The Final Quarter

by Anne Lange

  “Is he happy?”

  “As a pig in mud.”

  Well that was something. Jack’s misery had pushed everyone away since he left the ball field. Maybe now he’d start to get his head on straight.

  “And what about you, Mitch. What’s up?”

  Mason’s question cut through his thoughts. He watched some of the other players pass by as they arrived for their workouts.

  Mitch took a deep, fortifying breath. “Well, the truth is, I’m not playing right now and…”

  “You’ve been avoiding my calls and not returning my email. You haven’t been playing your best for the last few weeks. You’ve been good, but I know you can do better.” He paused. “I saw the last game. What happened? The hit looked brutal, but you walked off. What the hell’s going on?”

  “I’ve been benched.”

  Judging by the silence, he knew Mason had just switched to his agent hat. “Why and for how long?”

  “The next three games—for now.” Mitch took a deep breath, ready to spill at least part of the truth to his brother-slash-agent. “In week seven’s game, when I got sacked in that last play?”

  “I remember. You lost that game.”

  Yeah. It had been the beginning of the end for him. “I dislocated my shoulder.”

  On the other end, Mason remained silent for a moment. “But Doc popped it back in place and everything was good, right?”

  I wish. “No.”

  “It more serious than it looked?”

  Mitch shrugged, knowing Mason couldn’t see. “I didn’t think so. But it’s been giving me grief since.”

  “How much grief?”

  “It’s happened a couple times since. The last one was the kicker. Doc found out so now he wants me to let it rest.”

  “You didn’t get medical attention the first time?” Mason’s words, strained and clipped, told of his anger.

  “I think he’s overreacting.”

  “Really? That one time I met him, he didn’t seem like the type of guy to overreact.” When Mitch didn’t elaborate, Mason continued, “What about your coach?”

  “He’s…uh… He’s siding with the doc.”

  On the other end of the line, his brother sighed. “Fuck, Mitch. What’s really going on? If both those men are in agreement that you need to sit out a few games, then you’re the one who’s underreacting.”

  Mitch tensed. My father always said I couldn’t make it. That I was too weak, too fragile to be any good.

  “Mitch?”

  What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t let his team down. Without him, they could lose. He’d let his mother down by not being the son she’d wanted and she’d left, which destroyed his father until he succumbed to the bottle, after complaining for years that he was sick of having a weakling for a son. A kid who couldn’t even convince his own mother that he was worthy. He’d let his grandparents down when they’d lost their only son because he couldn’t pursue his dreams and instead drank himself to death.

  Mitch had a history of letting down the people he loved. At the age of fourteen, he’d started over with the Walkers. Life finally became good when he’d starting gaining weight and body mass, when he realized he had the speed football teams needed. Then he’d gone pro and met Serena.

  But now the past was becoming the present and it scared the living crap out of him. What would Serena think of him if he no longer had a career? If she had to come home every day to find him lounging on the couch, scratching his ass and sucking back beer after beer while flicking through useless daytime drama and talk shows. Without football, he had no purpose, and his father would be right.

  “Mitch. Tell me about your injury. How bad is it?”

  “Don’t know yet. Doc’s scheduled me for some X-rays and I’m to keep my arm in a sling and ice it for a week or three. We’ll do some therapy and light training. Then we’ll see.”

  “Do you think you’re going to be able to keep playing?”

  Mitch immediately gritted his teeth. “Fucking right I am. This is my fucking life, Mason.”

  “Actually, no, Mitch. Serena is your life. Football is your job.”

  That harsh reminder settled like a lump of concrete in his gut. Football was his passion. Without it, who was he? Mitch Ryland, ex-football player, now a…nobody. Nobody important. Nobody special. Look, there’s Mitch Ryland. He used to be a quarterback. Who knows what he does now?

  “I’m not ready to throw in the towel, Mason. I still have a number of good years left. The team needs me.”

  “So does your wife.”

  “Serena understands.” Doesn’t she? She wanted a family. A family meant he needed to be home for them. He wasn’t family material. He hadn’t been able to keep his own family together. And the one time I came close, I screwed it up.

  “Look, all I’m saying is that there are other things you can do.”

  Like what? He had no other skills. The only job he wanted was the one with a fifty yard line and goalposts at either end.

  “It’s just a sore arm. I’m resting it for a few games, that’s all. Then I’m back in there.”

  “And if you require surgery?”

  Hopefully not. “Haven’t discussed it.” Yet.

  “Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, man, but I want you to think about what I’ve said.”

  “Actually, I need to ask you about any provisions in my contract for this kind of situation.” He’d never been benched before so he had no clue if it affected his salary. He typically ignored that stuff and let his agent worry about it for him.

  “I’ve got you covered on that. I argued for a continued salary clause for just this type of event. You’re good for now. But if it looks like you’ll be out for more than six games, we need to sit down with the team owner and decide if they plan to release you. If you’re released, your contract obviously becomes null and void. If they keep you, you’ll take a twenty-five percent hit until you’re back to practicing with the team. Then you’re back to full salary.”

  “Thanks, Mason.”

  “Obviously the longer you’re out, the worse it gets. But if you go back too soon,” he cautioned, “and do even more damage to your body, it exacerbates the entire situation. Standings, money, position on the team. Your fans. Everything hurts.”

  “Gee, thanks for putting it all out there for me, Mason.” Out of the spotlight today, forgotten tomorrow. Unless you happened to be one of the few big names and could work it into another career. Mitch had a following, but he wasn’t that famous. He’d be yesterday’s news inside a week.

  And he’d be right back to where he was when Social Services dropped him off at the Walkers’.

  Fuck. Talk about a pity party. Now he understood how Jack must have felt. Mitch struggled emotionally, knowing he was being unnecessarily hard on himself, but unable to stop. Suddenly all the things he’d fought against as a youngster came screaming back into his here and now. The feelings of not being good enough, big enough, bright enough, strong enough, fast enough, loveable enough.

  An image of his wife jumped smack into the center of his self-recrimination moment and glared at him, letting him know that she had his back. She was his partner.

  He knew that. But still…

  “That’s what you pay me for, Mitch.” Mason’s voice broke through the self-doubt.

  “Yeah.”

  “Get that arm better and get your ass back in the game. But I also think we need to sit down and start thinking about your future.”

  Mitch laughed. The humor seemed to have escaped the moment. “I would think, as my agent, you’d be pounding on me to focus on the game, make you more money.”

  “And if you’re able to do that, then I’m behind you one hundred percent. But as a member of your family, and as your agent, I also have to be thinking about what’s best for you in the long-term. And if playing the game isn’t it, then we need to consider other options.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not ready to pack up my equipment
quite yet.”

  “Good to hear. Have you told Serena?”

  “I told her I was out a couple of games, then we’d reassess the situation.”

  “She’s worried about you. I talked to her the other night. She sounded tired.”

  “I know.” He’d noticed dark circles under her eyes, which only added to his already growing burden.

  “You heading home?”

  The blast of a car horn surprised him. He gave one of his teammates the finger and pushed away from the car, planning to dig his keys out of his pocket, but had forgotten he had his arm in a fucking sling. “Listen, Mason, I have to go. I’ll be in touch soon, okay?”

  “Sure thing. Listen, I have a few ideas swirling around in the back of my head for when you’re ready to hang up your cleats. I’ll give it some serious thought.”

  “No rush, bro.”

  “I’ll do it anyway.”

  Whatever. “Later, man.” Mitch disconnected. He laid his phone on the roof of the SUV, retrieved his keys from his front pocket then opened the door just as Brad Singleton walked up.

  “Hey, Brad.”

  “Mitch.”

  “How was this morning’s practice?”

  “Grueling. And too damn early. I figured I’d stop in here, lift a few weights then hit the sauna. We missed you at practice. What’s up?”

  Mitch lifted his wounded arm. “Been benched.”

  “What the fuck? That hit you took yesterday afternoon?”

  Mitch nodded.

  “How long?”

  “Don’t know for sure.” Mitch glanced away.

  “That sucks, man. We’re going to lose for sure now.”

  At least he knew where Brad’s priorities were.

  “Deeks will replace me until I’m cleared to play.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s not you. Some of the guys are heading out for dinner later. Wanna come?”

  “Nah. I’ve got to head home.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind. Feel free to bring Serena if you’d like. We haven’t seen her around lately.”

  Because he hadn’t really invited her. “Thanks, I’ll check with her.”

  “You’ll be coming to Dallas with us, though, right?”

  “Yeah, Coach asked me to assist.”

  Brad slapped him on the back. “Well, I’ll see you then. Take care of that arm.”

  “Will do.” Mitch climbed into the vehicle while Brad sauntered away, catching up with a couple of other guys.

  Grabbing his phone, he climbed into the driver’s seat, wincing when he hit his arm on the steering wheel. Now he had to figure out how to avoid any deep conversations with his wife until he could hit the road again.

  Chapter Four

  “Hey, Serena. I have a job for you, if you’re interested. I know it’s out of your norm, but I really think you’d do a fantastic job and it would be something a little different.”

  Serena plopped down in her desk chair and swiveled around so she had a clear view of the street from her ground floor office. She loved this area. When this small house first hit the market she’d been just out of school and ready to take on the role of a world-class painter.

  She had quickly discovered she wasn’t the budding artist she’d thought she was. But she did have a good eye for detail and unique qualities. After a few years of working in galleries, learning the ropes and making some connections, she’d decided to open her own. She featured local artists mostly, but more recently, she’d received many questions about the photographs she’d hung around the place. Photos she’d taken. Casual shots tossed in amongst the real artists’ work, just to fill the space.

  She’d been toting around a camera like another appendage since she’s been six years old. Serena had always known her future included images. But she’d always considered photography a hobby and painting her passion.

  Although she never would have guessed she’d be the wife of a football player, either. But when she’d met Mitch Ryland through a mutual friend, she’d known immediately that she’d met her other half, and in the blink of an eye, the desire to traipse around the world painting beautiful people in exotic locations lost its appeal.

  She had her gallery, a solid reputation and a decent income. She gave budding artists the launch they needed. Every now and then, however, the longing to expand her own home base and indulge in her creative side whispered in her ear like a ghost sending a message. Especially lately, when she didn’t have her husband around to keep her occupied.

  “Hi, Robbi.” Serena had met Roberta, or Robbi, at university. Robbi had taken the path of photojournalist. Serena never begrudged her friend’s fame, because although she was the one globetrotting, she never found the time to relax and settle down, something Serena knew her friend occasionally missed. Because of her job, she never had the opportunity to develop a close relationship with somebody special.

  Regardless of whatever was going on in her own life, Serena wouldn’t trade Mitch for her camera any day of the week.

  “No hello, how are you? Just jumping right to the reason for your call.” Like always. Serena laughed. Her friend would never change.

  “Yeah, well, you know me. I’m packing for a flight to Fiji. I’ve got a photo shoot for a story there in two days.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Sounds tiring. Long-ass flight, followed by long-ass days, followed by another long-ass flight.”

  “Are you heading back home at least, or are you off to another location?”

  Robbi sighed. Serena could hear her rummaging through something. Clothes were probably flying in all directions.

  “A week from now, I’m in Germany, so I thought I’d go straight there. I can sneak in a couple days of sleep before I have to work.”

  “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “And most days, I don’t know how you stay in one place, see the same people and do the same things. Listen, the reason I’m calling is I have a client who wants some images for a new campaign he’s preparing, but I don’t have time to take them. I’m wondering if you’d be interested?”

  “I don’t know, Robbi.” I’d have to switch my meeting with that new artist I’m featuring next month. And it’s not like Mitch is jumping at the chance to spend time with me.

  “Come on, Serena. It’s something I know you’d love. Take some vacation time. Maybe meet up with that handsome husband of yours while he’s on the road. You can do a little traveling, and you’ll make some really good money.”

  “Traveling? What’s involved in this project?”

  “My client wants to scope out some new locations for a special project he’s working on.”

  “I don’t want to go to romantic islands without my husband, Robbi. And you know Mitch is in the middle of his season, so he can’t go with me.” Though he’s not really playing at the moment, is he?

  “But that’s the beauty of this particular job. It’s not in exotic locations. This client is preparing a proposal for a campaign based on the working professional. He’s going after a work–life balance thing. He wants different cities across Middle America, the hustle and bustle of downtown traffic, life of the suit-and-tie-wearing guy and pencil-skirted professional woman. He’s wants to showcase those people who spend twelve hours a day in high-rise office buildings exceling at the role of workaholic. Then he wants to show the flip side of that same city, the parks, walking trails, beaches—relaxation at its finest—where that same workaholic lets their hair down and lets the worries of their day melt away.”

  “Which cities is he considering?” Not that she was actually contemplating the offer.

  “That’s the best part—any cities you want.”

  “But…”

  “Serena, it’s totally up to you. You pick the cities and the locations. You just need to bring back some images for him to look at. Then he’ll take it from there.”

  An idea began to form in the back of Serena’s mind. “What’s the deadline?”

  “Up in
the air at the moment. I’m thinking early in the New Year. He’s not sure he wants a specific time of year or season, so he’s very flexible. Any chance some of Mitch’s games are in cities where there’s no snow?”

  “I’ll have to check his schedule,” Serena muttered, then paused. She didn’t say anything for the longest time.

  Robbi waited her out. “If you don’t want it…”

  The idea morphed into a plan. “I want it.” Excitement sizzled through her as it began to take shape. What do I have to lose?

  Her friend squealed on the other end of the phone. Serena had to hold it away from her ear, lest she end up with a broken eardrum.

  “Oh, this is fantastic. I’m so happy. I know you love the work you do, but I’ve always told you you’re holding yourself back. You should be seeing your work on the walls of your gallery. Frankly, you should be me.”

  “You’ve made a name for yourself, Robbi. And you deserve every bit of the fame you’ve garnered.”

  “You could have had it too.”

  Maybe. But she hadn’t wanted it then. Still didn’t.

  “Robbi, thanks. You know, this might be just what I need right now.” For a number of reasons, but she needed to speak with her brother-in-law first to see if it would work. “So, you’re sure I can go wherever I choose?”

  “Absolutely. The details on this one are very vague. The beauty of it is, regardless of whether he moves forward with his proposal or not, you’ll be compensated for your time and you’ll retain copyright of the photos, getting the credit when and if he uses them, which will be good for business. It really is a win–win scenario.”

  Perhaps in more ways than one. Excitement warred with trepidation in her gut.

  “Listen, I have to head out to catch my flight, but I’ll call the client and have his office send you everything you need to know.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you soon. Have a safe trip.” Serena ended the call and looked out of the window. If Mitch was avoiding home, she could go to him. Mason would probably help her arrange things. She needed to give this a little more thought and work out the details. She had Mitch’s game schedule and could work with that.

  The question remained—would her husband welcome her? What if she didn’t give him a choice?