Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance

by Lauren Landish

  “Feeling better, too. Your advice was right, and to top it off, I worked things out between me and April. That was the main thing on my mind, not the legal issues.”

  Despite Mr. Larroquette stating that the news wouldn't get out, it has, but I'm not worried. The gossip rags were the ones to break the story first, and so far my teammates have been cool about it. Even Lance, the horndog prick, has been cool about it.

  Vince though has really stepped up, both as a teammate and as a mentor. I have to keep reminding myself that this man has been playing professional football in Canada since the time I was sucking down formula and breast milk, and had seen it all in his time in the pros. “I'm glad. Because to be honest, my ass is too old to be trying to maneuver against that Calgary defense. Their linebackers are gazelles out there.”

  “Then we'll run their asses over,” I reply. “I ran a lot of option in high school, I can lower the shoulder and put someone on their ass.”

  “I'd prefer if you did it with your passing instead,” Vince says with a laugh. “Not that you haven't run well this year so far. But remember, those fast linebackers outnumber you three to one.”

  “Not worried one bit,” I say, adding a little pep to my throw. “If I need to throw eight TDs, I'll throw eight. If I need to run for three, I'll run for three. I dropped the ball last week, that isn't happening again.”

  “I like the way you talk, rook. Let's see how that works out come Saturday.”

  Vince's words echo in my mind Saturday as I tug at my white away jersey. The Calgary Sabercats crowd is fierce, booing us loudly for a crowd of only just over thirty thousand. I can still see April in her green Western jersey though, right at the fifty-yard line and two rows up, and I smile. She's a little farther way than normal, this field has a weird setup that I haven't seen since high school. The field is ringed by a standard running track, which due to the curve of the track and the fact that Canadian end zones are twenty yards deep, actually cuts off the tips of each end zone by a few yards. No matter, it's fair for both teams and I don't need the depth to light this shit up.

  “Phew, they hate you!” Paul says when I'm announced. “What the hell did you do, come here in college and take a shit in the city hall?”

  “Probably just broke too many hearts,” Dave Hawk says. “Those surfer boy looks of his? These Brokeback Cowboys around here probably hate jerking off to his posters every night.”

  “Brokeback Cowboys? Holy shit man, that's a new one for me,” I laugh, pulling my helmet on. “Can't you at least let me think it's the Calgary women who love me?”

  “Not without April kicking my ass,” Dave replies. “She's come out of her shell, and the turtle was hiding a wildcat.”

  I laugh, and slap Dave on the shoulder pads. “Just like I like it. Come on, I need you to cover my ass today, let's get some points on the board.”

  We take the kickoff, returning it to the thirty, and I lead the offense onto the field.

  I setup in shotgun and send Robbie in motion while DeAndre loops back and turns, sprinting dead set to the line, Dave snapping the ball just before DeAndre crosses and we're off. I look right to Paul, who's my primary target this play, but his d-back is on him tight as hell, so I check down to Bobby in the flat, but before I throw, I shift step to my left and see Robbie clear fifteen yards down field, already looking back for the pass. I plant and throw, putting it right in his hands without him even breaking stride, where he extends his gap on the defense, and he's off to the races.

  Robbie “Lightning” Storm may not have the best jukes or cuts in the League, but if he's got a straight line to run, there's very few guys I know who can catch him. Not surprising since he was an alternate for the Junior Olympics in high school.

  Regardless of the source of his speed, Robbie goes in untouched, a first play touchdown that puts us up with less than a minute elapsed on the game clock. That's the way it should be, and as I jog over to the sidelines, Coach gives me a little nod. “Glad to see which Tyler showed up today.”

  “Still got fifty-nine minutes to go, Coach. Let’s make sure we leave no doubt.”

  The defense, battle hardened now but still hamstrung by the pure complexity of what the rules allow Canadian offenses to do and injuries, slows the Calgary offense, but they're still grinding out yards, just getting enough to get first downs, but making their way down the field. It's a long drive time-wise by Canadian standards, twice going to third down conversions, but in the end, the Sabercats tie it up, and we're back on the field.

  “Tyler,” Coach pulls me aside while the kick return team gets ready. “The defense needs a rest. Short passes, give them a few minutes, okay?”

  “Got it, Coach.”

  He isn't lying, other than sending Robbie deep again on a Valley route, everything is short, under ten yards. “Will do.”

  The ball snaps, and I check my receivers, but tuck the ball and run, seeing the gap toward the sidelines. It's not much, only five yards, but I step out of bounds without getting smacked and stop the clock. I don't care about game time, I want real time for my guys to rest.

  “I guess you were wearing your lucky underwear,” April jokes when I come out of the locker room after the game. “I've never seen such a performance.”

  “I have you to thank for that,” I say, holding the game ball in my hand. It's my second of the year, but this one I'm prouder of. Thirty-two out of thirty-six, four hundred yards passing, and five touchdowns is the sort of performance that gets attention, regardless of what level it was on. “Here, this one's for you.”

  I hand her the ball, and I can see that April's touched. She holds it for a moment, then gives me a hug. “I love you.”

  I hug her back, and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Come on. Coach said that as the game MVP, I get to sit where I want on the plane ride home, and I told him that I wanted to sit next to you. We've got a lot to talk about.”

  “About what?” April asks, and I put an arm around her shoulders, feeling the comfortable presence of her against my side.

  “Next week's a bye week, remember? Coach gave the team the weekend off, so I was thinking that Saturday and Sunday, you and I can drive to London. It'd be nice to actually meet your parents. And I did like that sausage.”

  April nods and gives me a squeeze. “Then we've got a lot to talk about before we get to London. Including a story I need to tell you.”

  Chapter 16

  April

  I'm actually nervous as I get behind the wheel of Tyler's Mustang. It's not the car, I've driven it plenty of times over the past month, we've shared everything but toothbrushes and underpants, but this time, I'm nervous as we get on the expressway toward London.

  “April, if you don't want to tell me, or if it's too difficult, you don't have to,” Tyler says as he sees my white knuckles on the steering wheel. He knows I've been struggling with this for the entire week, and to his credit, hasn't pressured me about it at all since Calgary. “In fact, would you prefer if I drive?”

  “No . . . the driving helps,” I say, taking a deep breath and putting the car in cruise control. “Tyler, I've known a lot about you, and you’ve been open with me about everything. So I've been nervous this whole time, because there's been some secrets that I've kept from you.”

  “I figured as much,” Tyler says easily. I'm shocked, I mean, keeping secrets is one of those things that is supposed to break relationships, but Tyler's taking it totally in stride, and he explains why before I can even ask. “I mean, we didn't exactly start seeing each other after exchanging complete autobiographies. I don't care about your past, I care about you and who you are.”

  “But the past helps shape who we are today,” I counter, thinking about my own feelings about my secrets, “including why I am so shy, or have been for so long. I wasn't always this way, you know.”

  “I didn't think you were. Something inside me tells me that you used to be a playful girl.”

  “I was, and that's something else we need to talk
about,” I add, kicking myself for letting that go unsaid for so long. “But first . . . his name was Thomas. Never Tom, always Thomas. Thomas Benedict.”

  “What happened? What’d he do?” Tyler asks, and I shake my head, holding up a finger.

  “Please, Tyler . . . I need to tell this at my pace. I met Thomas when he moved to London from Hamilton, his second year of high school. We met at a basketball game, his team was playing my school, and at the time I was a member of the girl's team, as well as the swim team. Bet you didn't know I used to be an athlete myself.”

  “I'm not surprised, you understand my mindset so well, but go on.”

  I take a deep breath and let my mind drift back to the memories. “He was dark, handsome, had a bad boy vibe to him, and a hell of a drive to the basket. He approached me after the game, and I accepted his offer of a date. For a while, things went well, he was sweet for the most part, and knew all the right things to say.

  “I thought we were in love, like a lot of kids that age, but before long, things changed. He started becoming possessive, demanding . . . at first I deluded myself to say it was just that he was being protective, I mean other guys used to try to talk to me, but then he turned his venom on me too. He used to call me names, say that what I was wearing made me look dumb or ugly, things like that.”

  Tyler's hand clenches, and I can see his forearm muscles, the same forearm muscles that I know can put a drill like spin on a football over a long distance, flex in anger. “He abused you.”

  I nod, and I can't take it any more, I pull off the expressway and into a gas station, not comfortable to drive until we’re done. The emotions are too intense. “I know I should have walked away, but Dad was just coming off a round of cancer treatments, and Mom . . . well, we didn't know it at the time, but she was showing the first signs of her Alzheimer's. By the way, before you ask, the doctors already screened me for the genetic markers for early onset, and I'm clear.”

  He nods, taking my hand. “Tell me more about Thomas. How far did it go?”

  “He spent months making me feel like shit. I quit basketball, my grades went down the toilet, I became a recluse . . . and I thought it was because I was in love. I thought he loved me too, until I caught him sexting on his phone. We were in a Tim Horton's at the time I confronted him, so he didn't try to get physical, but it nearly went there. Then he got busted by the cops for drugs, he was caught trying to smuggle pot down into Michigan, got rapped on the knuckles for it, but it was enough of a break for me to step away. I went to a private school my last year in high school, and then came here to Toronto for uni . . . but the damage was done. Every time I looked in the mirror, every time a guy tried to talk to me, I kept seeing Thomas in my mind, his face going from kind and funny to angry and abusive. If . . . if it hadn't been you, I wouldn't have been able to let myself fall in love with you either.”

  My hands shake, and Tyler looks at me, as if peering into my soul. “You're worried that our honeymoon period is going to fade too, aren't you?”

  I sniff and look back at him, shaking my head. “No. Like I said, I know you Tyler. I thought I loved Thomas . . . but that's nothing compared to what I feel for you. Yeah, at first I worried. Right up until the time that I moved in, I worried. But for a month now you've been just as kind, just as amazing as you were before you got me into bed the first time, and the one time you've been violent, it was to protect me . . . or at least my reputation.”

  Tyler thinks, then nods. “I'm not always a peaceful guy, April. You've seen that, but I can swear here and now . . . I’ll never abuse you, mentally or physically.”

  I smile and kiss his hand before resting it on my left breast, over top of my heart. “In my heart, I believe you. I know you, and if I ever show doubt, it's the fears that are still haunting me that are showing up, not my love.”

  “And I love you,” Tyler says quietly. He doesn't move his hand, but still it feels nice with his warm hand on my breast, and my nipple hardens in response to his touch. Tyler notices and chuckles. “Really?”

  “Really. Not here though . . . first there's some other things we need to talk about.”

  “Like what?”

  “Chocolate and batteries.”

  Tyler's eyes open wide as he sees the old photo that is in Mom's room. The yellow t-shirt, the khaki shorts, the twin braided ponytails that I wore that first day which led to my nickname . . .

  “Pocahontas?” Tyler says wonderingly. He studies the picture carefully, like he's making sure it's not a fake, but as I stand there in the doorway watching him, I can't help but feel a lump of worry well up in my throat. My final secret, the big one, laid bare in front of him. “Is it really you? So that's why I kept thinking of the ocean and pine trees when I saw you at first, the walking path between the cabins and the beach. It's really you.”

  “Yeah,” I say, tears slipping down my cheeks. “It's me.”

  Tyler sets the photo down and turns to me, his face etched with concern. “Why are you crying?”

  “Because all this time, I've known who you were. As soon as the GM told me your name I knew it was you . . . and I didn't tell you. All the things you thought I researched about you, like your favorite color, I already knew. I've known, and I never forgot.”

  “And you thought I forgot you,” Tyler replies. “I wish it were that easy, or that cruelly simple. The fact is . . . I never forgot you at all.”

  “Then what happened?” I ask, the question that's haunted my heart for months now coming out. “Why didn't you ever write me like you promised?”

  “Because I was a boy who didn't do a good job of unpacking his bag when he got home,” Tyler admits. “The paper with your address on it must have gotten tossed in the washer, because when I went through my things later to try and find it, I couldn't find anything. And then when I took my stuff out of the washer, I found a wadded up, beaten up and nearly pulpish ball of what had been notebook paper. I didn't even know your family name. You were always Pocahontas to me. But it does explain so much to me, too.”

  “Like what?” I ask, and Tyler smirks.

  “From the first moment I saw you at the airport, there was always that little voice in my head that said I knew you. That somehow, we knew each other. After a while I just said that it was coincidence that you were so much like Pocahontas from camp, and that I was so attracted to you. You . . . you've always been special to me.”

  I laugh and nod. “Me too. You were my first kiss.”

  “You were mine,” Tyler says shockingly, confirming it with a nod, “and if my memory is right, the first time I ever touched a girl's boob too.”

  I can't help it, I laugh and come forward, hugging him. Tyler kisses me, his tongue soft and probing, and I moan into his mouth. I want him, but now isn't the time, as much as I want it. He wants it too, and it is with regret that we part. “We came to meet my parents, and they should be getting back from their appointments very soon.”

  In fact, Mom came back first, being guided by a nurse who makes sure she doesn't get lost. Mom, who thinks that the nurse is her old high school classmate Hillary, thanks her and comes in. She’s looking good today though, and is mostly in her right mind. “Oh, April! How nice you could come. Is it Sunday already?”

  “No Mom, it's Saturday, the team has a bye this week. I know, it seems like I was just here the other day.”

  “Well honey, it's got to be tough with your university studies,” Mom answers, ignoring my part about the team, but at least giving me a clue to her state of mind. She thinks it's a few years ago, just after her diagnosis. “Are you sure you're not going to fail a test?”

  “I’m sure, there's nothing coming up for a long time,” I say, giving Tyler a wink and a hopeful glance. “Mom, I'd like to introduce you to someone.”

  “Oh, I know Tyler!” Mom says, brightening. “Why, I just watched you the other day on TV! You play football, right?”

  “Yes ma'am, that's me. Are you a Fighters fan?”

  “O
h no, but my husband loves the Fighters. At least this season. He's watched all the games. It helps him feel stronger. You know, until the treatments are finished, he needs all the moral support he can get.”

  Tyler comes over and takes her hand and helps her over to a chair. Mom's still got most of her motor skills, but she gets tired quickly nowadays, and Tyler's giving her all his charm and his best smile, and I swear she’s even blushing a little bit as he holds her fingertips and helps her down. “I'm glad I can help your husband. I can see where April gets her beauty from.”

  Mom's blush deepens, and Tyler comes back to my side. “You're going to have to keep a hold on him. Handsome, charming, and a good athlete. You certainly found a diamond this time. Tell me he's a gentleman as well.”

  “He's a perfect gentleman,” I say, taking his hand. “He's been a perfect gentleman. But Mom, how was your visit with the doctors?”

  “Oh, they say what they say, but I never give them any mind,” Mom says with a wave of her hand. “They want me to take vitamins and stuff, but I feel just fine. I'm just humoring them until Adam finishes his treatments. You know, after they caught it so early I hoped that it would be over, but I guess they missed something. It's okay though, I'm sure he'll be fine in time to see April graduate next year.”

  I swallow hard, and I can see Tyler's look of concern on his face. “I'm sure he will,” Tyler reassures her. “I'm sure April's father will always remember that day.”

  Mom smiles and drifts away into a daze, randomly picking up pieces of long ago conversations and dropping them into the middle of the silence, sometimes looking at Tyler and I like we're totally different people.

  “You know Jeremy, it wouldn't be so bad if you just got that Flock of Seagulls cut of yours trimmed down some. Mr. Pemberton would get off your case about it, and work would go so much easier.”