Down By Contact: A Making the Score Football Romance

by Tawdra Kandle

“Absolutely,” he answered without hesitation. “My degree is in elementary education, with a concentration in physical education and coaching. I want to be a gym teacher and coach young kids.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me at all. I can totally see you doing that.” I could, too. Tate had so much patience and gentle humor that I knew he’d be an amazing teacher.

  He smiled at me, but there was something in his eyes, something more than just appreciation and agreement. If I’d been another girl, in another kind of relationship, I might have said I saw promise and the future there, but that wasn’t a possibility with someone like me.

  “Here we are.” Tate pulled into the driveway of a pretty blue bungalow with a lovely front yard. The grass was neatly mown, and a row of tulips bordered the porch, while daffodils lined the walk from the driveway to the house. I loved spring flowers, and seeing these, along with the hedge of forsythia bushes that marked the property from its neighbor, made me happy.

  “It’s so nice.” I couldn’t help blurting out my first impression as I climbed out of the car.

  Tate laughed. “Were you expecting something else, with two guys living here for the past twenty-five years?”

  “No.” Yes. “I actually didn’t know what to expect. But it really is lovely.”

  “Pops does all the yard work, even though I offer to hire someone to take care of it every year. He also mows the next-door neighbors’ lawn, because he says that dude’s too old to do it himself.” He paused. “He’s six years older than Pops.”

  I laughed. “But it’s great that he stills feels well enough to take care of the house himself. It probably keeps him young, to be so active.”

  “Yeah, it’s good, most of the time. But I still worry about him.” Tate stood aside to let me climb the porch steps ahead of him. The minute my foot hit the porch, the front door opened.

  “And how many times do I tell you that it’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around?” A voice boomed out, making me jump.

  “All the time, Pops. Still not going to make me stop.” Tate wrapped the older man in a bear hug, as though he hadn’t seen him just this morning. Pops clapped him on the back and stepped back to give me the once-over.

  “Gia, this is my grandfather. Pops, this is Gia.” Tate had told me that old-fashioned manners were one of many things Pops had drummed into him over the years, so I wasn’t surprised by the careful introduction.

  “It’s a real pleasure, Gia.” He shook my hand, executing a half-bow.

  “I’m really glad to meet you, too, Mr. Durham.” I smiled and hoped that he couldn’t detect my nerves.

  “Please, call me John. Or Pops, if you want—whatever makes you comfortable. I know I’m old as dirt, as some people try to remind me all the time—” He cast Tate a fierce glare. “But I still look around for my dad or my granddad when someone calls me Mr. Durham.”

  “Okay,” I acquiesced. “Thank you for inviting me over today.”

  “Hey, I’m just glad you’re here.” He grinned at me. “I was starting to think Tate had an imaginary friend. The way he talks about you, I thought you couldn’t possibly be real. But now that I see you, it seems the boy wasn’t exaggerating.”

  I felt my face grow warm, and I glanced at Tate, to see if he was similarly embarrassed. But true to form, he didn’t seem to be at all thrown by his grandfather’s teasing.

  “I told you she was gorgeous, Pops. But wait’ll you get to know Gia—you’ll figure out her real charm. She’s a feisty broad.”

  “Nice, Tate.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t pay any attention to him. I’ve decided he’s slightly crazy.”

  “If he’s got you fooled into believing it’s only a slight case of crazy, then he’s doing better than I’d given him credit for.” Pops winked at me. “Come on in, both of you. I hope you’re hungry. I made us my famous fried chicken, mustard greens and baked potatoes.”

  When Tate had talked about growing up with his grandfather, I’d pictured a typical grandparents-type house, a place that was sort of dated and . . . well, old. And considering this particular home had been occupied by two single men for a long time, I’d also expected it to be vaguely utilitarian. But this house was nothing like that. It was neat and charming, but there was also a certain style to it. I noticed antique maps, framed and hung in groupings on the walls, several shelves filled with a wide variety of books, and beautiful pieces of pottery arranged on tables.

  “Your house is kind of awesome.” I smiled at Tate as we followed Pops into the kitchen. “You and your grandfather have good taste—and an eye for style, too.”

  “Thanks,” Pops answered for him. “I can’t take credit for all of it, though. My wife gave this place its basic structure and form. I’ve just been following her guidelines for the past thirty years.”

  “She must’ve been a wonderful woman.” I picked up a framed picture that I assumed was the late Mrs. Durham. She was smiling, and the green eyes that seemed to twinkle from the photograph told me where Tate had gotten his eye color.

  “She was.” Pops sounded gruff as he bent to open the oven. “Best damned thing that ever happened to me. She took a chance on a skinny Army private who didn’t have two cents to rub together, and she stuck with me through everything.” He heaved a sigh and set a platter of chicken down on the table. “Worst day of my life was when she left me. I don’t think I started living again until this kid came along.”

  “Aww, Pops, don’t get all sloppy and sentimental.” Tate patted his grandfather’s back. “At least not until we’ve eaten. Nobody likes cold food.”

  “Nobody except you, boy. I’ve never seen anyone eat the way you can, and I’ve never seen you discriminate against food because of its temperature.”

  “Ha!” I poked Tate in the side. “See that. I’m not the only one who’s amazed by your appetite.”

  “And I keep telling you, I work it off. My metabolism is crazy fast.” He scowled at me. “You know, if I’d realized you two were going to gang up on me, I wouldn’t have brought you over.”

  “Too late!” I sang. “Mr.—uh, Pops, is there anything I can do to help you?”

  “Not a thing. Just sit down there at the table, and my grandson will get you something to drink.” He shot Tate a meaningful glance. “Offer the lady some refreshment, son.”

  Tate shook his head, but I could tell that he was pleased by the banter between his grandfather and me.

  “Yes, sir!” He snapped a salute. “I live to serve.”

  Lunch was just as delicious as it had looked, and I ate more than I’d planned. Pops beamed every time I took another helping. Tate pretended to be embarrassed by all the stories his grandfather told about him growing up, but I knew he was enjoying himself immensely.

  When Pops stood up to clear the table, I reached out to touch his sleeve. “Please, can I handle the clean up?” I tossed Tate a glance. “That’s the deal I’ve struck with your grandson. He cooks, I clean.”

  The older man hesitated. “But you’re a guest. You shouldn’t have to sing for your supper.”

  I laughed as I stood up. “And I promise I won’t, because I have a truly awful singing voice. Like, dogs howl and cats cringe level of horrible. But I can deal with washing dishes and putting away the left-overs.”

  “I’ll help.” Tate rose, too. “Pops, why don’t you just sit back for once? You can entertain us with some more stories about what a truly remarkable child I was.”

  Pops grinned, and I caught mischief in his eye as I began to rinse off dishes. “How about the time you had the crush on your fifth-grade teacher, and you made her that carving of a heart? With your initials on it?”

  Tate groaned. “Oh, I was hoping you’d forgotten about that one. Yeah, that might qualify as the most mortifying episode of my young life. Ms. Somers really did break my poor heart.” He paused by where I’d been sitting, my plate in his hand, glancing down at where my phone lay on the corner of the table. “Gia, you just got a text message.”
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  I glanced over my shoulder. “Oh, can you check it, please? Zelda was supposed to text me at some point today about her plans for flying to California. It’s probably her.” Aside from Tate, Quinn and Zelda were the only people I could think of who might be messaging me.

  “Uh, no.” Tate’s voice sounded odd, and I frowned. “It’s from your mother. Or at least, I assume it is, since you have the name Birth Giver attached to this number.”

  “Ugh.” It was my turn to groan. “What does she want?”

  “I think maybe she sent it to the wrong person. She says, Virginia, you might give me call and let me know you’re still alive, since you haven’t responded to my message from last weekend. Your sister wants to know if you’re coming to Lucie’s birthday party.”

  I sighed, leaning against the counter. “No, that’s me. I mean, the message is meant for me. My niece Lucie turns eight in two weeks, and my mom and sister are throwing an extravaganza to celebrate.”

  “Okay, but who’s Virginia?” Tate still looked puzzled.

  I pointed to my chest. “Virginia is me. That’s my real name. But my next-oldest sister couldn’t pronounce that when I was born, so she used to say Gia, and my dad thought it was charming. My mom did, too, until she decided anything my father liked, she had to hate. So since the divorce, she calls me Virginia, and he calls me Gia. My sisters and the rest of the family swing one way or the other, depending on which parent happens to be present.”

  “Wow. Virginia.” Tate studied me as though we’d just met. “Seriously? I can’t picture you as anything but Gia.”

  “Thanks. I feel more like a Gia most days, too.” I went back to washing dishes.

  “What’s your middle name?” Tate dumped silverware into the soapy water.

  “Ellen, for my great aunt.” I scrubbed at some forks. “What about you?” I smiled at Pops, trying to draw him back into this conversation. “How did you get the name Tate, anyway? It’s fairly unusual.”

  “Tate was my Bonnie’s maiden name.” Pops cleared his throat. “When my son and his girlfriend showed up with this squalling infant in tow, he wasn’t a week old yet and didn’t even have a name. My son told me that they didn’t want to get too attached, when they knew they were both so sick. Addiction . . .” He shook his head. “If the baby had been a girl, I’d have named her for Bonnie, of course, but since he was a boy, that seemed cruel.”

  “Thanks for that,” Tate said dryly.

  His grandfather ignored the interruption. “I went with Tate for a first name and Andrew after my own father for a middle name. So far, he’s served it well.”

  “I like it.” I dried my hands and turned around, folding my arms over my chest. “It’s very distinguished, and it’s a family name, too. That’s cool.”

  “Glad you approve.” Tate stretched the dish towel he’d been using to dry the dishes and flicked me on the ass.

  I turned wide and astonished eyes on him. “Tate! Behave yourself. Show some respect. We’re in your grandfather’s kitchen, for cripes sake.”

  Pops chuckled. “I apologize, Gia. He’s a good boy, most of the time, but even the best ones can be handfuls now and then.” He slapped the edge of the table. “Now, how about some dessert? I can whip us up something quick. I would’ve done it earlier, but I wasn’t sure what we might want.”

  “I could go for some ice cream.” Tate arranged the towel over the drying rack. “Gia, how about you and I run over to the grocery store and pick up a gallon or two? Then we’ll head back to the city after that.”

  I nodded. “Sure. I’m not in any rush. What girl surrounded by two handsome men would want to get away too quickly?”

  Pops slapped Tate on the back. “This is a woman with excellent taste, boy. Don’t let her get away.”

  “You’re only saying that because she’s sweet-talking you,” retorted Tate. “Don’t get used to it. We’ll be back in ten minutes with the ice cream.”

  The nearest grocery store was only a few minutes away, but Tate and I stood in the frozen foods aisle for longer than that, arguing over flavors.

  “I don’t want mint chocolate chip if it isn’t green,” I told him, hands on my hips.

  “Then let’s not get mint chocolate chip. Let’s get butter pecan. It’s more natural. It’s practically health food.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s ridiculous. It’s the most boring—” I broke off mid-sentence as an older woman wandered down the row, pushing a basket. “Oh, my God.”

  Tate frowned down at me. “What? Did you see something else you’d rather have?” He followed the direction of my gaze. “Is that . . .”

  I wanted to run and hide, to escape the store before she caught sight of me. But it was too late. She’d seen me, and now she stared at us, a faint line between her eyes.

  “Hello . . . dear.” She blinked, and in that moment, I realized that she’d forgotten my name.

  “Hi, Mrs. Lampert.” I reached around Tate to extend my hand toward Matt’s grandmother. “How are you doing?”

  “Oh, I’m well, thanks. How are you?” She leaned forward a little, peering into my face. “Are you still at school? I’m sorry, I can never keep track of these things.”

  I shook my head. “No, I graduated last year.” The same time your grandson was supposed to graduate, I wanted to add, but I didn’t, out of respect for her feelings.

  “That’s right. Well, are you living nearby?” Her eyes flickered to Tate.

  “No, I have an apartment in the city. I’m just here with my friend Tate, visiting family.” I remembered too late that I hadn’t introduced the man who was standing awkwardly next to me. “I’m sorry. Mrs. Lampert, this is my friend, Tate Durham. He played football with Matt at Carolina. Tate, this is Mrs. Lampert, Matt’s grandmother.”

  “It’s good to see you again, ma’am.” His voice was filled with gentle respect. “You probably don’t remember, but I was at Matt’s service last year. I hope you and Mr. Lampert are doing okay, all things considered.”

  She stared at him, frowning a moment before she answered. “Oh, yes, we’re, uh, we’re getting by. We keep busy, you know. That helps. There’s nothing to be gained by sitting around moping, you know? We have our work, and we’re pleased that we can help others through it.”

  “Sure.” Tate nodded, but I didn’t miss the way his fingers tightened on the handle of the small shopping basket he held.

  “Well, it was lovely seeing you again, dear.” Mrs. Lampert aimed a bright smile my way. “Good luck in—well, in everything. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

  With a quick wave, she was gone, walking away as fast as her practical and stylish heels would let her move. Once she’d disappeared around the corner, I wilted, half-collapsing against the glass doors of the ice cream case.

  “Are you okay?” Tate slid his arm around my shoulders, protecting my back. “That was . . . it couldn’t have been easy for you. When did you see her last?”

  I shrugged. “At Matt’s funeral—or maybe at the repast afterwards. But I don’t really remember any of that.” I paused, thinking of the blurred day we’d buried my boyfriend. “She didn’t remember my name. Did you catch that? She knew who I was—sort of. But if we’d pressed her, she probably wouldn’t have been able to tell you a single thing about me. Matt never told his grandparents anything, and even if he had, I don’t think they cared to pay attention. More than likely, she figures I was just another one of her grandson’s hook-ups—and maybe she’s right.”

  “Gia.” Tate’s fingers caressed my upper arm. “That’s not true. This isn’t about anything you did or didn’t do—it’s her, and it’s Matt. It was their failing, both of them. Don’t take this on yourself.”

  I sniffed. “Easier to say it than to do it. I don’t know if I’m angrier at her for not caring enough about her grandson to know who he was with or at myself for still letting it matter to me.”

  “Let’s choose her. I know there’s nothing to be gained by holding a grudge on
behalf of a dead person, but if we have to put blame somewhere, it seems to me that Matt’s grandparents hold the lion’s share here.”

  “I’d have to agree.” I drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m okay. We can go now.”

  “No, not yet.” Tate eased me away from the freezer case and opened the door, letting out a blast of icy air that made me shiver. “Not before we get some green mint chocolate chip, some butter pecan and some fudge ripple.”

  “Three gallons?” I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Really.” Tate stacked the cartons on one arm. “Because you like the mint, I like the butter pecan, and Pops loves fudge ripple. Everyone wins today.”

  We paid for our ice cream and walked out to Tate’s car in silence. He held my door for me as he always did, but when he bent down to set the bag at my feet, he laid one hand on my shoulder and gave a brief squeeze. I knew it was meant as comfort, but his touch was so much more to me now, and I felt it down to my toes—and a lot of other places, as well.

  Driving back to Pops’ house, I thought about the differences between Tate’s grandfather and the two people who had raised Matt.

  “I really like Pops.” I hadn’t planned to speak aloud, but when Tate flashed me a bright smile filled with appreciation, I was glad that I had.

  “He’s pretty cool,” he agreed. “And when I meet someone like Mrs. Lampert, it makes me appreciate him even more. When he took me on, he didn’t just do the bare minimum, you know? He took on the raising of me, and he didn’t ever step back.” With a quick shake of his head, he added, “Still hasn’t, as you can see. He lets me be who I am, but he’s still involved. That’s another reason I’m glad to be down here in Philly, so he can come to my games this year.”

  “Can I come to one of your games?” I hadn’t thought about it before now, but the idea of seeing Tate suited up, playing on that bright green field, stirred something in me that hadn’t moved in a very long time.

  Tate glanced at me in surprise. “Uh, yeah, you can. You can come to every single one. I’ll make sure you have a designated seat, and I’ll even set you up with a ride to the stadium for all the home games. I never thought you’d want to be there.”