Blindsided

by Shey Stahl

  I push his shoulder lightly. “Dude, help your sister up.”

  He rolls his eyes but reaches his hand out to her. “Get up.”

  Not the nicest of kids, but at least he did what he was told.

  Talking to the offensive line coach, Landon’s on the sidelines, a football in his hand and dressed in his uniform. Let me tell you something. I don’t care how many football players you’ve seen in compression pants, you’ve never seen Landon Slade in them. It’s like seeing Chris Hemsworth as Thor, and we all know he’s the only reason you go see any of the Marvel movies. Actually, I love comic books so that’s a lie on my part, but whatever, you get what I’m saying, right? Ninety percent of the women at any movie involving Thor are there to watch Chris Hemsworth. It’s a fact.

  And 100 percent of the female Seahawks fans here come to watch Landon Slade do what he does—throw the football and look damn good doing so.

  While I try not to stare in a way that Landon can construe into thinking I want to have sex with him—which I do, but he doesn’t need to know that—I motion toward him and look down at the kids, setting Nalani down on the ground. “Why don’t you guys go say hi to your uncle and wish him good luck?”

  All the kids—aside from Marley—rush to Landon. Even Nalani, but she gets distracted when she sees there are benches. She stops, stares at them for a moment, then climbs up on one and takes a seat next to a three-hundred-pound center named Kumonde.

  “Hi,” she says, smiling at him.

  Kumonde grins back, a mouthful of gold-plated teeth and dreads that match Cat’s. “Hey, girly. You must be Nalani.”

  She points at his teeth. “Ah, cute!”

  Kumonde laughs loudly. “I ain’t cute, kid.”

  Looking over my shoulder, I notice Marley stays where she’s at, her earbuds in and tucked away in the corner out of sight of everyone. I make a mental note to spend some time with her alone tomorrow to see if I can pry her shell of “I hate everyone” away. I’ve been where she’s at, the confusion and not knowing where you fit into the world when your entire family is gone.

  With a deep breath, I turn back to Nalani who’s gotten down and heading toward Landon like she’s spotted Santa. He might as well be Santa to her. After all, guess who took the kid to Build-A-Bear the other day and closed the entire store for her and Haisley to pick whatever they wanted. That guy. He’s spoiling these kids rotten, but it’s actually a nice change. And let’s be completely honest. It’s fucking sexy to watch. Witnessing a man who lacks maturity become something more, someone who becomes a hero and a protector to five kids he hadn’t really met until they were put into his custody, well, watching that change is enough to make your ovaries explode and your uterus beg for him to plant his seed. #futurebabydaddy is a hashtag I’m thinking of handing him, or maybe I already have and I’m keeping it on the down low for the time being.

  But I have to squash those thoughts because regardless of how I feel about Landon now, there’s no way he could ever love someone like me. Not in a romantic way. I’m not like Alessa, or any other woman he’s been with. I’m plain, a tad overweight, covered in ink and a night owl. I don’t like makeup as it suffocates my skin, while formal dresses make me claustrophobic.

  Alessa, she’s slutty, lives off daddy’s money and is what I like to refer to as #thebitch. I know, not very creative but also… #icequeen. Seemed fitting. I have many hashtags for her.

  Shit, she’s approaching me now. Look at the way she walks. It’s like she’s on a runway. “Wow, looks like you have your hands full being a nanny.”

  That’s code for “You’re failing miserably at life.” And never, not once, has she ever acknowledged that while I might be Landon’s assistant, he’s my best friend, a title she will never hold and desperately wants to. That lands my fat ass on her automatic hate radar. She wants me to remain what I am, an employee of his while she fucks him. It kills her to know I’m closer to him than she will ever be.

  Trying to cover the nervousness she evokes within me, I blurt, “You know this is a football game, not the runway.” I eye her low-cut top, skin-tight black jeans, and heels. It’s not exactly what most would wear. Hell, who am I to talk fashion though? I’m wearing a Seahawks hoodie and jeans, and I’m almost positive there’s remnants of Nalani’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my hair.

  She bats her fake eyelashes at me. “What are you talking about, help?”

  Yeah, cute, huh? She refers to me as the help, which I am, but whatever.

  “I’m talking about the way you’re dressed,” I point out. Haisley tugs on my hand. “Let’s go see Uncle Landon.”

  I don’t even say goodbye before I follow Haisley over to Landon.

  “You know you’re more than that to him,” Cat whispers beside me, and I only nod. She sighs and pulls my face around so I’m looking at her. “I might not remember much, but without a doubt, I remember how much Landon cares about you and what you mean to him. You do know that, don’t you?”

  I pull my face away, nodding. “When did this all get so fucking complicated?”

  “When you fell in love with him.”

  She has a point.

  Shovel Pass – A passing motion where the quarterback “pushes” the ball rather than over- or underhand throws it.

  “What was that about?” I ask, nodding to Alessa who’s now flirting with Quinn. It’s no surprise, and no, I don’t hold it against Quinn.

  “Same thing as always. To make me feel like a crazy person.”

  I hip-check Ember, winking as she passes Nalani off to me. “You’re the craziest person I know.”

  Her eyes, innocent and wild, remind me of the night I met her in that tattoo shop. “Doubt that. You’re a football player. You’re all fucking nuts.”

  I watch her ass as she walks away. Don’t look at me like that.

  “LC, can I talk to you for a minute?” Kerry asks, pulling me aside.

  If you’ve never been to CenturyLink Field, it’s something to see. Skip Pike Place and go straight to where the heart of Seattle is. The football stadium. For me that is. I couldn’t care less about anything else in the city.

  On any given game day, there are a variety of people allowed on the sidelines during the game. Pregame is different. It’s not unheard of for family to come down. Like Ember and the kids who are currently enjoying the sideline festivities. I have Nalani in my arms, talking to our offensive line coach. He’s going over plays, leaving little room for questions or confusion and I appreciate it. I never have to guess, and he trusts me on the field. There’s this saying that coaches make decisions, players make the plays. It’s the truth.

  Shifting Nalani to my other arm, she takes the football from my hand. “Ball?”

  “Football,” I tell her, smiling.

  “I throw?”

  I nod. “Go ahead. Throw it to Kerry.”

  A father himself, Kerry winks at Nalani. “Come on, kid, hit me.” And then he claps his hands together like he’s waiting.

  Nalani pulls the ball back and turns her head into my shoulder, pointing her finger at him and then shaking it back and forth. “No hit.”

  Behind me, someone touches my hips, her hands on my waist. I know the touch.

  My theory is confirmed when I turn to see who it is and immediately want to shove the football in her face. Harsh much? Yeah, but it’s for a good reason. Honestly, my relationship with Alessa has been over for a while, even before our argument.

  “Are you coming over tonight?” Alessa skims her fingers along my chest as she walks by. You’ve seen Paris Hilton, right? Okay, now imagine her, leggy, blonde, fake… and you’ve gotten Alessa. She was fun for a while, until she wasn’t, and I can’t even pinpoint when the shift happened, just that it did. And I realized compared to Ember, there’s really no comparison.

  Notice how stiff my posture is? I don’t want her near the kids. Not after the things she said to me. What about the way Nalani looks at Alessa like she has two heads, but then she
sees her earrings and tries to grab them. “Aww, pretty!”

  Well, that’s different than aw cute.

  Alessa pulls away from Nalani. “Who is she?”

  “My brother’s kids. He died, remember?”

  Alessa frowns, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I remember, but why do you have them?”

  “They’re mine now.”

  There’s absolutely no reaction to my statement from her. Like it doesn’t fucking matter. And it probably doesn’t to her. Why would it?

  “Are you coming over after the game?”

  “No.” I keep my focus over her shoulder, on the one who’s watching our interaction with an expression I can’t quite make out. The one whose heart matters in all this.

  Like I’ve pissed her off, Alessa’s lips press into a thin line of disappointment. “And why not?” And then she smiles, those big white teeth gleaming under the lights. They look like fucking bleached Chiclets crammed in her gums.

  My pessimistic nature gets the best of me and I hold Nalani in my arms a little tighter, glowering at Alessa. “Because I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  Believe it or not, or actually, you probably will believe me just off the little information I’ve given you about Alessa, but she doesn’t take no for an answer. Neither does her father, and that’s why he’s the head coach.

  Commotion on the field causes Nalani to squirm in my arms. “Down? I get down? Peas?”

  How any man resists the word peas is beyond me because I can’t. I set her down and she wanders onto the field, touching the white lines. Keeping a close eye on her, I don’t look over at Alessa who’s still staring at me, wanting an answer. One I’m not going to give her any time soon. I shouldn’t have to explain myself if she’s sleeping with Justice.

  Sorry, was that abrupt? Yeah, it was for me too, but whatever. She can fuck whoever she wants. It’s not like we were exclusive. I certainly wasn’t, either.

  “Are you seriously saying no to me?”

  I nod. “Yep.”

  Quinn approaches us, his arm coming around my shoulders. “Hey, girl, I hear a spot opened up on your roster?”

  “Oh, fuck off,” she snaps, rolling her eyes at him.

  “Whoa, pump the hate breaks.” He holds up his hands and then winks at her, suggestively eyeing her body. I admit, it’s a good one, if you like stick thin and tan. “I’m just looking for some yardage.”

  I can’t help but laugh and that only pisses her off more. “You guys are so immature.”

  She leans into me, whispering in my ear, “You’re going to regret breaking it off with me.”

  I may not be the most mature person in the world, and I prove it when I whisper back, “Go fuck yourself, ya dumb cunt.”

  Harsh? Yep. But I warned you. I can be a real fucker when I want to be.

  With a wicked glare, one I’ve only seen from her twice, she turns on her heel and walks away.

  Quinn watches her and bites his fist, his other hand clasping my shoulder. “I wasn’t kidding.” Then he pauses, looking kind of confused. “I’m looking to get my dick wet.”

  He’s not bullshitting, either. I side-eye him. “Don’t you have enough problems with a baby mama and two girlfriends?”

  “Eh.” He drops his hand. “What’s one more?”

  You’re probably thinking, fuck, do all players talk like this on the sidelines? Aren’t they discussing the game?

  And my answer to that would be yes. We all talk like that on the sidelines. We’re nasty motherfuckers who talk about pussy, football, pussy, music, cars… and well, pussy. Sometimes football.

  Wary of her intentions, I watch Alessa walk away, making sure she doesn’t go near Ember. When she’s out of sight, and I know she hasn’t stopped beside Ember on the sidelines, I look away, but quickly glance back when I see a wide pair of blue eyes staring back at me.

  I hate it when Ember looks at me like that. It’s like a knife stabbing me in my chest. Breathing heavily, I turn back to where Nalani is. Ember walks over to her and gathers the kids up. Marley doesn’t even acknowledge me. Haisley kisses my cheek and tells me good luck. I get high-fives from Adler and Braylee, and Nalani, she kicks me in the shin, for what reason I don’t know, but I can only assume it’s because I took her football from her.

  With one last glance at Ember, I watch as she ushers the kids to the suite with Cat, and yeah, I take another look at her ass. Why not?

  Quarterback sneak – Akin to the “quarterback keeper,” it’s when the quarterback tries to gain short yardage by keeping the ball and running forward. Usually used when the offense only needs less than one yard.

  The pain today is your strength tomorrow. That’s what my high school football coach once told me. I’ve played by that motto my entire football career.

  After warmups, we head to the locker room and then back out on the field through the tunnel. Seems ridiculous that we’re out on the field for warmup and then leave all because we have to make our grand entrance but that’s what the fans want when they come to a game. Fireworks go off, music blares, smoke fills the air… it’s amazing and everything I love about playing on our home field. We haven’t scored, we haven’t even played a single down, but we’re celebrating because our team, our fans, they’re the best out there.

  Did you know Seattle fans are the loudest in the league? They are. Okay, the Chiefs hold the record now, but I still believe we have the best fans.

  Beside me on the sidelines, Kumonde winks at me. “Ready, baby?”

  I smile at him just before kick-off. “Always.”

  As a quarterback, I need perfect chemistry with the center. Kumonde and I practice together all day—the snap, the count, all the basics and the chemistry have to be there. It’s like a real relationship, you know? It’s like dating. Sure, the girl might be hot as fuck, but if that spark isn’t there, if the energy just isn’t right, it doesn’t matter how much time you spend together, shit isn’t going to work out for you. You think I’m talking about Alessa, don’t you? Nope. Well, maybe a little. My point is, you can’t manufacture the connection needed with someone no matter how hard you try, and if you do, it’s never going to be what you want it to be. That’s why I’ve never understood mail-order brides, but that’s beside the point. I’m talking about football now and the relationship between a QB and his center. It’s a well-practiced machine and when shit gets real, and it will, when everything comes down to that final drive and you gotta trust the guy next to you, the last thing you need is the center and QB not having chemistry. If he misses the count, if I miss the snap, it’s over. You have to have the ability to just kind of flow—to work both inside and outside the lines.

  I know what I can do on the field. I know where plays can happen and where they can’t. I know the strong guys, and I know the ones who tend to get caught up. Quinn’s strong; he rarely gets caught up and pays attention. I can trust that if I throw to him, he’s gonna be there. Same with Jalen. I know where both of them are at all times and, yeah, I favor them on the field because of that. There’s a reason why they lead the league in touchdowns.

  The game starts with little effort and though it’s a preseason game and it’s generally a time for the backups to get in some playing time, I’m having an amazing game throwing for over 366 yards so far. My passing is spotless even though the guys I favor on the field are covered a lot. In the first and second quarters, I’ve run the ball three times already.

  Halfway through the second quarter, I call the play, looking left, then right, seeing the boys poised and ready. The ball snaps, I take two steps back, then another. I see Quinn midfield but then I’m jarred from the left, blindsided, feeling the reverberation through my skull. Right before my head snaps back, I see Justice on the ground when he should have been blocking for me. My head snaps back, my helmet goes flying and then the next thing I remember about twenty of my teammates and coaches are around me.

  If I could have kicked Justice’s ass right then, I would.

&nb
sp; That one knocked me pretty good. I can’t even stand up without seeing stars.

  They don’t let me off the field without strapping me to a backboard.

  Blinking, I try to focus. It does nothing and I still can’t see. Panic rushes through me. I can’t be out for the season. I cannot be out. I need this season to show my team they didn’t make a mistake by giving me the biggest contract in the league.

  Fearing they’ve lost their star quarterback, coaches swarm around me after that as does our team physician. I don’t think he knows what the fuck he’s doing half the time. He’s dramatic and stupid if you ask me. I’m fine. But I’m also bleeding from a cut above my eye. I think it’s making me a little loopy. Everyone’s talking around me, but I can’t understand any of it.

  Once they get me to the locker room on that fucking backboard that I find completely unnecessary, our team doctor is in my face asking me all kinds of questions, but I have no answers. I can’t even see him let alone answer him. Everything’s blurry.

  Coach Bryant pats my shoulder. “Let’s get you checked out, LC.” He smiles when I squint at him. “Just precautionary.” I’d like to tell you I don’t see concern on his face, but again, he’s a bleary vision for me.

  Taking me to the hospital? Immediately my thoughts are on the kids and Ember. I can’t imagine what they just witnessed or even if they did. Their first game here and I go and do this? They’ve gotta be scared.

  They make me take a ride to the hospital and it’s uneventful, for me. For others it’s complete mayhem. There’s an entire medical team dedicated to me and waiting the moment we enter the ER. People are in my face asking me questions I probably didn’t know the answers to before the game and I’m swarmed with doctors, my agent, Harper’s there, basically everyone I know but Ember. About four nurses surround me with our team manager, all making sure I’m all right. They do a CT scan, MRI to check for swelling and soft tissue damage and a complete neurological exam. It’s hours before they tell me there’s no immediate indication of any trauma, but a swelling might take days to develop. At the very least, I’ve got a concussion.