Copyright © 2017 RP FISCHER
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Designer: Silla Webb- Masque of the Red Pen
Editing and formatting: Silla Webb- Masque of the Red Pen
Photographer: Kruse Images and Photography: Models and Boudoir
Model: Justin James Cadwell
To my own "Aunt Mimi"
For guiding me through my random thoughts.
And for the drunken makeover attempts.
Disclaimer by "Aunt Mimi"
All animals in this book are rescues. Rescuing an animal is a wonderful gift that we, as humans, can give to an animal in need.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
1. COLIN
2. NATALIE
3. COLIN
4. NATALIE
5. NATALIE
6. NATALIE
7. NATALIE
8. COLIN
9. NATALIE AND COLIN
10. NATALIE
11. NATALIE
12. NATALIE
13. COLIN
14. NATALIE
15. NATALIE
16. NATALIE
17. COLIN
18. NATALIE
19. COLIN
20. NATALIE
21. NATALIE
22. COLIN
23. NATALIE
24. COLIN
25. NATALIE
26. NATALIE
27. COLIN- SEVERAL MONTHS LATER
EPILOGUE- NATALIE- 10 YEARS LATER
THANK YOU
SOCIAL MEDIA FINDS
Standing at the front of my locker, I stare at my actually clean game jersey, ready to say See you next year. We have a bye-week then one more game right before Christmas, but I was officially on the injured list after yesterday's game for my right shoulder.
I met with the team doctor, and Coach told me to take it easy the rest of the month since the x-ray showed a small separation. I still plan on flying in for the last away game and will take the doc's advice, even if it means wearing this annoying sling for a few days.
We didn't make the playoffs due to some bad luck, but this has been one hell of a season for the Houston Rams in the long run. We plan to end on a semi-high note, even if I can't play.
Right now, I'm ready to kick back until camp starts again next year. I'll condition my shoulder and focus on my speed a little more to offset the injury. My playing was top notch, if I do say so myself, and if my MVP award had anything to add despite the new injury. I was swimming in gold.
Unfortunately, I had an extra shitty reputation this year that was far from the truth. Thanks to some misplaced nude pictures and a scorned ex-girlfriend, I still managed to come out on top for the Rams offensively. Even though the pictures were proven false, the story base was still out there, following me for the last few weeks.
I vowed to stay away from women for the time being, which had been fairly easy the last few years. When I first made it to the pros, I indulged very often as any young single guy would do, so I wasn't a total monk. Now, it would be tough, but my professional game came first and always had been my number one priority.
As one of the most sought-after wide receivers four years ago, I'd definitely been feeling the pressure this year when I finally got to start every game of the season instead of half. Even though I had been a first round pick, I still had to pay my dues toward the veterans. I had been slaving away as second and third string just waiting to show the coaches I was worth being drafted into professional football.
All I've ever wanted to do growing up was play football, and no one was going to stand in my way.
As of right now, I know I'll be coming back for sure next season if I stay out of the limelight and don't do any more damage to my shoulder. My new contract secured me a few more years in Houston unless I get traded.
That was a loophole I have never looked forward to when I dreamt of professional football.
Picking up my gym bag and slinging it on my good shoulder, I slowly walk out to the players and staff parking zone before taking the hour-long drive back to my house. Christmas lights whiz by me, reminding me that the holidays are here and in full swing.
It's hard to believe Thanksgiving was only a week and a half ago.
Walking into my house, I can smell something slightly burning, which can only mean one thing.
Grant was here and cooking. Better get the antacids or the fire extinguisher.
I yell through the hall to the kitchen, "Grant, for the love of all things food, please tell me whatever you're making is going to be edible!"
My older brother, Grant, has a key for emergencies, yet somehow feels the need to use my kitchen, game room, and pool on many occasions. I don't mind most of the time since he'll usually bring my favorite nephew, okay—my only nephew—with him.
Danny is the coolest little kid on the planet, and I love having him around. If I had ever had kids, I'd want to raise them to be as chill as Danny.
The burning smell intensifies from my brother who is pointing a spatula at me.
Grant teases back, "It's not like you could do much better, little brother. It’s smart that you ordered those protein pre-made meals because no scientist could prove what you make is real food either."
Laughing at the truth in the statement, I toss back, "You're right, but it's not like I have a wife that cooks whenever she can. Speaking of which, why are you here and not at your own house?"
Grant replies, "If you must know, Jamie is picking up the dog we promised Danny for his birthday and is setting everything up at the house to surprise him. She finally has all of her shots, and we feel better bringing her home. This is the only downside to a kid having a birthday in December."
"Dude, I can't believe you finally caved on getting him a dog."
He drops the spatula back onto the counter and gives me a look of bossiness. "Yeah, well if I hadn't, you definitely would have, and Jamie would have murdered you because you would have done it without asking us first. Plus, it would have trouble being house broken, much like yourself."
Throwing my good hand awkwardly up in mock surrender, I defend, "I can't help it if I'm Danny's favorite uncle over Jamie's brother. The kid needs a fun uncle. Plus, I'm mostly housebroken."
"Since you're the fun uncle who will also be home for the foreseeable week, I have a small favor to ask."
"Depends… Does it involve eating whatever it is you made?"
"No, dipwad. It's actually for the kid. The shelter can't hold on to the puppy until next month like we wanted, and we have the Disneyland vacation before Christmas. Can you watch her for the week? We could board her if you can't, but we wanted her to get used to being around family."
"Dude, I got little to do for a month except for dressing at the last game, my possible California meeting, and Christmas dinner with you guys. My physical therapy doesn't even start until mid-January. I'll watch her as long as she doesn't piss and
shit everywhere."
"Nah, she might just poop in your cleats cuz they already smell like shit." As Grant finishes his sentence, the kid in questions comes barreling from the game room I just had to have.
"Uncle Colin!!!"
I pick Danny up with one arm and swing him around like an airplane on my good side until landing in the family room. I drop him on the couch with a thump.
Wow, he's getting heavy.
"Hey, little man. You rotting your brain with video games again?"
Bouncing up and down on the cushions, the energy of the six, soon to be seven-year-old, is everywhere.
"Yes, Uncle Colin. Daddy says it's all your fault and you're gonna spoil me."
Tickling the wiggly kid, I say, "Your dad has been blaming me for everything since Gramma brought me home from the hospital." I yell at Grant in the kitchen, "And he never lets me forget it!"
Grant walks into the living room and tosses Danny over his shoulder. "Okay, pipsqueak, let's leave His Majesty to his night of sorrow over his delicate shoulder."
Danny giggles, his little arm stretching out to give me a high five.
“Bye, Uncle Colin!” his voice echoes through the hallway as they make their way out to their car.
After stowing away my gym bag in the closet for the next few days, I attempt to eat the "meal" that Grant left for me. Barely two bites later, the biohazard waste is thrown in the garbage and the rest of the kitchen becomes the next to tackle in cleaning.
I might have to call my housekeeper, Mrs. Cortez, to see what new pans to buy since Grant pretty much destroyed all the ones I had. She cooks for me on occasion but essentially just organizes the meals the team nutritionist orders for the athletes on diet plans.
There's almost a month of nothing except holiday fun on my schedule until I have my full set of offseason commitments. Some that I'm looking forward to and some I would rather hide at home from. Holiday drives at the cancer center, charity golf tournaments, and summer football camp appearances are something I'd volunteer for any day of the week.
Team photo shoots and interviews are two things I'd like to avoid. Every time I'm told to go to one, photographers love to display my tattoos and the bulge in my pants. I really wish I could get my publicist to get them to stop asking for them, but then I'd be feeding into the diva crap.
Sex sells and apparently, I'm the main hooker right now. I scratch along my left shoulder and bite on the bar poking through my tongue in reminder.
The tattoos and tongue ring were something I'd stupidly gotten done with some teammates in college. The tribal symbols from my left elbow over to my chest and part of my back apparently makes me look like a bad boy and not the Southern gentleman I was raised to be. Add in the sword underneath my bicep for my high school mascot, the Crestview High Knights, and the Oklahoma Eagle mascot on my ribcage under the tribal set, and you've hit the tattoo trifecta. Those I purposely got to remember where I came from. I kept my entire right side blank, and I don't intend to change that for as long the rumors spread.
The rumors of my dick size spread as quickly with the images of my tattoos and tongue ring. I can't help it, I was graced with a long and thick dick that ladies salivate over.
The girls at the University of Oklahoma didn't seem to hate any part of my body, and I definitely took advantage of it for a solid bit in the pros. After a while, they all became the same, and I got bored quickly. Yes, I knew how to use my dick to make a girl come multiple times and scream my name all night, but they all wanted the possibility of a professional football player to whisk them away from small town life or give them the fame and fortune they might never have.
Lauren Vanderson, an aspiring model, and downright gold digger being the prime example.
Not once did I give her any sort of promise of marriage or a future. She latched on to me at a party, and I drunkenly hooked up with her. She was hot, and I didn't think I had to make too much of an effort with her.
Fucking hell, just thinking of her name makes me want to throw something. I've never apologized for having the necessities to be a tough football player, and if that made me a bad guy, then I'm guilty.
Drive, determination, ambition and natural skill are attributes I gladly brag about having, and I won't fucking apologize for it.
I focus my energies the rest of the night away from my sore shoulder and Lauren. Instead, I prepare for watching the new puppy and look up birthday slash Christmas presents online for Danny. I do spoil the kid, and if it's one thing I don't mind spending my contract money on it's him. Hell, he's already gotten a college fund waiting for him, and I've already started the plans for any other kids that come along in our family.
My e-mail notifications are blowing up from my phone while I’m deciding between buying Danny a kid-size Hummer, Ford truck, or Corvette. Either way, Grant's going to kill me, but at least his son will move around in style during my funeral.
I tear my gaze away from picking out colors when I see two e-mails that catch my eye. One is an e-mail from my agent about an endorsement deal that we've been waiting on and then another from the Athletic Director from my college alma mater.
I click open the e-mail about the endorsement, and it’s pretty much a confirmation of the deal. I need to be in California a few days before Christmas, which is only a few days after our last game. Then the e-mail from the ad mentions how the head coach of the team is retiring, and they're hosting a New Year's Eve party in his honor.
There is no way I’m missing Christmas with my family since I had missed Thanksgiving because of an away game. I got lucky being drafted to a team near my family, but sometimes I feel like I see them less than I did when I lived in Oklahoma.
I check the team schedule and make my plans. I'll fly out to California for only forty-eight hours, then come back to Houston to spend Christmas with the family. The idea of an easy New Year's in Oklahoma doesn't sound too bad. Coach Haggerty did a lot for me in my life, and it feels right to end this year at a party for him.
I call my agent and tell him to go ahead with the endorsement meeting but to make it a quick one, and then I book my flight to Oklahoma to stay a few days. I can catch up with a few guys I played college ball with and keep to my plan of laying low.
I'm looking into the little, yellow eyes of the British Shorthair, whose charcoal gray fur tickles my nose while I check for the eye infection, and find my own reflection in this pained creature's face. The poor cat is reaching fourteen, and one of the eyes is starting to go. I make my notes and feel a slight twinge of sadness.
This is the only part of the job that I never looked forward to when I decided I wanted to work with animals. I love all animals and wanted to give them the best life I could.
Unfortunately, there were the cycles of life and after watching my own mother deteriorate from breast cancer, I knew the cycle could end quickly and painfully. I made it my job to try to ease the process for those who couldn't speak up for themselves.
After putting the beautiful yet aging cat back in her cat cradle, I go back to the front desk to finish paperwork before calling back the next appointment. Before I can even call Mrs. Sampson's labradoodle, the door swings open and the most gorgeous man in the history of men comes barreling through the door with a little ball of fur.
His voice is deep but hoarse when he begs, "Please, you have to help me."
Before I can continue drooling over the dog's owner, I notice blood seeping from the little mouth of the now visible puppy. I jump into fix-it mode.
Quickly moving from around the desk, I approach both the owner and puppy gently before speaking, "Sir, we will take good care of your puppy. Just follow the small hallway to exam room five, and I will page the doctor."
Turning to Mrs. Sampson, I offer, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Sampson. I will send Celeste to come for Buttercup."
Mrs. Sampson isn't the least bit upset when she mischievously smiles before replying, "Oh don't worry, dear, you go help that young man. He was sure a sight to see walk
ing away."
Gasping, I chide, "Mrs. Sampson! You behave."
Paging Dr. Schultz and running into the room, I try to stay focused on the helpless animal and calming the owner as he continues to pace back and forth with the distressed puppy in his arms.
"Sir, would you mind handing over your puppy so I may take a look before the doctor gets here and you can tell me what happened?"
His eyes dart around the room in the standard panic the clinic sees with all distraught owners. He slowly places the little puppy on the exam table while I find the source of the bleeding and take notes for the doctor.
"I was trying to teach her how to fetch outside and she tripped over a rock and rolled a few times. When I got to her, her ear and paw were bleeding, and she was having trouble breathing. I'll pay anything. Just make sure she's okay."
While cleaning her ears and paw that luckily had no bones sticking through, Dr. Schultz walks in.
"Okay, Natalie, what do we have?"
"Patient took a tumble and rolled a couple times. She’s taking short breaths. Upon small examination, only one of her legs feels tender so possible sprained ankle. Due to the shortness of breath, we need to x-ray her ribs. The ear has a small cut that we can glue shut. She bit her lip that dripped blood to her paw, but the bleeding's already stopped."
Turning to the gorgeous man we both seemed to have forgotten about, Dr. Schultz introduces himself.
"I'm Dr. Schultz, I own the clinic."
Shaking the doctor's hands before replying, "I'm Colin Shaw. That little girl, Fuzzy, is my nephew's birthday present that I was supposed to take care of all week."
Recognition dawns on Dr. Schultz. "Wait. Are you Colin Shaw from the Houston Rams?"
Unease and continuous panic are still evident on his face. "Yes, sir, I am. Like I told your assistant, I'll pay anything to get Fuzzy fixed up."
Patting the dog that I had sedated before taking to x-ray, Dr. Schultz reassures Colin. "We'll take great care of Fuzzy, Mr. Shaw. I'm gonna have Natalie take down some information while we do x-rays on Fuzzy in the back."
Now that the commotion of the accident has finally calmed down, I take a good long look at the sexy wide receiver. Once I get a full frontal, and sadly clothed view, I recognize the face that's plastered all over town as one of the stars of the team this year. I feel stupid I didn't know who he immediately was when he walked in the door.
Crazy Thing Called Life Page 1
