Kickoff

by Jami Davenport

  He was screwed. Majorly screwed.

  Mortified, humiliated, and furious, he lay on the floor, too spent to heave his body into a sitting position. He pounded his fist on the cracked linoleum and welcomed the pain. Tears welled up inside him. He jammed his fist in his mouth. He would not be a frigging baby. He wouldn’t cry. Dammit. He wouldn’t.

  He did.

  Sobs racked his body. He quaked from the sheer desperation of it all. Tears flowed down his cheeks and puddled on the floor. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the cool, wet flooring. Cornflakes stuck to his face. Blood trickled from the cut on his chin. His hip and elbow throbbed like hell, not that it mattered at this point. The smell of urine assaulted his nose. He breathed through his mouth and tried not to gag.

  This was not supposed to happen to him.

  As a junior, he’d been second-team all-state in football and baseball. PAC-10 coaches wooed him. His teammates respected him. Girls fell at his feet. Everything was on track and on time. College, then pros, big bucks, busty cheerleaders, and a one-way cruise out of this hellhole.

  Then the bad news…

  He hated this crap destroying him cell by cell and leaving his mind imprisoned in a dying body. He didn’t want to die. He was scared shitless of dying. He didn’t know if he believed in an afterlife or heaven or hell. Didn’t know if he’d just disappear into dust. Had never given it a thought because he’d been young and invincible. He might have had a shit home life, but his talent gave him an out.

  Not anymore.

  He shut his eyes, slept for a while. When he woke, darkness engulfed him. Rain ran down the dirty kitchen window, leaving streaks. His weary body hurt everywhere. Despair swallowed him whole, but he refused to give in and give up.

  With a groan, he rolled onto his good hip and fished his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, the one Coach had given him for emergencies. He tried Coach, but no one answered.

  He tried a couple of friends. No answer.

  His mother’s burner phone was out of service, so that was out, not that she’d give a fuck or pick up when she saw it was him.

  With a resigned sigh, he dialed one last cell phone number and waited.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Rachel’s breath caressed Derek’s skin like a warm breeze drifting across Puget Sound on a hot summer day. Her lips nuzzled his neck. Her nipples rubbed against his bare chest. It was enough to drive a man insane.

  Tremors vibrated through his body stronger than an earthquake in a fault zone. More than lust. He knew it, just didn’t want to know it. Because if these tremors weren’t lust, they were something else. Something he didn’t do because being vulnerable was so not going to happen. Not in this lifetime. Not with any woman, and especially not this woman.

  He avoided the word relationship even if this thing between them was beginning to feel like one. He didn’t do relationships. They were too permanent, too confining, too emotionally dangerous.

  Pulling her close, he both loved and hated how well she fit.

  Rachel cleared her throat as if to say something, but his cell jangled and startled them both. Derek groped in the dark for it. People didn’t call this late unless something was wrong.

  “Don’t answer it if it’s my brother.” Rachel sat up beside him and clutched his arm.

  Derek checked the display and didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?” He hoped like hell it wasn’t some rabid fan. The more the Steelheads won, the more the crazies crawled out from under the bleachers.

  “Uh, Derek, hi, it’s Ryan.” The kid’s voice broke, and every nerve in Derek’s body went on alert.

  “Hey, bud. Everything okay?” Derek forced his tone to be nonchalant while he strangled the life out of his cell phone. He glanced at the clock and frowned. It was late, really late—after two in the morning. Not good. Not good at all.

  “I, uh… This is embarrassing, but I can’t reach anyone else. You said I could call you if I needed something.” Ryan’s ragged breathing alarmed him.

  “Sure. Are you okay?”

  “I fell out of my wheelchair. I can’t get up.” Ryan’s voice shook with emotion. Derek’s heart dropped on his big toe.

  “You okay?”

  “Nothing’s bruised but my pride.”

  Derek heard the weary humor in the kid’s voice. He chuckled. God, he loved this kid. “I’m on my way. Hold tight.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He jumped out of bed and flicked on the nightstand light. Hopping on one leg, he yanked on his jeans, not bothering with the boxers. Taking care not to catch his package, he zipped them up.

  “What’s wrong?” Rachel blinked, bleary-eyed, and watched him from the warmth of the bed.

  “Ryan fell out of his wheelchair and can’t get up.”

  “Oh, no. I’m going with you.” Rachel stumbled out of bed and tried to put both feet in one pant leg. He hoped to hell he didn’t have two people to take care of tonight.

  “I think he’s embarrassed. When we get there, you’ll need to wait in the truck.” Derek steadied her as she attempted to dress. A simple feat for most people, but for her an accident in the making.

  “I don’t mind.” She untangled her legs and finished the job without bodily injury to either of them.

  Derek tore down his driveway and drove like a crazy man to get to Ryan’s trailer. He made it in record time. A single light glowed inside the house; no car was parked in the gravel driveway. Where the hell was the kid’s mother? He’d not had the privilege of meeting her. According to Mitch, she’d never attended Ryan’s games, even when he’d been healthy and a star.

  Derek rattled the doorknob, but it was locked. Shit. He debated on busting down the door but decided to test his other options first. Walking around the dump, he found an unlatched window. He lowered his big body through it, slipped, and landed on his ass between a chair and the wall.

  “You okay?” he heard Ryan ask.

  “Just bruised my butt. It’s not the first time that’s happened.”

  “Rachel’s wearing off on you.”

  Derek chuckled, glad to hear Ryan’s sense of humor hadn’t deserted him. He pulled himself to his feet and hurried into the kitchen. Ryan, no more than a sack of bones and a shadow of his former athletic self, lay on the floor, peppered with cereal flakes. Derek caught a whiff of urine and feigned ignorance.

  He knelt next to the kid, who smiled feebly up at him. “You sure nothing hurts? You didn’t break anything?” He ran his hands down Ryan’s body, checking for broken bones but not finding any. Grabbing a nearby towel, he wiped the blood from the kid’s chin and face. The cut appeared superficial.

  “Nope. I’m fine. I’m really sorry I bothered you.”

  “You are not bothering me. Hang on. Let me get you up.” After setting the brake on the wheelchair, Derek put his hands under Ryan’s arms and lifted him. The kid’s lightweight alarmed him.

  After setting him in the wheelchair, he knelt and brushed the cereal off his clothes. His eyes met Ryan’s. If he’d inherited one shred of acting ability from his mother, he called it forth. No way did he want Ryan to see how much the kid’s rapid decline unnerved him.

  “Where’s your mom?” He ground his jaw so hard his head hurt.

  “Um, uh, working?” Ryan ducked his head and wouldn’t meet his eyes. Derek knew instantly. She wasn’t coming back. He’d seen the same expression in his bathroom mirror as a little boy.

  “Working? Are you sure?”

  Ryan shrugged one bony shoulder.

  “Ry, be straight with me. Where’s your mom?”

  “I haven’t seen her in over a week. I think she skipped out. Some of her stuff is gone.”

  “Oh, fuck. Are you serious? You’ve been all alone for a week?” Derek knew all about mothers who didn’t give a shit. If he got his hands on the woman, he’d use her for a tackling dummy.

  “She’s done it before, but I was able to fend for myself until she came back. This morning I could put
myself in the wheelchair, but tonight I couldn’t.” Ryan bit back a sob, his positive attitude deteriorating with this recent humiliation. “This sucks.”

  Derek stroked his ruffled hair. “I know it does, buddy. I know.” He’d gladly trade places if he could.

  “Even worse, I wet myself.”

  “Hey, no big deal. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

  “Are the child services people gonna take me away and put me in a home to die?”

  “Not a chance.” Derek gulped back the conflicting emotions boiling inside him: concern for Ryan’s living arrangements, white-hot anger at the kid’s mother, grief for a young life without a future.

  “What’s going to happen to me?”

  “We’ll figure something out. You’re not alone, buddy. You’ve got me, your coach, Rachel, all your teammates. We’ll be here.”

  “Do you mean that?” Ryan swiped at the tear snaking down his cheek. Derek’s throat tightened, but he pulled it together.

  “Of course I mean that. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  Ryan looked up at him with such despair that a wave of pain jolted him. Derek swallowed. Shit. How could this happen to a kid like this? He had everything going for him, his whole life ahead of him.

  It wasn’t fair. It fucking wasn’t fair.

  He wanted to shake his fists or break something and shout to the heavens at the injustice of it all, but now wasn’t the time. Ryan needed him to be strong.

  Tears streamed down Ryan’s cheeks and dribbled off his chin, leaving wet spots on his T-shirt. Kneeling, Derek wrapped his arms around the stricken teenager. They hugged each other tightly as sobs racked Ryan’s body.

  This once vibrant, active kid had been reduced to this. A lone tear left a wet track down Derek’s cheek. He held on tighter.

  “I love you, buddy,” he whispered.

  Minutes later, Rachel found them that way, hanging on to each other.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Rachel helped load Ryan’s stuff in the back of Derek’s truck, then they took him home. Derek cleaned him up and dressed him for bed while Rachel fixed him a sandwich.

  An hour later, she peeked in the door of Derek’s guest bedroom. Sprawled on his stomach and buried under a mound of blankets, Ryan slept soundly. His mouth lolled open. The thick down comforter concealed his thin body. Derek peered over her shoulder.

  “He crashed.”

  “I bet that’s the first good sleep he’s had in a while. No kid should be shouldering the burdens he has in the shape he’s in.” Rachel left the door slightly ajar.

  “His mother should be thrown in jail for neglect and abandonment.” Derek’s face hardened, lined with tension and frustration.

  “She probably would be if we could find her, but he’s eighteen, a legal adult.”

  “The bitch isn’t worth the effort.” He shook his head in disgust and walked down the hall. Rachel followed.

  “What are we gonna do? You’re not here enough to take care of him. Even if you were, you don’t have the time, nor do I.”

  “Let’s worry about all this tomorrow. It’s late.” Derek rubbed his eyes and yawned.

  “Sure.”

  Ryan would spend his last days knowing he mattered and people cared. She’d see to it.

  Chapter 22—Big Play

  Rachel threw open the door and hugged her father. Stepping back, she looked him up and down. “Dad, you look really good.” She sniffed the air but didn’t smell any alcohol on his breath. He’d combed his hair, put on clean clothes, and shaved. No bloodshot eyes, plus his alert expression boded well for the day.

  “Thanks, hon.” He smiled and almost reminded her of the father she remembered. Almost. She’d take almost any day compared to where he’d been a few months ago.

  “How’s your new job?” He’d taken a job at a gym about a month ago and worked with several college athletes. It wasn’t coaching, but at least he felt involved in sports again.

  “Keeps me busy and out of trouble.”

  “Good,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

  “What is it, Rachel? You’re on a winning team, sure to get a permanent position, but you don’t seem thrilled.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Dad, but I’m not sure coaching is my forte. I love evaluating talent, enhancing strengths, working on weaknesses, stuff like that, but the actual coaching day in and out, the game planning, I’m struggling with that aspect of the job. I don’t want to let you down, Dad.”

  “Oh, Rae, honey, you could never let me down. You’re the best daughter a man could have.”

  “But you were counting on me being a coach.”

  “I was counting on you loving your job with a passion. Coaching requires a person to be all-in because it’s a tough job. You never get a real vacation. You’re always working, always thinking, always planning.”

  “I don’t know if that’s for me or the best use of my skill set.”

  “Whatever you decide to do, Rae. I’ll be proud of you.”

  For the first time in months, a seed of hope took root inside her. Perhaps everything would be okay after all.

  “How’s your new job? Are you keeping those jocks in line?”

  “Yes, Daddy, I am. I think the team is going to hire me after the season.”

  “You’ll do great. I’m so proud of you.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “Dang, Rae, that smells good. You’ll make someone a good wife yet.” He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Dad, you know I’ll never be anyone’s wife. I’m too much of a tomboy for that.”

  “I guess I’m to blame.”

  “I guess you are.” She tucked her hand around his arm and escorted him into the small living area, where Mitch, their oldest brother, Mark, Mark’s family, and Ryan watched football. Mitch had been able to get temporary custody of Ryan. The players’ wives had been taking turns sitting with him, and the team was helping pay for a nurse to come in part of the day.

  The noisy, raucous group brought back fond memories of Thanksgivings when her mother was alive and life had been so different.

  She stood there for a moment and watched her father take a seat between two of her brothers. Immediately the men launched into a spirited discussion regarding next Sunday’s game between the Steelheads and the Buccaneers.

  Several hours later, she stood on the porch and waved good-bye to the last carload of McCormicks. Thanksgiving had gone off without a hitch. The food was cooked just right, the men fat and happy. Her father stayed sober. And Ryan had one of his good days, soaking up the novelty of what was most likely his first “family” Thanksgiving.

  Derek, Tyler, and teammates treated them to a nail-biter, but they pulled out a victory in the last minutes.

  The next few weeks sped by.

  Derek and Tyler were in high demand, and her time with Derek was limited to practice, games, and a few nights a week in bed.

  Her brother offered Ryan a permanent home, thanks to the generosity of the team and the WAGs. Rachel worked out a schedule so someone was always with him. The poor kid deteriorated a little every day, but he hung in there like a true competitor.

  Her brother’s team won the state championship, and the Steelheads, well, they kept winning—the hottest team in the league at nine and four with three games to go before the playoffs. They were fighting for the division championship and a bye for the first playoff game. They weren’t blowing their opponents out but finding ways to win. When one guy had an off day, another stepped in to take up the slack.

  Rachel worked with Derek and Tyler one or two nights a week, though their tight schedules didn’t allow for more than that.

  Football fever consumed the city like nothing it’d seen since the Sonics won the World Championship back in the seventies.

  Through it all, she refused to look to the future, kept putting off a confrontation, convincing herself she needed more time.

  The wild ride just got wilder. Rachel held on tight as their wild ride careened out of con
trol toward the finish line.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Rachel, are you ever going to talk to Derek and Tyler about helping Dad out?” Mitch’s angry whisper barely carried to her ears. He threw himself back in his chair in a dramatic display of exasperation. Lacing his hands behind his head, he glared at her.

  Rachel glanced toward Ryan’s open door and lowered her voice too. “I’m struggling with that. The Derek I know has to have had his reasons.”

  Mitch snorted. “Oh, really? And what would the Derek you don’t know do?”

  “Mitch, don’t be a jerk.” Rachel grabbed his arm. He allowed her to pull him out of the chair and lead him outside. She shut the door behind them.

  “Me? Be a jerk? What about you? You’re backing out, just like I knew you would.”

  “I’m not backing out—exactly. I think we need to talk to Dad again. Derek says there were reasons, stuff we didn’t know.”

  “Dad’s done all the talking he wants to do. How about I talk to Derek and get more information?”

  “No, Mitch, please don’t. Derek would’ve helped if he could’ve. He’s protecting me.”

  “So, you’re admitting you think our dad is guilty? Our father. Yours and mine. The man who lived and breathed football, loved the game like no one else. The man who taught us both everything we know.”

  “I don’t know what to think.” She looked away, as confused as ever. “There has to be an answer to all this.”

  “You’ll never find the answers unless you ask the right questions.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “I want to be there.”

  Rachel shook her head and spoke through gritted teeth. “Mitch, I said I’ll handle it.”

  “He’s using you, Rachel, and you’re in denial. You’ve built a fantasy relationship around a fantasy man.” Mitch squared his jaw and lifted his chin, the epitome of stubbornness.

  “We don’t have a relationship.” Anger and fear battled for dominance inside her.

  Mitch considered her words, not looking the least bit happy. “When are you going to talk to him?”

  “Give me two weeks.”