Next Man Up (Making the Score Football Romance Book 2)

by Tawdra Kandle

  “Way to go, Mrs. R. Making him work for it.”

  “Please call me Carrie, Gia. You’re old enough and you’ve known me long enough. But yeah, I did make him work for it. I actually made him sit outside in the hallway while I went into my room. Then I told him he could talk, but he wasn’t come inside until I was ready. So he had to pour out his heart with everybody who lived on my floor listening in.”

  “Aw, poor Daddy.” Quinn’s lower lip jutted out. “You were mean to him.”

  “He had it coming,” Carrie returned stoutly. “I did forgive him. After a week of letting him twist in the wind, that is.”

  “Why did he ghost you in the first place?” I had a hunch I knew, but I wanted to hear it.

  “He’d gotten scared. He’d never really had a serious girlfriend, and all of a sudden, I guess, he started thinking too far into the future. He assumed I was going to want things like a lifetime commitment right away, even though I’d never done anything to make him believe that. I thought he was a nice guy and we were just having fun. He’d talked himself into a panic, and like a lot of guys, once he panicked, he ran.”

  “It’s not only guys who do that,” I murmured softly, but Quinn heard me.

  “Is that why you and Tuck aren’t talking to each other, Zelda? Are you panicking and running?”

  I lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. It’s possible. Let’s just say it’s easier to shove some problems into a dark corner than it is to actually deal with them.”

  Gia nodded. “I get that. From where I stand, I can’t imagine having feelings again. I don’t ever want to put myself into a position where a man could destroy me the way Matt did. It’s too painful. Too . . . devastating.”

  We were all silent for a few seconds. Here we were, four women who were all suffering loss and heartache in one form or another. Quinn’s father, Bill, had been dead for over four years, but I knew Carrie still grieved his loss. Quinn herself was reeling both from Nate’s death and the uncertainty of her future with Leo. Gia was just barely existing in the hole that she’d dug herself in the wake of Matt’s inflicted hurts and suicide.

  And then there was me, who’d intentionally chosen the pain.

  “The thing is, though . . .” Carrie spoke slowly, as though she was feeling her way through the words. “I think protecting ourselves from the hurt is the wrong move. If we’ve known love, real love, then we’re hardwired to seek it out again, even if our instinct is to shy away from a possible repeat of the pain. If we ignore that, it chips away at our souls.” She reached for Quinn and drew her close, glancing at Gia and me. “You’re all too young to give up yet. I promise, it gets better. You’ve had some shitty years, all three of you. But please, trust me. Life can still be good. And you’ll find the way again.”

  Quinn sniffled against her mom’s shoulder, and Gia refilled her wine glass again. I cleared my throat. “I think we need to move on from the chick flick and maudlin movies. How about we turn on The Avengers so we can watch some strong women kick ass for a little while?”

  There was a chorus of agreement on that subject, and I’d just begun queuing up the movie when my phone rang. I glanced down at the screen, my heart flipping over when I saw Eli’s name on the caller ID.

  He hadn’t called me since the night we’d fought, and deep down, I knew it was because he was respecting the time and space I’d said I needed. But tonight, he was out with Leo, and what if something terrible had happened? What if he was stranded somewhere, stuck in a bar, and needed a ride?

  “I’m sorry. I really need to take this.” I stood up. “Go ahead and start the movie. I’ll be right back.”

  I hit the accept button on my phone, and grabbing my coat from the hallway, I stepped out into the clear, cold night.

  “Eli? Is that you? What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong. What’s wrong? Everything.” I heard his voice, and relief flowed through me. He was okay. At least he was okay enough to talk—although judging by the slur, he was drunk. At least, I assumed that he was—I realized suddenly that I’d never really known Eli to get completely wasted.

  “Where are you? Do you need help? Do you need a ride home?” I might not be happy about it, but no way was I going to leave him drunk and abandoned somewhere. “Where’s Leo?”

  “Leo’s right here. He and I are buds now. We’re brokenhearted buds, Zel. It’s sad. Leo wants Quinn, but Nate told him he needed to wait. Nate made him promise that he’d let Quinn grow and heal and some shit like that.”

  “Uh huh. Eli, why did you call me? If you’re not hurt or in trouble, I’m going to hang up now and let you go be drunk.”

  “No! Wait, Zel. Babe, please don’t hang up. Please don’t. Please, baby.”

  I wavered, swallowing over a lump in my throat at the pain in his voice. “I’m here.”

  “Zelda . . . I need to tell you. I never said it, but you know, I didn’t even realize that until tonight. I thought I did. I thought I told you every single day. I thought you could feel it when I touched you, or hear it when I said your name or see it when I looked at you. I didn’t know, babe. But Zel, God, you have to hear this. I love you. I love you more than anyone or anything in my life. I love you so much that not having you with me is ripping out my heart. I love you so much that if someone told me I had the choice between being to walk again or having you back, I’d choose you every single fucking time. I wouldn’t even hesitate, babe. I love you so much.”

  I pressed my hand to my face, absently shocked to realize that my cheeks were wet with tears. “Eli, stop. You have to stop. Please.”

  “No, I don’t want to stop until you hear me. Do you hear me, Zel? Do you really hear me?” He half-sobbed the last question.

  “I do. I hear you. But . . . Eli, this isn’t you. This isn’t about anything you’ve done wrong. Please know that. This is me. It’s always me. I’m—there’s something messed up and wrong in me. Please don’t torture yourself like this. You didn’t do anything. I’m sorry. I’m not—I’m just sorry.” Madly, I wiped my cheeks. “I can’t do this now. If you’re all right, if Leo’s still with you—then I need to go.”

  “Zel, please tell me you won’t give up. Tell me you’ll come back.”

  I was shaking now. “I can’t promise you anything, Eli.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I can. I can promise you everything and anything, babe. I’m not giving up. I’ll keep believing for both of us. You—no matter what, I’m not giving up. I’m not quitting on us. I’ll wait forever.”

  I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t tell him to keep believing, but neither could I find it in me to tell him to stop. Instead, I gripped the phone and whispered to him the only thing I could.

  “Goodbye, Eli.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tuck

  It’s funny the way life goes on, even when you’re not entirely sure how it does.

  Or even why.

  That winter was cold and snowy, but even so, eventually it gave way to spring. I’d managed to find a place to live before our winter break had ended; I was renting a duplex only a couple of blocks from the school, and since one of my fellow teachers passed by my house each day on his way to work, he’d offered to drive me whenever the weather was bad—which happened a lot over that winter.

  But when it was sunny, I liked being able to roll my way down the sidewalk to school. By May, I’d fallen into a routine, where I waved to everyone I passed daily—the crossing guards, the mail carrier and the moms and dads on their way to drop their kids off for another day of education. For the first time in a while, I felt as though I was part of something again.

  But as much as I loved my new home, my independence and my community, there was still an underlying sense of discontent. I liked my job; it had been the perfect way to transition from college into real life, but I wasn’t sure this was what I wanted to do on a long-term basis. The kids were great, but I was restless. I wanted more.

  It was that yearning that led me to decide
to go back to school for my masters degree. Fifth graders were awesome, but I had a hunch that my gifts lay with working with older kids—maybe even teaching college.

  That was the first step in the right direction, I decided. I wanted my real life to begin, and I was tired of waiting.

  It didn’t take a degree in psychology to know that a huge part of my impatience with life in general had to do with Zelda. I missed with her an ache that never let up, that never left me. I hadn’t seen her since Nate’s funeral, and I hadn’t spoken with her since my drunken pouring out that same night. But nothing had changed; I still loved her, I still wanted her, and I still knew that missing her was like missing an essential part of me. It was the same sense of loss I’d experienced after my injury, only I’d gotten used to not being to walk. I was never going to get over the absence of Zelda Porter in my life.

  It didn’t help that it seemed everyone wanted to force me to move on. Even the other teachers at my school were hell-bent on fixing me up—with their friends, their daughters or with that cute art teacher who’d just taken over for the retiring Mrs. Shea.

  “But have you really looked at her, Tuck?” Ms. Hunter pressed me as we sat together in the teachers’ lounge. “She’s so adorable. She’s got the prettiest smile. And she’s so nice! And great with the kids.”

  “Yeah, she seems like good people.” I ripped open a bag of potato chips and stuffed a handful into my mouth. I had a parent meeting scheduled for about ten minutes from now, and I needed to eat something before it began.

  “So just ask her out for coffee. That’s what you young people do today, isn’t it? You start with coffee, and then you work your way up to a real meal. I bet she’d love that.”

  “Ms. Hunter . . .”

  “Tuck, I told you. Call me Lois.”

  I held back a wince. Ms. Hunter was the oldest teacher at the school. She’d gotten around retirement requirements by transition from a full-time employee to a permanent substitute; she’d worked here since she’d started out, fresh from college, and she had no intention of leaving any time soon. I couldn’t make myself call her Lois.

  “Uh, anyway, I’m not looking for a girlfriend or even a date.”

  “How about a boyfriend? I heard the new PE teacher over at Marion Johnson might be your type.” She quirked an eyebrow my way.

  I shook my head. “Sorry, still not interested. But thanks for caring, Ms—uh, thanks for the thought.” I crumpled up the empty chip bag and tossed it into the trash can. “I need to go. Got a parent meeting.”

  “Think about it, Tuck!” Ms. Hunter called after me. “Remember what I said! Ask her for coffee!”

  Rolling my eyes now that she couldn’t see me, I hustled down the hall to my classroom. This was part of the job I really didn’t like most of the time. Parents of my students wanted to hear that their kids were amazing, gifted and special. They wanted to hear raves. If I could give them those, I did. But it didn’t work out all the time; I wanted my students to be the best they could be, and offering up platitudes and false praise to the parents didn’t always help me meet that goal.

  But today’s meeting promised to be one of the better ones. Ally Beckworth was a good kid, smart and motivated; she’d moved to Eatonboro about mid-way through the school year, but she’d made a smooth transition. Although I’d only met her mom a couple of times, I got the feeling that Ally had a good, supportive home life. Talking with parents who were invested in doing whatever they could for their kids was something I enjoyed.

  “Mr. . . . Tucker?” The man who stuck his head into the door of my classroom wasn’t the person I expected. He was tall and built like a tank, and he wore a black T-shirt emblazoned with the words BIRCH COLLEGE FOOTBALL.

  “Yes.” I wheeled back a little from my desk. “Mr. Beckworth?”

  “Yeah, that’s me.” He came in and glanced around the classroom dubiously at the fifth-grade sized chairs.

  “There’s a chair right in the corner, if you don’t mind dragging it over.” I pointed to it. “Sorry about that.”

  “Not a problem.” He lifted the chair easily and set it across the desk from me. His forehead knit together as he looked at me. “Have we met before?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think so. Your wife’s been in for a couple of our classroom parties, but I don’t think you and I have crossed paths yet.” I flipped open a folder on my desk. “But I have to tell you, your daughter is a pleasure to have in the classroom. She’s bright, happy and well-behaved. She gets along with the other kids. We’re glad to have her here.”

  “Good to hear,” Mr. Beckworth responded. “I know these transitions can be tough. Moving Ally when we did wasn’t a choice we made lightly, but we felt like it was the right move for our family.”

  “You came from Ohio, didn’t you?” I remembered Ally talking about her previous school.

  “Yeah. I was an assistant coach at Cromwell. It’s a small college near Dayton. But when Birch offered me the position of head coach here, I couldn’t turn it down. It’s kind of a dream job.”

  “I can imagine. And Birch can definitely use some strong leadership when it comes to the football team.”

  Mr. Beckworth frowned at me. “I’m going to be a rude son-of-a-bitch and ask you something personal. Have you always been in that chair?”

  I shook my head. “It’s not rude. I appreciate an honest question. I had a friend once who always said that filters were a waste of time.” I thought about Nate, as I often did, and smiled. “To answer your question, no. I had an injury about six years ago that left my legs paralyzed.”

  “That’s it!” Mr. Beckworth snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “That’s where I know you from. You played for . . . God, who was it? A local high school, right? Quarterback. You had some talent, boy. And all the moves. We were looking at you back then. I was involved in recruiting, and you were on our list. When we found out you’d been hurt—all of us were disappointed.”

  My football playing years seemed like a lifetime ago, but as Mr. Beckworth spoke, I remembered those days as though I was in the midst of them still. I’d had some high hopes, and tied up in those were the schools I knew were going to compete to offer me scholarships and incentives to play for them. All of those calls had vanished when my back had broken.

  “Are you still involved in the game at all?” He leaned back, crossing his arms.

  “Uh, no.” I grimaced. “A little hard to be involved when you’re on wheels. I mean, I still watch, but I haven’t done anything else.”

  “Hmmmm.” Beckworth stared at me. “Have you thought about it? Have you ever considered coaching?”

  I shifted in my chair. “Not really. I didn’t think it was an option.”

  “What if it was?” He smiled a little. “What if you could be back in the game? What if your years of experience had the power to make a real difference?”

  A fissure of excitement ran up my body. It had occurred to me before that maybe football was one of the things my life had been missing, but I’d never thought I could have that life again. “Do you mean, like, kids? A peewee team, or maybe helping out at the high school?”

  “I was thinking more of an assistant position with an up-and-coming college team.” His eyes held mine. “I know it’s a little unorthodox, but right now, we’re trying to think outside the box.”

  My head spun a little. “Okay.”

  “Here’s the thing.” Beckworth hunched forward, leaning his forearms on the edge of my desk. “This isn’t widely known, but the reason I was recruited to this job at Birch is because the team has issues. Problems that go beyond the field. Behavior, academic, social . . . you name it. Basically, the team is a bunch of assholes.”

  I couldn’t help smiling at his blunt language. Nate would’ve loved this guy. “I have some experience with that. I knew some of the players when I did my undergraduate work there.”

  “Okay, then. So what the other members of the coaching staff and I have been doing is working not
only to field the best damn football team we can, but to make sure that off the gridiron, they’re just as passionate and focused. We don’t need the assholes anymore. They can stay the hell at home. We want well-rounded men, ones who will get featured on College Gameday for community service, not for legal troubles. You get it?”

  “I do.” I nodded. “So where do I fit into this plan?”

  “Two things. First of all, you have the experience to coach these guys. I saw your moves back in the day, and I heard things. Your high school coach talked you up, and I got the feeling he was being real. I remember this—he said you were an intuitive player, but that you understood the mechanics of football more than any other high school kid he’d ever coached. That was one of the reasons you were so appealing to us. You’d be an asset to the coaching staff from that vantage point alone.”

  “And the second?” I cocked my head.

  Beckworth gave a little cough, and I sensed he might be embarrassed by what he was about to say. “The team needs heart, and I think you could be part of that. They need to see that there is worth to life outside four quarters of football. They need an example of a man who doesn’t give up. They need a coach who sees the big picture. I’d like to discuss this and find out if that could be you.”

  “I . . .” I rubbed my jaw. “The thing is, I’ve been thinking I needed a change. I was starting to look for something outside elementary education—I’m beginning my graduate work this summer at Birch. So having a job on campus would be perfect.”

  Mr. Beckworth grinned. “Son, I am a big believer in the universe figuring things out when we least expect it.” He pulled out his wallet and handed me a card. “This is my contact info. Let’s plan to meet this week and see if we can’t figure out something that works for all of us.”

  I blew a silent whistle. “This week? You don’t let any grass grow, do you?”