“Practice squad, huh? Well, I guess that makes a little sense. Who’d he play for?” John asked.
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. A practice squad is for a specific team?” Haven realized she really knew very little about professional football.
“Yes,” Hale said, entering the conversation. “And I don’t know why he was on a practice squad instead of playing. He’s really got the talent.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” John again leaned around his wife and daughter so he could see Hale. The two of them talked football stats for a moment, leaving Rachel and Haven to stare helplessly at each other before a group of dancing girls entered the arena.
Dressed in jean shorts and boots, the girls began a routine to a lively country tune. Haven had seen them do the dance before, but her parents’ eyes widened in shock when several of the die-hard male fans whipped off their shirts and swung them over their heads, whooping and cheering as the girls danced.
Haven laughed and pointed to two little boys who stood on their seats, waving their Tshirts over their heads, dancing along to the tune.
“That’s quite something,” Rachel said, trying not to look at a portly man nearby swinging his shirt and hips to the music.
“Quite,” Haven agreed, turning her head away. She much preferred to watch the drum line to this over-enthusiastic display.
The teams returned to the field and the third quarter began with Brody’s team making a fast touchdown.
By the middle of the fourth quarter, they were far ahead of their opponents. Haven watched as Brody jumped high in the air and caught a ball tossed his direction with such ease and grace, it made her hold her breath.
When he came down, his knee buckled beneath him as some huge oaf from the other team sailed into him, knocking him on his back.
“Something’s wrong with Brody.” Haven jumped to her feet.
Hale pulled her back down. “He’s fine. You know he gets tackled all the time.”
“I know, but I’m telling you something is wrong.” Haven felt near hysteria as she watched Brody lie motionless on the arena floor.
Finally, he got to his feet and leaned on the shoulder of a medic as he limped off the field.
“Let’s hear it for Brody ‘Jump It Up’ Jackson. His old knee injury looks like it just may have made an unwelcome reappearance,” the announcer boomed to the crowd.
“Knee injury? What knee injury?” Haven asked to no one in particular.
“He didn’t mention that before?” Hale glanced with concern at his sister. He knew she was in love with Brody and he was sure the football player felt the same about her. What the two of them were going to do when Brody left at the end of the season was anyone’s guess. Even he could tell there were deep feelings between the two.
Although Hale had talked about football with Brody on any number of occasions, he realized the man generally avoided discussing what happened between playing college ball and ending up in an arena league. Obviously, there was an injury he didn’t like to discuss.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Rachel said, squeezing Haven’s hand as the game continued.
“I hope so.” Haven wanted to run down to the locker room and see for herself if Brody was okay. Even if it was possible, she stayed in her seat, knowing he’d hate the intrusion.
Haven couldn’t have been more correct about Brody not wanting her to see him hurting.
As he sat with ice on his knee, Brody wished Haven and her family hadn’t even been at the game, watching him limp off like some decrepit old man.
“You should be fine with a day or two of rest,” the doctor said, probing Brody’s knee again. “Has it been bothering you?”
“No more than usual.” Frustrated that he had the old injury and angry that it had held him back from his dreams, Brody refused to let it get in the way now. Not when he was so close to getting back into the NFL.
“Just take it easy, keep it elevated and iced tomorrow. You’ll be ready for next week’s game.”
“Thanks, sir.” Brody heard the cheers of the crowd. The game had to be close to over. He wondered if Haven and her family would leave immediately or if she’d hang around, wanting to see him.
In no mood to be friendly or keep his longings for Haven in check, the best thing he could do was beg off seeing her for a few days.
The sounds of hurried footsteps along with the loud rumble of excited voices drew near as the team arrived in the locker room, pumped up from winning another game.
“Man, you missed out on a great final play,” one of his teammates said, thumping him on the back.
“Yeah, we were awesome, even without Jump It Up Jackson,’” Marcus teased. He knew Brody was mad and in pain. The combination of the two would make him short-tempered and anxious to be away from everyone. “Hang on a minute and I’ll help you get out of here.”
“Thanks, man, but I can take care of myself.” Brody stood and removed his uniform. Not bothering to shower, he dressed and limped out to his pickup before anyone could say anything further to infuriate him. He drove home, dragged himself up to his apartment, and collapsed on the couch.
He sent Haven a brief text, telling her he went home and he’d talk to her in a day or two.
He took a shower then dressed in a pair of shorts and shuffled to his kitchen, digging around in the freezer for an ice pack. Finally locating one, he limped to the couch and attempted to prop up his knee and place the ice pack on it. It slid off and Brody muttered darkly.
A knock at the door made his frown turn into a growl. Ignoring whoever was at the door, he put the ice back on his knee. When it again slid off to the floor again, he bit back a string of words his mother would slap him silly for thinking, let alone saying.
The knocking resumed.
“I’m not home. Go away,” he yelled, flopping back against the cushions with the ice pack still in his hand. If the pounding started on his door again, he might just throw the ice pack at it.
“If you’re not home, maybe you should lock your door.” Haven stuck her head around the edge of the door. She stared at Brody on the couch with the ice pack in his hand and his knee propped up. Resigned to help him, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
After setting a bag on the kitchen counter, she rearranged the pillows beneath Brody’s leg then retrieved a dishtowel from the kitchen and wrapped the ice pack in it before placing it on his knee.
“Better?” she asked, sinking down on the floor beside him.
Brody answered with a grunt, not quite ready to be civil, even to Haven. As much as it galled him to admit, his knee was more comfortable.
“So you’re going to do the whole mad and pouting thing, is that it?” She stood and went to the kitchen and came back with two glasses of water, setting them down on the side table by his head.
Haven returned to the kitchen and opened the bag she’d set on the counter. She divided the contents onto two plates and carried them to the living room. After sitting on the floor in front of the couch, she handed Brody one of the plates.
He stared at the sandwich, made just the way he liked from one of his favorite restaurants, and admitted he was hungry.
Haven watched him struggle to sit up. She went into what she assumed was his bedroom and returned with her arms full of pillows. She propped them behind Brody, allowing him to sit up while keeping his knee elevated.
“Thanks,” he said, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite.
“You’re welcome.” Haven was glad she’d braved the lion’s den.
Marcus caught her after the game while she waited for Brody to appear, letting her know he went home in a foul mood. When she asked Marcus what happened, he told her she needed to get the story from Brody, then wished her luck if she planned to go see him anytime soon.
She told Hale and her parents to have a good night, then drove to Brody’s favorite restaurant and ordered two sandwiches to go, making sure his was just the way he liked.
With a fortifying breath, she’d climbed the stairs to his apartment, hoping she did the right thing. When she heard him yell to go away, she almost turned around and left, but something in his voice, something that sounded wounded, made her stay.
She knew he needed help the moment she opened the door and saw him on the couch, attempting to ice his knee with it bent in an awkward position.
Making him more comfortable was simple enough. She just hoped he wasn’t in too much pain. Quietly eating her sandwich, she wondered what else she could do to help Brody.
“Are you going to be okay?” she finally asked then took his empty plate and hers to the kitchen. He drained the glass of water she’d set by him earlier. When he finished, she took the empty glass from him then ran her hand across his forehead, brushing back his hair. He grabbed her wrist in a firm yet gentle grip and stopped her.
“I’m fine,” he growled, letting her wrist go, settling into the pillows behind him.
“I’m pretty sure you aren’t fine. Even if your knee was fine, which it obviously isn’t, your attitude is definitely not fine. Or nice. Or even okay.” Haven placed her hands on her hips and gave him a long glare. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing you need to be concerned about.” Brody glared back at her. “I appreciate you coming over, but I can take care of myself. Why don’t you go home?”
“Is that what you really want? For me to go home?” Haven asked, fighting to keep her own temper in check.
“Yes,” Brody lied. What he wanted was for her to run her cool hands over his warm forehead again. He wanted to rest in the comfort of her tender embrace. He wanted to know that anytime he had a problem she would be there to help him through it.
However, what he wanted and what he could have were two completely different things, as far as he was concerned. “I know you’re trying to help, but I don’t need it and I don’t need you. Go home.”
Shock and anger blended with raw pain at his words. Haven hoped he would say he needed her, wanted her to stay, and appreciated her concern.
Instead, he’d made it clear he didn’t want her there. Didn’t want her at all.
As his eyes took on a cold gleam, she knew it was past time to go. Losing her bravado and unable to conceal her dejected feelings, she picked up her car keys and purse, taking a step toward the door.
“Sorry I bothered you,” she said, opening the door and closing it quietly behind her.
Brody felt like the world’s biggest jerk, but he knew he needed to let her go. He wasn’t fit company for her at that moment and having her there with him just felt too comfortable, too good, and way too right.
Chapter Sixteen
Wednesday morning found Haven still brooding over Brody’s behavior Saturday night.
He’d hurt her feelings and made her question how much he truly cared for her.
If she was smart, she’d use this little upset as an excuse to break things off with him before her heart became any more entwined with his.
For once in her life, though, Haven didn’t want to be smart. Or safe. Or cautious.
She wanted to love Brody with all the passion he aroused in her and not worry about what the consequences might bring.
Instead, she sat at her desk, trying to figure out if she’d misinterpreted his interest in her or if he truly just needed some space after being injured at the game.
She read the same report a third time, hoping to pay enough attention to retain some of the information.
A knock on her door drew her attention. She forced a smile and waved a welcoming hand to her assistant. “Come in, Jordan. What have you got there?”
“Some files Mr. Young wanted you to review. It’s a new account and he wanted you to share your thoughts on the notes he placed on the top page,” Jordan said, handing Haven a stack of folders.
“Great. I’ll get on these before lunch,” Haven said, lacking her usual enthusiasm.
“I’ll let Mr. Young know.” Jordan backed out the door. Haven seemed awfully quiet and subdued, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
Haven was finishing the last of her notes to send to Mr. Young when the man stopped by her office.
“Jordan said she gave you the files on the McClaskey account. Did you have a chance to review them?”
“I did, sir. I was just finishing up a report for you.” Haven printed her notes and handed the page to her boss, along with the stack of files.
“You okay, Haven? You’ve seemed kind of down in the dumps this week,” Mr. Young observed, standing in the doorway.
“I’m fine, but thank you for asking.” Haven made a mental note to do a better job of concealing her feelings.
“Anytime. If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know,” Mr. Young said before he disappeared down the hall.
Haven released another sigh and sat for a moment with her forehead resting against her palms when she heard a throat clear. She looked as the receptionist stood in the doorway.
“You’ve got a call on line two. He’s been on hold a while.”
“Did he give you a name?”
“I believe he said Brad Jackson?” The receptionist often failed to get the right name and the habit drove Haven crazy.
“Brody Jackson, perhaps?” Haven suggested with a note of annoyance in her voice. “Please tell him I’m unavailable.”
“But you…”
“I’m unavailable. I’m leaving for an appointment.” Haven jumped up and grabbed her purse. She shut the office door behind her and walked outside so fast, it left both the receptionist and Jordan gaping after her.
Upset, Haven drove home and didn’t bother to change before throwing herself down on her bed and allowing herself to have a good cry. She hadn’t done that in ages and once the tears subsided, she got up and washed her face with cool water. After changing into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, she called Allie and asked her to stop by after work, throwing in the added bribe of making her cousin’s favorite noodle and chicken casserole for dinner.
While she waited for Allie to arrive, Haven stared out the front window, lost in her thoughts.
A part of her wasn’t surprised Brody resorted to calling her at the office.
He hadn’t bothered to call or text her all day Sunday or Monday. By Tuesday morning, Haven wasn’t sure if she should be devastated or angry.
Tuesday afternoon, he sent her a text with a brief apology for his curt behavior. When she ignored it, he called her cell and left two messages that she also ignored. She’d barely arrived home from work that evening when she heard a knock on her door.
A glance out the peephole confirmed he stood on her doorstep, looking contrite, but she still wasn’t ready to talk to him. Not after he ignored her for two and a half days, kicking her out of his apartment when all she wanted to do was be a good friend.
Haven pretended she wasn’t home, tiptoed to her bedroom and shut the door, waiting for him to leave. She was glad she always locked the door behind her or he’d have no doubt walked inside and confronted her.
Her cell rang while he continued knocking, so she turned it off. He finally gave up and left, but not before she heard her nosy neighbor yelling at him to stop all the pounding when Haven clearly wasn’t answering.
She awoke that morning to two text messages and another voice message from Brody. Purposely ignoring them, as well as the three messages he left on her office phone throughout the day, she thought maybe he’d finally get it through his head she didn’t want to talk.
Her traitorous heart, though, longed to see him. To breathe in his enticing scent. To feel his arms around her, and his lips teasing hers.
Swiftly shutting down those thoughts, she smiled as Allie hurried across the parking lot to her apartment.
When she opened the door to her cousin and friend, she gave her a big hug and invited her in.
“What’s up? You hardly ever invite me over for dinner unless you’ve got something you want to talk about,” Allie said, in her normal blun
t fashion.
“Let’s eat first and then you can give me some advice.” Haven closed her front drapes, paranoid that Brody might try to peer inside, then escorted Allie into the kitchen.
They talked about family and upcoming activities while they ate. As they did the dishes, Allie shared something funny Rick had done that made them both laugh. After taking glasses of lemonade to the front room, they sat on the couch and Haven released a sigh.
“I know you’ve said it before, but I’ll admit I’m completely hopeless and clueless when it comes to men,” Haven said, trying to keep her tone light although tears stung her eyes.
“It’s beyond my ability to comprehend how a girl with three older brothers and many obnoxious male cousins has no idea how men think, act, or operate, girl. It’s just not right,” Allie teased. The look on Haven’s face made her reach out and grasp her cousin’s cool hand in hers. “What did Brody do?”
“What makes you think Brody did anything?” Haven pulled her hand out of Allie’s grasp and cuddled a pillow to her chest, leaning back into the couch cushions.
“For starters, Aunt Rachel told Mom that you didn’t want to go out to the farm Sunday afternoon because you had some flimsy excuse about having stuff to catch up on for work. You haven’t called me since Saturday afternoon and we usually talk at least once a day or text. Hale said you nearly took his head off when he stopped by Monday and I know for a fact you’ve been crying because your eyes were still all red when you answered the door,” Allie said, listing the reasons for her accurate assumption. “The only person I can think of who could upset you that much is Brody. I say that only because any moron can see you’re totally gone for the hunky football hottie.”
Haven was reminded, once again, she had no talent for hiding her feelings. None whatsoever.
“Spill. What did he do that’s got you so worked up?” Allie looked concerned. “You didn’t catch him with one of his adoring fan club who hang around after the game, did you?”
“No! It’s nothing like that. It’s just…” Haven tried to find the words to express her feelings.
Love at the 20-Yard Line Page 17
