City of Champions

by Barlow, Chloe T.

  Griffen quickly spoke up, "Jenna's a resident with UPMC's department of orthopedic surgery. She's worked with some of your players. They know her as Dr. Sutherland."

  "That's great! What a small world." Tom said with a smile, shaking her hand, then Aubrey's. Jenna made sure to look over at Griffen and mouth a silent thank you to him.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you Tom," Jenna said, deliberately hiding her exhaustion from the day behind a professional smile. "This has been a great evening. Johnny especially loved it. He plays quarterback."

  "Griffen mentioned it." Tom smiled and glanced at his watch, adding, "In that case, let's get going. I didn't realize so much time has passed. I figure Griffen told you already, that I lined it up so you all can meet a few of the players. They should already be waiting for us. We can use the private elevator over here."

  "Come on Jenna," Aubrey whispered to her deviously, "I can't wait to get this tour started." Jenna could only roll her eyes and fall in line with the rest of them.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Pressing his large left hand against the cool shower tiles, Wyatt allowed his tired eyes to close and gently bent his head, leaning his warm forehead against the smooth porcelain.

  Warm jets of water sprayed over his chestnut brown hair, down the contours of his face and along the ridges of the screaming muscles in his chest and arms, before finally traversing the length of his legs, only to disappear in a swirl down the drain near his aching feet.

  Every part of his mind and body was suffused with anger and frustration, so intense they rivaled the tangible pain pulsating from his right shoulder. With each new rush of water, he tried to imagine that the last four hours of his life, with all the failures and brutal hits they had entailed, were hitching a ride with that cleansing liquid and leaving him forever.

  Yet, he found no such relief.

  Instead, every time he let his mind wander, it went right back to replaying each of the three bone-crushing sacks he'd taken during the game. No matter how much he wanted to think of the few plays that went his way, the hulking force of each mistake and delayed movement immediately eclipsed those successes, until Wyatt felt so furious he had to slap his resting hand hard against the wall.

  There was no denying — at least not to himself — that his right shoulder was killing him. He'd taken time to ice it down with the trainers, but the pain was still there. In fact, the only thing hurting worse than his body was his pride.

  He'd played this game since his hands were barely large enough to pick up a football. Recently he felt like he'd never set foot on a field before, never called a play, and certainly never been able to win a game. His mouth turned up in a sneer as he imagined all the media experts ripping him apart the next day.

  Even though his team was still hovering around having as many wins as losses, lately it felt like the day after every game was the same. So much so, Wyatt believed he could write the headlines himself by now.

  They would probably go something like:

  Monday Night Football — the biggest stage you can have in the season before the play-offs — and Wyatt McCoy fell right off the edge.

  A football prodigy, with the DNA to match, McCoy still can't seem to hit his stride in Pittsburgh, even after almost two seasons. By this time in his career, his father, the great Jim McCoy, already had two Super Bowl rings. This second coming of the McCoy line has no championships to show for himself, but he does come with a ton of red flags.

  Then, of course, there'd be the commentary on ESPN.

  SportsCenter would probably try to be clever while they made every effort to tear apart his performance.

  The same impulsive behavior and surly attitude that plagued Gunslinger McCoy in Dallas has followed him to the Steel City. This gunslinger looked less Wyatt Earp and a lot more Elmer Fudd. He's far from the success and adoration he enjoyed back in Texas — the site of his childhood home and college glory. After almost two years in a city used to winning — the City of Champions — he's starting to look a little lost.

  Ironically, Wyatt's plan was to eventually become one of those annoying talking heads himself — not for the love of the game or of talking about it, but for the pursuit of his own obsessive need to provide security for him and his family. The career of an NFL quarterback, and the salary that came with it, was just a tiny speed bump in the long road of one’s lifetime. When his body was too broken and old to throw a ball or evade a tackle, Wyatt needed to be ready with a Plan B, maybe even a Plan C or D. Hopefully with his brain not too broken and battered after all the pounding years on the gridiron.

  Because the sports commentary that scared him the most was the one that tormented him relentlessly in his own mind:

  Where do I go from here? What security can I achieve if I can't stay on the field? Every plan I've ever had has relied on being out there playing the game…on being a starting quarterback for a lot longer than these measly nine seasons…on bringing a championship to a team at some point in my life.

  With a sigh and admission to himself that he was unable to delay facing reality again for another moment, Wyatt rinsed off the last bit of soap from his body and turned off the water. Stepping out of the shower into the locker room, it seemed that every step he took hurt his aching body that much more.

  The nearly empty locker room gave him a small moment of relief. He'd taken time with the trainers and an extra long shower in the hope that he could wait out the press and their annoying questions, and it looked like he'd succeeded.

  As Wyatt sat on the wooden bench and awkwardly dried his hair with the towel in his left hand, he gingerly pulled his button-down shirt and slacks out of his locker with his other hand.

  He was working on some modeling gigs. The guys ribbed him constantly about it, but the money was great, and the free clothes were even better. It meant he didn't get to bum around in sweats like some of the other players, but it was worth it — one more step in his plan to take care of his abuela, mother, and sister as long as he could.

  Everyone loved his dad, Jim McCoy, or at least the image of him they'd been able to see. They didn't know that the man had blown it all and left his family with nothing. Wyatt would make no such mistake.

  Even so, Wyatt was unable to shake the feeling that his whole career was turning into an unforgiving mass of promised triumph. Now in his ninth professional season and on his second team, it was all starting to feel to him like he'd built his career around a whole lot of "almost was" and "never will be."

  The thought caused rage to bubble in Wyatt's stomach and he slammed shut his locker door in frustration. The fleeting emotional release it brought him was quickly replaced with another angry rush of pain shooting deeply across his right shoulder. It had already been killing him before the game, but being mauled on the field for a handful of hours didn't do it any favors — in fact, it had left his whole body hurting, and reignited his overwhelming sense of worry about his future.

  "Fuck," he said angrily under his breath, waiting a moment for the rush of agony to subside before snatching up his bag with his still functioning left arm. Silently, Wyatt began to walk out.

  "Hey, Wy — wait, where are you going?" J.J., his go-to wide receiver asked him, jogging up to his side.

  "Home. Good night, man."

  "Come on, dude, you're kidding, right?" J.J. asked, suddenly losing his cool exterior.

  "No. What's the big deal? Game ends. People leave. It happens. Take it easy, dude," Wyatt answered, with a confused laugh, as he continued toward the door.

  J.J. jogged after him and blocked his exit from the locker room.

  "Don't you remember?"

  "What, that you're a spaz?" Wyatt asked, with a laugh, continuing to the door, barely missing a step.

  "No, dumb-ass. We have to meet that VIP author dude and his guests."

  "Shit. I forgot," Wyatt answered, stopping to look at his friend. "Wanna cover for me, J.J.? I'm not in the mood for that bullshit right now."

  "What else is new?
You're never in the mood for this shit, asshole," J.J. said seriously, walking closer to Wyatt so they couldn't be overheard. "You know you're on thin ice with the team right now. This extra 'bullshit' is part of the package and you know it."

  "Thanks for reminding me. So you're an expert now?" Wyatt grumbled out.

  He'd known J.J. for a couple years and he was his biggest ally on the team, so it didn't do him any good to yell at him. It did make Wyatt feel a little better at that exact moment, though.

  Wyatt was fully aware he needed to play nice. Between his shoulder still acting up and three losses in a row, he needed to do all he could to show he deserved to be a starting quarterback — whether it be in Pittsburgh or somewhere else — at least for another few seasons. The only way to do that was to get this season, and his role on the team, back under control.

  "Don't take it out on me, Wy. I was on that field when we shit the bed, too, you know," J.J. answered, with a sarcastic tone that might have irritated Wyatt from anyone else.

  "You're right, man, but I don't like to be around people after a loss. And definitely not any 'VIPs' — it's probably a bunch of rich, douche bag armchair quarterbacks showing off their connections to their boring wives."

  "Well, you do have the right attitude to be an ambassador for the team today," J.J. said, with a laugh. "You'll have to leave all the charming up to me then. And if any of those boring wives are hot, it won't be so bad. I'll let them touch my muscles. They love that shit."

  "You're pretty optimistic, J.J. Look, I've done enough of this crap since college to be able to guarantee you they are definitely not going to be hot. So fine by me, you and your muscles can have them all. I just want to get this over with."

  "I get it, man. You're a cranky old bastard tonight."

  "Twenty-nine makes me old, huh?" he asked, finally cracking a smile. "You're twenty-six, you idiot."

  "You know what — you're right, we are still young. So why don't you come out with us after this VIP shit is all over? We're going to the Southside to get a drink — or four — and maybe find some Pittsburghers that aren't totally disgusted with us. It'll be good for you to spend some time with the guys."

  "No, I need to call it a night as soon as we're done."

  "Old and predictable — Christ, Wy, you are one boring guy."

  "Looks like I am. Sorry, man."

  Wyatt actually was tempted to cut loose instead of hiding out in his big empty house all by himself.

  But he knew that it all started with one fun night.

  In fact, that was how it began, and, ended for his father — simple nights of entertainment, enjoying the pleasures that came with being a star NFL quarterback. In between those nights came too much partying, too many women and run-ins with the law that got swept under the rug. Then came more folks asking for money, and bad investments taking whatever else he had left. Until he had lost the family's home and his wife couldn't ignore the cheating and long absences for another day. She'd taken Wyatt and the rest of their kids to live with her grandparents, so they could try to start their lives over quietly.

  Wyatt realized he may be facing career speed bumps, but at least they were all his own. He would deal with those, while doing whatever it took to avoid the failures of his father and the humiliating fate that came with them.

  "Man, you really are a pain in the ass, Wy. Fine. Your loss."

  "Don't I know it," he answered.

  "Come on, let's get out of here so we can go meet these stiffs."

  Wyatt tossed his bag onto the bench and followed J.J. to the vestibule outside the locker room, where the rest of their group was waiting.

  "Hell, yeah," J.J. said, under his breath. "I definitely still call the women. Old, boring wives, my ass, Wy."

  Wyatt rolled his eyes at J.J. before turning around to get a load of what had J.J. all worked up. His taste was pretty lenient — breasts connected to a willing body were often enough to get him going, but as soon as Wyatt turned around he started to think he'd underestimated J.J.

  Tom was leading the group next to a guy about Wyatt's age with a riled up little boy who was so excited, he looked about ready to jump out of his own skin.

  Behind them was the sight that had J.J. and Wyatt's full attention. Three beautiful women were pulling up the rear — one had short, dark hair and a quirky smile, while another had a sweet face and a massive head of light brown hair, almost the color of honey. But it was the serious-looking stacked blonde standing next to her that had Wyatt's heart suddenly pounding. Her blue eyes were penetrating and screamed of a challenge he was ready to take on — because, dammit, he really needed a win, and quickly.

  "I call the blonde, J.J.," he said to his friend with a quiet intensity.

  "Fuck, you're kidding — she's perfect for me."

  Wyatt threw him a look that had managed to make unruly teammates fall in line since he was a kid, and now was no different.

  "Fine, if that'll cheer you up, I'll let you give it a shot. I like the look of that crazy brunette, anyway," J.J. answered confidently.

  "Perfect. Let the games begin," he whispered to himself.

  They want me to play nice? Wyatt thought to himself. Sure, I can do that. I'll play really nice with this hot blonde.

  "Tea, I'm gonna head home after we meet the players," Jenna whispered to Tea as they followed Tom, who was still chattering almost nonstop several feet ahead of them to Griffen and Johnny.

  "What?" Tea whispered back with concern, stopping suddenly until Aubrey barreled into her from behind.

  "Jeez, Tea, are you trying to kill me?" Aubrey huffed at her.

  "No, but I may kill Jenna. She wants to go home." Tea turned back to Jenna, glaring at her with an amount of frustration in her eyes that surprised her, considering Tea was usually so nice — maybe a little dramatic at times, but always sweet. "You really can't be serious, Jenna. Not after Griffen went to all this trouble."

  "I know, and I am so grateful for getting to make that connection with Tom, I had a crappy day and am totally beat. It's not like I blew this off."

  "You're blowing it off now," Tea whispered angrily in response. "I can't believe you."

  "Calm down, Tea…"

  "Tea, ignore Jenna. She's just nervous about spending so much time with Gunslinger McCoy."

  Jenna rolled her eyes at Tea but was getting no support from that member of their triad.

  Instead, Tea simply glared at her.

  "Hey, are you guys coming?" Jenna heard Griffen's deep voice boom back to them. He headed over to their direction and immediately looked at Tea with concern. "Gorgeous, is everything okay?" he asked her softly, as he placed his hand at the small of her back. Tea looked up at him and the two simply stared in each other's eyes. The adoration they shared for each other was almost palpable.

  "I'm fine," Tea said reassuringly to Griffen. "It's Jenna, she's got a bad case of the stick-in-the-muds. She's trying to skip the tour."

  "No way, Jenna, this is a huge opportunity to spend time with these players and they're expecting all of us to be there. It will look bad if one of us bails. It'll be short, I promise, and I know Johnny will be bummed if you leave. Please?"

  Griffen shot his best puppy dog eyes at her, bending his head down and letting his longish, dark, wavy hair fall on his forehead.

  "Uh-oh, Jenna, he's got you in his blue-eyed clutches, you're toast," Aubrey said, with a giggle, which Tea quickly joined in on with her own snickering.

  Griffen wouldn't look away and threw out his bottom lip further. Jenna had to admit that he was devastatingly handsome. Yes, he was madly in love with her best friend, but she was a woman with eyes, after all.

  "Fine," Jenna muttered in defeat as she started walking toward Tom and Johnny.

  "Sweet," Griffen exclaimed. "Come on, hurry up, ladies, they're waiting for us."

  "I win," Aubrey whispered to her.

  "Grow up," Jenna said, elbowing her in the ribs.

  "All right, folks, are we ready?" Tom ask
ed when they caught up to him. Everyone nodded and proceeded to fall in behind him again like obedient puppies until they made it to the entry area in the NFL team's locker room.

  Tom stood next to the three players that were pegged for the meet-and-greet portion of what was rapidly feeling like one of the longest days of Jenna's life. The sight of Wyatt McCoy was unnerving. She worked with athletes every day, but none that had intrigued her for such a long time like he did — plus, he was staring at her with such focus that she began to feel downright overwhelmed.

  Only one person had ever stared at her that way, or had that kind of power over her, in her whole life. Jenna wanted nothing to do with anyone who stirred up that memory, no matter how much Wyatt may have fascinated her as a player over the years.

  "I have our quarterback, Wyatt, wide receiver, J.J., and safety, Trajan, here to meet you. If you're NFL fans, as I know at least a couple of you are, they won't need much introduction," Tom said, with a smooth tone suffused with authority.

  Although Jenna was forcing herself to look at Tom, she was having a difficult time listening to his words. Her chest felt oddly tight and her palms were sweating. She refused to meet Wyatt McCoy's stare or let him see that her breaths were becoming unnaturally short and sharp in her throat.

  She tried next to distract herself by watching the happy response of Johnny, whose eyes were wide with excitement. Jenna couldn't help but be amazed at how he was speechless for probably the first time since he was born. She loved to see Johnny so happy and proud, knowing that his "Gwiff" had done all of this for him.

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see that each of the three handsome players waiting for them had showered and seemed amiable enough. Though it was surely an annoying task having to meet "VIP Pittsburgher" Griffen Tate and his motley crew entourage after a long game and depressing defeat in overtime.

  Jenna could almost feel that Wyatt Alejandro McCoy was still eyeing her like she was a glistening mojito on a hot day at the beach. He was blindingly handsome in person. She could also tell how he'd earned the label of moody, intense, and unpredictable just by looking at him.