“Dick.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The industrial light bulbs in the thirty-six inch fixture overhead hummed steadily as Kris sat on the edge of the examination table waiting. It began as a dull, monotone drone that grew in intensity the longer Kris sat.
To try and mask the sound, Kris started by slapping the heels of his shoes against the table. One foot at a time he pounded out a beat that sounded a lot like Deep Purple’s Smoke on the Water, the hollow plastic echoing out each time his feet contacted it.
By the third chorus he had given up on the song, going back to listening to the incessant buzz, his frustration growing by the second.
After ten minutes with the sound he hopped down from the table and flipped the lights off, feeling his way with outstretched hands back towards the table and taking a seat. With a contented sigh he folded his hands in his lap and waited, his heels still lightly touching the table beneath him.
Eighteen minutes into his wait the door burst open, a flood of fluorescent light washing over him. Kris had steeled himself for the moment it would happen, forcing no reaction to the bright light, instead sitting upright and staring back at the silhouette of Dr. Kirby in the doorway.
“Um, good afternoon,” Kirby said, flipping the light on beside her.
Cocking on ear towards the ceiling, Kris waited to make sure the buzzing was gone before shifting his focus back to Kirby. In one movement he hopped down from the table, resisting the urge to rush right over to her.
“Doctor,” Kris said. “Please tell me you’ve got good news in that envelope today.”
Kirby glanced down at the scans beneath her arm taken less than an hour before and held a finger towards the ceiling. “Is there a reason you were sitting here in the dark? Was the light too bright again?”
“Not at all,” Kris said, waving a hand. “The damn thing was buzzing something awful, so I just turned it off.”
Kirby twisted her head an inch to the side and narrowed her eyes, focusing her gaze on Kris as she drifted to the light board on the wall.
“Alright,” she said, her voice standing in opposition to her words. “Let’s take a look.”
Removing the scans from beneath her arm she pulled out a new film and jammed it up under the top lip of the light board. Using the switch along the bottom panel, she flipped on the backlight, the grid of nine images coming to life before them.
Folding her arms across her chest, Kirby pushed her glasses a bit higher on the bridge of her nose and stood in front of the scans, studying them intently. Behind her Kris moved in close to review them as well, his chest pressing against her back without even thinking about it.
“Well?” Kris asked, trying to ascertain what the film was telling him.
“How are you feeling?” Kirby asked without turning around, her focus still on the scans.
Kris took a step back and squeezed his eyes shut tight, giving his head a quick shake after staring at the bright light.
“Good. Great. Best in weeks.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Kirby replied. “But that could be from the weeks of rest as much as anything.”
Kris retreated another step and folded his arms across his torso, already sensing from her tone that this was not going in a direction he wanted it to.
“Meaning?”
Kirby looked at the scans another long moment before turning the board off and pulling the film down. She threaded the corner of it into the envelope and slid it inside, tossing the package onto the counter and sinking onto the padded stool across from Kris.
“Meaning football is not an easy game for a man your age.”
Kris’s face twisted up in confusion as he stared back at her. “A man my...? What are you trying to say, Doc?”
Again he could feel the impending dread welling deep in his stomach, the foreboding feeling that something was awry even without quite knowing what it was.
Kirby slid her glasses down off the end of her nose, revealing a pair of tired eyes. She rubbed her thumb and forefinger over them, sighing deeply.
“Kris, maybe you should sit down.”
The air slid from Kris’s chest as he watched her. “I’d rather stand.”
“Okay,” Kirby said, nodding once. Gone was any trace of the woman Kris had come to know after hours, replaced entirely by the medical professional trained in delivering unsavory news. “There are some signs of improvement in your scans.”
Pressing his palms into the table on either side of him, Kris pushed himself to an upright position. “That’s great! I can play this week?”
“But it’s nominal, at best,” Kirby said, holding her hand up to him, her palm facing out. “There’s no way you’re going to be ready this season, let alone this week.”
Kris’s jaw dropped open as the bottom fell out of his stomach. Twice he tried forming a response, his mouth working up and down in silence, before finding any words. “Uh...how long are we talking?”
“It might be time to start giving serious consideration to life after football.”
The words landed like an overhand right to Kris’s temple, blasting every thought from his head. His entire body went rigid as he stood staring at her, trying to process what she’d just told him, staring at him with a look of complete sympathy.
It was too much to bear.
“I have to go,” Kris said, going straight for the door and passing through without looking back.
Chapter Forty-Three
The ball rose and fell no more than a couple of feet, rotating on its axis in a slow spiral before dropping back the way it came. It slapped against Kris’s outstretched hands, the movement so natural he performed it again and again without even looking down.
Once it laid flat against his palms, his fingertips traced over the dimpled leather, finding the laces. Pure muscle memory held the ball there a moment, his arm ready to cock back and fire with piston-like precision, before tossing the ball back up into the air again.
Around him, the confines of Warriors Stadium were silent. Gone were any groundskeepers or cleaning staff for the day, all starting at first light and finishing their work by early afternoon.
Now, with the late day sun peeking out from behind the scoreboard, Kris was alone in the space he’d spent so much of the last fifteen years in.
Closing his eyes, Kris continued to toss the ball up and down, the natural turf soft underfoot. He imagined the voice of long-time announcer Jed Hollingsworth working the PA system, calling out from the box overlooking the field.
“And now, starting at quarterback, number 8, Kris Hopkins!”
A rush of goose pimples traced Kris’s forearms as he walked, eyes closed, a smile on his face. It was the same exact introduction he had received over a hundred times, always followed by an appreciative roar of the crowd.
“I should have known you’d be out here.”
The cheer of the crowd died away in Kris’s ears as he opened his eyes, turning over his shoulder to glance at the voice’s owner.
Walking with his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, Tom Riggs approached. He moved slowly, choosing his steps one at a time, as if sensing the gravity of the moment and not wanting to intrude. He looked at Kris as he approached, but kept his gaze angled towards the ground.
“Why’s that?” Kris asked, a slight burn of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.
“Dr. Kirby called a little while ago, told me the news,” Riggs replied. He made his way up to Kris’s side and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him at midfield, both of them staring across the Warriors insignia painted on the fifty yard line.
Kris frowned, spinning the football in his hands, finding the laces, then spinning it again. “Like I told you three weeks ago, doctors aren’t always right.”
Riggs glanced over at him, a trace of sadness in his eyes. “She seemed pretty certain.”
“I’ll get a second opinion,” Kris said, the words sounding hollow even in his own ears.
“She’s the best
neurologist in Portland. That’s why we use her.”
Kris nodded, knowing what the old man was saying was true. There was nothing he could say right now that would change that. All he had was time and hope, a prayer that things would improve.
“You were the very first player I ever drafted,” Riggs said without glancing over, nodding his head in slow motion.
“Yeah,” Kris said, no more than a whisper.
“The day I bought the team ESPN asked me how I was going to turn this place around,” Riggs continued, not even hearing Kris’s response. “I gave them some song and dance about taking it one day at a time, but I went home and told my wife the key was to do everything I could to draft that quarterback from Oklahoma.”
The ball stopped its movement for a moment, Kris’s head rocking back in a smirk.
“You were just a cocky kid back then,” Riggs continued. “Barely weighed two hundred pounds. But when you threw that football...”
Riggs pulled his right hand from his pants pocket and traced an arc through the air. He started in one end zone and spread it the length of the field, the angle rising and falling in perfect symmetry.
“Magic.”
Kris followed the movement of Riggs’s hand, watching as it ended its descent in the opposite end zone.
“I never knew all that.”
“Nobody did,” Riggs said, again looking over at Kris as he jammed his hand back into his pocket. “I didn’t want to give anybody leverage, or Heaven forbid, reason to draft you first.”
Kris pushed a loud breath out, the various possibilities shuttling through his mind.
“I’m glad they didn’t. Could you imagine me playing in that crackerjack stadium down in Sacramento? Or standing out in the snow all season in Boise?”
“Oh, God,” Riggs said, his bushy moustache curving upward above a broad smile. “Or LA?”
“Ha!” Kris spat, his upper body quivering with repressed laughter. “Not LA. Anywhere but there.”
Riggs matched the laughter, both of the men smiling as they tried to imagine Kris playing for the Lancers, spending every Sunday with a medieval jousting weapon stenciled on his helmet.
After a moment, the smile slid away from Kris’s face.
“This isn’t goodbye you know. She did say there was improvement. It might take a while, but I could get there.”
Hands still in his pockets, Riggs turned sideways, his body perpendicular to Kris. Gone was any trace of mirth from a moment before, his face a mask of seriousness, tinged with sadness.
“And I sincerely hope you do,” Riggs said. “If not though, I want you to know, you’ve always got a place here with the Warriors.”
Kris opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t find the words. Instead he closed it, nodding in solemn acknowledgment. Deep within he wanted to say thank you, for the offer and for the previous fifteen years, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Saying the words would be too close to accepting defeat. Not yet.
Riggs returned the nod and turned back the way he came, reaching out and patting Kris on the shoulder as he went. Kris remained rooted on the spot, his hands wrapped around either end of the ball, until Riggs was almost gone before looking back.
“Hey, Riggs,” Kris shouted, his feet still facing forward, the rest of his body twisted around.
Behind him the old man turned, shuffling backwards in exaggerated steps.
“Was it worth it?”
At that Riggs stopped moving. He raised his face towards the sky for a moment, drawing a deep breath in through his nose, before smiling.
“Every damn day.”
The right corner of Kris’s mouth turned up in a smile, a small nod rocking his head up and down. Across from him Riggs stood matching his gaze for a moment before turning away.
Kris watched as he walked off, the stadium tunnel swallowing him up, before shifting back towards the field. Once again his hands found the laces of the ball, his arm cocking back to his ear twice before dropping to his side and flipping it up into the air again.
Chapter Forty-Four
The interior of The Badland was nothing more than a single open room, a little bigger than a gymnasium but smaller than a warehouse. The entire back wall was consumed by a stage, the plywood sound deck taking up over two-thirds of the width of the room. The remaining space on either side was cordoned off by heavy black felt curtains, protecting the backstage area from the sound and lights of the club.
The opposite end of the room had the same arrangement, an aging oak bar occupying the same breadth as the stage. On either end were the restrooms, obvious from the line of patrons that always snaked out the door and spilled into the venue.
The entire center between the two sides featured hardwood flooring, dinged and scratched from years of drunken revelers performing all sorts of acts atop it. Tonight it was getting the relatively easy task of housing a hundred or so round tables, each with a half dozen or more chairs around them.
As the premiere indie music venue in Portland, The Badland drew in acts from every walk. It was not uncommon to see bluegrass bands take the stage in the same weekend as a metal trio, each bringing with them their own unique audience. Any band that had ever found its way out of Portland had played more than a few shows on the fabled stage, just as any person living in Portland had seen just as many.
Four years had passed since Kris last stepped foot inside The Badland, though little had changed. The stage looked a bit more beat up, the floor a touch more faded, but otherwise it was exactly the way he remembered it.
The last time he was on hand it was to see The Eagles do a live acoustic set on their way through the Northwest. Something told him tonight would be a little different experience, with a much different crowd.
Standing against the far wall, Kris surveyed the room, finding what he was looking for tucked away in the opposite corner. Feeling a small flush of heat rise to his face and back, he threaded his way across the space, coming to a stop just a few feet away from the table.
“Hiding out back here?”
From her seat on the backside of a table Emily looked up from her phone, a bit startled. Just as fast it passed, a half smile on her face.
“Oh, hey there,” she said. “No, I’m just trying to stay out of the way. You know, uncool mom and all that.”
A smile crossed Kris’s face. “I highly doubt that. I’ve known a few uncool moms in my day, but you don’t seem to fit the bill.”
The moment the words were out Kris drew back a bit, hoping Emily wouldn’t take the opportunity to lob a crack his way about some of the women he might have known. While almost always a little too classy for such talk, a time or two over the years she had unleashed a barb in his direction.
To her credit, she let whatever she was thinking this time pass.
“I didn’t realize you were coming.”
Shifting to the side, Kris turned towards the bar and offered a half-wave to a man in his early-fifties with a greying ponytail and sunglasses too dark for the venue. The man waved back from his perch on the corner of the rail, revealing a gold tooth smile as he did so.
“It was kind of a stipulation for getting the tickets,” Kris said. “Hans ask that I show up in person, shake a few hands, kiss a few babies, that sort of thing.”
“Ah,” Emily said, nodding in understanding. “Bet that was fun.”
“More than you can imagine.”
Again Emily smiled, extending a hand towards the chair beside her. “Please.”
Nodding his thanks, Kris slid down into the seat and surveyed the room spread out in front of them. “Was he excited when you told him about the tickets?”
“Ecstatic,” Emily replied. “It’s all he’s talked about for two days now.” She motioned towards the stage and added, “He’s seated down in front there.”
Kris focused his gaze in on the area, rising a few inches from his seat to see Kyle seated at a front table. Three other young men were crowded nearby, all be
aring the same general appearance.
Shaggy hair, baggy jeans, Pearl Jam t-shirts. Every item a little too clean and well-kept to be considered grunge, but an honest effort for a group of upper middle class teenagers.
“He said to say thank you,” Emily added, drawing Kris back down into his seat.
“So you told him?” Kris asked, turning to face her.
“I did,” Emily said, matching the stance. She drew in a quick breath, meeting Kris’s gaze. “Look, I don’t know why you’ve suddenly got it in your head to start trying, but I’ve been waiting fourteen years for it. I’m not about to stand in your way now.”
They both held the pose a long moment before Kris shifted his focus to the far wall, his mind processing what she said. “You’re right. I haven’t been around much.”
“You haven’t been around at all,” Emily corrected. “And it’s going to take time.”
Kris drew his attention back to her, nodding in agreement. “I know.”
He looked at her another moment before turning back to the stage. Along the front row he could see Kyle standing in front of his friends, performing a very bad imitation of a new dance move Kris had seen in the locker room. A smile came to Kris’s face as he watched, Kyle’s friends all doubled over with laughter.
“The Loft.”
“What?” Kris asked.
“Sunday night,” Emily said. “His band is playing at The Loft.”
Kris’s jaw dropped open a half inch as he shifted his body towards her, hoping he was hearing what she said correctly.
“Seven o’clock, if you’re interested.”
“For sure,” Kris replied. “We play the early game, but we’ll be done long before that.”
“You know the place?” Emily asked.
“No,” Kris said, shaking his head, “but I can find it. Did he invite me or did you?”
Emily raised her eyebrows a bit. “Does it even matter?”
“No,” Kris said, turning back to face forward. Up front he could see Kyle settling back into his chair, his friends still squirming with laughter.
Quarterback Page 14
