by V. Vaughn
Shifters are designed to heal themselves, and my bear is more stubborn than most. Everything the doctor has tried to do with surgery, my bear undoes. It’s not a conscious act. It’s just the way we’re made. But we’ve tricked my body before. “You sure? You know I’ll try anything.”
“I’m sure, Alec.”
That means it’s up to me to heal this myself, even if it takes longer than usual this time. “So, I’m out for the rest of the season. Is that what you’re telling me?”
My guts are roiling—football is my life. I can’t imagine not playing for any amount of time, let alone a whole season. In the past five years that I’ve played professional football, I haven’t missed one game, and I’ve started as quarterback for the majority of those. I’m not bragging when I say that my team needs me.
“I’m sorry, Alec, it’s not just this season. You haven’t made any progress on repairing the ligament this time. I think your body is telling us you’re done. I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to play ever again.”
What? I stare at him for a moment and then blink, pretty sure I’m hearing things. He can’t possibly have said what I think he said. I shake my head to the right and then the left, as if to clear water from my ears. “I don’t think I heard you right, Doc.”
“If you continue to push your knee the way you have, you risk losing the ability to walk, let alone to play touch football with your kids one day.” He gives me a look of pity, which makes my gut churn even more. I don’t get looks of pity, ever, and I don’t want to start now. “I wish I had better news for you, Alec, I really do.” He breaks into a wry smile. “I’ll miss watching you play. You’re one hell of a quarterback.”
I stare in disbelief. My mouth’s gone dry, and the stubble on my chin scratches at my hand as I rub it and let his words sink in. “No. I don’t accept that.” I search my mind for a solution he may not have thought of. “What about a knee transplant from another shifter? Some guy who’s never injured it.” I chuckle. “It’d give me nine more lives.”
He scowls at me, and I throw out whatever else comes to my mind. “Physio. Acupuncture. Witchcraft? There’s got to be something, Doc.” I know I’m grasping at straws as my mind tries to comprehend my new reality.
He shakes his head as that damn pity I saw earlier returns.
My bear rumbles in my chest, and I jump to my feet. Every muscle I have is flexed with the urge to shift. I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly to tamp my bear down and force my body to relax. “There has to be something you’ve haven’t thought of.”
The doctor sighs and rests his hands in his lap as he gazes up at me. I fleetingly think that this part of his job must suck. “You know if there was that I’d be willing to do it. And hey, if I think of something, you’ll be the guy I’ll try it on.”
He’s right. I’ve suffered things that would put a human out to pasture, and Doctor Mayfield and I have done groundbreaking procedures to trick my bear into healing me. If there was a medical journal for shifters, we’d both have a volume dedicated to sports injuries.
He says, “For now, though, I’m sorry there’s nothing else that can be done. You’re going to have to accept that your football career is over. I wish it wasn’t true, I really do.”
I nod and turn to walk to the other side of the room. My bear is making it impossible to sit still. As I move, a sharp twinge pricks me in my knee as if to remind me why I’m here to begin with. And to hammer home the truth.
I rake my fingers through my hair and let out a huff of frustration. I can’t believe my body has betrayed me. I’m too young to be permanently injured. I’ve only played for five years. A lot of the guys go many more seasons than that before retiring. And I’m a shifter. We heal. I refuse to accept this. I won’t.
Doctor Mayfield says, “I know this is a lot to take in.” I turn and look at him as he continues. “I’m sure you’ll have a ton of questions later. Go home and rest for a few months. Call me whenever you’re ready.”
A seed of hope sprouts inside me. Doctor Mayfield is the best in his field, and in a couple months he might have some new procedure for me. “You’ll find a cure, Doc. I’m sure of it.”
He opens his mouth but stops himself and sighs. “Don’t get your hopes up, Alec. After some down time, you’ll be able to lead a normal active life, but I don’t see how you’ll ever play professional football again.”
The doctor stands and offers his hand to me. “I wish you well, Alec.” In a trance, I shake it. “Take some time to gather yourself. I’ll let the nurse know you’re still in here.”
When he leaves, I stare at the closed door. What the hell am I going to do now? I can’t play if the doctor doesn’t clear me. And that means I can’t even go back to the coach and fake it, which I did one time when I dislocated my shoulder. It was just a simple matter of popping the bone back into its joint and putting a bit of ice on it. I was back to full form in a day. The blessings of a shifter’s natural healing ability have been kind to me, but not so much this time. It doesn’t seem right. Maybe—
Listen to the doctor!
I shake my head. My bear is trying to assert himself, like he always does. He’s a bit of a bully. A lot of a bully, actually, but he has my—our—best interests at heart. And he loves football as much as I do. I know I should pay attention.
Do not be a stupid man! Listen to the doctor!
“Shut up. This is my life I’m dealing with here.” That calms him down for a bit, but I know it won’t last because it’s his life too.
I stare out the window at the parking lot below, noting how many trucks there seem to be. It seems odd to me considering I’m in an area full of concrete where it never snows. My motorcycle is parked out there too, and I recall it was one of the first things I bought when I got drafted.
Maybe I should get a second opinion. Although, Dr. Mayfield is the one who teaches everyone else. I trust him completely, but I can’t seem to accept what he’s telling me. I do know he’s right about the damage I’ve done to my knee and about not being able to get a knee replacement. But surely that can’t be it for me. I didn’t get to be a pro football player by accepting what people told me. There has to be another way.
I leave the exam room since there’s no point in wallowing in self-pity there. Once I’m outside the medical center, I take in a deep breath of air and let it out. My guts are still churning. I walk across the parking lot to where I left my motorcycle. The large metal vehicle is solid, cold and steady under me once I climb on. The strap of my helmet clicks when I fasten it, and I remain still as I stare off in the distance, seeing nothing.
I’m at a loss for what to do. I should be rushing over to practice, or physio, or the weight room… My life has revolved around football for so long I don’t know what to do without it.
The doctor said to go home and rest. Home. That word brings up memories of a place that is not here in Florida. A place where a hot day means you wish you had air conditioning but know the mountain air will cool you down in the evening.
Maybe I should go back to the town of Heartland where I grew up. I haven’t been back since I was drafted, and it would be good to see my brother Bruce again. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years, as he hates to travel, but I did get him to come to my first game in Denver. And there are other people in Heartland I’d like to see again. I want to see her again…
Blue eyes and blond hair flash in my memory along with the melodious laugh of Hillary, a girl I haven’t seen in six years. My bear lets out a low growl as if to chide me. Six long years.
That could be exactly what I need right now. Peace and quiet. Time to think. Time to reflect. Time to heal. I flash to the image of my blue-eyed blonde in a short skirt, walking away, and recall that for such a tiny thing her legs were incredibly long. I smile with the memory. The shifter town of Heartland could be just the thing I need.
A couple of months soaking up the peace and tranquility of the town. A couple of months babying my knee an
d getting back into perfect shape. And maybe, if I’m lucky, a couple of months of Hillary. Then I can go back to the game that I love.
It’s not that I don’t believe the doctor. It’s just that he’s underestimating Alec Thompson. I don’t let anything stand in the way of what I want, what I’ve always dreamed of doing in my life. And I’m not about to start now.
Chapter 2
ALEC
The engine of my motorcycle revs as I speed up. I’m finally out of the traffic in the suburbs of Denver and heading north on I-25. Nothing but wide-open road is ahead of me. I’d toyed with the idea of riding my motorcycle all the way from Tampa home, but that would have been days on the road. So instead, I hired a company to transport my bike to Denver, where they met me at the airport. I could have rented a car to get to Heartland, but my bear wouldn’t have enjoyed the confinement of a vehicle knowing what it would be like on a bike instead.
The drive from Denver is about five hours, and I expected to spend that time wrapping my head around a plan to return to football. Funny thing is though, I’ve already spent a lot of time remembering Hillary instead.
The further north I get, the happier I feel. The moment the Teton mountains come into view my body relaxes. It’s as if my bear is breathing a sigh of relief, and I get it. While the physical activity of football was enough to keep him content most days, nothing can compare to running through the thick, fir-scented woods near Heartland in animal form.
I’m anxious as well, though. I wonder if Heartland is going to live up to the memories. It’s been too long since I’ve been home, and I’m not sure why I stayed away. It was easy to get swept up in my famous life, but I should have found a way to return home at least once over the past few years.
The roar of my bike echoes off the face of the massive rock that was blasted for the road to come through, and as I crest the mountain pass, I inhale deeply to let the cool air fill my lungs. It’s cleaner and clearer up here than anywhere else I’ve ever been. Thinner too, but that only makes the oxygen seem purer. The scents of the forest fill my nose. Sparkling-clear water, nutrient-rich earth, and sweet fauna make me smile. Everything around me is a vibrant green, a verdant color a person can’t possibly understand until they see it. So luscious you feel it.
The forest, the mountains—they’re home.
I ride down the mountain and turn left onto a road that most don’t notice. It’s constructed that way, so unwanted visitors don’t happen upon a quaint little town nestled in the woods. A cozy, quirky little place inhabited by shifters.
After about fifteen minutes on the narrow road that’s hugged by trees on either side, it starts to open up, and when I come over the last hill, I can see the small town spread out before me. My heart swells, and it hits me how much I’ve missed my home town. How much I’ve missed my people.
The tiniest wisp of peace winds its way through my chest. Here, I can be myself—all of myself—and my bear can finally drop his guard. If I growl here, nobody will bat an eye and I don’t have to cough to cover it up. Even my shoulders seem to lose a tenseness I hadn’t realized was there.
When I get into town, I’m happy to find it’s exactly how I remember it. Main Street hasn’t changed one bit. I take it all in—the small movie theater, the hardware store, the bookstore and café, the library and town hall, and then the lush central park with the large stone fountain. As I drive by, I see all manner of shifters frolicking around in their animal forms. Dogs, wolves, big cats, horses, big birds of prey… they’re all there together. A community of animal shifters.
A community I used to belong to.
Several faces turn my way as I pass by. There are smiles and waves, offered without hesitation as if I’ve been around all this time. I wonder if they actually recognize me or if it’s just an old habit of waving to anyone they see. Either way, I wave back. After so many years in a city, the gesture feels stiff. Rusty. In the end though, old habits die hard.
Even though it’s good to be here again, in my heart I feel defeated. I expected a long and prosperous career in the NFL. Now I’m back with nothing but a broken dream. Sure, I made a lot of money, and I was smart enough to invest instead of spending crazy amounts like some of the other guys. But money was never why I played the game. I played because there was never anything else I was good at.
I remind myself this is temporary. A vacation of sorts. Some down time to get my mind right and heal my body. Even after a few days to adjust to the doctor’s diagnosis, I refuse to believe my career is finished. Mind over matter is my motto, and I won’t be defeated easily.
As I roll by Rita Mae’s, the town diner, with its classic red and white décor, I can’t help but think of Hillary. When I asked about her last, my brother Bruce told me she still works there.
I picture her leaning over the counter flashing me her cleavage, knowing exactly what it did to me, and I chuckle. Hillary was my high school sweetheart, and we were as clichéd as you can get. She was the head cheerleader, and I was the star quarterback. The both of us even lost our virginity to each other in the back of my truck. A truck that is still sitting in Bruce’s shed because I left on a plane determined to never drive it again in favor of the fancy car I was sure I’d buy. Hillary and I had quite a hot-and-heavy relationship as we both learned about sex. And love.
Despite being away for so long, I never stopped thinking about her. I still dream about her sometimes. In fact, if I’m being truthful with myself, I have to admit that I’ve missed Hillary every damn day I’ve been gone.
But I never called her. Oh, I picked up my phone a thousand times, my finger hovered over her number, itching to hit Call. But then I’d think better of it. It’s not that she wouldn’t have answered; it’s that she’d have bitten my head off when she did. She was furious when I chose my career over her and told me in colorful language what she thought of me and to never contact her again.
A smile covers my face as I recall what a spitfire she can be. I always knew where I stood with her. It was one of the things I’d loved—and still love—about her.
I don’t have many regrets, but leaving her is definitely one of them. I should have found a way to take her with me. Hell, I should’ve married Hillary the second we graduated from high school.
She loved me, and she would’ve gone wherever I had to go with a smile on her face and made the best of any difficult situation. But I was afraid she’d be too distracting. Hell, when she crooked her finger at me, I’d rush to her side drooling like Pavlov’s dog. What I didn’t realize then was that what we had was the real deal.
I slow down as I pass by, hoping to get a glance inside the diner. I want to stop and see her, and I’m tempted to turn around. But I’m afraid of how she’ll react. I really don’t want to get a slice of coconut cream pie smooshed in my face.
Might be worth it, though.
Stop! Go see her!
My bear is jumping around in my chest again. He’d been quiet during the drive, soaking in the fresh air of home. But now that we’re here, he’s wide awake and making demands. He’s a bossy bastard who tastes freedom again.
I want to see my mate! Now!
“She not our mate, dude. We ruined our chance with Hillary.”
Fool! Mates are together forever. Get your shit together and go see her. Now, asshole!
I waver, but it’s a token protest—I want the same thing. And since he’s right about the mate thing…
“Fine, but if we get hot coffee in the face, I’m blaming you.”
Ha! It won’t hurt me. Just you, stupid man.
I chuckle at him as I swing my bike around in a U-turn. I pull over and park in front of the diner. Once I lock up my helmet, I make my way to the door, where I pause. My hair is short, but since it’s been under a helmet for the last five hours, I think it’s likely stuck to my head with sweat, so I reach up to comb my fingers through it.
What are you? A girl?
“Shut up,” I mutter to my bear before I take in a deep br
eath, open the door, and walk in.
Once I’m inside, a strong sense of nostalgia hits me like an acid trip. So many memories crash into me—good ones that make me smile—as waves of familiar aromas fill my nose. I’ve missed this.
People I knew from years ago greet me as I walk through the place as if I haven’t been gone. The welcoming scents of coffee and home-baked goods have my bear at attention, and my stomach growls with hunger for it all.
“Well knock me over, is that Alec Thompson coming in my place?” Rita Mae wipes her palms on her red-and-white checkered apron, grinning at me. She reaches for my hand. “I can’t believe it. You are a sight for sore eyes, boy.”
“Hey, Miss Rita Mae.”
She pulls me in for a hug and I’m enveloped by her doughy arms and the scent of vanilla. “How are you?” she asks. “We sure enjoy watching you play every Sunday. You’re such a talent.”
Was such a talent. “Thank you.”
“What are you doing back here in Heartland?”
“Ah—I got a few days off from practice and thought I’d come home to see everyone.”
She frowns. “Well, your brother sure can keep a secret. He didn’t mention you were coming home when he was in here this morning.”
That’s because I didn’t tell him. I nod. “Bruce isn’t much of a talker.”
She chuckles. “No, he sure isn’t. Go grab that booth back there.” She winks at me. “It’s in Hillary’s section.”
“Oh,” I give Rita Mae a big smile because she’s had my number since I was a kid. She had a soft spot for Hillary and me together too. She didn’t even fire Hillary the time she found us making out in the walk-in cooler. “Thanks.” I move toward the table, but it takes a while to get there. People stop me to shake my hand and tell me how proud they are of me for my success or to ask questions about upcoming games or how my team will do this season.
I don’t have the heart to tell them about my injury or why I’m really home. I don’t want to disappoint them. The town showed a lot of support for me during my high school football career and when I got drafted. They even had a huge celebration in my honor.
