Blindsided

by Shey Stahl

  I move off her, rolling onto my back beside her. “You’re welcome.”

  Reaching out, I touch my hand to the back of her head, winking.

  The next morning, Ember and I are in bed when there’s a knock at my bedroom door. Today is my only day off and I didn’t plan on getting out of bed until noon. Probably a lie.

  “What?” I yell through the closed door. I refuse to get out of bed.

  “Are you going to show her or what?” Marley asks from the other side of the door.

  Oh, right. Remember the grand gesture? It wasn’t just buying her paintings. Nope. In the two days I’d been gone, I secretly had a contractor come in and make some adjustments to the master suite on the other side of the house. I was originally going to offer the room to Kasen if he needed a place to stay but then Marley talked me into making some adjustments to it.

  Ember stirs awake. “Who’s at your door?”

  “Marley. Let’s go.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. Ember sits up, propped against the headboard. By the way, I’m naked so naturally, where do you think her eyes drift to?

  Yep. My junk.

  I grab her hand. “Come on. I need to show you something. And then we’ll fuck.”

  Laughing, she shrugs. “Okay.”

  Throwing a pair of my sweatpants on, she follows me toward the other end of the second floor to the massive cherry wood doors leading into the second master suite. And yes, I’m wearing shorts, but don’t focus on that. Look at the apprehension in Ember’s eyes. She’s nervous about what she’s going to find behind these doors. Part of me wants to be a real jokester and pretend it’s a nursery or some crazy shit like that, but I don’t.

  Pulling her into my side, I cover her eyes with one hand and then open the door. Leading her inside, I release my hand. “Just for you. So you can be totally selfish and only think of yourself,” I whisper, smiling against her temple.

  Snorting, Ember pulls away slightly. Her breath catches when she notices the easels set up next to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the back terrace and the distant yet somewhat recognizable view of Mount Rainier. Next to the easels, blank canvases. I imagine her sitting on the chair, completely naked, sweeping the tips of her brushes over the white matte and it’s a beautiful fucking image. “When did you build this?”

  I shrug as Marley and Alder enter. “Few days ago.”

  “Correction, he had it built,” Adler points out.

  I stuff my hand in his face. “Go away.”

  “What if I hadn’t come back?” Ember asks, her eyes watering.

  Slinging my arm around her, I draw her back to my side. “I suppose it would have been a Christmas present for Marley then.”

  “Hey!” Marley scowls. “No fair.”

  Haisley walks in next, grinning when she spots Ember. “Do we keep her?”

  “I’m keeping her. I don’t know about you guys.” And then I kiss her, deeply. I know it’s inappropriate to do so in front of the kids, but she needs to know I did this for her.

  “Ugh,” Adler groans, covering his face with his hands. “They’re going to do it.”

  Athletes are trained to never admit defeat on the field and that carries over to real life. Admitting you fucked up, that’s defeat. Weakness. Something I wasn’t good at. But I did. For her. For them.

  Cheat Sheet – A paper the quarterback has on his wristband to easily see plays to be called.

  “Toxic and Suburbs sold,” Mabel says. “Both to a buyer in Italy.”

  Is this really my life now? Am I really selling my paintings all over the world?

  Why yes, yes it is. “That’s great.”

  “You’ll be bringing more by soon, right?”

  “Yes, I will be. They’re already finished. I’ll bring them by next week when we get back from Arizona.”

  “Sounds great. Tell LC good luck for us.”

  Unbelieving this is really my life, I smile around my words. “I will.”

  After I hang up with Mabel, I send Landon a text telling him his favorite painting sold. You’d think Blindsided would be his favorite, considering the haughty son of a bitch hung that painting above our bed. Yep. Our bed. We’re totally living together now. #cohabitating #partyfortwo #donotdisturb

  What painting is his favorite? Toxic. It’s a tangled mess of colors but if you look closely, it’s lovers intertwined as one.

  Landon doesn’t reply but I know it’s because he’s in the team meeting. The team arrived in Arizona for the Super Bowl two days ago and because of school, I flew out with the kids today, the morning of the Super Bowl. Yep, the Seahawks made it to the Super Bowl for the fourth time in Landon’s five-year career with them.

  Traveling with Landon Slade to the Super Bowl is completely different from the days when I first met him. Gone are the late night champagne-filled parties with flight attendants handing out blow jobs in the bathroom. He still travels with the team, so who knows, maybe the blow jobs in the bathroom are still happening.

  What’s different?

  I suppose it’s how I travel. I’m still flying around on a private jet, only now the plane is filled with five kids, a nanny, a personal assistant, three security guards and a cat. Yes, Twitch made the trip. Only because Nalani stuffed him in her bag.

  Traveling with kids is no easy task. If I thought Landon was high maintenance, I clearly underestimated the power of children. It comes with a few lessons, too.

  Lesson #1: Don’t give Nalani licorice before take-off. See below.

  Lesson #2: Bring vomit bags on the plane.

  Lesson #3: Bring a change of clothes for yourself.

  Lesson #4: Bring a change of clothes for Adler. He has a weak stomach. If someone beside him vomits, he will too.

  The suite at the stadium is different, too. It used to be swarming with women all pining over Landon. Don’t get me wrong, they’re still there, but less obvious seeing how his “girlfriend” is around.

  Who is she? I’ll cut a bitch.

  Just playin’. Surprise. It’s me! #hesmine #donttouch

  I still can’t get used to term “girlfriend” but Landon insists and announces it in nearly every interview he does. Conceited bastard. Always drawing attention to himself and the fact that he “won” me over.

  “I’m hungry. I want a hot dog,” Haisley groans, tossing her body dramatically onto the couch next to the large television screens replaying every play.

  “Why? They’re lips and assholes,” Braylee tells her, cutting crayons with a butter knife. Braylee hasn’t changed much in the last few months. We still don’t know what the fuck she’s up to half the time. #shessneaking #neverturnyourbackonthatone

  “That’s not true,” Adler points out, constantly arguing with her. “Some are made from mechanically separated poultry.”

  It’s like he’s Wikipedia.

  Braylee points the butter knife at him. “I’m going to stab your eyehole.”

  I take the knife from Braylee. “Yes, you guys can pick whatever you want.” Handing them a menu, I look over at the field where the Seahawks are when the fans begin cheering.

  I can spot Landon anywhere on a field. Not only does the number give it away, but I know his stance. My heart knows him and anywhere he is, my eyes are drawn, captivated and held prisoner by him.

  Watching him now, controlling the line, dictating the game with his confidence, I remember our conversation the morning he left.

  “How ya feeling?” I asked him, knowing he’d tell me the truth. He may spout off in interviews that the anxiety and nerves never get to him, but I get the truth. The side most don’t see of LC.

  He laughed. “Actually kind of nervous.” The way his confidence turns to fear and vulnerability, he hasn’t admitted this to anyone yet.

  “You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t nervous,” I told him.

  “They don’t think I’m human. I’m here to give them what they want and if I don’t deliver, the entire city looks at me as a failure.�
��

  There is certainly some truth to his statement. To a lot of football fans, the players aren’t human beings. They’re commodities. They’re entertainment and they act as if these guys are their own personal gladiators. They send them hate mail, troll them on Twitter and social media. For some reason, they feel entitled to deserve perfection on the field from them. I can’t imagine the pressure that comes with that.

  The first half ends with the Seahawks up by one touchdown over the Patriots. I wonder what Landon’s thinking. If he’s upset, worried, careless, I can’t tell as they head into the locker room and he keeps his head down, my vision of him lost in the crowd.

  You remember Landon’s rock star brother, right? He’s performing during halftime and it’s the first time the kids have seen him in person. Adler and Marley stare at the stage, mesmerized by their Uncle Revel.

  Adler’s the first to speak as he points to the stage lit up with hundreds of lights and spotlights. “He’s our uncle?”

  I laugh and shift Nalani to my other hip. “Yep.”

  “He’s cool!” Adler gleams with bright, idolizing eyes. “I like Landon, but why’d our parents chose him over that guy?”

  Specific instances come to mind, but it’s not like I can tell children about Revel Slade without making him out to be a lunatic. Which, to be fair, he is. Truth is, every time I’ve met Revel, he’s been drunk and though his performance tonight is flawless as usual, I doubt he’s sober.

  Smiling, my eyes drift to the stage in the center of the University of Phoenix where Revel is with Taylan Ash, his touring partner and the queen of pop music. You couldn’t have asked for a more unlikely pair to be on stage. It’d be like Axl Rose and Taylor Swift on tour together. As I watch the two of them, the chemistry, their draw, it’s clear they have something going on. Not surprising either knowing Revel. He’s just as mesmerizing as Landon. But it makes me think about just because you’re not meant to be together, doesn’t mean it won’t work. Love is a contradiction that somehow, someway, finds a balance.

  My eyes drift to Cat laughing behind me, seated next to Kasen and holding his hand. You’re wondering about those two, aren’t you? Did you sense the connection like I did at the interview?

  Well, if you did, I’m happy to report they’re dating. #cuteAF #meanttobe #knockinboots

  He has to constantly remind her they’re together, but they’re happy.

  I’m just messing with you. They are dating, and they are happy, but Cat remembers him. In fact, her short-term memory has starting improving a lot in the few months Kasen’s been in her life. Kasen understands Cat in ways that no one else does and to him, her brain injury doesn’t make her any less than perfect.

  Zone Blitz – Any blitz in which the defenders in pass coverage play zone defense. Many zone blitzes require a defensive lineman to drop into coverage to replace a blitzing linebacker or defensive back.

  The mood in the locker room is intense, focused, like we’re preparing to go back out on the field for war. It’s that way for everyone but Quinn.

  Look at him. He’s staring at his goddamn phone. Quinn shoves it in my face, a naked girl on it. “Think she’s eighteen?”

  I don’t look. Well, that’s a lie. I look. She’s naked. I might be seeing someone, but I’m still fucking human. “Doubtful.”

  His posture slumps. “Figures.”

  You’re probably thinking, aren’t you playing in the Super Bowl right now? Shouldn’t you be focusing on the game and not Tinder?

  I am. Quinn clearly isn’t.

  I’ll tell you who is 100 percent into the game. Me. And our head coach because to us, winning is what we strive for. It’s what we want, and losing, it’s annoyance, but it’s not life or death. I’m not entirely sure Bryant understands that as he looks over the linemen. Quinn tucks his phone away.

  Bryant paces the locker room, shaking his head back and forth, refusing to sit down. His words are fast, loud, and well, angry. His face is red, his fists clenched, and his mouth is rapid-firing at us, but I catch the last part, the part that actually makes any sense at all. “I don’t know what to say, really. Games like this make or break your career. All comes down to today, and either, we do this as a team, or we crumble as a team.”

  He’s not just talking about the game. He’s talking about life. That’s what makes Bryant such a good coach. He reminds us all when we’re down by one touchdown that together we fight battles instead of each other. You don’t place blame that someone didn’t make that play or didn’t own the line. We’re in this together until the end.

  The second half starts up but there’s a problem. We’re just as bad as the first half—out of rhythm. The offensive line is a moving, thinking wall protecting me and if there’s a crack in that wall, the whole thing comes tumbling down.

  Bryant is on the sideline going ballistic, foaming at the mouth, straight up batshit crazy.

  Bryant lays into me the moment I’m on the sidelines after a turnover. “What the fuck are you doing out there?” he screams. “It’s like you’ve never played a game in your life!”

  “Bryant,” I say, trying to reason with him. “Work with me. You tell me what you’re seeing, and I’ll tell you what I’m seeing out there.” It’s difficult for coaches and players to make adjustments to the game plays during the game. It moves fast. When you’re in the thick of it, it’s a goddamn blur and there’s not time to do anything but slow down and think about what we’re doing. It’s not easy to see the shifts in defense, but when you’re eye level with it, you can recognize the patterns. It’s not a mental shift. It’s psychological.

  We study photos from the last few downs and make some changes and slow the game down. The moment it happens, I can’t help but think of the kids and how different each one is and how they’ve changed me not only as a person, but as a player when I slowed down and took the time to get to know each one. I’m much more patient now. Or at least I like to think I am. I have Ember to thank for that. For making me see I could do it and for pushing me to do it.

  During the second half, we drive 77 yards down the field for a touchdown. Half are rushing yards, a sign of a good offense, but it’s still not enough. There’s no time to think once their defense picks up on it—no time to process. We move together as one. Line up, read the D, get the call, go.

  Repeat.

  Line up, read the D, get the call, go.

  And that’s how the entire second half goes for us.

  I wish I could tell you that we won. I wish I could tell you we went out there and played a game we knew. That we were down by 3 and didn’t lose on the last play of the game, that our offense was right on the goal line and didn’t hand it over. That after a trying season, we came back, stood for what we believed in and held the line, but I can’t. This isn’t a fairy tale. This isn’t a happy ending. Now look, I can give you a complete dissertation on exactly what that means when in reality, it means we fucking lost.

  By a field goal.

  It’s mayhem in the locker room. Excessive amounts of profanity flying back and forth along with a helmet flying through the air and smashing into the wall with full force. Quinn’s either pissed at the game, or maybe Tinder.

  After the media circus, I finally meet up with Ember outside the locker room where she has the kids waiting to see me. Their eyes light up when they see me, as if I’m their favorite fucking person in the world. Even Marley smiles at me and that’s saying something now that she has a boyfriend. Yep. Boyfriend. I hate the kid. Little fucker doesn’t deserve her, but that’s a conversation for another day.

  “Good game,” Ember says to me, smiling as she snakes her arm around my waist but keeps Nalani in her arms.

  With the kids talking a million miles a minute at our feet trying to get my attention, I raise an eyebrow after I press my lips to her temple. “We lost.”

  Ember’s eyes move to the kids. “But you won something pretty incredible.”

  “I definitely did. Thank you,” I whisper, bum
ping my shoulder into hers and staring down at the kids.

  “For what?”

  “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  Ember winks. “You did this yourself.”

  “No, you did. You showed me what I wanted and the man I wanted to be.”

  I suppose I can’t give Ember all the credit. These kids showed me just as much. And though I didn’t want them in the beginning, and I still think Grant had lost his mind trusting me with them, I can’t imagine my life without them.

  Kickout Block – On running play, this blocker is running parallel to the line of scrimmage and his job is to keep the outside edge rusher (usually a DE or OLB) from crashing to the inside. It’s almost always a fullback or a pulling guard who does the kickout block.

  For a football player, I have a way normal life.

  Can you tell Haisley is into the movie Clueless?

  It’s awful. Sadly, I’ve seen it way too many times. And because I’ve seen the movie approximately 109 times, it’s engraved in my head.

  I get up in the morning, yep, still quoting the movie, but I kiss my wife good morning and then head to practice during the week if it’s football season. When it’s not, I make breakfast for the kids.

  It’s June so I don’t have to get up for practice, and I would kiss my wife, but she’s not in bed. That’s just unacceptable.

  Peeling myself out of bed, I make my way downstairs to find her in the kitchen making breakfast.

  God, she’s fucking beautiful when she’s barefoot and pregnant. Oh please, you better believe I knocked her up. On our wedding night. I’m not joking either. Got her on the first shot. Not technically the first shot, but whatever, you get it.

  Making my way over to her, I wrap my arms around her belly and rub my unborn child. “What are you doing?”

  Ember leans her head back against my shoulder, keeping up with cracking an egg over a bowl. “Making egg whites for you.” Carefully, she tips the egg so the yolk stays in one half of the shell while the white spills into the bowl.