by Ava Ashley
“Hi, Monique. And hello to you, too, Angelina. Right?”
A separate chuckle comes from the red-head moving up on Angelina’s left. “Oh, Angie, she’s got your number! Knew who you were in a heartbeat. Hiya, darlin’! I’m Paulette Davies. Cam Davies is my husband.”
“Cornerback?” I offer tentatively.
“Ooh,” Monique drawls. “Somebody’s been doing her homework.”
“Why, honey, that’s absolutely right!” Paulette squeals in delight. “My baby works hard out on that field. Makes your man look good. Personally, I don’t think they pay him near enough.”
“Well, I have to save some money for the campaign, now don’t I, Paulette?”
The deep, male voice is familiar.
“Representative Daley.” I hold out a hand. “How are you, sir? It’s been awhile.”
The congressman shakes my hand heartily and flashes me a grand smile. “It most certainly has, Sloane. Since the campaign fundraiser, I believe. What’s that make it?”
“About five months, I’d say,” Angelina rubs her own experienced belly.
“I hear that’s where you met our star quarterback,” Representative Daley continues.
I try to hide the knee-jerk wince.
Not exactly, sir.
But, I nod anyway. “Yes. Yes, indeed. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more active in this year’s campaign. Looks like Lennox’s brother is poised to give you a run for your money.”
“That he is. That he is. Imagine my surprise when I first met Mr. Masten. What with him being a carbon copy of his brother.”
“Yeah. That can be quite a shocker,” I reply.
Was for me.
“Well, he’s a tough customer. Plays hardball. Tomorrow’s debate’s going to be interesting, if nothing else. I just hope he sticks to the topics.”
I think about what Kirk had intimated at the restaurant. I feel compelled to warn the congressman, but I had no idea of what, specifically, to warn him about. I had absolutely no idea what Logan was up to.
But, that old newshound in me starts scratching.
“You think he may drift off topic?”
The representative shrugs and takes a sip of his hi-ball. “I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s young. He’s hungry. He’s motivated.” He takes another sip. “I would.”
“Do you have anything to hide?”
The congressman doesn’t answer.
“I wish you all the best, Congressman. Even if I couldn’t help on the campaign, I figured the least I could do to show my support was by attending the fundraiser.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad you did. Both for the show of support and Coach Rogers tells me you’ve been a good influence on our star quarterback.”
I shake my head. “Thank you, sir, but any changes Lennox has made has been his choice. I haven’t had much to do with it.”
“I can’t say that I completely agree with that. The love of a good woman can sway a man to do a lot of things.”
“You can say that again,” Monique takes the one-liner. The wives giggle in a huddle.
“Anyway, it’s nice to see you supporting your man,” Representative Daley steers me towards the viewing window. “Although, as I recall, you’re more of a hockey fan.”
“You remembered,” I reply.
“Of course, I do! You’re a hard woman to forget, Sloane Armstrong. Very stubborn as I recall.” The congressman gestures for me to sit in one of the leather chairs near the window. I oblige. “Especially when it came to rooting out a story. As I recall, it was a very insistent interview on my first campaign trail that put you on my radar. You called into question my alleged affiliations with certain lobbyists. You weren’t afraid to put me on notice.”
He pointed an index finger in my direction. “And that’s why I asked you to work my campaign. I admired your chutzpah. I wanted you to keep me honest.”
“It’s one of the reasons I became a reporter, sir. To find the truth.”
So, why wasn’t I being truthful with Lennox?
“The truth?” Monique sidles up behind us, leaning in over the back of the congressman’s chair. “The truth is our boys are gonna kick the Jackals’ asses.”
“Mrs. D’Andre, I do believe you’re right. Lennox has been an absolute beast on the field lately,” Representative Daley replies. “I don’t know what the trainers have been doing to our boys lately, but they better keep it up. We’ve got a ring to win.”
“Speaking of rings, girl,” Paulette asks. “I see that you’re wearing Lennox’s number, but are you wearing his ring yet?”
“It’s been... mentioned,” I manage.
“Mentioned? Oh, nuh uh, girl,” Monique scolds. “Have you not heard my girl Beyoncé’s song?”
“Monique! Leave her be. A girl needs traction to climb a mountain of a man like Lennox.”
Monique’s sharply-lined mouth drops into a faux-shocked “O”. She slaps me playfully on the shoulder. “Girl! You ain’t lying. If Zeke ever thought about steppin’ out on me, I’d sure as hell would be hiring me a Sherpa to guide me to the heights of that Everest. Himalayan? Mm, mm, mm. He’d be layin’, alright.”
A secretly proud little smirk plays at the corners of my mouth. These women were talking about my Lennox. They wanted my Lennox.
My Lennox?
The instinctual mental allegiance catches me off guard. It percolates for few moments. I feel a warming flush creep over me.
I like it.
It gives me the confidence to play along in their banter. I rub a hand on my protruding stomach. “Lennox may be a mountain, but this K2 is starting to give him a run for his money.”
“Ooh, I hope you left him enough energy for the game today!” Angelina laughs. She bends down and slips her foot out of her Jimmy Choos, rubbing the arch. “I would kill to be chilling in my Chucks right now.”
Representative Daley smiles. “See, Sloane? This is exactly what I was talking about. Around you, the truth just has a way of coming out.”
Chapter 14
Lennox
Truth is, it doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever his latest “plan” was, Logan could drive himself into the ground trying to live up to the expectations of a dead man who didn’t deserve the time of day as far as I am concerned. I am done repenting. I’d left the road to perdition and had been granted a little slice of paradise. And Sloane is my angel of mercy.
I pay for the sappy sentiment as I take a brutal, brain-bashing hit as the pocket collapses and the Jackals’ Delmonde Saunders gets past my offensive line.
Focus on the goddamned game, Lennox!
I berate myself for allowing my attention to drift. This game’s been no walk in the fucking park. The Jackals have tied things up. But, we have the ball. Two minutes to go.
I shake myself alert. Slam on my helmet a few times for good measure. Time to march the ball down the goddamned field.
We get there. A critical third down possession, with long yardage for the first. I drop back into the pocket to pass. Shit! The Jackals’ defense blitzes, flushing the pocket. I release the ball too damned early, but manage a thirty-five yard pass. Pratt comes wide out of break. The defense is flustered. Pierce Anders, the Jackals’ cornerback, inadvertently grabs Pratt’s arm. That thin ribbon of yellow arcs onto the field. But, before it can touch down, the errant pass is picked off by the Jackals’ defense and run out of bounds at about the twenty-eight.
I jam my foot into the turf and utter a single expletive as every part of speech. The anger in me starts to churn.
Damn ref better rule in our favor!
The anger gets a momentary bye as the flag’s ruled defensive pass interference.
Yes! Now shit’s happening. About damned time.
It costs the defense the ball. We get possession at the thirty-five, the spot of the foul. With a fresh set of downs and momentum brewing, I put my team in position to score for the lead.
But, the Jackals aren’t making this easy. Their defense performs pre
tty damned seamlessly. A sort of “bend-don’t-break” mentality. At this point, they’re gonna let us catch all the balls we want in front of them, but they aren’t gonna let us get behind them and break them for a touchdown. It’s like they’re saying: “Have your three-point field goal, but we’re not giving up six.”
With its full set of time outs, their defense holds. Time run off the clock is minimum. Grudgingly, we settle for a fifty-six yard field goal.
We kick off. Jackals get the ball at the twenty-five. If they want to stay in this game, they have to work themselves at least into field goal range. That’s our thirty-eight yard line. I’ve gotta admit. Jet Harken, the Jackals’ quarterback? Even with the pressure he’s under, the man’s got poise and flare. He manages to get his team to the thirty-eight, but finds himself in a fourth down situation and must settle for a field goal. The fifty-one yarder is no walk in the park, but his kicker? Doesn’t miss.
Now, it’s on me.
With the game tied and only forty-nine seconds to go, I’ve gotta reach deep. I’ve got to mount a serious drive for at least one last field goal attempt. This isn’t going to come easy. Jersey blitzes. Penalties are called.
The clocks winding and with seventeen seconds remaining, we wind up in a third down situation.
Sonofabitch!
It’s out of field goal range! That inexplicable red haze starts to settle across my field of vision.
No, jackass. That’s not the Lennox Sloane’s here to see. Don’t lose it.
The fleeting thought of her brilliant smile and the way her nose crinkles when she laughs settles the pawing animal inside. Beauty tames the beast. I shake my head. Time to work some magic.
Like the magic Sloane seems to work on me.
I finally just admit it to myself. I’m better when we’re together.
Together.
I’ve been on my own for so long, I’m not even sure I can trust myself to be part of something bigger than myself. If it’s just me and I jack it up, then I don’t let anyone else down. The rub is, though, when you’re alone and you start to fall, there’s no one there to help hold you up either.
I’m tired of falling on my ass.
I just wanted to fall into Sloane’s embrace. It’s time I finally admit it.
I guess I’d also had to admit I wasn’t going to take the Jackals on my own.
I needed my team.
Time for a little humble pie.
I duck into the huddle.
“Okay, look. I know we all want to win this game.”
“Ain’t you a genius,” Dante snaps. “No concussions scrambling your brain.”
“Come on, Dante,” Pratt coaxes. “Ease off.”
“No, no, Aaron. Dante’s got a right to be pissed at me. I’ve been a fucking jackass all season. Especially at The Omnia. I can’t apologize enough. But, I’ll apologize three ways from Sunday if it helps us work together. As a team. You guys deserve better. I wanna give you better.”
The humility draws more than a few befuddled stares from my teammates. I press on.
“And I’m willing to give it to you. But, I can’t do it alone. If we’re together on this, we can drop kick the Jackals all the way back to Jersey.”
Forrester is the first to nod. It’s tentative, but I’ll take it. “What do you have in mind?”
“Can you trust me?” I ask.
About half the guys nod. Finally, Dante gives a slow bob of his huge head.
“Okay, then. Here’s the deal.”
I don’t call a play we know. Not from practice. Not from camp. Damn well not from the coach. I rely on old style football. Like when I first started playing ball. When I played simply for the love of the game and not to help hide a shameful existence.
I communicate with my boys and draw one up in the sand.
The huddle breaks.
As I approach the line, I take my pre-line reads. I notice Jersey is not showing blitz. They’re only rushing four. Two safeties deep. Zone coverage underneath. In shotgun, I call for the ball. My first read, the slant route, is well-defended. When I go to my second read, the outside rush is busting the corner.
Time to leave the pocket.
Knowing that my fourth read is sprinting up the same sideline I’m sprinting to, my third read will fill the void left from where that receiver ran. As I torque my body, I position myself for a throw down the sideline.
The ball travels forty yards in the air and lands in his Forrester’s grasp as the tight end slides out of bounds after both feet have touched down in bounds.
It’s a beautiful, legal completed catch!
Three seconds left on the clock. Suddenly, there’s a call for review. The officials, wanting to get the call on the field correct, review the play.
It’s not a long review.
Forrester, while going to the ground, juggled possession of the ball. The call is reversed. The pass is ruled incomplete.
It’s impossible to miss the collective looks of disappointment in the guys’ faces.
And the concern.
It’s almost as if the all expect a repeat performance of Omnia. Not going to happen.
Forrester jogs up to me. “Sorry, man. I kept my feet inbounds, but lost control of the ball.
“It’s okay. We went for it, and we came up short. But, the game’s not over yet. I’ve got my go to.”
Dante manages to crack a gleaming white grin contrasting across the dark ebony of his face. “Time to start prayin’!”
“Hail Mary,” Pratt voices.
“Yup,” I agree.
While a field goal would have cinched the game up nicely, for me the “hail mary” is my wheelhouse. As formations are set, there’s offense trips left, one right, and a running back in the backfield. The defense sets up with a three man rush, three centerfielders deep and the remaining man is in the mid-field area. Once the ball is snapped, I’m gonna need enough protection to allow for my receivers to be in the end zone area.
Now, it’s my turn to trust. The team – I steal a quick glance up at the owner’s box – and Sloane.
I roll a little toward the trips side, energize myself with forward steps and launch a high arching rainbow to the end zone. As the offense and defense converge under the flight of the ball, hands go up, leaps occur and the offense deflects the ball out of the pile and into the waiting arms of Pratt. The receiver secures the ball and rolls on the ground for a complete catch. Game over. The Cougars have earned a win...together.
The win feels euphoric, but win or lose, it didn’t matter. There was another “together” I wanted to make happen. My eyes flew up to the owners’ box.
Maybe it was time for another kind of “Hail Mary”.
Chapter 15
Sloane
I hadn’t prayed since high school. Not since St. Cecilia’s when Sister Mary Margaret busted me with a detention because I wore a red bra under my white Catholic school uniform shirt, and I was terrified Ma was gonna find out. But now? Today? The game had been so damned tight, so friggin’ close, it seemed almost appropriate.
The flutters in my belly, faint, but insistent, had seemed to agree.
Yep. This kid was definitely gonna be a football fan.
As I watched Lennox’s flawless grace as he sailed pass after pass down the field, that now-familiar warm rush permeated the desire center between my legs, the realization came.
I’m more than just beginning to become a fan, too.
Lennox had been worried. He’d told me as much. He and the guys hadn’t been gelling in practices and he hadn’t been certain if the pieces were going to come together for the game against the Jackals. But, from where I was sitting, something must have clicked on that field, because Lennox had called a radical, off-the-books play to march the team to a victorious, if anxious, touchdown...and the team had followed him without question. I wanted to follow him without question, too.
Maybe right down the aisle.
Only thing is, there is a question. And it’s a b
ig one.
How could I possibly tell him the truth?
I’d lose him.
My whole life, I’ve had a goal. A plan. A perfectly mapped out route from A to B. Somewhere along the way, though, I took a detour. A HUGE detour. The baby? Lennox? They are so far off the beaten path, I’m not certain I can ever find my way back to where I started from. Thing is, I’m not lost. It’s the first time I’ve been “home” since Ma died.
But, whatever feelings I have for him, however much I want to be with him, I’ve not been honest with Lennox and it’s creating a completely different kind of flutter in my gut. In fact, it’s not so much a flutter as it’s a churning, acidic burn.
Of course, that could just be the jalapeño nachos I had eaten during the third quarter.
An incredibly weak smile passes over my face. My mental attempt at levity falls horrendously flat. I feel like a complete and total heel.
I can’t do the story.
I know it means I will lose any possible chance of getting mom’s house back. And I didn’t know what that meant, what with the baby on the way. What I did know was mom would have been more upset if I lost my sense of honor than she ever would have been should I lose the house forever. So would Frank. Once Navy, always Navy. Honor was just part of the package.
“I raised you better than that, Slo-Poke.” I could hear Ma’s voice in my head.
She was right. And, of course I know it means I’ll lose the job with Thirty. Giselle expects a detailed, in-depth exposé. And, if I don’t produce one, she’s not going to give me another chance.
But, if I tell Lennox the truth, will he give me another chance?
Before I can give the thought much consideration, I receive a hearty clap on the back from Representative Daley. “Knew our boy would play ball.”
“That’s kind of his job, now, isn’t it, Congressman?” I comment.
“Of course! Of course! But, anyone with eyeballs would have been a little worried. There was a bit of concern, between me and the other owners, whether Lennox would get on board and ‘follow the playbook’, so to speak. After all, it’s all about winning, right? No matter what.”
