Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance

by Lauren Landish

  “I'm looking at the confirmation letter from the Crown Prosecutor's office right now. Trust me, Tyler's totally in the clear on that. Also, just to let you know, Thomas got himself arrested last night as well, I don't know if that had anything to do with the Crown's decision.”

  “Oh? What on?” I ask, only slightly interested. It could be jaywalking for all I care, the man is out of my life for good now.

  “Domestic violence. It seems his current girlfriend got tired of his bullshit too. So he's going to be facing at least a year in jail this time. The Crown isn't going to go lightly on a two time loser like him.”

  “Good,” I say with just a touch of vehemence. I guess he does still have some effect on me, if he can make me this pissed off. “Can they send him to Yellowknife to do his time?”

  Connor laughs, but in understanding. “I doubt it. In any case, I'll keep you updated on the other matter too. We'll see what's going on soon enough.”

  Connor hangs up, and I put my phone down, a giant idiotic grin on my face. Francine gives me a high five as she gets ready to leave, her own grin lighting up the room. “I think that means date night, don't you?”

  “Damn skippy.”

  Francine shakes her head in mock exasperation. “Leave her with Americans long enough, she starts sounding like one of them. Pretty soon she's going to start saying she hates Nickelback.”

  “I've always hated Nickelback,” I tell Francine, who reacts with mock horror to the old joke. I really have, just because they're Canadian doesn't mean I have to like them. “Nickelback sucks.”

  She crooks a finger at me like some sort of old crone, her voice pitching high and shrill. “Blasphemer! Someone, get the wood! We have to burn the witch!”

  Everyone laughs, and for the first time, I feel like I'm joining in with the other people in the office rather than feeling outside it. Tyler's love has unlocked the rest of my fears, and I've let myself out of the cage I've kept myself in for so long.

  During the team's lunch break, I find Tyler in the stands, munching on a roast beef sub and a protein shake. “That looks disgusting.”

  “It is,” he replies with a laugh, “but I've got a lift after lunch, and Coach Taylor is a big believer in pre-workout loading.”

  “Did you hear the good news?” I ask, and Tyler nods. “Damn, I was hoping to be the first one to tell you.”

  “That news got around so fast they stopped the video session to tell us,” Tyler says with a laugh.

  “So what do you want to do to celebrate?” I ask, smiling. “I had an idea in mind.”

  “Oh? What's that?”

  “Well, you remember our first date? Not the club, but the one where you wore that awesome suit?”

  Tyler nods. “Yeah, who could forget you in that dress of yours, and that we didn't kiss, even though we both wanted to.”

  “Let's try it again then,” I say, sitting down. “I can get a table somewhere for nine o'clock, we go, create the date we should have had, and then we have the night we should have had.”

  Tyler's eyes gleam, and he nods. “You're going to have a busy afternoon then. We don't have a table yet.”

  “Leave that to me. After all, am I not also your PA still?”

  We're lucky, it's only Wednesday and the restaurant isn't booked full, so when I call up and ask if Tyler Paulson can book a table for two at nine, the steakhouse is more than ready to accommodate us. It still feels strange to realize that men are looking at me as I walk in wearing my cocktail dress and heels, but this time I'm ready for it, and I give Tyler a look as we make our way toward the best table. “Remind me, next time we should get our meal for free.”

  “Oh?” Tyler asks, amused. “And why’s that?”

  “Famous pro athlete likes a steakhouse? You may not be a hockey player, but I think that's at least good for a free steak.”

  Tyler holds my chair for me again, the perfect gentleman, and comes around to his seat. “Maybe, but I think I want the ribs tonight. What about you?”

  “Fish again. I really enjoyed it last time, and we don't cook enough of it at home.”

  “I agree,” Tyler says, spreading his napkin into his lap. “I was thinking, maybe this offseason, we can go take some cooking classes. Somebody's gotta have domestic skills courses for guys like me available somewhere in this city.”

  I go quiet, looking down, and Tyler grows concerned. “April? What is it?”

  “It's just . . . I know you're not trying to be mean, but you keep talking like you're going to stick around Toronto after the season, and not head back to San Diego or Los Angeles or hell, down to Jacksonville with your buddy Duncan. But when I've asked you about it directly, you still talk about going back to States as soon as you can.” I can feel the tears in my eyes, and I blink them away. “It feels like you want to leave this behind, and with my folks . . .”

  My voice trails away, and I look down at my plate. “I'm sorry. We haven't even had drinks and I've ruined our date.”

  “No you haven't,” Tyler says quietly, reaching over and taking my hand before I can do anything stupid like get up and leave. “You're right, I've been talking out of both sides of my mouth, saying I want to get back to the States while at the same time talking about settling in with you, exploring the fullness of our relationship. It's not fair to you, and you're right, you can't be expected to leave your parents in London while I ask you to go to the States for a long time. Can I ask, is there any chance of . . . well, of your mother changing homes?”

  I shake my head, not knowing. There's no question of Dad changing homes, he wouldn't survive at all, not that he has much time left. “I'd have to talk with the doctors. I doubt it though, every time I talk to them they really emphasize that Mom's supposed to have familiar, regular surroundings. She's been at the hospital and in the hospice home for going on two years now, it's the closest thing she still has to a real home. It'd be hard on her, Tyler. And with Daddy . . . she would need time to maybe come to grips with it. If she ever does.”

  Tyler nods, and takes a sip of his water. The waiter comes by and asks for our drink selection, and we decide on a bottle of Chenin Blanc that will go with both of our dishes. After the waiter goes, Tyler takes another sip of water and looks at me. “Well, this offseason, I'll stay here in Toronto, keep our apartment, and we'll evaluate things from there. I'm sure the Fighters will appreciate it.”

  I tear up again, this time out of happiness rather than sadness, and I'm surprised to be dabbing at my eyes one more time. I didn't go over the top with my eye makeup, I'm no raccoon, but still, black tears down my cheeks is not what I want at all. “Thank you. I don't know where the tears are coming from, but thank you.”

  “It's all right,” Tyler says easily. “April, you're more important than working on a winter tan or working on a beach body. I can talk to Coach Taylor over the Net, get with him on what to do, and Toronto's got some good places I can do my workouts. I'm lucky, really. A lot of the guys are going to be going back to part time jobs or other work, I can use the time in between seasons to get ready to play football. Even then though, we're going to have time to be together. I still need to get you a matching set of lucky pink underpants for you to wear on game days.”

  I laugh, caught off guard by his joke, and nod, my tears banished for now. “That sounds good, but I thought you liked the green set? I liked your first idea most though, getting some cooking classes in. The idea of you making dinner for me is sexy as hell.”

  Tyler's smirk stirs in my belly, and he leans forward, setting his hands on the table. “Well then, I’ll have to find some three star chefs to learn from.”

  The waiter comes back with the wine, and pours glasses for both of us. Tyler twirls his glass for a second, then smiles. “To the future.”

  “To the future.” Our food comes, and we enjoy the meal more than even the first time.

  We walk home, as I'm feeling up for the short walk after dinner, and my feet feel fine. “Besides,” Tyler promises me
as we get started, “when we get home, I'm giving you a foot rub.”

  I chuckle and squeeze his arm, leaning slightly against him. “I know your foot rubs. You just want an excuse to have sex.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” he asks, his thumb stroking the top of my hand and sending chills up my forearm.

  “Not at all, but if you don't stop that thumb, we're going to be having sex in public, and I don't think we want to get arrested again so soon after getting the last set of charges dropped,” I purr, leaning further against him. “That wouldn't be cool. If you wanna go have sex outdoors, we can book a vacation to Hedonism or one of those places in the Dominican Republic.”

  “Huh, and I thought T-dot had those sorts of places,” Tyler teases me, causing me to roll my eyes.

  “The only idiots who use that phrase are pretentious douchebags,” I remind him.

  We spend the rest of the walk home laughing and trading jokes, much better than last time. We pause outside our building, and Tyler pulls me into his arms, his fingers brushing a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Oh no Tyler, we can't,” he softly mocks in a bad falsetto. “We can't.”

  “We can,” I answer, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Because sometimes, fantasies do come true.”

  We kiss, soft and sweet, our passion there but restrained for now, knowing that upstairs, we're going to go at it for hours before sleep overtakes us. Okay, maybe not hours, he still needs his sleep. He’s got practice tomorrow.

  Fantasies can come true.

  “April, can I speak to you in the office?”

  “Okay Mr. Larroquette, I'll be right there.” I close the lid on my laptop and go in. We're flying to Vancouver late tonight in fact, giving us a full day to adjust to West Coast time before playing BC in their stadium. I'm going to be glad when this is over, as we go on a two week home stand after that, before our next away game. Two weeks at home sounds heavenly.

  I go into the GM's office, and see a grave expression on his face. “Have a seat, April.”

  Oh, it must be bad, if he's using my first name. “Okay, sir. Have I done anything . . . wrong?”

  “You? No, your work's been fine. I just received a phone call from Baltimore,” Mr. Larroquette says, rubbing at his temples. “Since you and Tyler are seeing each other, I figured I might as well let you both know at the same time. Just a moment.”

  Tyler arrives a few seconds later, dressed for a light practice before everyone gets on the plane later this evening. “Hey Mr. L. Coach said you wanted to see me right away?”

  “Yes. Have a seat please, Tyler. I was just telling April, about ten minutes ago, I got a phone call from Baltimore.”

  “Baltimore? You've got some friends in the States?” Tyler asks, taking a seat. “A hockey friend or something?”

  “No. Actually, it was a friend of a friend who called. Mr. Newton, the General Manager of the Baltimore Marauders. Have you been keeping up with League news from the States?”

  “Just from Jacksonville. I've got a friend who's a rookie for them, Duncan Hart.”

  “Ah, the Wildcats, good team. That's beside the point. Mr. Newton's in a pickle, Tyler. It seems in their most recent game against New York, the Marauders lost both their first and second string quarterbacks to possibly season ending injury. Their second stringer might be back in time for Christmas, but right now the only quarterback he has on his roster is a forty three year old vet who makes Vince look like a sprightly spring chicken. He called me because he wants someone who he can plug into his offense and have a prayer of actually winning some games.”

  “What are you saying? He offered me a contract?”

  “Scaled rookie minimum. The Americans are on week six of their season, so by their scale, for the rest of the year you'd be paid two hundred and fifty thousand for a rest of the year deal. If you can lead Baltimore to the playoffs, you get a bonus as well.”

  That's a lot of money. “Why are you telling me this? We fly to Vancouver this evening, and I didn't expect that you'd be so willing to get rid of me after my charges were dropped.”

  The GM sighs, and runs his hand through his hair again. Tyler's right, I think he's rubbing his own bald spot down. “Tyler, back in the eighties the League and Canada had a bit of a problem. You see, they wanted to expand north of the border, and we wanted to expand south. Then there was the whole jumping issue, which had quite a few players jump from Canadian teams to American teams, stiffing us in the process. Lawsuits flew on both sides of the border, and in the nineties, when we wanted to try again expanding south, a deal was struck. Clause Fifty-Four.”

  “You and your clauses,” Tyler mumbles, and I have to agree with him. The standard contract is twelve pages long, who can memorize all that boilerplate? Well, who besides Mr. Larroquette? “What's clause fifty-four, and why do you say it like it's in capital letters?”

  “Just the way I am. As for Clause Fifty-Four, what it states is that if an American League team is interested in a Canadian League player, they must contact that player's team, and offer a contract through them. In theory, this gives the team a chance to match or beat the offer, but since our entire team's budget is smaller than what even mid-level quarterbacks in the States make in a year, it's mostly a moot point. Also, while not in your contract, the agreement states that the Fighters would be compensated for giving you up as well. It's an additional incentive for teams that are struggling financially or not in playoff contention to push a player down south. The amount Baltimore is offering to compensate the Fighters is impressive.”

  “I see,” Tyler says, thinking. “One year deal, you say?”

  “Remainder of the season. You light it up down there as well as you've done for us, and you'll be offered a shot with Baltimore or another team for sure, and most likely at a lot more than League minimum.”

  Tyler nods, but Mr. L. continues. “I know this may not affect your decision much, but I also have an offer for you. Five years, with the Fighters, with a scaled increase in salary each year. The current CBA with the Player's Association increases the salary cap by a hundred thousand a year, and you'd be given half of that. In three years, you'd be making over half a million a year, and at the end of the deal you'll be making six hundred.”

  Mr. L. pulls a one page sheet out of his printer. “Here it is, in writing. It's a tender of offer, already electronically signed by me. It's not a full contract, but the numbers are there.”

  “So security with the Fighters, or gamble with the Marauders,” Tyler says quietly, looking down before looking at me, his eyes haunted. I understand, we just talked about this last night, and now we're facing a choice we never expected. “How long do I have to make a decision?”

  “Mr. Newton said that he'd like a decision by Sunday. The Marauders would fly you directly from Vancouver if you want, to give you the most time to integrate with their offense. He says they run a nearly identical system to what you played at Western, apparently their offensive coordinator used to work with Coach Bainridge.”

  Tyler nods, then looks at me again. I can see what's whirling in his mind, and I swallow the fear in my throat. “It's your dream, Tyler. The League.”

  “But I promised you . . .” Tyler says, shaking his head. “Excuse me, everyone, I need to think. Mr. L., if you don't mind, please tell Coach that I need to take a personal day . . . I'll be ready for the flight to Vancouver though.”

  Tyler gets up and stops at the doorway. “April . . . I'm sorry. I just need to think.”

  “I understand,” I reply, but when he leaves I'm still haunted by the look in his eyes. He's torn, and I understand why. I look at Mr. Larroquette, who looks back at me with compassion. “What do you think, sir?”

  “I think that if he didn't love you deeply, he'd have signed the offer from Baltimore even before I got my tender out of my desk. But you need a personal day as well. I'll call the airline, you can catch a flight in the morning to Vancouver, still be there for the game if you like.”

  “Thank you sir.
I need to go talk to my parents.”

  “Go, and drive safely. I'll let Tyler that you're going to London.”

  Chapter 19

  Tyler

  I sit in the stands, watching as Vince runs the offense through the last walkthroughs before the team breaks for getting ready to go to Vancouver. The GM came by and told me that April was given the rest of the day off too, and I read her text that said she's going to London to talk with her folks. I'm not trying to be a dick to her, I understand that we just got a hand grenade thrown into our nice, neat little plans, but this is the sort of thing that comes around only once in a lifetime.

  Sighing, I pull out my phone. While I don't have everyone's phone number from my old days programmed in, I do have some, and the first call I make is to Western University's Athletic Department, hoping that Coach Bainridge is available.

  “Western University Bulldogs, Coach Thibedeau speaking.”

  “Coach T? Hi, it's Tyler Paulson.”

  “Tyler? Good to hear from you!” Coach T says brightly. “How's life in Canada?”

  “Actually, that's what I'm calling about. Is Coach B around?”

  “No, he's meeting with the University President. I don't know how much you've kept up, but we're hurting pretty bad this year offensively. Losing you and Duncan both . . . I'm not getting a lot of sleep this season.”

  “You guys will adapt, you always do,” I reply. “Listen, do you know anything about Coach B talking to Baltimore?”

  “Baltimore? No, but I wouldn't be surprised. Their OC and Coach B used to work together about three-four years before I joined the staff at Western. They still talk once in a while. Hey, you want me to have him give you a call when he can?”

  “No . . . you've got your own issues to deal with. You guys going to be bowl eligible at least?”

  “Yeah, we've got that, but who knows what else,” he replies. “Seriously Tyler, you okay?”