Touchdown on Love

by Lorana Hoopes

  “I’m always here when you need some honesty,” Adrienne said with a laugh. “Oops, gotta run. Baby needs a bath. Tell me how it goes.”

  The phone went dead in Clara’s ear and she placed it on the dashboard holder before backing out of Mason’s driveway.

  Did she love him? That was a very good question. She cared about him for sure, and she had loved him once, but that had been years ago. Yet, if she were honest with herself, part of why his injury bothered her so much was because she was worried about him. More worried than she would be about a normal player.

  The question still plagued her half an hour later as she pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t get resolved any time soon.

  Clara stood before Justin’s desk the next morning with butterflies in her stomach. She had tossed and turned most of the night, and while she still wasn’t sure of her feelings for Mason, she was sure that telling Justin of his injury was the right thing. Once he knew, the weight of guilt could be lifted from her shoulders as the decision of whether Mason could play or not would be on Justin and not her.

  “Clara, what can I do for you this morning?” Justin smiled as he looked up at her.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Mason Dixon,” she said softly. Though she’d made up her mind, it didn’t make the words any easier to say.

  “Is there a problem?” Justin stood and walked around his desk before leaning against it. Clara wanted to take a step back away from him, but she held her ground.

  “Maybe.” She swallowed hard, summoning the courage to continue. “He hurt his ankle last Friday in practice and the coach sent him to see me. I examined him, and I think it might be Achilles Tendonitis, but he won’t go in for an MRI. He’s been icing it, but it’s still bothering him, and I’m worried about him playing on Sunday.”

  Justin folded his arms across his chest and regarded her. “What does Mason say?”

  “That it’s just a strain. He says he’s putting it up at night and icing it and that he’s fine to play.”

  “Well, then I think there’s your answer.”

  Clara’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You aren’t even going to examine him to be sure?”

  “Look, Clara, we do our job to the best of our abilities. We examine the athletes and give them our suggestions, but these are grown men. They’re going to do what they think is best for themselves and for their careers. I appreciate your concern, but I have to ask one thing. Is there more perhaps to this concern? Maybe the fact that you knew him from high school.” He lifted an eyebrow as he posed the question.

  Clara felt herself bristle. Was Justin asking out of curiosity’s sake or for some other reason? “I’ve known Mason for a long time, but my concern is for his health. Nothing more.”

  Justin stared at her a moment longer as if gauging her sincerity before nodding. “Well, you’ve done your duty then. I’ll note your concerns about his injury, but unless something changes my mind during practice today, he’ll be playing on Sunday.”

  “Very good, sir.” Clara wasn’t happy with the decision, but she had made her concerns known. All she could do now was continue to work with him and pray that God protected him.

  10

  Mason

  Mason dragged his feet as he walked down the hall to Clara’s office. He didn’t want to meet with her today. Not after last night’s dinner, but not meeting with her would get back to coach which would put him in more trouble. So, he’d get in, get wrapped up, and get out. No focusing on her or the past. Just business.

  “Hey,” she looked up as he knocked on her door. She stood, but there was a look of uncertainty on her face. “About last night…”

  He held up his hand. “Forget it. You were right. There’s no need to rehash the past. We aren’t dating. You’re my trainer, nothing more.”

  A look of hurt flashed across her eyes, but Mason ignored it. He needed to focus on the game and not on Clara. Crossing to the bed, he sat down and propped up his ankle.

  “Right,” she said, blinking. “Did you put it up last night after I left at least?”

  “Of course I did, and there’s still nothing to worry about. I just stood up too fast last night is all.”

  Clara pursed her lips and shook her head as she began examining his ankle. “You know that’s not true. I’m really worried about you playing Sunday, but Justin said the decision was yours.”

  Mason tensed. “You told Justin?”

  Clara paused and bit her lip. She evidently hadn’t meant to let that slip. “I had to, Mason. You may not like my advice, but I would have told him if it were any other player.”

  Mason blew out a disgusted breath. “I can’t believe you, Clara. I’m not just any other player. I thought…” He shut his mouth. There was no way he was telling her that he’d thought they would have a second chance now. She could have ruined his career.

  “You thought what?”

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Examine me, tape me up, and let me get out there. I’ve got a final practice to get through before game day on Sunday.”

  The hurt deepened on her face, etching out tiny lines in her forehead and near her eyes, but she said nothing more. After examining the ankle, she wrapped it in tape and handed him some ibuprofen. “Be sure to take these, and I’ll see you after practice for a massage.”

  “You know what? I think I’ll skip the after-practice massage,” Mason said as he took the pills. “I’ve got a date with the hot tub tonight which should do the trick.”

  Clara looked like she wanted to argue, but she merely nodded and returned to her desk.

  Mason thought he would feel better about his victory. After all, he had basically won that sparring match, so why did he feel even worse? The image of the hurt brimming in Clara’s eyes refused to leave his mind. A night out. That’s what he needed tonight.

  He’d do his hot tub soak, shower, and then see if Duke was up for some company. With his night planned, he forced a smile to his face and jogged out onto the field.

  “So, last week you were gushing about her and now you don’t like her?” Duke asked, dipping his French fry in ketchup before shoving it in his mouth. Mason had managed to convince Duke to postpone the regular Friday night poker game and come out to dinner with him since he would be boarding a plane tomorrow and heading to the hotel they’d stay in before the playoff game on Sunday.

  “She could have damaged my career, Duke. Over nothing, just a little strain.” He’d told himself it was nothing so often that he was almost believing it.

  Duke took a sip of his coke and then scratched the side of his face. “I don’t understand. If it’s just a strain, how could that have damaged your career? You’ve played with strains before, right?”

  Mason realized his mistake and tried to backpedal. “Yeah, but she thinks it’s something more. If Justin had told the coach, they might have benched me until it was checked out, and there is no way I’m missing Sunday’s game.” He took a bite of his grilled chicken and dropped his gaze to his plate, hoping Duke wouldn’t press the issue.

  “And what does she think it is?”

  No such luck. “Achilles Tendonitis, but she’s wrong.”

  Duke set down his burger and leaned forward. “And what if she isn’t wrong? What can happen?”

  Mason swallowed. He hadn’t wanted to think about it, but ever since Clara had mentioned it, he’d spent a fair amount of time googling the injury. “If she’s right, and I continue to play on it, there is an increased chance of a tear or a rupture.”

  “A rupture?” The words exploded from Duke’s mouth, turning a few nearby heads their direction. He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “Meaning you couldn’t walk?”

  Mason used his fork to move his broccoli around on his plate. He really wanted a burger and fries like Duke, but the spaghetti from a few days ago was still sitting heavy in his stomach. He needed to eat clean until the game now to be in his best condition. He speared a bro
ccoli and dipped it in some of the teriyaki sauce that had pooled off his chicken. Anything to keep his gaze from the fiery eyes of his brother. “The risk is small, Duke, and if something happens, there are surgeries now that could fix me up over the summer. I just need to get through the play-off games. Then I can rest it.”

  “Why?” Duke leaned back and crossed his arms. “Why is it so important you win another championship game? You won last year. You’ve shown me the ring a dozen times to prove it, so why do you have to win again?”

  “Because…” Mason paused. He didn’t really have a good reason. Because he needed to prove he could? Why? That had been his fueling mantra, but it had existed because he’d needed to prove to Clara they belonged together. He’d become a professional to prove to her father he was good enough and to make sure he had the kind of money she was used to. He’d pushed himself hard last year to prove he was the best so that if he ever had a second chance, she’d have no reason to say no. But none of that had mattered. His present hadn’t changed anything because she still wouldn’t tell him about the past.

  “I don’t know,” Mason said. “It’s just part of the game. It’s what we work all year for, you know?”

  “I do know,” Duke said with a tone that showed he did understand even if his job was different. “I work hard pitching presentations and sometimes I work on them for months, but we don’t get the client. However, not getting a client isn’t the end of the world. There are always more clients. Just like there will always be more games, as long as you take care of yourself.”

  Duke’s words made sense, and deep down, Mason knew it was more than a strain. Or maybe it was a strain, but a pretty bad one. A part of him even knew that Clara was probably right and he shouldn’t play in Sunday’s game, but he also knew he wouldn’t sit it out. He couldn’t. He needed to be right. He just no longer knew why.

  11

  Clara

  The flurry of nerves in her stomach was almost comforting. Clara couldn’t believe that she was going to be on the field during a professional football game. And not just any game. A playoff game. This was more than she’d ever dreamed, but while she was excited, she was also concerned about Mason.

  After their failed dinner, the next session with him had been uncomfortable to say the least. He’d brushed off her concerns and then stated it was just work. As if she meant nothing to him. That had certainly stung. Then he’d refused her offer to massage his ankle after practice. He’d promised to rest it, and he hadn’t seemed worse, but she wasn’t confident he was getting better either which was why she’d gone to Justin. Something she never should have let slip to Mason, especially since Justin had seen no need to examine him. She could understand Mason’s hurt, but why couldn’t he understand that she was not only just doing her job but that she pushed because she cared about him?

  She wanted to believe that he knew what he was doing, but what if he was wrong? What if he went out there today and ruptured it? She hadn’t given him any cortisone injections, but what if one of the other trainers had? She’d documented her thoughts on the injury, but what if they hadn’t checked or Mason had convinced them she was wrong? Suddenly, she wasn’t sure the anti-inflammatories she had brought for him were the best idea. Maybe she should ask Justin if he’d received anything else.

  Clara looked over to Justin, but he was engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion with one of the coaches. Now was definitely not the time. Besides, he hadn’t taken her concern seriously when she’d approached him earlier in the week. Why would he now?

  “So, are you excited?” a voice to her right asked.

  She turned to see Davis, her fellow offensive trainer, setting up supplies at his makeshift station. It was weird traveling and not having her office to attend to the players in, but at least she didn’t appear to be setting up her station wrong. It looked like Davis’s.

  “I am. A little nervous though.”

  “Ah, you’ll be fine. The guys love you.” Davis smiled and leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Although I think they really just enjoy having a woman around.”

  Clara felt her face flush. She had wondered the same thing. Though no one had blatantly hit on her, she’d felt lingering stares and smoldering glances from several of the players. She wondered if they knew of her former relationship with Mason and if they would still be interested in her if they did.

  “Thank you. How much action do we typically see in a game? I mean, is it just shots and taping and maybe some stretching?”

  Davis shrugged and pulled more supplies out of his box. “It depends on the game, but yeah, if we’re lucky, that’s all it is.”

  Just then, the noise increased tenfold as the players began filing in for pre-game preparations. It was a steady stream of cortisone shots, medical tape, and ibuprofen. At least until Mason came in.

  “How’s the ankle feeling today?” Though she tried, she could not keep the concern out of her voice.

  “It’s fine. Never better.” There was a clipped bravado to his voice that she wasn’t used to hearing and she wondered if it was for her benefit or the other players’?

  “Right, well, I’m going to check it anyway.” She patted the popup cot they had set up. Things had been tense between them, but Achilles Tendonitis, if that’s what he had, was nothing to play around with. Unfortunately, he still hadn’t let her order any tests. In fact, he had barely spoken to her on the flight over, at the hotel the day before, or on the ride to the stadium.

  Her fingers pressed the area around his tendon. The swelling appeared to be less, but did that really mean it was healing? “The swelling does feel like it’s down a little.”

  “I feel fine, Clara. Really.”

  She paused her examination to look at him. He did seem more relaxed. She didn’t see the clenched jaw she had seen over the last few days, and his eyes were focused and held her gaze. Maybe the hot tub had been good for him.

  She sighed, wishing they could patch their relationship the same way she could patch his ankle. “Okay, I’m going on the record that I still think it’s too soon, but I’ll get you wrapped up.”

  Grabbing the medical tape, she wrapped his ankle and then added a few more times around just for good measure.

  “Please be careful,” she said as he scooted off the table.

  His gaze held hers for a moment, and all the emotions from their previous relationship flooded her. Though they were not alone, the world around them seemed to fade, and she could hear the pounding of her heart in her head. For a moment, the distrust and anger was gone from his eyes, and she wondered if he was feeling the same thing she was - this desire to try again.

  “I will,” he said and then he was gone.

  Clara leaned against the table and sighed as she waited for the next player. She wished she felt better about Mason playing.

  12

  Mason

  Mason breathed a sigh of relief as he left Clara’s table. Though he did feel a lot better, he was still surprised he’d managed to convince her he was fine. She’d been such a stickler, even taking his condition to Justin, that he’d expected a little more pushback. Perhaps she had taken his last words to heart. Besides, he had taken it easier this week which had helped with his ankle. Still, he knew that if she was right, or even if it were a more severe strain than he thought, that his tendon needed more than one good week. But this was a play-off game, and there was no way he was missing it.

  With a few minutes to kill before warm up, he decided to give his parents a call. It was tradition, a call before every game so his father could urge him to play his best and his mother could voice her worry over him. Duke had already done his fair share Friday night when they’d had dinner. He appreciated their interest, but sometimes he did wish they would just wish him luck instead of heap extra stress on him.

  “Hey, son, you ready to take home the Most Valuable Player trophy today?” his father asked as soon as he answered the phone. Not hello. Not how a
re you, but are you going to be the best?

  Mason ran a hand across the back of his neck as he stifled a sigh. “I’ll do my best, Dad, but there are a lot of good players on the team, and it depends on the defense.” This was his response every time his father asked this. Would he like to be named MVP of a game? Sure, but he wasn’t holding his breath. A lot of factors went into that nomination.

  First, they needed to win which was never a given. Second, he needed to have the most receptions leading to touchdowns. The other two receivers were just as good as he was, and if they got the ball more or evaded the defense better, they might be given the nomination as well. There was also Blaine - quarterbacks were given the honor more often than other players - and Tucker, who was a phenomenal running back and might score more touchdowns, to consider. Then there was the occasional time a defensive player made some great turnovers that led to touchdowns and took the title. Needless to say, him winning the title was more of a crap shoot than anything.

  “I know you can do it, son. It will just take a little extra effort on your part. Run a little faster, make sure you hold on to the ball, get away from the defenders.”

  Yes, it sounded so easy when his father said it like that. Unfortunately, his father was an armchair quarterback who had never played football a day in his life. That meant he was great at doling out advice, but he had no idea how much work actually went into said advice.

  “Yeah, I’ll do my best, Dad.” Just like I always do, he added to himself.

  “Please be careful, honey,” his mother spoke up. “I had a dream last night that you took a hard hit, and I woke up sweaty and scared this morning. Tell me that you’ll try not to get hit.”

  “It’s football, honey, getting hit is part of the game,” his father cut in before Mason could say a word.