, she pulled out her phone. Surprised to see three missed calls, she swiped the screen, shaking her head when Joel’s name popped up. Was the man so dense that he didn’t realize her lack of communication was her breaking things off? Sure, it was a little cowardly, but it also saved her from having to deal with her father which was the most important thing.

  Ig
noring Joel’s calls, she dialed Adrienne instead, hoping she wasn’t interrupting dinner or some other family time.

  “Hey, girl, what’s up?” Adrienne’s chipper voice said when the line stopped ringing.

  “I need advice.” Clara laid out the night and the additional information about Mason’s injury and waited.

  “Let me ask you a question,” Adrienne said after a long pause. “Do you still love him?”

  “What?” Clara hadn’t mentioned anything about her feelings for Mason nor had that been part of her question. Besides, what did it have to do with his treatment?

  “You heard me. Do you still love him?” Adrienne said each word slowly as if that might help Clara understand the question. “The way I see it is that is the most important question. If you love him and want a second chance with him, then tell him about your father. Explain to him why you broke up with him. Otherwise, it’s always going to be a bone of contention between the two of you. If you don’t love him, then it doesn’t matter and you’re worrying about it for nothing. If this were any other player that you didn’t have a history with, would you tell your head trainer?”

  Clara sighed. “Yeah, I probably would. Football players are stubborn and whether Justin does anything about it or not, at least I’ll have put my two cents in, but Mason isn’t just some normal player.”

  “Exactly, which is why you need to be honest with yourself and decide if you still love him.”

  Clara knew Adrienne was right, but sometimes she hated the fact that her friend could put the answer out so plainly and yet avoid the question entirely. She’d wanted advice from her friend, but instead all she had was an even bigger question to consider.

  “Thanks, A. I guess I’ve got some soul searching to do.”