Her Home Run Desires

by Jenna Payne

  THE END

  Bonus Story 40 of 40

  The End Zone

  Chris Watson had no idea what he was doing here. He leaned against the clean red and gold painted sides of the stands on the field waiting for a bus full of loud and probably sticky kids. His head still throbbed from last night's party and the world around him continued to look fuzzy through his darkly tinted glasses.

  "Here," a much too loud voice said from behind him. He winced and turned to see his agent, Harry, handing him two pills. "You look like you could use some aspirin."

  "Thanks," Chris mumbled as he palmed the small pills and shoved them down his throat. Harry automatically handed him a large bottle of water. Chris took a sip then sank back against the siding.

  "Harry, remind me what I'm doing on this field on a Saturday when we don’t have to train,” Chris said. His cracked voice sounded tired even to his own ears.

  “You agreed to this, remember?” Harry answered. “You said you’d be willing to do volunteer work to get your PR back where it needs to be.”

  “I didn’t agree to wake up at 8 am on a Saturday to drive forty-five minutes away from the city,” Chris grumbled. “What school has a football league during the spring anyway?”

  Even though Chris kept his bleary eyes fixed on the field, he could feel Harry’s half amused and half annoyed gaze on him. This was confirmed when Harry let out an ironic chuckle.

  “Wow,” he said. “You really were plastered last night, weren’t you?”

  “What makes you say that?” Chris asked defensively. Chris turned and looked at Harry squaring himself up to his full height. At 6 foot 4 he was usually very intimidating, especially to shorter men like Harry. Harry, however, simply shook his head and chuckled at Chris again.

  “I know because you’ve forgotten everything I told you when we met about this yesterday,” Harry said.

  Though the agent was shorter not only than Chris but most men, he had a commanding voice that belied his blonde balding hair and beer belly hanging over his dark suit.

  “You’re not doing this workshop for a school,” he said. “It’s an after-school league. They play light tackle football in the fall, and they keep the kids busy with tag football in the spring and summer.”

  Chris rolled his eyes but nodded. He knew Harry was right. After his latest DUI, he desperately needed some good press.

  He usually tried not to think about how or why he had let things get this out of control. He usually told himself that all the big name athletes went to clubs and that all of them partied after games. He told himself he was no different, that he deserved a little celebration every now and then.

  He’d defied the odds by getting this far. Just looking at him, you wouldn’t expect Chris to have been selected in the first round of the draft as a quarterback for a major team. Tall and good looking with light skin and bright blue eyes, he was much leaner than your typical football player. With an arm not as skilled at throwing as some, few had expected him to make the NFL at all before he got to college. He’d worked hard and proved them all wrong.

  But now, as he was standing here in an empty stadium after a second losing season and facing his second DUI charge in as many years, he had to admit to himself that maybe some self-reflection was in order.

  Before he could go too far down the path of meditation however, a rumble of small voices could be heard in the entranceway coming from the locker room.

  “Sounds like the cavalry’s here,” Harry muttered pulling Chris away from the siding so that he was facing the entrance way.

  “Take those off,” Harry said. He actually stood on his toes, reached up and snatched the sunglasses off the bridge of Chris’s nose. Chris was too tired to protest. “Nothing, not even bloodshot eyes say ‘I’m hung over’ louder than sunglasses.”

  Chris, who realized he had no argument for this, fell silent.

  A moment later, he found himself being confronted with a sea of shouting ten-year-olds. He knew, logically, that there couldn’t be more than twenty of them, but the empty stadium amplified their excited shouts tenfold making their size double.

  All the same, Chris forced a smile onto his face as he watched Harry move in front of them.

  “Good morning!” Harry called in his usual authoritative voice.

  To Chris’s amazement, the voice that commanded the respect of NFL managers failed to register with the fourth-grade students in front of them.

  A few kids looked to Harry and shouted excited good mornings, but many more were still talking excitedly to their friends and standing on their tip toes trying to peer over the arms of the security guards. Chris knew that they were trying to see him. Obligingly, he smiled and waved at the kids who did manage to catch his eye.

  He felt slightly guilty when this created even more of a ruckus.

  “If you settle down we can get started!” Harry tried again.

  A few of the kids seemed to settle obediently. But not enough for even Harry’s voice to cut through those who were still talking.

  Chris almost laughed when he caught sight of Harry, who was red-faced with embarrassment and annoyance. He was about to go over and ask if the agent needed help when a whistle blew and a strong, female voice cut through the chaos.

  “Team! Team! Team!” It called calmly.

  Immediately every voice went silent and turned towards the voice before responding in unison as crisply as a military unit.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  As soon as the response was spoken, an almost eerie but complete silence fell over the field. Chris looked towards the back of the group where the voice of Harry’s savior had emerged from.

  He received another shock when he discovered not only a woman, but an incredibly, tall, slender and attractive woman with flashing green eyes and long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. The coach's whistle which had blown to call the group to silence now hung around her neck, and she was eyeing the children around her as though she were a general inspecting her troops.

  “Who can tell me what I said yesterday about coming to this workshop?”

  A few voices began to speak at once but stopped immediately when the woman raised a firm hand.

  “Raise your hands, please,” she said in a gentle but firm voice. Several hands went up into the air.

  “Deshante,” she said pointing to the small black boy who Chris had waved to earlier.

  “You said coming here was a privilege,” he said in a voice so small Chris had to strain to hear him.

  “And what does that mean?” she asked. Again several hands raised in the air. She pointed to a large Hispanic boy at the front of the group.

  “It means you can make us go home if we ain't good,” he said.

  “That’s right,” she said. “Now, are you going to be quiet and listen to the rules?”

  “Yes,” they answered in unison. Some of them even hung their heads in shame.

  The woman simply smiled and looked over to Harry extending her hand and giving him permission to continue his introduction.

  “Ok then,” he said, clearly still a little surprised but obviously impressed. “Well, welcome to Levi’s Stadium. We’re glad to have you here.”

  Harry introduced Chris to the kids at which point their applause almost turned to anarchy once again. This time, nothing more than a loud and pointed cough from the female coach prevented this.

  Chris found himself smiling gratefully at her more than once as he explained the workshop to the kids and answered their questions. Every time it seemed like the kids’ excitement had reached a boiling point, a word from her was the only thing able to get them back on track. As Chris’s introduction speech came to an end, he found himself looking forward more and more to meeting this unlikely general.

  When the kids were instructed to go out onto the field and begin the throwing drills he’d described, he got his chance. Before he could confidently swagger up to her as he usually would, he was once again surprised when she moved confi
dently towards him.

  “Hey,” she said with a bright smile that reached her eyes, “I’m Michelle. I’m the one responsible for that horde over there.”

  She stuck out her hand to him.

  “Chris Watson,” he said taking her hand. Her grip was firmer than most men he’d shaken hands with. She also showed no trepidation upon meeting one of the highest paid football players of all time.

  “I know you, of course,” she said with amusement in her voice. “I was a big fan of yours when you were in college.”

  “I’ll try to take that as a compliment,” Chris said, feeling a hint of embarrassment creep into his cheeks. He wasn’t used to being surprised by women.

  “You should,” she said seeming completely nonplussed. “You were an amazing player.”

  “I guess that’s changed now?” he asked letting go of her hand. He expected her to stumble and backtrack as people usually did when they accidentally pointed out that his game had slipped recently.

  She simply smiled and shrugged.

  “The NFL’s different,” she said unapologetically. “Most players go through a transition period. Of course you’re still a great player. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

  Most players he knew would have their egos shattered by that statement. And, even Chris had to admit, his gut reaction was to feel offended and affronted. But he discovered that he didn’t mind at all.

  Maybe it was the fact that she was pretty. Maybe it was the bright smile she still wore. Maybe it was the authority she’d commanded with the kids. But he suddenly discovered that he didn’t mind her laying down a few harsh truths.

  “Wow,” he said smiling all the same. “You don’t pull your punches, do you?”

  “I learned a long time ago that pulling punches doesn’t do anyone any good,” she said. “Best for everyone to just be honest straight out the gate. Sorry if it comes off as rude.”

  “Nah,” he said. “Well . . . I mean . . . it’s a little unexpected but . . . I don’t mind.”

  “That’s good,” she answered. “You’d be surprised how many people can’t take even a hint of criticism.”

  He found that he could not do anything but nod at her. They both turned to watch the various volunteers helping the kids with their drills.

  As expected, a few of the ten-year-olds showed some promise. Many more looked like they might be better at watching sports than playing on the field.

  As Michelle continued to watch her team carefully, Chris couldn’t help but watch her. Occasionally she would yell out instructions to kids who were off task. “Marcus, pay attention!” and “Antonio, don’t make me come over there!” were the most frequent refrains.

  It seemed odd, but she fascinated him more than he seemed to fascinate her. Finally, as the team transitioned from throwing drills to tire running, Chris got up the nerve to ask her what he had been wondering since she caught his eye that morning.

  “So,” he said hesitantly, “how did you end up coaching these guys?”

  She turned to him with an expression that almost made him sorry he’d asked the question.

  “You don’t expect a woman to be a football coach?” she asked, though it seemed more like a statement than a question.

  “Well, you don’t see it a whole lot,” he answered firmly. If she wasn’t going to pull her punches, he wouldn’t either. Her smile didn’t return but her face softened slightly as though he had impressed her.

  “I got to be a coach the same way you got to be a first round draft pick for an NFL team,” she answered. “I was the best one for the job.”

  She stood looking at him with a hard and defiant gaze. He couldn’t help but smile down at her though he knew he probably wasn’t helping his cause. But he couldn’t help it. She seemed to have more balls than most of the men he’d ever met.

  He was about to open his mouth to give a slightly flirty retort when something behind him seemed to catch her eye.

  He heard the high-pitched sound of a ten-year-old in pain yelling “Antonio, stop it!” a second before Michelle’s whistle blew.

  “That’s it, Antonio!” she yelled.

  He turned around to see the large Hispanic boy holding on to the jersey of the small black boy named Deshante. Antonio’s eyes widened in fear as he looked up at Michelle, and he immediately let go of the smaller boy's shirt.

  “I’m taking you out of the game,” Michelle said. Chris saw her march purposefully towards the large boy. No matter how many times he stammered that he was sorry, she still took him by the arm and marched him towards the sidelines.

  Michelle stayed with Antonio the rest of the day while Chris spent most of his time walking around the kids and volunteers giving encouragement and occasional advice. Throughout the day though, he couldn’t help but sneak a few occasional glances back at the coach.

  Michelle was clearly a different kind of woman. But she was definitely the kind that Chris wanted to get to know.

  *****

  Angrily Michelle clicked her cell phone’s end call button more forcefully than she had intended. But, she couldn’t help it. Her best friend, who was supposed to pick her up after the workshop, couldn't come. Her daughter was sick and there was no one else who could watch her.

  That meant that Michelle was stuck in Santa Clara, a forty-five minute drive from the city. Now she was going to have to rely on some stranger to drive her all the way back home.

  She headed back to the bench at the front of the stadium. There she watched as the last boy, little Deshante, threw a brand new ball up and down for himself. All the kids had been given footballs. Chris Watson had handed them out himself.

  She smiled lightly before cursing herself silently. She had told herself in no uncertain terms not to think about Chris.

  She’d warned herself again and again before she had even arrived at the stadium that morning not to let her fantasies run away with her. They tended to do that when she met her sports heroes. And Chris Watson was a particular trap.

  She remembered being in college and watching him play with UCLA. The moment she saw him on the television screen, giving an interview on the sidelines with his helmet off, her heart had begun to beat faster in her chest. She had nursed a crush on him ever since.

  Of course, when he was drafted to the NFL and immediately began to flaunt his money by drinking and partying, the flame she felt for him had dimmed a bit. Michelle had never been able to stand bad boys and she had a particular distaste for alcoholics. Although, he hadn’t seemed quite as arrogant in person. He was a little brash maybe, but he’d been very good with the kids.

  It was a moot point anyway as Chris Watson was probably on his way to some club or bar by now. Michelle knew it was for the best that she would most likely never see him again.

  “Harry, I can get home on my own. I’ve done it before.”

  Michelle jumped and turned around. Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest as Chris appeared, as though her thoughts had summoned him there.

  “If you say so,” his agent Harry was saying as he walked behind him. “But if you get into more trouble, don’t expect me to cover for you.”

  “Harry, I’ve just spent the whole day with you and a group of ten-year-olds,” Chris said as they moved closer to the bench where Michelle was sitting. “Do you really think I was sneaking drinks?”

  “You never know,” Harry muttered.

  “Thanks for your concern,” Chris said. “But, like I said, I’ll drive myself home.”

  “Fine,” Harry answered, “but call me tomorrow.”

  Michelle, despite herself, chanced a glance at the pair behind her. She saw the potbellied agent wave goodbye to Chris before heading to a covered parking lot reserved for players and staff.

  She turned back to the visitor parking lot and took out her phone. She could hear Chris coming closer to her and she warned herself not to be flattered. Even if the one football player she’d been in love with since college had been trying to flirt with her
all day, she wouldn’t, couldn’t get involved.

  None the less, her pulse started to pound in her ears when Chris sat on the bench beside her.

  “So, I guess you’ve got to wait until all the kids get picked up, huh?”

  Michelle was still staring determinedly at her phone, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Chris nod in Deshante’s direction.

  “That’s usually how it works,” she said.

  “Mind if I wait with you?” he asked. “Even in the suburbs, it can get pretty dangerous after dark.”

  “You can wait if you want,” she answered. “But, I think I can take care of myself.”

  She heard him chuckle and the sound caused her to look up from her phone.

  “You think I can’t?” she asked defensively. Being the only girl in a family of boys, not to mention being a girl who liked football, she was used to being underestimated. And though she hated to admit it, she was still very sensitive to it.

  “I didn’t say that,” Chris said.

  “You thought it,” Michelle answered. She saw him open his mouth to respond but, before he could, a small voice interrupted him.

  “Mr. Watson?” it asked.

  Michelle looked up to find Deshante standing awkwardly in front of them. He was holding the football each of the kids had been given in his hands and twirling it awkwardly.

  “What’s up little man?” Chris asked with a smile at the skinny little boy.

  “I was wondering . . . I . . . I didn’t get a chance to ask you to sign my ball. Could you sign it now?” He held it out to Chris.

  “ Of course I will,” Chris said. He took the ball and reached into his pants pocket for a sharpie pen.

  “Your name’s Deshante, right?” Chris asked. Both Deshante and Michelle widened their eyes in surprise. There had been twenty kids at the workshop and the fact that he remembered this little boys name was astonishing.

  “You remember my name?” Deshante asked breathlessly, a bright smile creeping across his lips.

  “Yeah,” Chris said signing the ball with a flourish. “I remember because you reminded me of me when I was your age.”