Fourth and Inches

by Kata Čuić

  “Listen to me, Rob Falls.” With some lingering pain that I hide from sheer force of will, I manage to haul myself off the couch, out of earshot of the man typing away on his laptop in the living room. “You really are the best quarterback I’ve ever seen. I’ve never lied about that. I know you’ve consistently struggled with feeling like you don’t fit in with that culture. You’ve voiced your concerns and doubt before. But, it has always been your choice to stick with it or not. After all these years, you’re still moving the chains. You’re not going to quit, and do you know why?”

  “Why?” His tone clearly signals he believes I’m only patronizing him.

  I can empathize with that. I haven’t always taken his pep talks over the years seriously.

  “All the God-given talent you were born with isn’t enough. So many with your gifts try, but fail to get to the level of play you’ve achieved. You aren’t going to quit because you love the game.”

  “I love you,” he retorts. “More than anything, including football.”

  A warmth I haven’t always allowed myself to feel spreads through my chest. “I know you do. But, remember how I told you I can’t be your reason for existing?”

  “Yes,” he grumbles.

  Alyssa’s advice about having our own lives feels so much more useful than ever before. “I can’t be the only thing you love, either. It’s not fair to you. And it’s not fair to me. If you were in love with anyone else, this conversation might not be happening. If you want to walk away from football, that has to be your choice. Not because I caused it to happen by being unable to deal with this life. Adapting to it, trying to handle it, is one of the ways I show you I love you. I will sacrifice for you to be able to do what you love.”

  “I don’t want to ask you to sacrifice anything.”

  “You don’t have to ask. I’m doing it freely. Of my own will.”

  The weight of my words must give him pause. For a few moments, the only sound coming over the line is his steady breathing.

  “I miss you,” he whispers.

  No more admissions or heaviness for now. Time to get my man back in a winning frame of mind. I suppose, in this way, I’ll always be a football wife. Because I’m in love with a football player.

  I laugh to ease us out of serious waters. “You just saw me six hours ago.”

  “Forty-eight days, Falls,” he repeats as the former background noise returns. “I told you I’m getting twitchy.”

  “Don’t be twitchy on the field tomorrow, Superjock. I promise I’ll fix it when we get home.”

  “You ready, then? For tomorrow?”

  “I’m ready. And willing.”

  His sigh wraps around my shoulders. “Okay, then. Promise you’ll love me no matter what, and I’ll promise to try to play the best game of my life.”

  “I promise.”

  Louder voices cut through the speaker. Eager fans are no longer buying his excuse. “I love you, baby. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

  “Love you, too, Falls.”

  Once he disconnects the call, I turn my attention to Byers.

  “Do you think he’ll be drawn out when I show up?”

  “Could go either way.” Byers frowns at his laptop. “Mallory hasn’t given us any indication he’s planning a move, but you know how I feel about it.”

  I do know. Based on the depositions Byers got his hands on, he doesn’t believe five years in prison was enough time or the appropriate location for Jackson to receive the help he needs.

  As much as I’m not a fan of involving Mallory, at least Rob had the good sense to share her information with our security team. Byers has taken every tiny detail of her offerings seriously, piecing them together for potential holes or weaknesses.

  He honestly believes five lonely years in a prison might have only intensified Jackson’s obsession. And he isn’t willing to find out if he’s wrong about that theory.

  I’ll be making a leap into potentially shark-infested waters in more ways than one tomorrow.

  Their gazes bore into me from all sides. Not even my favorite jersey is enough to protect me from the heat. As much as my security team is working overtime to keep me safe in the crowded bowels of Sacramento Stadium, there’s nothing they can do to stop the blatant stares. They can’t force onlookers not to bombard me with silent questions.

  No matter my appearance here today has been carefully planned. Anything can still happen.

  Between Rob and Byers, the decision was made for me to not be present during pre-game when most of the players’ families mill around on the sidelines and interact.

  Their reasoning?

  Not enough structure to provide the media with other distractions.

  Honestly, as much as Rob said he missed me being at his games, he seems to not want me within a thousand yards of one now that our secret is out.

  And maybe he has a valid point.

  The whispers begin as soon as I enter the box.

  By the looks in their eyes, they know exactly who I am.

  It’s not like I’m trying to hide it.

  His name, my name, is displayed prominently on my back. I don’t have a fat rock on my hand, comparable to most of theirs, but my wedding band wraps around my finger, unmistakably marking Rob’s territory.

  Rather than looking like I fit in with this new and decidedly higher-end football wives’ club, I look like my husband’s biggest fan.

  And I’m okay with that.

  It’s the truth.

  I take the time to get my bearings, to acquaint myself with this new world.

  It’s nothing like college.

  Everything about this is so much…more.

  A private bar takes up an entire corner of the room, crowded with the team’s special guests who mingle, laugh, and enjoy the amenities.

  Servers swirl through the small groups of standing patrons with trays of appetizers. These are not the pigs in a blanket and piles of wings from college. More like sushi, canapes, and shrimp cocktails.

  The seats in front of the floor-to-ceiling plexiglass are mostly empty for now, but the scene beyond the windows reveals a packed stadium while the field crew makes last-minute preparations for the game.

  If I close my eyes, I can smell crisp, cool fall air, freshly cut grass, and that special, indescribable scent of the excitement before high school football games.

  God, I’ve missed this.

  Even I didn’t realize how much.

  Rather than pretend to blend in, my plan is to simply enjoy the game I love to watch my husband play.

  The wives will come to me when they’ve gotten enough courage…and formed their plan of attack.

  Just as I’m about to take up residence in one of the corner seats, a blur of red and gold barrels by me close enough to make me protectively clutch my stomach.

  “K! Sit down! We do not act like that here!” A loud, decidedly maternal voice calls at my shoulder.

  And then I’m face to face with potentially the only person in this room I wanted to meet.

  “Khadijah Davis.”

  “Eva Falls.” She regards me cautiously, tipping her head to the side and squinting her amber green eyes at me.

  She’s sizing me up, and I don’t blame her one bit.

  Even as much as I owe her, I don’t know if I can trust her. The memory of Harper still makes my back ache, though the stab wound has long since closed over.

  Still. The woman balancing a cherub of a baby on her hip deserves my thanks if nothing else.

  I extend my hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I wanted to thank you in person for all you and your husband did for Rob last season.”

  She takes my grasp, but the curiosity on her face grows. “That was all Keenan. I didn’t do anything for Falls.”

  I gesture to the little girl on her hip and the toddler boy clinging to her leg. “Your husband spent a lot of time with mine. Time that he could have been spending at home with your family. So, you might not have done any
thing personally, but it was absolutely a sacrifice for you, as well. I just wanted to say thanks. I appreciate what your family did for mine.”

  A smile breaks over her face and she wraps one arm around my shoulders. “I knew you were good people. I could just tell.”

  I resist the urge to shudder at her physical proximity. If I’ve built a bridge, I don’t want to burn it immediately. “You could? How? We’ve never met before.”

  “Word gets around in sports. You know how it goes. What you went through at State, the way you changed things for those women, that was some amazing shit you did.”

  It doesn’t feel so amazing to me.

  It also scares me to think this woman who didn’t go to the same college knows more than she should.

  “I followed you on social media. You had a good game,” she continues when I don’t offer any more info about State.

  “I did?”

  She raises her eyebrows at me, a decidedly collusive expression on her face. “You’re going to need some new tricks in this league, though. Let me know if you need any help making the paparazzi work for you instead of the other way around. It’s easy once you get the hang of it.”

  And she says I’m good people? I don’t want to get my hopes up, but she might be one of the friendliest women I’ve ever met in the sports world.

  “Khadijah, if you’re going to bring them here, would you at least control them? This is not really the appropriate time or place for children to be running loose.”

  I immediately recognize the superior tone if not the appearance of this woman. I don’t know her name; I don’t need to. Her behavior speaks volumes.

  Khadijah rolls her eyes. “Laney, just because your man is someone else’s baby daddy doesn’t mean my babies don’t want to see their father play some ball. If you don’t like it, get your own private box or watch from home.”

  Ooh, burn. I’m on the verge of laughing when the blond bombshell points her claws at me. Her gaze runs up and down my body. She doesn’t even try to hide her disgust. “You must be Rob’s mystery wife. Sucks to be kept the dirty little secret, doesn’t it? How did you finally get him to let you go public?”

  “Girl, you are an embarrassment to women everywhere. Go on, shoo. I already claimed the fresh meat; you don’t get to have her.” Khadijah steers us away before I can bring out my claws.

  “Mommy, I have to go! Now!” The previously silent little boy trailing us tugs on his mother’s shirt.

  “Oh, shoot.” Khadijah offers me an apologetic smile. “Potty training. Can you take her for me real quick?”

  “No, I really can’t–“ My legitimate protest falls on deaf ears as the baby is thrust into my arms.

  My abdomen throbs in time with her squirming, but it’s her chubby cheeks, curly wisps of hair, and big, bright eyes that hurt the most.

  I might have no idea what I want to go to grad school for, what career I want to spend most of my life doing, but this baby in my arms?

  Yeah. I want this so badly.

  “What’s your name?”

  She jerks like she didn’t expect me to talk to her. And then promptly grabs a fist of my hair in retaliation for my insouciant question.

  And so the rest of the game goes. As Rob racks up passing yardage and completions, new faces and names are thrust at me faster than I can keep up.

  They’re mostly a fifty-fifty split. Half are mean girls, much like the wives from my State days. Half are genuinely decent people, thrust into a sometimes indecent, but always unaverage life.

  We all deal with it in our own ways.

  By the time security arrives to escort us to the field for the end of the game, I’m mentally and physically exhausted.

  My stomach protests even the slightest reverberation with every step toward the Rushers’ sideline.

  Turns out, not wanting to let go of the baby even after her mother returned was a huge mistake. One I’m now paying for dearly.

  Her name is Keeley, and she’s eight months old. The potty-training superstar is Keegan, and he’s two. The rowdy, oldest child of the Davis family is Keenan, like his father. He’s six.

  At first, I believed they just did the cutesy matchy family of K names. I can’t imagine ever going that route.

  I’m afraid to imagine anything at all.

  But, then Khadijah said she wants her children to grow up with names befitting the role model of their lives—their dad. That having even a piece of his name will give them a higher bar to reach for.

  Her explanation resonates with me.

  With Keely on my hip and Keegan in Khadijah’s arms, we watch the clock wind down on another winning game for the Sacramento Gold Rushers.

  “I’m so happy he’s going out on a high note,” Khadijah murmurs. “I didn’t want him to end his career with last year’s losing season. He’s put so much blood, sweat, and tears into being the best he could be, even if he didn’t always have the best team around him.”

  I would argue he still doesn’t have the best team around him, but it’s impossible to deny the Rushers are making serious headway. It’s still early in the season, and I don’t want to brag, but…

  Rob’s shining star is forcing the rest of the players to rise to his level of play.

  I always knew this man was destined for greatness. I just never imagined he would achieve it in so many ways.

  Award-winning quarterback.

  Champion of assault survivors everywhere.

  Doting husband.

  As soon as the game whistle blows, he finds me.

  The expression on his face is not as excited as I would have expected.

  “You shouldn’t be holding her.” He raises his eyebrows at me, but turns a smile toward the baby, somehow managing the sweetest coo, even covered in sweat, turf, and a full football uniform. “Hey, Keeley-sweetie. Wanna come see me instead?”

  He holds out his arms, but she only clings to me tighter.

  Khadijah laughs. “Oh, you’ve been replaced.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t personally help Rob?” I ask her. This interaction feels too familiar to be a first time.

  Her answering smile reeks of deviousness. “I didn’t. You did more for this man than Keenan or I ever could. We had him over for dinner a lot, though.”

  “More like they forced me to eat when I was barely sober enough to stand,” Rob admits with a frown before hugging the woman at my side. He lets her go, then pries Keeley from my arms, much to her dismay. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but Evie really can’t hold you right now.”

  Khadijah eyes me with more scrutiny than our initial meeting. “Why?”

  Of course, Rob rats me out. “She had surgery two weeks ago and isn’t supposed to be lifting, or holding, anything heavy.”

  “Don’t give them that kind of ammunition, unless you can make it work for you,” Khadijah reminds me before reclaiming her daughter and leaving Rob and I to the increasing media presence on the sideline.

  “You look exhausted.” Rob cups my face in his hands, planting a firm kiss on my lips. In front of anyone who cares to photograph us. “Are you sure you’re up for this? Byers can always take you home now.”

  That’s it. I’ve had enough of this song and dance. We’re supposed to be communicating better. “Do you want me to go?”

  “Honestly? I want to show off my wife. But, your needs come before mine.”

  The anxiety that gripped my muscles melts away, leaving only the phantom pain from where Keeley rested against me. “Then, let me make your needs come before mine, too.”

  “For the record,” Rob whispers against my lips. “I’m lodging a formal complaint in this case.”

  “Lodge away.”

  He pulls back on a groan. “You’re killin’ me, Falls.”

  My laughter cuts short when the first journalist approaches us.

  It’s Mackey.

  “No. Fuck, no.”

  I put a hand on Rob’s arm. He’s not going to be getting fined by the leagu
e again under my watch. “What did we just talk about? We got this.”

  “We don’t got this,” Rob grits. “Not with this guy.”

  “Hey.” I aim my gaze directly at him. He knows my weaknesses, and I’ve got his number, too. He can’t resist my eyes. “Do you trust me?”

  “You? Yes. Him? No.”

  “You must be the mysterious Mrs. Falls.” Mackey steps right up to us with no preamble, his camera crew in tow, but not yet filming.

  I extend my hand. “And you must be the infamous Lou Mackey. I’m so sorry to hear about your rather messy divorce.”

  His previously confident demeanor falters, and I know I’ve gained the offensive.

  Better to attack before being left to defend.

  “How do you know about that?” Rob whispers out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I talked to Julie,” I respond out of Mackey’s earshot.

  Rob commences choking on air.

  “Will you agree to an interview?” Mackey practically growls. It’s clear he doesn’t want to play nice, but he’s learning the new rules quickly.

  I give Rob a nudge. If I answer for him, that will only send the message I’m calling the shots, and that’s not what we need to convey, here.

  We have to sell a united team front, so they won’t have anything to pick us apart over.

  “I’ll agree on one condition,” Rob finally responds through gritted teeth.

  Mackey motions for his cameraman to start rolling. “What’s the price of admission?”

  “Football only. My, our, personal life is off the table.”

  The same condition is given to every drooling reporter. They all agree.

  They’re getting prime shots, after all. Fans will do the rest of the legwork on social media.

  “Think you can stick around another hour while I shower and finish up in the media room?” Rob gives me another very public kiss. “We can maybe go to dinner after, if you’re feeling up to it.”

  I fake a gasp. “Public displays of affection, me being on camera next to you, and now an offer to go out on the town, in full view of the paparazzi? What’s next?”

  Rob sighs. “I’d like to say making love all night, but let’s be real. I’m sore. You’re sore. We’re probably going to be lucky if we make it to the actual bed before passing out for the night.”