Sinners Football 01- Goals for a Sinner

by Lynn Shurr

  The house, dark and quiet, not even a game tape playing, gave Joe Dean a chill up his back. The only lights shone on Stevie’s pictures in the den. Connor sat slumped in his leather recliner. For a moment Joe thought his friend was dead from an overdose, but the broad chest did move slowly up and down.

  His eyes were open, but he said nothing. Was this a mental breakdown in progress? How the hell would a quarterback know?

  “How’s it going, Connor?”

  “A thing of beauty is a joy forever,” Connor quoted, staring at Stevie’s pinups.

  “Something we read in high school? Some poem about big jugs, right?” Joe guessed.

  “Keats. Ode to a Grecian Urn. Stevie said that about her sports photography. She said the pictures she took of me were things of beauty. Good she can’t see me now, huh? They didn’t need me in the game. I never left the bench.”

  “Whose fault is that? You got to snap out of it, man. Never mind. I have some news you need to hear,” Joe rushed on.

  “They aren’t going to renew my contract, are they?”

  “I have no idea. Stevie is back in town.”

  “It’s too late, Joe, too late. Why don’t you take those posters down and carry them home with you.

  Don’t throw them out, though. They are things of beauty.” Connor closed his eyes as if waiting to hear the sound of paper being torn off the wall but not wanting to watch.

  “Let’s leave them be, bro. I plan to spend the night.”

  Joe Dean stretched out in the other recliner. He picked up the remote and channel surfed. Connor took no interest at all. Finally, he came across a John Wayne film festival. Just what the doctor ordered. The Sands of Iwo Jima, The Alamo, The Horse Soldiers, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, all were movies about brave stands and great victories, even that last one with the sissy title. John Wayne never gave up and probably didn’t know the meaning of the word “depression”.

  Joe thought about getting a beer, but no. Alcohol would make matters worse. If he got Connor through the night, he could call in reinforcements come morning. And the Rev better get the fuck over here sooner than those slackers who were supposed to relieve the Alamo.

  Chapter Twenty

  Joe Dean Billodeaux woke to the smell of dark roast coffee wafting through the house. Stiff, he crawled out of the recliner and did a few quick stretches. In the other chair, Connor slept on, his head skewed to one side. Joe was damned grateful the man had not gotten up in the night. How uncomfortable to follow a friend to the bathroom filled as it was with things like pills and razor blades and not give some kind of explanation. Quietly in stocking feet, he left the den and headed for the kitchen.

  Eula Mae and Miss Essie were enjoying a cup of Community brew and sharing a copy of the Times Picayune. Joe saw Eula Mae cover a tabloid that had his picture on the front with one of her big hands. He pretended not to see and began issuing orders.

  “In an hour or so, we’ll want breakfast—grits, eggs, bacon, whole wheat toast, orange juice and coffee.”

  Little gray-haired Miss Essie continued to sip her dark roast blend. “Mr. Connor says he don’t want nothing but coffee no more. I already been told three times I’m not his mama, and I don’t want to lose my job.”

  “Speaking of which, where is Mrs. Riley? I don’t think she’s the kind to stand by and do nothing when her son is in trouble. She spent months in Seattle watching over him,” Joe Dean asked.

  “Mr. Connor sent his folks on their dream cruise right after Thanksgiving. Gonna see England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland, then come home for Christmas. A early present, he says. Gettin’ them out the way, I says. His brother got the company to run and all them kids, so he’s not around neither,” Eula Mae answered.

  “Phone.” Joe Dean held out his hand.

  Eula Mae gave him an ‘I don’t work for you’ look and pointed. “Right there by you.” Joe dialed the phone on the counter and woke up the Rev. “You tear your big black ass away from Mintay and your wedding plans and get down to Connor’s place. I need some help. You’re the one wants to be a preacher some day. You can get some practice in right now. Good. I’m counting on you.” Connor, apparently following the smell of the coffee, straggled into the kitchen. He seemed bleary-eyed and sluggish even though they had done no drinking the night before, only watched old war movies far into the night.

  “Skip the coffee and put on your running shoes.

  I figure we can run a few miles before breakfast,” Joe announced.

  “What if I don’t want to run?” Connor groused.

  “Then I’ll be assuming it’s because you let yourself get in such sad shape that I am now faster than you, super star,” Joe challenged.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Prove it. We got an hour or so while these fine ladies get breakfast to cooking.” Joe moved down the hallway to find the upper end Nikes he had shucked off in the den the night before. Connor followed reluctantly.

  They stretched on the portico, then slowly jogged down the long drive to the open gate. Turning along the lakeshore road, Joe picked up the pace gradually until he figured they had reached a good halfway point. He turned and appealed to Connor’s competitive nature.

  “I figure I can beat you back to the house with no trouble at all, big deal wide receiver.”

  Connor took off with Joe on his heels. By the time they were half way back to the house, Connor had gotten far enough out in front to run backwards and taunt, “Who’s in lousy shape, smart-ass quarterback?”

  He waited by the gate until Joe caught up. Both men were sweating but not winded. They cooled down on the long driveway.

  Breakfast waited on the table when they got in.

  “Looks great, Miss Essie. Feel like eating now, Connor?”

  “Yeah. I guess I could eat.” He did, abundantly for the first time in weeks.

  “Okay, now,” Joe Dean instructed. “Go get cleaned up, and I mean showered, shaved, and that girly hair washed. We got a team meeting, and I know you have an appointment with Dr. Mind Fuck at eleven. Don’t deny it. You spill that sack of shit you been carrying around all over him. After that, we drive down Poydras, cut over to the French Market. You buy a bouquet of freakin’ daisies while I circle the block so we don’t have to waste time trying to park. I pick you up in front of the Central Grocery. I know Stevie is back in town, hence the daisies. Need I say more? We do a diagonal to her place, and you go in to score. I’ll wait in the car for as long as it takes.”

  “She won’t be there,” Connor insisted. “Stevie is gone forever.”

  “I’m the quarterback. I call the plays,” Joe Dean asserted.

  ****

  Things went pretty much as Joe Dean Billodeaux called them. When Connor left the doctor whose actual name was Edwin Funk, the psychiatrist said a few parting words at the door.

  “Good progress today, Mr. Riley. A breakthrough.” Joe Dean tossed down the Golf magazine he had been passing the time with and said, “Hey, Doc, four sexless months.”

  “I commend you, too, Mr. Billodeaux. Excellent progress, both of you.” Dr. Funk shut his door with a crisp snap.

  “That man is going to be so disappointed come February. I figure if I do two a day, I won’t run out of women until training camp starts. I’ve been thinking of going semi-celibate next year, cutting back on cunt while I’m playing. Seems to help my game.”

  “Joe Dean, you are either celibate or you aren’t.

  There is no such thing as being semi-celibate,” Connor corrected him.

  “Well, there should be, I mean as rewards for good behavior. Yes, indeed.”

  Joe did the driving and managed to circle the block in the sluggish New Orleans traffic without hitting any tourists or getting scratches on his little red sports car. By the time he got back, Connor had the daisies and two giant muffuletta sandwiches stuffed with cold cuts and olive salad and wrapped in waxed paper to go.

  “Feeling better? Hungry?”

  “I guess so,” Connor
admitted as he slid into the car while horns blared behind them.

  They raced to Stevie’s place. Daisies in hand, Connor took the steps up to her door two at a time.

  No one answered his knock. He came back down, looked around the back and returned to where Joe Dean waited.

  “She’s not here. I told you so,” he said glumly.

  “Maybe she went for groceries. Remember how little stuff she had in the refrigerator when we brought her home from the hospital?” Joe relied on the memory to lighten the situation.

  Connor did smile slightly. “I don’t think Stevie is much of a cook. She probably picked up her car and headed out of town again. Her coming home had nothing to do with me.” He slouched into the shotgun seat of the low-slung, red Porsche.

  “Hey, watch the sandwiches. I don’t want olive juice all over my leather upholstery. We’ll try again later after lunch and a light workout.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Connor remained surly all the way across the lake causeway.

  ****

  Stevie Dowd headed out of town. She crossed the causeway and drove through the piney woods to the cypress-studded lakeshore where the rich and sometimes famous lived. She had dredged the key to Connor’s house from the desk drawer where she’d thrown it before joining the LPGA tour. She’d meant to mail it back to him. At least, she thought she had, but she never did. Here the key lay in her hand, ready to use again if she could work up the courage.

  She’d always regarded Jackie as an amusing friend, not particularly deep, same as Joe Dean, until that dinner in Las Vegas. Jackie had been hurt by her Darlene but moved on to have a great career.

  Maybe Connor had moved on, too. No, she knew his career was tanking. Worst of all, Stevie knew she was his Darlene, a person who had dumped him because of her own fears and desires. Connor might not want her back.

  She would admit to being wrong about not supporting his dream to play again. She would stay with him no matter what. He didn’t have to say he loved her or repeat his proposal. This time Stevie Dowd would stick to a relationship and make it work…if she got a second chance. And, she would not try anything underhanded like pulling a Merrilee and getting pregnant to keep him. She needed to talk with Connor long and hard and now.

  The gate to the house was sealed tight of course.

  No telling if Connor was home. She cringed at using the call box. Disgusted with the way her hands sweat and her heart pumped faster, she sat in her idling car like some kind of groupie waiting for her hero to appear. She should have called first to see if she was welcome. Courage draining, Stevie backed up her car, swung it around, and prepared to return to New Orleans.

  Once she got across the lake, she’d call instead of lurking outside his gate like a stalker. If he hung up, she’d try again—the way Connor had over and over. Remorse engulfed her like water from a broken levee. Stevie put her foot on the brake and covered her face with her hands to hold in the tears. A red Porsche tearing down the center of the road as if it were pursuing her in a high-speed chase nearly hit her car. Joe Dean braked his expensive ride diagonally across the road.

  “Get out and don’t come back until—what’s the word—you two have a breakthrough,” Joe ordered his passenger, but Connor was already in the street approaching Stevie.

  She felt as nervous and guilty as a criminal and Joe Dean probably thought of her that way. She’d committed a crime against his team, his friend.

  Connor opened her door, drew Stevie to him, and kissed her so hard her back bent across the hood. He waved to Joe for a little privacy.

  Joe Dean flipped down his sun visor. He slumped into a “they’re going to be awhile position”, unwrapped a muffuletta, took a bite from a wedge and sucked the olive oil off his fingers. Coming out of the clutch, Stevie stared his way. He gave her a friendly salute with his sandwich as Connor led her home. That jerk, always around when she needed to be alone with the man she loved.

  Connor opened the gate and the couple walked slowly down drive, around the house, and across the deck to the dock. They did not say a word as they watched the light chop of the water, the boats swaying, a blue heron passing on the wing. Neither seemed able to speak.

  Finally heeding Joe Dean’s orders, Connor began. “Stevie, I haven’t been playing fair. I treated you like some bonus I deserved because I had a great season and did the celibacy thing last year. I wasn’t honest with you. I used you cover up my real problem.”

  She closed her eyes against the glare on the water and kept them closed. It was going to happen again. This man was going to hurt her more deeply than any of the others because she loved him heart and soul.

  Sure, she’d thought maybe Kevin was the one when she’d been young and stupid. Close call there.

  Then, she’d rebounded with the slick Marcello. How surprised had she been when Marcello left with his completed portfolio before she finished her studies in Italy? Not much. As for Dex, he turned out to be more of a convenient business and sexual partner than anything else. Her fury at his duplicity had driven Dex out of her mind completely. But this one, this one would to destroy her.

  “I’m afraid when I play, afraid of another injury.

  I covered it up well early in the season when we were playing weak teams and no one could catch me.

  When I recovered that fumble, they piled on top of me. My helmet was torn off. I thought for a moment I couldn’t feel my toes. Anger, I used anger so no one would know how scared I was. Worse, I let everyone think you were to blame for my temper, my slump.” Connor stared into the water of the lake sloshing beneath his shoes, not looking at Stevie. His long hair fell across his cheeks shielding him from her gaze.

  His pose was so like the one she had witnessed when he sat on the bench during the last game that Stevie reached out and pushed back his hair as she had been longing to do for months. The golden strands were clean now but needed a trim badly. Her fingers smoothed the blond locks behind his ears and followed the strands down his neck, lightly touching the scars from his surgery until they came to rest warmly on his shoulders. He shivered beneath her hands.

  “You could have told me. I would have understood.”

  “And said what?”

  “Quit playing.”

  “Right. If I quit, then I was admitting I was afraid. You have to play strong if you are going to play the game. I let you go rather than confess the real problem.”

  “I should have known. I should have stayed.” She hated herself for not seeing this. She was even more ashamed for thinking of herself as the sole reason for Connor’s problems, so certain of his love that when she looked into his eyes, she saw only her reflection and nothing more.

  “You would have stayed with me if I was paralyzed, right?”

  “Yes, you couldn’t drive me away.”

  “But I tried to because I wasn’t the man you fell in love with. I’m still not.”

  “I’ll stay with you now if you want me to. If it’s not too late for us.”

  “Last night, I thought so. Coach benched me last game, and I was relieved I didn’t have to play. I thought my career had ended. No one would ever know how scared I was because they could only see the anger I used to cover up.”

  “If you came back to me, you might see what the others had missed—that I wasn’t the big, brave jock anymore, but an impostor. You were better gone. My career is over. I should have been home free with no one the wiser. Then it hit me: I had nothing worth living for. I passed the worst night of my life yesterday. Joe stayed by me. Today, I told Dr. Funk what was eating me. I’m doing a little better.”

  “Joe is a good friend…a jerk, but a good friend.” Stevie wiped a tear, pretending the wind troubled her eyes. “The stunt he pulled to get me back here even when he blamed me for your condition you wouldn’t believe. Sure, it ran in the tabloids, but you had to be there. Jackie did her best, too. She finally made me see I had to stand by you, no matter what—that is if you still want me.”

  “I need to finish t
he season or the fear will win.

  Can you bear it?”

  “I will for as long as you need me. Can’t they give you any extra protection? Can’t the trainers do anything for you?”

  “They tried at the beginning of the season. I had a neck guard, but it was uncomfortable. I couldn’t turn my head the way I wanted. Besides, I considered it a sissy thing. Made me look weak, so I refused to wear it because I’m big, tough Connor Riley.” He gave Stevie a sad smile.

  “Could you try it again? Work with it until it’s comfortable?”

  “Yeah. I’ll do that.”

  “And Connor, I think I’d like to talk to Dr. Funk myself if you could arrange it.”

  “We’ll go together.”

  “I can think of another place we can go together.

  Right now. If the back door is open.”

  “You have the key, Stevie.”

  ****

  Eula Mae, her big arms filled with sheets, padded down the hall toward Mr. Connor’s suite. For the first time in a month she had beard stubble to clean out of the sink and long blond hair to pluck from the shower drain. She pulled up when she saw the bedroom door closed. The breathing and moaning going on in there was so heavy she could hear it through the cracks. She did a U-turn and headed back toward the kitchen where she tossed the sheets on a counter and poured herself an iced tea from the pitcher her mother set on kitchen table along with a light lunch of chicken salad sandwiches and cantaloupe slices.

  “Mama, Mr. Connor got someone in his bedroom.”

  “Way things is going around here, let’s hope it ain’t Mr. Joe.”

  “Mama! I was thinking they found Miss Stevie.”

  “It’s them trashy tabloids you always reading, child, that puts ideas into my head. Miss Stevie would be good. I liked her. She stayed out of my kitchen and never complained about the food. But could be Mr. Joe ordered him to pick up a woman downtown if she wasn’t around. He was mighty bossy this morning. Seemed to know just what Mr. Connor needed.”