Behind them were the assistant coaches, most of them bouncing around like oversized marionettes, finding their position players and congratulating them with heavy slaps and oversized grins. Dressed in matching red windbreakers, they stood out on sight, bright orbs in a sea of dark colors.
On the outside were the various other employees that accompanied the team whenever it played. Trainers. Interns. Security guards. Staff. All looked the part, standing a foot or two back from the rest of the room, clapping politely.
Behind even them, leaning against the wall entering the showers, was Kris. The level of noise around him had subsided enough to let him stand without covering his ears, but it was still uncomfortable to be any closer.
Not that he wanted to be.
Five minutes into the celebration, a path opened from the stadium door to the center of the room, creating a lane to the proverbial eye of the storm. At the end of it stood Dumari, an uncharacteristic smile on his face, a game ball held high above his head.
At the sight of him the team broke into another round of cheers, drawing the first two letters of his last name out into an interminable call of, “Duuuuu!”
Once more Kris covered his ears, watching as Dumari stretched a smug grin across his face and sauntered towards the center of the room. As he went, the path filled in behind him, almost propelling him forward.
The walk to the center of the room took a full minute, the ball raised high the entire time. Once he got there, Dumari lowered it and stood looking around, nodding his head in approval.
“I only have one thing to say to you right now,” he said, the smile fading away. He paused, continuing to turn in place, taking in the faces around him. “Thirty-one to twenty-one. Thirty-one to twenty-one!”
Once more a cacophony of sound filled the air. Players clapped and bobbed their head in agreement, some slapping each other on the back. The uproar reverberated off the walls around them, bouncing through the space.
Dumari let the jubilation continue for several moments again before holding the ball high above his head, calling for silence.
“Now, there are no less than a dozen guys I could give this to today,” he said, continuing to turn in a circle, addressing the team gathered around.
“Defense, thought you guys played your ass off in the second half. I mean, how about Smitty with that pick-six?”
A quick round of cheers went out as Smith took a step forward from the crowd, extending a fist high above his head. He stood stone still, resolute for a moment, before breaking into a smile, his long dreadlocks swinging free atop his shoulders.
“Montell Dickson,” Dumari continued. “What did you have today? Hundred and forty, hundred and fifty yards?”
Still in full dress, Dickson nodded, throwing a wave to the room. Beside him, Mills gave him a light shove, drawing a smile to Dickson’s face.
“You believe this stuff?” Adler asked, stepping up beside Kris.
The sound of his voice caught Kris by surprise, turning to see the receiver already out of his uniform. His hair and skin was still wet from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Same old shit,” Kris said, shaking his head. “You in a hurry tonight?”
“Family in town,” Adler said, running a hand back over his scalp.
Kris nodded as Dumari raised the ball back over his head, calling for the room to quiet again.
“This week’s game ball goes to a new face though,” Dumari said. “A guy we brought in because we knew he could play, and this week we decided to take the training wheels off and let him do just that.
“The man of the hour, Jon Walsh!”
“Waaaaaaalsh!” the entire team erupted in unison, players slamming their hands together in front of them.
On the far side of the room, Kris watched as Walsh emerged, a backwards ball cap on his head, a sheepish smile on his face. He held his hands up by his side, receiving hand slaps from his teammates as he went.
Dumari paused a moment as Walsh approached, whirling in a tight circle until he spotted Kris in the back. He stood with his gaze aimed at the aging quarterback, a hint of a smirk on his face.
“Just the first of many, I’m sure!” Dumari announced, garnering more cheers from the room as he handed the ball over to Walsh.
From his spot, Kris let his applause slow to a complete stop in front of him. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his weight leaning against the wall as he held Dumari’s gaze.
“Hey, Hop,” Adler asked, shaking his head at the spectacle, “how many game balls Dumari ever give you?”
“Not a damn one,” Kris replied, not bothering to look over at Adler beside him.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The sound of bracelets clinking together rang in Kris’s ears, though it did little to penetrate his consciousness. Instead he kept his gaze aimed out the window, the interior lights of Warriors Stadium still shining bright in the evening sky.
With his back against the headboard of the bed, he sat with the black satin sheet covering him, the hem of it bunched around his waist. Despite the dipping temperatures, the chill of his skin did little to penetrate his consciousness either.
Instead, his entire focus was on the stadium below.
“Where are you at tonight?” Kirby said, her voice several notches higher than usual. She pushed the words out like a bark, snapping Kris into the present.
He jerked his head towards her, staring as she pushed a trio of bracelets high up her forearm and adjusted a black cashmere sweater over her breasts. Even though it was the first time he had heard her question, he could tell from its tone and the expectant look on her face it was not the first time she’d asked it.
“Hmm?” Kris asked.
Kirby paused, rubbing her hands together in front of her. “What’s going on? You guys won, I figured you’d be happy.”
Kris stared a moment longer before dropping his head back and letting it rest against the wall behind him. “You watched the game?”
“God, no,” Kirby said, pushing the words out with a snort. “But I do live in Portland. Kind of hard to avoid.”
“True,” Kris conceded.
Kirby turned her hip towards the bed and slid down onto it, her feet flat on the floor with her upper body shifted to face him. She reached out with her left hand, dropping it atop his.
“Seriously, what’s up?”
Kris glanced down at her hand, letting his gaze linger as he tried to choose his words.
“Just, thinking about all it,” he said. “Today, being on the sidelines. I thought it would help, but it kind of made things worse.”
Kirby nodded. “Things are moving on without you.”
Kris noticed that it was a statement, not a question. He raised his focus back up to her and shrugged.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Before, it was out-of-sight, out-of-mind,” Kirby said. “The team was away, it was easier to handle.”
“Exactly,” Kris said, nodding in affirmation. He shifted his head back to face out the window, again seeing the stadium lights in the distance. “Everything was the same out there today as it was a month ago.”
“Except you,” Kirby added.
“Except me.”
Silence fell between them, both staring off into the distance. They remained that way for a long moment, ending when Kirby squeezed his hand and stood.
“I should get going.”
Kris turned back towards her, a bit of surprise on his face. “You don’t have to take off. We could order some food or something.”
A wistful smile graced Kirby’s face, drawing her towards Kris. She placed one knee up on the bed and leaned into him, giving one last kiss before retreating.
“Kris, I don’t leave because I want to, I leave because I have to. I’m on call most nights, you know that.”
“Oh,” Kris said, pressing his lips together and nodding. “Okay.”
“I’ll see you in the office tomorrow?” Kirby asked, pulli
ng back to a standing position.
“I’ll be there,” Kris said, offering a forced smile.
Kirby did the same, bobbing her head as she turned and strode from the room.
Kris remained rooted in place, listening as her shoes crossed the hardwood floor. The sound grew softer with each step, pausing long enough to grab her bag from the island in the kitchen before heading on to the door. Still he waited until he heard the sound of the front door open and close before turning back to the stadium.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Kris muttered, glancing down to see the television remote on the nightstand beside him. Leaning over on his right hip, he reached out and snatched it up, calling the flat screen on the opposite wall to life.
The bright visual from the panel television flooded into the room, causing his eyes to scrunch a bit around the edges. He paused to let the initial shock of the light fade before turning up the volume and dropping the remote onto the sheet between his legs.
“Down 14-10 in the third quarter, the Warriors behind replacement quarterback Jon Walsh really came alive,” a late night sportscaster for the local news said.
On the screen, Walsh looped a spiral into Mills outstretched hands, the big tight end rumbling the last eighteen yards for the touchdown. Upon crossing the goal line he went into his patented end zone dance, a combination shimmy-shake that Kris liked to call the Epileptic Chicken.
“With no word on when Kris Hopkins may be available-“ the sportscaster continued, his sentence cut in half by Kris extending the remote towards the television and turning it off. He held the remote extended from his body for a moment, letting the newfound silence settle in around him before dropping it back to his side.
After a moment he again shifted his attention back to the stadium lights below. With a flick of the wrist he tossed the remote towards the nightstand, the plastic implement catching the edge of it and clattering to the floor.
Kris left it where it lay, making no effort to retrieve it. Instead he sat with his attention out the window, sitting motionless long after the lights of the stadium blinked out.
Chapter Forty
The lip of the kitchen counter felt cold against Kris’s back, the marble top penetrating his t-shirt and sending an icy surge through his lower back. For a moment Kris considered pushing away before opting to remain in place, rolling himself from side to side, letting the cooling relief hit most of his torso.
The entire time he stared down at the phone balanced in the palm of his hand, the electronic phonebook within it already open. Using his thumb he scrolled down to the number he was looking for, waiting a full thirty seconds before hitting send.
Coming to a stop against the counter, Kris folded one arm across his waist and using the other pressed the phone to his face.
The call rang four times in his ear, long enough that he considered hanging up and trying again at a different time. He pulled the phone away and was about to disconnect when Emily’s voice cut through the line.
“Hello?”
Kris jerked the phone back to his ear and said, “Um, yeah, hi, Emily?”
On the other end Kris could hear the high-pitched whirring of what sounded like a kitchen appliance. He winced from the noise, keeping the phone an inch away from his head until the sound cut off.
“Kris, hey, how are you?” Emily asked.
“Is this a bad time?”
“No,” Emily responded. “Well, I mean, kind of. Just trying to get dinner on the table.”
Kris glanced over to the plain chicken breast thawing in the sink beside him, already certain that whatever Emily was preparing would be better than his meal.
“I’ll be quick then,” Kris said. “I remember you saying Kyle’s band was going for a Pearl Jam type of sound, right?”
“And failing miserably.”
A reflexive smile pulled up the right side of Kris’s mouth. “That bad?”
“Every fourth practice is here,” Emily said, letting her voice convey her annoyance at the entire thing. “The neighbors hate us.”
“Ha!” Kris spat, the reaction out before he even realized it. “The reason I’m calling is they’re actually in town on Wednesday and I was able to get tickets.”
Once more Kris could hear an appliance burst to life, a five second explosion of electronic sound that disappeared just as fast as it came.
“What?” Emily asked. “Who’s in town on Wednesday?”
“Pearl Jam,” Kris replied. “They’re doing a small acoustic show at The Badland.”
“Oh-kay,” Emily said, drawing the word out several seconds in duration.
“So I was calling to have you tell Kyle the tickets will be waiting at will call under his name.”
Kris spat the sentence out in one quick breath, waiting with a small wince on his face, hoping he hadn’t overstepped any unknown boundaries. He held the pose for several moments, the line silent between them.
“You realize he’s only fourteen, right?”
Kris let the breath he was holding slide out, his shoulders sagging with the effort. His heart rate evened a touch, the response not as good as hoped, but better than expected.
“Right,” Kris replied. “That’s why I left one for you too. I just figured it would go over better with his friends if they were in his name.”
For a moment, all was silent. Kris stood with an expectant look on his face, not sure what her response might be.
“You’re right. It would,” Emily replied, just a slight hint of trepidation in her voice.
Seizing on the opening, Kris forged ahead, content to let her non-refusal carry the night.
“Okay, well, that was what I was calling for. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Oh, no, you’re fine,” Emily replied.
“Have a good evening,” Kris said, his words coming in short bursts as he tried to get off the phone before she had a chance to reconsider.
“You too,” Emily said. “Kris?”
Kris’s eyes shut tight, his teeth reaching out onto his upper lip. He paused, not wanting to know what she might say next.
“Yeah?”
Emily pushed out a loud breath, loud enough for Kris to hear it through the line. Still he remained clenched tight, awaiting the worst.
“Thank you. So much.”
Once more he released the tension in his body, one long breath pulling his stomach inward.
“You’re welcome. Both of you.”
“I didn’t just mean for the tickets,” Emily said, her voice low and even.
“I know.”
Chapter Forty-One
Five hours before the start of regular team practice, Kris sat alone on the bottom row of the small bank of aluminum bleachers parked in the corner of the Warriors practice facility. Outside a late autumn gale blew rain in from the Pacific, driving temperatures down into the low-forties.
Bent at the waist to lace up his cleats, Kris could hear the wind howling through an open door in the far corner. Overhead the sound of rain pelting the bubble surface of the practice facility echoed through the space, making it appear much darker outside than it should have been for eight a.m.
Dressed in workout shorts and a long sleeved dri-fit t-shirt, Kris finished with his shoes and stepped out onto the field. The rubbery surface of the artificial field turf gave a bit of a bounce to his step as he walked, his toes coming to a stop just inches from the white sideline.
For a moment he stopped and stared down at it before stepping over, breaking right into a jog.
The first few steps were exactly the way he expected them to be, his knees and lower back emitting a series of pops that were audible even over the sound of the rain above. By the time he reached the opposite sideline though, the benefit of a full three weeks of rest was apparent, his body moving with ease.
A small smile crossed Kris’s face as he turned towards the far end zone, encircling the field twice before coming to a stop just a few feet from where he started.
; “That wasn’t so bad,” Kris said, pulling up and folding himself in half at the waist. He let his hands dangle towards the ground, his palms brushing against the soft plastic blades of grass on either side of his feet. He held the pose for several long moments before rising and spreading his legs wide, going first to his right knee, followed by his left.
“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” Kris said, bouncing on the balls of his feet a few times and retreating to the sideline. He lined his left foot up on the edge of the field and drew in two deep breaths before bursting out in a sprint, pumping his arms in time with each exaggerated breath.
His legs churned beneath him as he crossed over the field, following the twenty-yard line painted in a straight path before him. He reached the first hash mark without any problems, his legs feeling strong as he hit full stride.
By the time he made it to the second hash mark the line before him was beginning to blur, separating into two copies of the same thing. His breaths became slower and labored, his lungs fighting to pull in enough oxygen to keep him moving forward.
“No,” Kris whispered, forcing himself to focus on the far sideline ahead. Step by step he pounded out the last few yards, slowing just enough to make the turn.
As he approached he turned his shoulders to the side, folding himself down to touch the sideline with his right hand. Halfway there his vision blurred again, his body toppling sideways to the ground. End over end he sprawled across the turf, bits of rubber flying up in a black spray around him.
Kris’s body came to a stop two yards past the sideline, his momentum dumping him flat on his back. He laid there for a full minute before rising to a seated position and holding a hand to his head, trying to shake away the cobwebs. The same dull buzzing sounded in his ears, drowning out all ambient noise within the facility.
He raised his gaze up to focus on the world around him, pausing as he caught the flash of a red windbreaker disappearing through the open door at the opposite end of the field.
Even in his state, there was no mistaking the shuffling gait of the windbreaker’s owner. Bile rose in the back of Kris’s throat as he forced himself to his feet, walking back across the field towards the bleachers.
Quarterback Page 13
