by Tia Lewis
I couldn’t grin, though, because I was too busy worrying about the grimace on Max’s face after completing that throw to Trey. He looked in pain.
I searched for Coach Cramer, finding him deep in conversation with Hawkins, the team’s offensive line coach. I tapped him on the shoulder. He didn’t look thrilled to be interrupted, and I got my courage together before speaking. He was a nice enough guy off-field, but on-field was a different story.
“I don’t like the way Max looks right now, Mr. Cramer,” I confided.
“What do you mean?” He smirked a little like I was overreacting.
“He just completed a pass to Trey at maybe half power and grimaced. He told me earlier this week that he felt sore and tight. Haven’t you noticed that he looks tentative out there?”
Both he and the other coach, who was listening in, seemed skeptical. “Max knows himself. He knows what he can handle. He can handle playing today.” That was it, as far as he was concerned. He turned back to his conversation.
I cleared my throat. “With all due respect, Coach, I disagree. You know how stubborn he is. He doesn’t want Mo taking over for him in even one game—worries what will happen if it looks like he’s replaceable. His arm could be hanging off, and he’d swear he was ready to play.”
Coach Hawkins laughed a little, nodding. “That’s true,” he conceded. “He’s a stubborn bastard.”
“My say goes, and I want him in the game. End of story.” Coach Cramer turned his back to me, even going so far as to take a step or two away from me. I couldn’t believe how callous he was acting—toward his biggest player, too. His star. Wasn’t Max’s health important to anybody?
If he wouldn’t listen, maybe Max would. I waited until the warm-up was finished, poking my head into the locker room to look for Max. I caught his eye, waving him out of the room in what I hoped was a discreet manner. I didn’t want the rest of the team knowing what I thought. If Max didn’t agree, I didn’t want them second-guessing him on the field.
I waited until we were in the therapy room to ask about it. “What’s happening with that shoulder?”
“What about it?” He avoided my eyes. God, he was so obvious.
“The tightness. It’s still there, and it’s worse. From the look on your face out there, it hurts when you use it. Right?”
“It’s fine, okay?” He tried to leave, but I stepped in front of him with my hands on my hips.
“It’s not fine. If you care about yourself in the long-term, you’d better sit it out this week and give it a rest.”
“Excuse me? Did you talk to Coach Cramer about this?”
I hated to admit it, but there was no point in lying. He could just as easily go to the coach to find out the truth. “Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“And the last time I checked, he was the head coach, not you. Where do you get off thinking you can make a roster change before the game?”
I couldn’t believe he was so blind, so determined to hurt himself. “A roster change? Get your head out of your ass for a second, Max. You’re in pain when you throw. Playing today would be irresponsible. You could do serious long-term injury!”
“Stop being so fucking dramatic. I'm all right.”
“It’s my job to keep the team healthy, and you’re not healthy right now,” I insisted.
His eyes narrowed. “Do you think you own me, just because we’re sleeping together?”
He might as well have punched me in the stomach. I gasped, unable to believe him. “Did you really just say that?”
“Sorry, but when you come to me with something like this and admit nobody but you thinks it’s a big deal, I have to wonder where this is coming from.”
“Get over yourself.”
“Maybe it’s you who needs to get over yourself, Abby. You can’t tell me what to do. If I wanna play, I’m gonna play.”
“Fine. Don’t come crying to me when you end your career because you’re too fucking childish to sit out a single game. Because you’re afraid the coaches will find out there’s somebody better than you.”
I hated myself the moment it was out of my mouth. It was unfair, and definitely the last thing I should have said if I wanted him to listen to me. His eyes went wide for a second, his face slack. But only for a second. His expression had hardened before he brushed past me on his way back to the locker room. I threw my clipboard across the room, wishing I could scream the whole place down.
A win, but we only made it through by the skin of our teeth and the skill of our defense. Two of our touchdowns were the result of turnovers, one an interception run back for a touchdown. Good thing, too, since Max’s passing game was a joke. I wanted so badly to run out to the field and scream “I told you so!” The obnoxious prick.
Those team members who weren’t too proud to come to me were treated after the game. A few sore ribs, which I taped up. A weak ankle, which I checked out and diagnosed as overuse. Nothing a week off couldn’t help. Luckily, we had a bye week coming up and wouldn’t play again until two weeks out, in Pittsburgh.
I was glad for Max’s sake, too, even though I would have rather walked on my own tongue than have told him so. If he was going to be a prick, that was all right by me. I only hoped he would be smart and exercise gently during the week off. It couldn’t have come at a better time for him—the commentators had observed throughout the game how unsure of himself Max had looked out there. What would it take for him to wise up?
I was late at the arena, putting things in order after the team left. I was glad for the week off, too, since the team was putting me through the ringer as the season went on. More bumps and bruises, more sprains and strains. I loved it, though, deep down inside. I loved feeling like my work helped keep the team healthy, and contributed to keeping them on the field so they and the rest of the city could be happy and proud. Until women played in the NFL, that was as close as I’d ever get to feeling like a part of the action.
I shut off the lights in the therapy room, then went to my office to get my things together. I was the last person there—no big surprise. That was normally the way things went. It wasn’t like I had anything to go home to. The thought wasn’t a pleasant one, but that didn’t make it any less true. I’d make settlement on my house in a few weeks, so I’d at least have something to do once it came time to move in. I thought about throwing a housewarming party, inviting the team and their girls. I knew Skylar would want to help me plan, and smiled at the thought of how she would likely take over.
A noise in the locker room stopped me in my tracks as I walked down the hall, toward the parking lot. I looked around, suddenly breathless with fear. I wasn’t alone, after all. It was probably a maintenance worker or somebody like that. The team had left ages earlier. There was no reason for anybody else to be in there.
Still, I couldn’t leave without knowing. I told myself to keep walking that it was none of my business, but curiosity killed the car, after all. I tiptoed to the open doorway, a soft moan hitting my ears as I did. It wasn’t a man moaning, either.
Mind your own business. Get out of here. I couldn’t. No way. I needed to know who it was, what they were doing. They probably wouldn’t see me. I was even quieter as I approached the open door.
The room was almost completely dark, the only light coming from a few small windows at the opposite end. I searched the darkness, looking for the cause of the noises I’d heard. Then I saw it—or, rather, them.
A man stretched out on his back, across a bench. A woman riding him. She faced me, her eyes closed, head was thrown back in ecstasy. My face flushed, my instincts screaming at me to run away.
Only I couldn’t. Because she was wearing Max’s jersey. I saw the top of his dark head pointed in my direction, but that was all I could see of him. She opened her eyes, swinging her head back and forth as she rode him. Her long, black hair swung as she moved.
“Fuck, yes … it’s been so lon
g, baby …” She moaned and writhed, whispering all sorts of things as she rode faster and harder.
Her eyes found me. I gasped, stepping back toward the hall. That cheerleader. Layla. The one who had kissed Max on TV.
She didn’t stop what she was doing. If anything, she rode him harder. With a smile on her face.
I ran, unable to believe what I’d seen. My heart felt closer to breaking than it ever had. How could he do that to me?
22
Max
As soon as we got to Pittsburgh, the team got on a bus and went straight to the stadium to practice. Coach Cramer didn’t want us to even go to the hotel first, so determined to whip us into shape after the bye week and make sure we were ready to take on the Steelers. We would check in at the hotel afterward.
I was glad to get off the plane, having felt Abby’s eyes boring holes into the back of my head all the way from the airport. What her problem was, I had no idea. She hadn’t spoken to me in over a week. We’d had a few practices as usual, but she hadn’t hung around the field to watch like she normally did. I wondered why. Not like she would tell me.
I knew I was an asshole to her before the Kansas City game, and she was a bitch right back. This was different, though. The way she’d glared at me before getting on the plane. The way she had glared whenever I turned around to talk to anybody—even though she’d worn big sunglasses the entire flight, I had felt those green eyes on me. That wasn’t just anger with me after what I’d said. She was deep-down pissed, and I had no idea what I had done to make her that way. I almost wished she would tell me off just so I’d know.
The practice was pretty routine, and I was glad to feel my shoulder loosening up the more I used it. It must have been overuse and strain before. Nothing serious. I had known it, hadn’t I? But Abby had wanted me to sit it out.
And it killed you, didn’t it? The whole damned game. You felt it pulling, and you wondered how much more you could stand. I couldn’t tell her at the time, but it was the truth. My conscience wouldn’t let me lie to myself about it. I owed her an apology, but I didn’t know how to approach her when she looked like she wanted to kill me. It had been a long week and a half without her. I couldn’t pretend it didn’t bother me how much I missed her when she wasn’t around, either.
It was a relief to leave the stadium and go to the hotel. I was tired and just wanted to relax for a while before we had a real, in-depth workout and practice the next day. Pittsburgh would be a tough game, so we’d work hard to prepare. No way we could let the offense run all over us the way we had back in Denver.
Since we were spending much of the week in Pittsburgh, most of us had rented cars to get us around town. We stopped off at the rental place on the way back to the hotel so those of us who had a car could pick it up. I noticed Abby there, waiting in line for hers. I hoped to maybe corner her in line and get her to talk to me—she couldn’t kill me if we were in public—but Chad was too fast for me. He wasn’t going to give up on her. It bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
Chad’s attention to Abby wasn’t the only surprise that trip. When I got to my room, I had expected Garrett to be there. We usually shared a room on road trips. Only my luggage was there when I arrived. I texted him, and minutes later he knocked at the door to my room.
“What’s up with you not sharing a room on this trip?” I asked when I let him in. “I thought we were supposed to stay together.”
He grinned, sitting on one of the room’s two beds. “Yeah, but Skylar’s coming, so I got a room for the two of us, instead.”
“Oh, really? Why?” I knew why—there was only one reason why she ever followed him to an away game.
“I’m sorta in the doghouse with her right now,” he admitted. “So she’s flying in tomorrow. She doesn’t wanna leave me alone for too many days in a row.”
“What’d you do this time?” I could hardly pay attention. I had my own problems.
“I went home after the Kansas City game, and she was looking good like she always does. So I started things up with her, you know, just fooling around.”
“Okay …” Like I wanted to hear about his and Skylar’s sex life.
“And stupid me didn’t take a shower before that. I should have taken a shower.” He shook his head.
“You took one after the game, right?”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t all I did before I went home.” He shot me a sheepish grin.
“You mean that wasn’t who you did?” I smirked.
“Yeah. She kinda left lipstick all over my chest.” He shrugged like it was something that could happen to anybody.
“Jesus, dude. That’s amateur-level shit.”
“I know, I know. But I was alone in there, finishing up getting ready to leave, and she came in looking all sexy. We started talking, and you know how it goes.”
“Who was this, anyway? I hope she was worth it.”
He smirked. “You ought to know. Layla.”
“Oh, Layla.” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, she’s okay, but Skylar’s worth ten of her.”
“This is coming from you? The one who keeps track of how many cheerleaders we fuck? Are you feeling okay?”
I laughed it off. He was right, that didn’t sound like me at all. “So she’s got you on a short leash now. You deserve it for being so stupid. Leaving lipstick on your chest. Tell me it wasn’t on your dick, too.” He looked away, so I knew it was. I slapped him on the back.
“There was one weird thing,” he said, looking up at me from the bed.
“What?”
“She wore your jersey the whole time.”
“My jersey? The one I had just played in?” I shuddered to think, grimacing.
“No, no, the practice jersey that was in your locker. I don’t know why. It was like a game, almost. She was all cute and playful about it, and when she took off her skirt …”
“You don’t have to tell me anymore,” I said, holding my hands up. The girl was obsessed or something. “So you had to look at my number the whole time you guys fucked? Nice. I hope that was fun for you.” I laughed at him, and he only shook his head and got off the bed.
“I better get back to the room. She’s gonna call soon.” I knew the routine with him and Skylar. She would make his life a living hell for a little while, but eventually she would forgive him—probably after he bought her something expensive.
When Garrett finally left, I sat on the bed where he had just been. Something about his story teased at the corner of my brain. Layla. My jersey. Why did that all sound so weirdly familiar? What was it that she said to me earlier?
I’m surprised to see you wearing that jersey. I thought one of the cheerleaders took it after the last game.
My eyes flew open wide, my jaw fell. It had seemed like such a strange, off-the-wall thing to say at the time that I’d brushed it off. I had no idea what she meant by it. A cheerleader with my jersey? But once Garrett told me about Layla wearing it … and how they’d had sex in the locker room after the game …
It all made sense. She must have seen them—she always stayed late after games, didn’t she? Maybe she was still there, and she had caught sight of Layla in the jersey and thought she was with me. It didn’t make any sense. Why didn’t she come to me if that was what had happened? Still, it was the only thing that made sense. It would explain the comments about Layla, the weird thing she said about my jersey. And how cold she had been.
The coldness wasn’t just because she thought I was with Layla, of course. I couldn’t lie to myself. Part of it was my fault. I shouldn’t have been such a prick to her before the Kansas City game. She was right—I should have sat it out. It wouldn’t have killed me to let Mo play. Instead, we would have lost the game if it weren’t for the defense stepping up. She was right. I was never good at admitting other people were right until it was too late.
I had to find her. She must have checked in by then, must have been settled. I called the front desk to ask them to connect me to her room, and I sat
on the edge of the bed as I listened to the phone ring and ring. I pulled out my cell phone to text her. Where are you? I didn’t expect a reply. I wasn’t deluded. She was still pissed. At least I finally understood why.
I went down to the lobby to ask if anybody had seen her, but none of them knew who I was talking about. I asked the valet if her rental car was still there, but they only handed out tickets. They didn’t know who was who. I wanted to strangle somebody. None of them could help me.
The restaurant. I knew I was hungry, so maybe she was, too. It was my last hope unless I planned to sit in front of her door and wait for her to come back from wherever she had gone. I hurried through the lobby, full of people getting ready for a night on the town. If I played my cards right, that could be us in just a little while. If I could just get her to forgive me, to understand what had happened and how sorry I was for talking to her the way I had.
When I got to the restaurant, I stood in the doorway and looked around the dimly-lit, quiet room. It was a little late in the day for dinner, so a lot of the dining room was empty. But the bar was busy. I looked in that direction, scanning the room from a distance.
I caught a glimpse of a familiar red head, and I breathed a sigh of relief. She was there. I could talk it out with her.
Then, a blonde head. I knew that head. I knew that laugh, and I heard it along with hers.
Chad. What the hell was she doing with Chad? I saw red, wanting to rip his throat out. I had wanted to for a while, hadn’t I? Ever since I first saw him with her. He had no right to be with her.
I got closer, saw the little black dress she wore. She was dressed up like they had made plans to be together. Was it a date? He touched her leg. Oh, hell no.
All thoughts of explaining the thing with Layla went out the window as jealousy overtook me and I stormed over to where they sat.
