Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance

by Lauren Landish

  Dad takes a deep breath, then chuckles. "We get to go to the hospice house. They'll let me and Marie spend as much time together as we can. I actually got to see her today . . . she remembered me."

  “That's good. Dad, I don't want to be harsh about this, but what about the hospice care levels? I remember what you told me last time I visited, the hospice house doesn't have round the clock nurse care."

  "No, it doesn't. Insurance provides for a visit every other day, except if there's an issue. I'll have one of those little call button things around my neck."

  Every other day? With Mom having near late-stage early onset Alzheimer's, and Dad being a terminal cancer patient? "What if I contribute? How much would a daily visit from the nurses run?"

  "I don't know, honey. But I can't ask you to do that. You're already doing so much, even if you never tell me about it. I asked the hospital admin folks. You should be using that money to make your life better, not paying for two people who are dying."

  I shake my head, wiping the tears from my cheeks. "Daddy, you're not going to convince me to stop, so don't even try. I'm going to be calling the hospital admin anyway and try to set up what I can. Mom can't help take care of you, and you can't do much to help take care of her."

  "I can and will take care of my wife as long as I can," my father rumbles, his First Nations pride adding strength to his voice. He may only be half, but he's been through a cancerous hell that'd kill most men twice over… and still he's strong. "You know my will in this."

  "I know, but . . . please. Let me help you as best I can."

  "Fine," he says finally, dropping the subject. He and I talk for another few minutes, normal things where I ask him about his day and he asks about mine, nothing new until his next to last question. "And the young man you’re seeing?"

  "We're going to go on another date tomorrow. He wants to take me kayaking."

  "That sounds good. If there is a chance . . . I think I'd like to meet him."

  Whoa. My father has never wanted to meet someone I've been seeing, casually or not. If we lived in the States, I think he'd have spent most of my high school years with a shotgun ready behind the door, at least until the cancer started back again. "I . . . I'll try. He's on the team, and they won't have a bye week until week six of the regular season. Until then, he's working six days a week."

  "I can hang on that long. Don't worry about that. I love you."

  "I love you too, Daddy."

  We hang up, and I have the cry that's been threatening to burst loose since the beginning of the phone call, and hearing Dad's words. The tears are hot, burning and bitter. It's just not fair!

  "I want my parents back!" I scream up at the ceiling. It's not good enough, and I storm out to my tiny balcony, looking up to whatever God or gods are up there, repeating myself over and over until I grow hoarse.

  I start crying again, until the tears wash away the hatred, putting out the flames at least for a little while. Instead, I feel hollow, and I know that I can't stay here tonight. I think about what to do, and know there's only one place that I can go, where I'll be safe and protected. I grab my backpack and keys, and head out the door.

  "April! How good to . . . what's wrong? Come in, come in," Tyler says when he opens his door, and a little part of me chuckles at the fact that he's back to wearing just a pair of exercise shorts and no t-shirt. I didn't know Californians were also mostly nudists.

  "I brought your laundry," I say, trying to keep up a chirpy demeanor, but obviously there are already cracks in my facade, or maybe Tyler just knows me that well already. "I didn't want you wearing dirty socks tomorrow for the game. But the pink underwear I'd like to see."

  "Very funny," he replies, taking the bag and tossing it behind him without caring where it lands. It ends up knocking over one of his dining table chairs, but he doesn't even care, instead he's studying my face, pulling me closer. He doesn't ask any questions, but instead just hugs me, his skin warm and comforting. Despite the fact that he's only half dressed, there's no sexiness in it, just comfort. Fresh tears flow, but they're healing, and I let him close the door and lead me to the couch, where I sit down while he goes and gets me a cup of tea. "Here. It's not fresh, I brewed it this morning, but I put milk and sugar in it too."

  I sip, and it's not too hot, so I take another sip. It's sweet and good, and helps calm me. "Thanks. I didn't think you drank tea."

  "Californians, we either suck down tea, or we have to go gourmet roasted hand-picked beans from the southern slopes of the Himalayas. Since I'd burn instant coffee, tea's easier."

  I smile at his little joke while Tyler comes around and sits down next to me, patting my knee. "Okay . . . so what's wrong? And thanks for the laundry."

  "You're welcome," I reply, drinking another bit of the tea. I set the mug on the side table and lean into Tyler, needing his comfort more than the sugar and caffeine. "I'm sorry I surprised you like this."

  "It's okay," Tyler says quietly, reaching and arm around my shoulders. "Want to tell me about it?"

  "My . . . my parents aren't in good health," I say quietly. "My mother was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's while I was still in school, and Dad . . . his cancer came back."

  "Came back?" Tyler asks, and I nod.

  "He was first diagnosed with liver cancer when I was in elementary school, but they thought they caught it. He was supposedly cancer free almost all the way until I graduated, but about six months after Mom's diagnosis, it came back."

  "Damn," Tyler says softly. "So you got some bad news tonight."

  I nod. “The doctors have given up hope. They're stopping the chemo so he can be comfortable the rest of his days. He and Mom . . . they're moving into the hospice house."

  "How much time does he have?" Tyler asks quietly. "I mean, best guess."

  "Best guess? If the team sucks this year, he might be able to see all of your first year in Canada," I whisper. "If you guys make the Cup, I doubt he's going to see that."

  "So what do you want to do?" Tyler asks softly. "This has got to be a ton of stress on you."

  Tyler . . . always helpful, always focused on finding a solution and listening to what I want. No wonder I came to him. "I want to send more money to help them. Dad can't take care of Mom, not the way he is, and the hospice home only has a nurse or an assistant coming by every other day, but I can't afford it. I'm already sending every dollar I can to help them."

  Tyler nods, and holds me quietly for a few minutes. He shifts, and I think maybe I'm starting to get too heavy for him, but he clears his throat instead. "I don't think you'd take an offer to help out financially, but you know, there are ways you can get your hands on some money.”

  "Like what?" I ask, comfortable against him. "In case you haven't noticed, my current job keeps me hopping a lot."

  "Well, before you said you had a roommate. What about doing it again?"

  I turn my head and look at him, and he's dead serious, yet nervous too. Why? "Tyler, that's great, but I doubt I can find one in time to really make a difference. Last time it took me five months to find a roomie."

  He turns red, and he bites his lip. "What I meant was . . . what about you moving in here? I've got a spare bedroom, you know."

  I feel stupid, his meaning finally hits me clearly, and I feel myself blush. "Tyler . . . that's generous, but don’t you think that’s a little early? I mean, I know we're seeing each other and we've been intimate, but that's a big step in any relationship."

  He nods, and holds me closer. "I've only got two concerns. One, that you're going to worry about what other people say. Second, that you feel like this is pressuring you. I want you to be comfortable where you live."

  I smile at his consideration. "Tyler, you're sweet, and I don't care what anyone else says about this. You're just trying to help me out, right?"

  I see the conflict in his eyes, and I understand, I'm feeling the same way. What I want to say is that I want to move in with him, and not just as a roomie, but as so
mething more. Regardless of if it's only been a few weeks or not, I don't want to take just the other bedroom. But it's just not time, and maybe . . . well, it's a first step.

  "Right," Tyler says after a moment, grinning sheepishly. "Helping out a friend. Can you break your lease?"

  "I'm on a month to month lease right now, I'm paid up through the end of the month. I just need to leave about four hundred bucks behind to close out the electricity and hydro bills. Speaking of bills, halfsies I guess on this place?"

  Tyler shakes his head and laughs. "I'm going to make ten times the amount of money you are this year. Going halfsies on the rent would be a crime."

  "Well, I have to pay something," I protest. "I mean, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I won’t just cadge off you. And you're right, I'm not going to accept charity, even if it's from you."

  Tyler thinks for a bit, then nods. "Okay. Here's the rental agreement. You pay the water and electric bills, and you cook about four days out of the week. We both win, and I’ll finally eat better more regularly.”

  I can't help but smile. "Make it five days, and you've got a deal. I don't trust your cooking.”

  Tyler nods and smiles. "Deal. Welcome, roomie. Maybe after our date on Sunday, we can start moving your stuff over here? How much do you have to move, anyway?"

  "Not a lot," I admit. "I rented the place furnished, except for my bed. I have to leave the frame behind though, but the mattress is mine."

  "How about you leave it, and we can get a better one for here?" Tyler asks. "Then we can just move your clothes in your car and mine, and not have to bother with some truck.”

  “I see your game. You just want to give me no option but to sleep in the same bed as you for a day or two."

  "Well, maybe, but with only the purest of intentions. Absolutely the purest."

  Tyler arches an eyebrow, totally lying but pretending to be as innocent as a choir boy, and I laugh. "Right. The absolute purest. I think I might be sleeping fully clothed and in double layers Sunday night."

  "I could always take the couch," Tyler offers. "Being a gentleman, you know."

  I snuggle against him, feeling at peace for at least a while. "I know."

  Chapter 11

  Tyler

  "And at starting quarterback, a rookie from Western University, one hundred and eighty-eight centimeters, ninety-six kilograms, number fourteen, Tyler Paulson!"

  I shake my head, chuckling at the figures. It's going to take me a while to get used to the new numbers still. Of course, it's also strange to me that the team insists on metric measurements on the players, but the field is still measured in yards. Whatever.

  I run out onto the field, raising my fist over my head as I do to some polite applause. The fans haven't seen a lot of me in the preseason, just a little over three quarters of action, and Coach was calling the plays very conservatively during the time I was playing. He didn't want to show everyone the new wrinkles he thought up in the offense, and there's a lot of questions out there about me. Can the new American boy come out and handle the pros, especially against one of the Fighters' main rivals, the Hamilton Tigersharks?

  It's a tough test, and part of one of the rivalries that I'm just starting to get a handle on. For example, we're playing Tigersharks today here in Toronto, but next week we're playing the same team thirty miles down the road in Hamilton. Who thinks this shit up, anyway? But they've been doing it this way for nearly seventy years.

  I reach the sidelines, high-fiving all the other offensive starters, including Lance Pollard, who is still sporting tape on his nose, but has been cleared to start contact again this week. He and I have had a silent understanding. He's going to be a pro, making sure that I'm able to do my job . . . and neither of us is going to be on the other's Christmas card list. Fuck it, I didn't get along with everyone on the team at Western either.

  The crowd cheers loudly again as the defense is introduced, and I take a moment to look around at the crowd. Thirty thousand . . . not too bad. I mean, it's the smallest crowd I've played in front of since high school, even including that game we took against Navy my junior year, all the way on the other side of the country. We'd played in front of forty-five thousand then.

  Robbie, who's also played in front of some big crowds, understands and claps me on the shoulder. "Don't sweat it. Next year this place jumps to fifty thousand, and if we're good, we might even see that. Just play the game."

  "Right," I reply, looking around still, not at the crowd per se, but for April. I know it's impossible, but after two weeks of living together, including two weekly dates that have been more fun than I'd have ever dreamed, I feel the need to look for her all the time. She promised me that she'd be here, and finally, I see her wearing Western Kelly Green and White, just like she promised. She gives me a wave as our eyes meet, and I have to admit there's a certain appeal to having this small of a crowd for games. I can see the crowd up close, and for me, being able to see April is a good thing. "Just play the game."

  Robbie sees where I'm looking and laughs, clapping his hands in amusement. "You wanna impress her rook, light up the scoreboard the way I know you can, and you're going to have a great date tomorrow."

  "Tonight, after the game," I correct him. "You know, as long as I'm not in the hospital."

  "Then make sure you've got your legs ready to run," Robbie says, clapping me on the shoulder again before he finishes snapping up his helmet. "All right, let me go handle this kickoff, see if we can make it a little easier for you."

  He runs onto the field, one of the two back kick returners, our running back Bobby Young being the other one. Bobby ends up taking the kick and returning it out to our thirty-five, not too bad a starting position.

  I look around at the eleven sets of eyes in the huddle, and I grin. Fuck the colors, fuck the smaller crowd, or the drama between me and Lance. This is football, and the truth is . . . I love this fucking game.

  I get behind Dave Hawk, this play coming from under center in a play action-pass, and lift my right leg, sending three of the receivers in motion.

  I fake the hand off to Bobby, who runs through the line to take up one of the linebackers while I reverse roll to my left, looking for Paul who's my first target this time on a ten yard curl pattern. His defender is jamming him too close, which is perfect when he reverses and turns, just as my pass is released. He catches it and cuts upfield, getting another four yards before he's tackled. Hey, first pass, first catch, and fourteen yards. I'll take it.

  We get to the line quickly. I see Robbie, but his defender is playing him tight still, so I quickly check off to DeAndre, who's used his hitch back and up to gain a little on his defender. I let it go, and he catches it well, already pulling away. He gallops fifty yards untouched, and the Fighters are up by a touchdown.

  Vince is the holder for the kicking team, and as he jogs onto the field he gives me a thumbs up. The old gunslinger giving a rub to the new sheriff, I guess. On the sidelines, I'm happy, but know there's a ton of game left to play still.

  "Nice job Tyler," Coach says when I get to the bench. “But don’t get cocky, Hamilton likes to attack once they see you play. You're going to be seeing some blitzes next series."

  Coach is right, but I'm able to avoid the second down blitz and I roll out, and all I see in front of me is empty field. Fuck it, let's go.

  I tuck the ball in, pointing toward the nearest linebacker. Paul is my closest teammate and he sees me, cutting in and hitting the linebacker just enough that I can get around him. The free safety is coming toward me, and I lower my shoulder. Fuck you, this is my run, bitch.

  He tries to take me high, probably thinking of my rep at Western, but since meeting April, I'm a new man. I take him on my left shoulder and blast into him, knocking him back. The goal line is right there and I reach for it, stretching out my arm until the ball just ekes over the line, and the ref lifts his hands. Another touchdown.

  By the end, the stats are the greatest single game I've had
in my life. Three hundred and fifty-two yards passing, five passing touchdowns to go along with sixty-two yards rushing and one more touchdown run in. If I'd ever put up those numbers while at Western, I'd have been pulled before the third quarter was finished because we'd be blowing the other team out.

  As it is, we actually only win by two touchdowns, forty-two to twenty-eight, and it took a touchdown throw in the last two minutes to ice the game for us. Our defense is nowhere near as good as what I'm used to, and I'm looking at a long season of gunslinging if they don't pick it up. Afterward, I'm tired, but happy that at least we got a win.

  April greets me outside the locker room, still giving me the same faint smile that I'd seen a few other times during the game when I'd turn my head and see her in her seat, still cheering, but with that little Mona Lisa smile on her face.

  "So what did you think?" I asked, running my hands through my hair. I had to deal with two reporters, not a lot considering some of the press conferences that I had at Western, but still, looks count for something, even if it's just for endorsements.

  "A good start to the season," April replies, taking my hand. We're not at the kissing in public stage in our relationship yet, even if we are living together, but when we're not in work hours, even around the stadium, we've started to at least hold hands some while we walk and talk. "You scared me a bit though by trying to run over that guy.”

  "Why's that?"

  "Well, that guy's got a reputation, he's a hard hitter. He really tore some people up in the last few years. He's just on the edge of dirty, from what I remember."

  I give April's fingers a little squeeze and a smile. "Then I'll remember to avoid him next week. You know, since we're taking the bus to Hamilton and all."

  "I know. Mr. Larroquette invited me to go on the number two bus right after the game while you were talking with those reporters from CSN. He did tell me that it has to be on the second bus though, the one that the cheerleaders will be riding in."