The Final Quarter

by Anne Lange

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Book Description

  A Totally Bound Publication

  The Final Quarter

  ISBN # 978-1-78430-621-2

  ©Copyright Anne Lange 2015

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright June 2015

  Edited by Faith Bicknell-Brown

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 1.

  A New League

  THE FINAL QUARTER

  Anne Lange

  Book two in the A New League series

  A quarterback facing the end of his career must come to peace with his past, and accept his present, before he can move on with his future.

  Mitch Ryland accomplished what his father said he never would—he made something of himself.

  When his wife suggests she’d like to start a family, Mitch is thrown for a loop. He’s never told her about his life before he ended up with his foster parents, or his plans never to become a father. So when he’s taken out of the game, his failings from the past come back to haunt him, and Mitch blames his injury on his loss of focus. He’s unprepared for his career as a professional quarterback to be over. Nor is he ready to tell his wife about why football is so important to him. He’d rather put emotional and physical distance between them and focus on getting back in the game.

  Serena Ryland has dreamed of becoming a mother. But when she mentions the idea to her husband, he freezes her out and she has no idea why. She’s worried that if they don’t start talking soon, she’ll lose him forever. When he refuses to come home to mend from an injury, she takes matters into her own hands, determined to spend more time with him, hoping to reignite the romance in their relationship. But she’s unprepared for the things she learns on this trip. Her husband has been carrying a few secrets that just might change the outlook of their future.

  Dedication

  This one’s for my dad. Gone too soon to see how everyone’s game turned out.

  I miss you. xoxo

  Thanks to Shawn who patiently answered all my football questions.

  He even picked my team’s fictional name.

  Go Mayhems!

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Something In Your Mouth: Nickelback; Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group

  Lady Marmalade: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group

  Mazda: Mazda Motor Corporation

  Hilton: Hilton International Holding Corporation

  Just A Fool: Imagem Music LLC D/B/a Imagem Sounds, Warner/Chappell Music Publishing Ltd., Studio Beast Music, Warner-tamerlane Publishing Corp.

  Zumba: Zumba Fitness, LLC

  Chapter One

  “I’m sorry, Mitch, but I can’t, in good conscience, allow you to play.”

  Mitchell Ryland, star quarterback for the Minnesota Mayhems, slumped back in the uncomfortable as hell armchair across from the team doctor’s desk. Anger surged through him. He held his sore arm close to his chest, blew out a frustrated sigh and struggled not to take it out on Noah.

  “I can’t not play, Doc.”

  He’d proven them wrong starting back in high school. And at the top of his game since then, he’d gotten drafted straight out of college and had gone pro soon after. At thirty, he was one of the older players in the league, but still strong, still fast.

  Until now. Being benched at this point meant that if he managed to play again this season, it would be just in time for the playoffs. If the team made it that far without him.

  “I can’t be out for that long.” He would have to call his agent. This could affect his contract and his salary. Mason needed to know what the hell was going on so he could fix it. But he’d been evading his brother for days. Serena too. After the last three away games, today’s was finally in front of hometown fans. Not only had he disappointed them, but he’d made excuses to avoid sticking around his own house for the last few days—the last few weeks.

  God, he missed talking to his wife. Hearing her voice always calmed the inner workings of his mind. Having her at his side usually kept his focus on the present, on the good parts of his life. But today’s screw-up and the weeks leading up to it had tossed him back to the past, to the parts he preferred not to think about.

  To things he’d never told the love of his life about.

  Maybe that’s what had happened during the game. His mind hadn’t been fully on the play. Instead of concentrating on the here and now, he’d been replaying the conversation he’d had with Serena a few weeks ago, which had led to him taking a trip down memory lane. His inattention had caused this to happen. Caused him to be weak.

  Just as his father and grandfather had said he was.

  “Mitch, you’ve struggled in the last few games. I’m guessing today’s incident wasn’t the first time this has happened.” Noah gave him a stern look. “Was it?”

  Until today’s game, he’d been able to deal with the pain and hide the effect of his sore shoulder. Then, in the final quarter of their game against Chicago, the team currently leading the points in their division, the team they’d needed to beat, he’d missed the opportunity to pass when his arm had given out and he’d been sacked.

  He closed his eyes, reimagining the hit, remembering the agonizing pain as he’d pivoted at the last second, trying to dodge the tackle, only to twist his knee and take the hit straight into his left shoulder, digging his right into the dirt when he’d landed, his knee twisting awkwardly under the weight of his opponent and his right shoulder dislocating.

  He’d needed every ounce of strength he had to pull his ass off the ground and walk off the field. He still tasted the blood he’d drawn bearing down on his lip through each tortured step.

  “It’s just a sore shoulder and a bruised knee,” he grumbled, though he kn
ew better than to look the good doctor in the eye as he uttered those words.

  Noah Donahue might be young, but he wasn’t stupid. An all-around decent guy, Mitch considered him a friend. And Noah knew full well what this meant to Mitch. Fuck, he’s already guessed I’ve downplayed the pain I’m in. Noah had been the first to approach him after the hit. He’d probably glimpsed the suffering Mitch desperately tried to hide. Back in the dressing room, he’d helped pop his shoulder back in place, and had given him some ice and ibuprofen so Mitch could at least play out the remainder of the game.

  But he’d been finished, and the other team had managed to score two more touchdowns when he could barely raise his arm to pass the ball, never mind running it down the field himself. Each yard line had seemed a mile away. His arm had felt like lead.

  Mitch sighed and shifted in his chair. The knee he could handle. Bruised and sore, he’d limp for a few days, but it was his shoulder he worried about most. This was the third time he’d dislocated it. The first official time the team doctor knew about. His fingers itched to massage the joint, but he didn’t dare. No way in hell would he show any sign of weakness. The one thing his father and grandfather had drilled into him from a young age. A lesson he’d learned well.

  “It’s more than just a simple sprain or a bad bruise, Mitch, and you know it. This is potentially career ending, especially if you don’t do as I’ve instructed. You need to rest it. Whatever you’ve been doing to keep this from us isn’t helping. Today’s proof of that. And it’s not going to get better until you do something about it. And you can’t do something about it until you’re not on the field every day.”

  Noah took a deep breath, his expression full of compassion. “Apply ice to reduce the swelling three times a day for fifteen to twenty minutes. That shoulder needs to be kept stable. We need the swelling to go down so we can take a good look at it. I want you to wear an arm sling for the next three weeks.

  “I’ve scheduled an appointment for you three days from now, then we’ll have a better idea what we’re dealing with. You’ll probably need to go through some therapy regardless of whether you end up heading down the surgery path or not. With some rest, maybe some therapy, and a light training regimen, we’ll see if there’s been any change.”

  Panic swept through Mitch. He clenched his hands into fists on his thighs. “And if it doesn’t get better?”

  “We’ll discuss that when the time comes.”

  Mitch, well aware of the consequences, filled in the blanks. Surgery. Rehab. Months off the field. If he ended this season on the injury reserve list for next season, he’d miss training camp and wouldn’t be allowed to practice or play until the doctor cleared him. And if he did practice and aggravated the injury, or possibly made it worse, he’d be out for the rest of that season. Or longer.

  On top of that, he’d have to deal with his standings. Out of play meant his rating would be affected and his stats would tank—and not only his. The team would take a hit as well. He’d disappoint the fans. He’d disappoint his friends and family.

  He might never be the same afterward.

  He’d end up a nobody. Just like he’d been told.

  His football career might already be at the top of the spiral, just waiting for that push to send him off the edge and into the vortex. He’d always compared his life to a house of cards. Painstaking to build, easy to destroy. The king sat perched at the top, but then one slip, one tiny tug or poke on one of those cards, and the whole thing would come tumbling down.

  A tremor now rocked the house beneath his feet.

  A brusque knock sounded on the door before it opened. Mitch didn’t even turn around, as he suspected he knew who would be coming in now that the bomb had been dropped.

  “Mitch.” The gruff baritone belonging to his coach preceded his heavy footsteps across the small space as he came to stand behind him. He felt the heavy weight of the man’s hand on his shoulder. “Doc’s told you the situation?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I hate like hell to lose you now, son, but if you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll wind up off the team permanently. Your game’s been off these last few weeks. I know your shoulder’s been bothering you for a while now, Mitch, and you’ve been keeping that from the doc and me. You thought an old fool like me wouldn’t notice.” Coach chuckled, a sad, short snort. “I’ve been in your shoes, son, and I don’t want you making the same mistake I did.” He exhaled a tired sigh. “Take the time the doctor has ordered. Get yourself up to par. I want you to know I’m behind you, son. I need your head back in the game. And I want you back on this team in full fighting mode.”

  Gus Wilkes, in Mitch’s opinion, was one of the best coaches in the league. He was smart and tough, but fair. He drove the team and the players hard to succeed, and they did. But he was also compassionate. A rarity in Mitch’s experience. “Thanks, Coach.”

  “Now go home to your wife, Mitch. You’ve been away for three weeks. Let her know what’s going on.”

  “I will.” Not yet, but soon.

  “I’m not considering you out for the rest of the season, son.”

  “I know.”

  “I want you in top form for the playoffs, Mitch.”

  If they made it there.

  Coach squeezed his good shoulder. “Get a good night’s rest. We need to be in Dallas for the next game. Take the doc’s advice. Do what he tells you to do and nothing more. I’d like to see you on the bench during the games. You can help assist with the substitute. Be there for the rest of the team. Show them you’ve got their backs, even if you’re not on the field.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.” Mitch didn’t know if being there and unable to play would be better or worse.

  Wilkes nodded to the doctor and turned to leave the office in much the same way that he’d entered. Mitch watched his coach’s exit. He hadn’t paid attention to the awkward gait of his limp in a long time. He noticed it now.

  After Coach had closed the door behind him, Noah handed him a slip of paper.

  “Here’s a prescription for some pain meds as well as an anti-inflammatory. Take them.”

  Mitch nodded.

  “I’ll speak with the team’s trainer and therapist and we’ll set a routine to keep you conditioned without doing further damage. But for now, do as Wilkes said. Head home and get some sleep. For the rest of this week, we’ll use a combination of rest, ice and compression wraps to promote healing.”

  “I don’t want to sit around the house and do nothing, Noah.” He also didn’t want to give his wife cause for worry, or the opportunity to revisit their talk.

  “You need a few days, Mitch. Take them while we’re on home turf. Plan to be at the training center on Thursday at ten a.m. By then I’ll have talked with the trainer and therapists. They’ll walk you through the revised training regimen and answer any questions you have before we hit the road for the next Sunday’s game.”

  Noah crossed the room to a file cabinet, opened the top drawer then pulled out a piece of black fabric. He returned and held it out. “Here’s a sling. Use it. And if you notice any additional discomfort, abnormal swelling or pain beyond the normal threshold, get your ass in to see me right away.” Noah speared him with a hot look. “Not as soon as reasonably possible, Mitch. Immediately. I mean it.”

  “I hear you.” Mitch rose from the chair, grabbed the sling and turned. Without thinking, he swiveled on his heel, sending a shard of pain through his abused knee. He flinched and sucked in a hard breath through his teeth. God, he felt old. Cradling his weakened arm, he limped across the room, stopping when he placed his hand on the doorknob. “I can’t let this end my career, Noah. It’s all I have. It’s all I know how to do.”

  Noah looked at him, sympathy bright in his eyes. “We’ll wait and see how things go, Mitch. Let’s get through the next few weeks and go from there. If we’re lucky, all you need is some downtime. You need to regain motion slowly. What you don’t want to have happen is your shoulder and sur
rounding muscles becoming stiff and ultimately weaker, so it’s important to slowly stretch them and regain your range of motion without doing more damage. That’s what the trainer and some therapy will help you with. Often these things correct themselves.”

  And sometimes they don’t.

  Mitch left the office. As soon as the door hit him on the ass, he took two giant steps to the right and leaned against the wall, scrubbing a hand down his face. Fuck. Bad enough the younger guys were breathing down his neck. What the hell would he do if he lost the ability to play? Never mind he had nothing to fall back on, but football defined him. It was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do. The one thing he needed to do to prove he wasn’t the loser his father had proclaimed him to be.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn’t even look, instinctively knowing he’d see Serena’s name on the call display. He hadn’t really seen his wife in over three weeks, an anomaly for them even when he was on the road. And though he’d been home for this week’s game, he’d kept his distance.

  Desperate to spend time with her, he watched his hand twitch like an addict’s, the desire to hit the call button and hear her soothing voice a drug to his system. Guilt overwhelmed him each time he found a reason stay away from home and his wife. She’d see his situation as an opportunity for them to spend more time together. Maybe work on that special project she’d suggested.

  He wanted his wife by his side. God, he missed her. And he knew what she desired most was the normal next step in a marriage. He hated that he couldn’t confess his fear to her. And that fear dragged him down even more.

  But his goal over the next few weeks was to work harder. He had to get himself back into the game. Prove he could do it. Prove he wasn’t weak.