Over the Middle: A Sports Romance

by Lauren Landish

  I'm just another bastard, I guess. But I don't want to be. Maybe there is a good guy inside me, a guy who can be worthy of a woman like Carrie. But when is that guy going to come out? When am I going to be able to move past the mental fuckeduppedness and become that man, and not the overgrown, horny boy I am now?

  Too late for Carrie, that's for sure. I don't want to hurt her. She's too special. If I can't be a good enough man for her, there's no reason for me to string her along. Next time, after we get together again, I'll make my move. I’ll give her the Hart Attack and then break it off. Sure, it'll hurt in the short term, but it’ll be better for both of us in the end.

  I walk over to my bike and climb on. Riding home, I only wish I could break it off with Carrie faster—save her the pain.

  You mean save yourself some pain.

  Fuck you, conscience. Where were you the past four years?

  Still here, but you didn't listen to me before. You just pushed me away.

  What the fuck was I supposed to do?

  Stop being a coward, is what you need to do. Man the fuck up. Talk to Carrie. She deserves that much.

  I rev my engine, and instead of going back to the apartment, I turn right, heading for the freeway. I need speed, and right now, the freeway is exactly what I need.

  Chapter 10

  Carrie

  "No, really Mom. I have a boyfriend.”

  Mom's looking at me like I'm nuts, and I guess it has been a while since I've been this excited to share the news with my parents that I'm seeing someone. Then again, when you compare Duncan and the weekend we just had to any other guy I've ever gone out on a date with . . . there's no comparison.

  We made love. Oh, sure, we didn't use those words, and there wasn't any mention of the L-word between us, but hey, a girl can hope.

  Mom, however, isn't so optimistic. "Honey, that's nice to hear, I guess. Who is it?"

  "Duncan Hart. He's one of the guys on the football team. We kinda met that way."

  "I see," Mom says, and there's movement in the background, and Dad comes into the field of view. "Vince, Carrie's seeing someone."

  "Oh really?" Dad says, taking a seat next to her. They're in the living room of our house, it looks like, and Dad looks tired. He must have just gotten back from another run. "Who is it, sweetheart?"

  "Duncan Hart. He's the tight end for the Bulldogs."

  They both look less than pleased, and I lean back, crossing my arms. "What is it? I figured you guys would be happy for me. You know, two years without a boyfriend and all?"

  "It's not that, honey," Dad says, looking over at Mom. "It's just that . . . well, he's a football player. And I think I know that name.”

  "He's got a good chance of going pro next year. First round, even.”

  Dad nods, then sighs. "Carrie, football players tend to be . . . well, they tend to have egos and personas that aren't exactly our style."

  "You mean you think because he’s a star on the team, that he's a superstar in real life?" I shoot back, getting angry. How could my parents be upset like this? “He's a good guy. Perfect? No, but a good guy. And he's making something of himself."

  "Yeah, a million-dollar contract and a trophy wife," Dad gripes, then winces. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

  "No, you shouldn't have," I say, then take a deep breath. I don't want to blow up with my parents, especially over a video chat. Any time you get mad at someone over the Internet, you just end up feeling like an ass later. "Listen, I need to study. I've got a mid-term tomorrow. I need to crack the books on it. I'll talk to you later."

  I hang up before they can reply, and turn away, frustrated. I don't really need to study. After my initial struggles with Organic Chemistry, I've gotten the hang of it pretty well. A lot of it is that I'm able to connect it back to my training studies, and to be honest, tutoring Duncan. Which, I think as I smile to myself, he hardly needs. He could pass that class with or without my help, but it’s nice to be able to spend time with him on what I guess we can now call study dates.

  Something I look forward to more and more.

  "Okay, class, you will have exactly ninety minutes to complete the test and turn it in. Please make sure you show your work on any mathematical calculations, and fill out your test papers legibly, please? I'm not going to go back to try to figure out any chicken scratches, so if I can't read it, it gets marked wrong, regardless of what you mean to say."

  "Good luck," I hear whispered behind me, and I turn, surprised to see Chelsea Brown sitting there.

  "What are you doing in this class?" I ask, surprised. "I've never seen you before."

  "Don't let it get out, but I took this class when I was a sophomore," she whispers back. "I only pulled a 'C' though, so I was hoping to audit the course and maybe get a better grade this time. Unfortunately for me, I forgot that I have my capstone course exactly thirty minutes after this class starts, so I've been mostly just reviewing the online lectures and the notes. At least I can't get lower than a C this time!"

  I chuckle and turn back forward as Professor Vladisova comes by, passing out the test papers face down on the desk. She's a major pain in the ass, but I can deal with it. Science is science, not a matter of whether you like your professor or not, and as she comes back around to the front of the classroom, she looks over everyone with her cold, dark eyes. "You may begin."

  As I’m coming up on the last ten questions, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I know I should leave it alone, but if I do, then the tone on my voicemail is going to go off. It's a weird setting, I know, but it works for me, and I pull the phone out, seeing that it’s Duncan. "Miss Mittel?"

  "Sorry, Professor," I say, hitting the Call Cancel button. I quickly type out a text message. What?

  Can you talk? Please.

  I look at the clock, and see that I still have plenty of time, thirty minutes with only ten problems remaining. I stand up, setting my pencil and paper face down on my desk. I leave the room and head into the hallway, calling Duncan as I go.

  "Hey. How was the test?"

  His voice sounds a little strange, and I frown. What's wrong? "I still have thirty minutes on it. I probably shouldn’t have left class to call you . . . you know I’m in the middle of the test, right? It must be important.”

  "Oh, damn, I forgot. Listen, can you meet me at the stadium right after your test is finished? It's important."

  I’m still getting this weird feeling about his voice, but maybe it’s just the stress that he’s feeling. After all, he is supposed to be meeting with the football coaches today about his suspension. "Sure. At one?"

  "One is good enough. Thanks, Carrie. See you."

  Duncan hangs up, and I put my phone back in my pocket. I'm worried. His voice just sounded . . . weird. Like he was upset about something, or maybe sad? And I still don’t understand how he could’ve forgotten I was in my test, but I don't have time to think about it. I still need to finish my test.

  Professor Vladisova is giving me a strange look when I come back in from the hallway, but I brush it off, sitting down and turning my test back over. I'm lucky the last ten questions are easy. I'd crammed them last night, and they are almost direct copies from the book. I finish them just as the Professor calls out the five-minute warning, and I check my paper for last-minute mistakes or stupid errors. "Time."

  Going up, I hand in my paper, and she’s still looking at me strangely. "Sorry, Professor," I say, thinking maybe she's upset about me taking a personal call during test time. "I had a personal issue. My boyfriend."

  "I see, Miss Mittel," she says and sets my paper down. I turn to leave. I have just enough time to get to the stadium by one o'clock if I hurry. I rush back and grab my bag, heading out the door with a quick goodbye to Chelsea, who's still sitting calmly, a little smile on her face. She must have done well on the test.

  I get to the stadium just a few minutes before one and see Duncan by the tunnel that leads from the outside to the inside of the stadium. It's currently
locked, but it's a common meet-up point, and I wave as I see him. Rushing over, I jump into his arms, giving him a big kiss. "Damn you! You nearly got me in trouble, but it's so good to see you!"

  "I missed you too," Duncan says, his voice still strange, but his hands are working their magic again, and I feel the warmth spreading through me. "Yesterday was so hard without you."

  "I'm sorry about that," I force out between kisses, trying to think, but his lips are nibbling on my earlobe, and it's so hard to think. He cups my ass, and I groan deeply, unable to help myself. "What are you doing?"

  "Needing you," Duncan says, pushing me up against the concrete wall. "I need you so much."

  "Duncan, slow down," I reply, pushing him away with effort. I'm breathing hard, my nipples are aching inside my bra, and my body is aching for him . . . but why is my heart not into this?

  I see it in his eyes. Oh no. Oh, fuck no.

  "Carrie, I need something special before the meeting," Duncan says, his eyes dead even as his voice drips with desire.

  He comes toward me again, and I put my hands up, pushing him away. "No. You're not going to do it."

  "Do what? I just need you," Duncan says, and I let my anger give me strength. I shove him back, away from me, and he takes a full step backward before stopping.

  "What you need is to stop running away," I state, stepping away from the wall. "I know what you're trying to do. For some reason . . . I’ve had this gut feeling ever since that call. For some unknown fucking reason, you think that you need to Hart Attack me, don't you? Don't you?"

  “Come on, Carrie," Duncan says, his voice desperate. He's tormenting himself, and for some reason, he's not thinking clearly. "It's the only way. I don't want to hurt you."

  "You think a quick romp and then cutting me loose will make it any better? I see it written all over your face,” I yell, jabbing him in the chest. He takes another step back, but I follow, staying right in his face. "Well, Duncan Hart, I'm not going to let you do it. Do you understand me? I won’t let you run away this time."

  "What do you mean?" Duncan asks, his voice trying to play it off, but falling far short.

  “This weekend, it wasn’t just some weekend sex marathon. I saw it in your eyes when you dropped me off Sunday. I don't know what’s changed since then, since you told me you wanted to become a better person. And I don't know what inner demons are telling you that you need to do this, but you need to choke them down, kill them! Kill those demons, because they're tearing you apart. You don't really want to do this. You just want an excuse."

  "An excuse for what?" Duncan says, his eyes shimmering with emotion and pain. "For what?"

  "An excuse to not fight those demons. Here's what's going to happen—I’m going to walk away right now, and you're going to stay here and think. Have your meeting with the coaches and find out what's going to happen. I'm going to go down to the weight room, do my workout for Coach T, and wait. I'll wait as long as you need me to, because I care about you."

  "What if I can't fight them?” Duncan asks, backing away to lean against the concrete on the far side of the tunnel. "What if I can't fight it?"

  "You can. I know you can. I’ll help, but you have to take that first step yourself. When you're ready, call me. I’ll be there, I promise you. I want to be a couple, not a threesome with you, me, and your inner demons."

  I stand up and walk away, trying not to cry, but the best I can do is force one foot in front of another, crossing the street and going down the steps to the basement of the Pavilion. Once inside, I find the nearest bathroom and have the cry that I've needed, and I blow my nose loudly before standing back up. I have work to do.

  Chapter 11

  Duncan

  I’ll help, but you have to take that first step.

  I feel Carrie's words swimming in my head, and I should be angry, pissed off. I’ve never been turned down like that before. When it comes to bedding girlfriends, Duncan Hart bats a thousand, and each time, it's a home run.

  This time, though, I'm not. I'm crushed, and Carrie's words rip through my mind, hot knives through butter. I'm not supposed to be this way. I'm supposed to be the guy who breaks the girl, not the guy who gets broken. I'm the alpha, the stud . . . and I'm sitting here speechless as she walks away.

  The demon, the voice that Carrie was just telling me about, pats me on the shoulder, chuckling and whispering in my ear.

  Fuck it. Go find another bitch, clear your mind. New pussy does wonders, don’t you know?

  Fuck you. You're the son of a bitch that got me in this mess. You're the one that keeps bringing me back to square one. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. Because for once, I have someone who isn't going to run away, who can be strong when I’m not.

  . . .

  There's no answer, and I know that at least, for a moment, I've beaten the inner demon back. I know it's temporary, but I need to build on it. I look at my watch and see that I have ten minutes to get to my meeting with Coach Bainridge. I don't want to waste a minute of time, especially with my temporary reprieve.

  I knock on Coach's outer office, and I see Coach Thibs sitting down at one of the other desks, reviewing something on his tablet. "Duncan. I didn't expect you for another ten minutes. You're five minutes early."

  I nod, stepping inside the office. "I know. Is Coach Bainridge here?"

  Coach Thibs nods and stands up. "He got done with the AD about half an hour ago. He asked that I come in with you, so that we have a witness. You okay with that?"

  I swallow and nod, and follow Thibs into Coach B's office. He’s sitting down, waiting. Obviously, he heard me and Coach Thibs out in the other room. "Sit down, Duncan."

  "Yes, sir," I say, and I see Thibs give me a double take. Bainridge, however, has probably seen players pull the penitent act before, and he isn't buying it. He's been around the coaching game longer than I've been alive, after all. He's not going to listen to some sob story. Nope, it's time to man the fuck up.

  "Duncan, do you how much damage your little outburst cost?"

  Of course I have. Not only the inside track on the conference title, but seven spots in the polls. We went from knocking on the top ten, to barely hanging out in the polls at all. I've already read two stories calling Western the 'paper Bulldogs' after that loss. I know the damage.

  "Yes, sir," I say again, choking off the inner demon before he can get a word out. I clamp my hands down on the armrests of the chair, squeezing until the wood groans under my fingers. "I hurt the team."

  "Damn right, you did," Coach says, leaning forward. "Duncan, I've lost a lot of games. Even the best coaches do. But one thing I've always tried to do, even with prima donnas like you, is make sure that you got the concept of team first, individual second. I thought we talked about this back in the summer."

  "We did, sir. Right before my elbow evaluation."

  Coach nods and taps his pen on his desk, looking at me. "I thought you'd gotten that message. You kept up your smack talk, but you put in the work. I even tried to meet you halfway, asking Coach Taylor to assign that trainer you worked with over the summer. You certainly responded, and put up games that finally spoke of the talent that I've seen in you for four years. Then comes Saturday . . .”

  "Yes, sir. I have no excuse for my actions. I was out of line."

  It's Bainridge's turn to be surprised, I think he expects me to argue with him about this. But he's right, and in my mind, I keep telling myself that this is for Carrie and for myself. For us.

  "All right. The Athletic Director wants me to give you a verbal warning. At the end of the day, you put asses in seats. We lose again, and we’ve got no chance at the conference championship. If it were up to me, I’d have benched your ass for the rest of the season, conference championship or not. However, I think I will go with Coach Thibedeau's suggestion."

  "Which is?"

  Coach Thibs speaks up for the first time. "One game suspension, provided you do two things. First, you behave yourself. Second, you h
elp me work with coaching Carlson, who's going to be playing tight end this Saturday. You will not dress for practice. You'll be in track pants and a t-shirt. Coach him in the video meetings. The kid's a freshman, and he's raw."

  I think about it, then shake my head. "No. I need one more thing, coach."

  Bainridge raises an eyebrow, his voice full of threat. "You're not in a position to demand anything, Duncan."

  "Hear me out, Coach. I think you'll approve of this."

  A hundred sets of angry eyes stare at me as I get onto the short stand that Coach Bainridge likes to use to look down on practice when we're running drills. He's got another tower, one he uses when we're doing full team practices, but that thing's too high for this.

  "Duncan Hart has something he'd like to say," Coach Thibedeau says to the group. "Take a quick knee. Duncan?"

  I look around and clear my throat. If I’m to be honest, I need to do this right. "I'm sorry," I call out, making sure my voice is loud enough that even the kickers screwing around in the back can hear me. "I'm sorry, and there’s no excuse for what I did. I thought only about myself, and I've been doing that for too long. I've been a bad teammate, a terrible leader, and an even worse friend to some of you. Coach Bainridge has suspended me for this Saturday's game, and I've accepted that. But I know that whatever Coach says, it’s you guys who will really decide when my suspension ends. I just want to be a Bulldog again. I want to be part of the team. I've asked Coach, and he's agreed to let me help out in practice, but I can't dress. I’ll do what I can to help.”

  I turn toward Coach T and step down from the stands. As I pass him, he says something quietly, and I turn to him. “What was that, Coach?"

  "I said, good apology. Let's see you back it up. But it's a good first step."

  First steps. Maybe today is all about first steps.