Between Sundays

by Karen Kingsbury

  Coach Cameron wasn’t the main reason he was here, though. The main reason, Derrick believed, was the team’s hotshot quarterback, Aaron Hill. Coach Cameron thought so too.

  “Get through to him, Anderson,” Coach had told him last week. “Guts and talent aren’t enough in this league. Never mind his reputation, Aaron Hill won’t go to the next level until he plays with heart.”

  So maybe that was his primary job, the formerly great Derrick Anderson: Help Aaron Hill play with heart. When he prayed about the season, about what God wanted from him, he sensed it didn’t have much to do with his own on-field contributions. Derrick was realistic about the coming schedule. He might not play a down all season. But he knew the secret to winning, and Coach was right. It had everything to do with the inside of a man, the life that happened off the field. Between Sundays. If the 49ers’ starting quarterback would slow down enough to realize that, they might all win in the end.

  The first fine layer of sweat broke out on his forehead and the small of his back. It was eighty degrees and breezy, the sort of late summer day that hinted of fall. Derrick kept his breathing even as he pushed himself. Four more laps and he could join the others.

  He watched Aaron strut onto the field, then he shifted his attention straight ahead. Aaron was a nice guy, likeable. After seven seasons in the NFL, he was one of the most liked players in the league. The guy played through strained ligaments, back spasms, and concussions, and that made him a hero to his adoring public. As long as he could score a touchdown in a two-minute drill, the world loved him.

  Off the field, Aaron was shallow and cavalier. He partied hard, though the press hadn’t caught wind of the fact. A different stunning blonde or brunette waited for him after practice every week or so. He drove a Hummer and prided himself on being a slick dresser. All neat and put together, just like his reputation.

  Derrick had a feeling Aaron had lost something deep along the way. No doubt, Aaron Hill was one of the reasons God had moved him to the 49ers.

  “Hey, Anderson,” Coach Chuck Cameron waved him over. “It’s time.”

  “Okay.” Derrick wiped his brow and jogged toward the others. The two-mile run was his own doing, a way of compensating for the years.

  The sound of the guys drifted across the field, most of them talking about Friday night or laughing about something. As Derrick rounded the final curve, Coach Cameron blew his whistle and waited. The guys pulled up around him and silence fell over the team.

  Derrick found a spot near the back, his stomach muscles pushing through his shirt from exertion.

  One of the linebackers leaned toward him. “Show off.”

  “Yeah, you’re jealous.” He grinned and focused on Coach.

  “Things are heating up.” The coach paced a few steps. “I don’t think I have to tell you all that’s riding on this season.” He tucked his clipboard against his side and studied them. “Sports Illustrated says ten teams have the chance to go all the way this year.” He paused. “We’re not one of them. The media thinks we’re a quarterback, nothing else.”

  A disgruntled mumbling came from the group.

  “Best offensive line in the league.” Aaron Hill grinned and gave a nod to a few of his linemen. His support of his line was widely touted throughout the league. Aaron treated them to steak dinners and bought them iPods during the season.

  Smart guy, Derrick thought. Without the line, Aaron would be like any other quarterback, scrambling for his life and winding up on his back half the time.

  “So here it is.” Coach Cameron’s voice rang with sincerity. “We need to come together this year. Because the media’s not God. Sports Illustrated isn’t God. This year”—he walked along the front of the group, his eyes never leaving theirs—“I have a feeling. You know what I mean?”

  The guys shifted, their attention fully on the coach.

  “Let’s get out there and prove some people wrong.”

  He didn’t mention that his own job was on the line, but the intensity of his brief talk remained as practice began. Derrick lined up between Aaron and rookie quarterback Jay Ryder—a fourth-round draft pick out of Texas A&M. The three of them were taking snaps and firing consecutive short-pattern passes.

  Aaron threw another one and grinned at Derrick. “I was waiting for Coach to say, ‘Aaron Hill isn’t God.’” He laughed. “Since he got all religious on us.”

  Derrick caught the snap and released it in a single fluid motion. “Well”—he kept his tone light—“you’re not.”

  “Not what?” Aaron looked at him.

  “God.”

  Jay Ryder grinned, but he didn’t say anything. Jay was twenty-one, and he stayed quiet most of the time. Still figuring out his place on the team.

  The center snapped the ball and hit Aaron in the chest. Frustrated, he snagged it off the ground and threw a bullet at the receiver. “I’m kidding, Anderson. Take a joke.”

  Derrick didn’t push. Half the team was made up of people strong in faith, and Coach Cameron was one of them. His message wasn’t meant to be humorous. Derrick spent enough time talking to the guy to know that much. Most likely, in his ongoing communication with the Lord, Coach had come to the realization once more that with God, all things were possible. All things.

  Even a Super Bowl.

  He and Aaron didn’t talk again until after practice when they headed for their lockers. Derrick’s was near the back, between Aaron’s and Jay’s. Coach made sure of that. Aaron took the lead down the aisle between the lockers. He’d been brilliant on the field today, probably spurred on by Derrick’s comment.

  Derrick kept pace with Jay. He was impressed with the young player. Four or five years and he would be a major contributing force in the league. “Good job today.”

  A smile lifted Jay’s lips. “Thanks. My arm felt good.”

  They reached their places, and Aaron seemed to keep his back to them.

  Derrick opened his locker and slipped off his cleats. As he did, his eyes fell on the photo that hung on the inside door of his space. A photo of his wife and him, and their four beautiful children.

  “Your kids coming to practice next week?” Jay sat next to him and began working the laces on his shoes.

  “They’ll be here. Denae took them to Anaheim last week.” He chuckled. “The two boys would rather be here than riding a rollercoaster. But she wants them to know more than the game.”

  “Wise woman.” Jay slipped off his practice jersey. “So hey, I saw your name in the paper. What’s that thing you did last night?”

  Derrick pulled his shirt over his head and leaned on his locker. “Pizza party for some foster kids. The city’s full of ’em.”

  Aaron turned and grinned at Jay. “Good old Derrick Anderson, saving the world one project at a time.” He faced his locker again.

  Jay raised his brow, as if to say maybe the comment was a little harsh. He pulled off his socks. “I did a report on you when I was in seventh grade. You did a lot of work with foster kids, even back then.”

  Derrick tried to focus. Aaron’s reaction bugged him, but he kept his frustration to himself. The starting quarterback’s cockiness covered up something deeper—that had to be the reason. He glanced at Jay and then at the photo of his family. “I learned something a long time ago.” Derrick pulled his duffle bag from his locker and set it on the bench. The smell of sweat and ripe shoes was strong, the way it always was after practice. “Something that stayed with me.”

  “About foster kids?” Jay pulled his pads from his pants and hung them at the back of his locker.

  “About life.”

  “Do tell us…” Aaron turned around again. The frustration was gone, and in its place the easygoing smile known to sports fans around the country. “Oh, great and mighty one.”

  Derrick laughed to keep things light. At the same time, he remembered the kid’s letter, the one the freckle-faced boy had given him last night at the youth center. He pulled it from his bag. If God wanted him to influence Aa
ron Hill, he’d have to get the guy to trust him. Easy for a rookie like Jay Ryder. Much more difficult for a proven player.

  He cocked his head and stared at Aaron. “Who you are as a man, as a player, isn’t about what happens out there on game day.” He held up the envelope and then handed it to Aaron. “It’s what you do between Sundays. That’s what matters.”

  “Between Sundays.” Jay drew out the words, as if they were hitting him in slow motion. “I like that.”

  Aaron took the letter. “What’s this?”

  “A kid gave it to me last night. Wanted me to give it to you.”

  Aaron gave the envelope another look and then tucked it along one side of his locker. “That’s really how you spent your Friday night, Anderson? Having pizza with a bunch of kids?”

  “And a whole roomful of foster parents.”

  Aaron whistled. “Doesn’t get any better than that.”

  “You’re doing it again this week, right? Didn’t I read that?” Jay finished undressing and wrapped a towel around his waist.

  “Every Friday or Thursday night throughout the preseason.” Derrick hesitated. “Come with me this week. The kids’ll love it.”

  “I was thinking that.” Jay nodded, thoughtful. He looked like a taller version of Tiger Woods. Same lanky body, same easy smile. He would’ve been a hit with the ladies, but his family kept a tight circle around him. “Might help me connect more with the people of the city.”

  “Exactly.” Derrick was almost ready for the showers too. “How ’bout you, Hill. You up for a Friday night at the youth center?”

  Aaron chuckled, then he squinted and looked at the ceiling for a moment. “Let’s see…Friday night.” He raised his eyebrows at Derrick. “Booked solid. Sorry.”

  Jay slipped his bag back into the locker. “Why foster kids? I mean, the city’s got sick kids too. And a bunch of other causes.”

  The reason didn’t come up often. Most people never asked. Derrick tucked his towel around himself. “When I was young, my best friend was a guy named Mikey, a foster kid. He moved around, three or four homes, but he always stayed in the area.” Derrick shut his locker. “’Cause of him.”

  “You stay in touch?” Jay leaned against his locker.

  “No.” Derrick felt the familiar pain, the one that never quite went away. “Mikey turned eighteen and started selling drugs. Got messed up with a gang. Two years later he was killed in a drive-by.”

  Jay groaned and stared at the rubber mat beneath his feet. After awhile he looked up. “Makes sense now.”

  “Hey, man,” Aaron patted Derrick’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It was a long time ago.” Derrick didn’t want to talk about Mikey. “When I’m done with football, maybe I’ll run for office. Get a bunch of programs in place so foster kids’ll have some way to transition into real life.”

  They headed for the showers, and the conversation stalled. Even if Aaron made light of the idea, and despite the fact that his Friday night was booked, Derrick had seen something change in his teammate’s eyes at the mention of Mikey. Whatever caused the difference in Aaron’s expression, it was enough to give Derrick a glimmer of hope. The purpose God had in connecting him with Aaron Hill might not be something Derrick had to wonder about for weeks on end. Rather, it might be on the verge of showing itself.

  For that reason, as he showered, he switched up his prayer for the starting quarterback. Rather than praying for an inroad to the guy’s heart, he prayed for something else.

  An open Friday night.

  FOUR

  Saturday night was a disaster, and Sunday was looking worse. Now on his day off, Aaron pulled into the parking lot at the 49ers facility in Santa Clara and climbed out of his Hummer. He never should’ve taken the girl up on her offer. She was gorgeous, but she wore a low-cut shirt and too much eye makeup. The trashy kind of girl he’d been good at staying away from.

  Saturday night he got careless, and Sunday the story was on the front page of sports. He pulled a baseball cap low over his eyes and headed for the side door. The meeting today was between his agent and Coach Cameron. Not that Aaron had much to worry about.

  His agent, Bill Bonds, had already briefed him earlier that morning.

  “How bad is it?” Aaron was standing in the kitchen when the call came in. “What’s the buzz?”

  “No one’s happy.” His agent sighed. There was no hiding his frustration. “Cameron wants to bench you for the first preseason game. Teach you a lesson.”

  “Great.” Aaron downed a glass of orange juice. “What about the front office?”

  “They’re against the idea. A little good publicity, a batch of stories off the subject, and they think everything’ll be fine.”

  “The bar girl?” Aaron leaned against his kitchen counter. He could’ve had his pick from the women that night. A sigh squeezed through his clenched teeth. “Any news from her lawyer?”

  “Not yet. I’m waiting for the call.” Bill paused. “I’m pretty sure she’ll drop charges, but it’ll cost you, Aaron.”

  “That’s fine. Whatever.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” His agent gave a bitter laugh. “We’ll talk about it at the meeting today, and listen…”

  He waited.

  “I’ve been looking out for you since you were a college kid, Hill. Image is everything. We can’t afford this sort of thing.”

  “Yeah, well…I met with my financial guy last week.” He chuckled. “Pretty sure we can afford it.”

  “This isn’t funny.” Bill sounded tired. “Don’t be late today, Hill. I mean it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

  His agent’s tone put a cloud over the morning, one that stayed now as Aaron walked through the door, down the hall, and into the meeting room next to the cafeteria. He wasn’t late, but he wasn’t early either. Coach Cameron, two assistants, the offensive coordinator, and Bill were already seated around the table.

  His agent took the lead. “Sit down.”

  “Listen.” Aaron found the right sort of tone. He took the spot next to Bill and met the eyes of the coaches. “This whole thing’s being taken out of context.”

  Coach Cameron’s anger showed in the lines on his face. He stood and paced along a bank of windows overlooking the practice field. “A seventeen-year-old girl’s giving out interviews like candy, telling the press you made out with her in the parking lot and tried to pressure her into having sex in the back of your Hummer.” He stopped and stared at Aaron. “What exactly is being taken out of context?”

  “Look,” Aaron sighed. “She told me she was twenty-three. A girl wears that much eye shadow and anyone would believe her.”

  Coach’s forehead creased with concern. “She said you forced your hands up her shirt and pushed her toward the back door of your car.”

  “Come on.” Aaron tossed out a few weak chuckles, but stopped. No one else was laughing.

  “Are you saying you didn’t do those things?” Bill’s tone was kinder now, gentler. He was working the situation for Aaron’s benefit, the way he always worked it. No matter how Bill felt about Aaron’s Saturday night, his agent wouldn’t let the team know he was worried.

  “Of course not.” Aaron rocked back in his chair. “I kissed the girl, okay. I invited her back to the house. But forcing her?” he huffed. “Not bragging, guys, but I’m a gentleman with my dates.” He tried a weak smile. “I don’t have to force myself. Just doesn’t happen.”

  Bill shot him a look, as if this maybe wasn’t the time to talk up his off-field conquests.

  Coach Cameron leaned against one of the windows. “You’re amazing, Hill. Whole world thinks you’re a hero, when you’re nothing but a jerk.”

  “Listen.” Bill was on his feet. “We didn’t bring him in here to call him names. He was out having a little fun, and he’s allowed that much.” He returned slowly to his seat. “I’m expecting the girl to drop charges today.”

  “Four days before preseason?” T
he offensive coordinator shook his head. “I’d like to think my multimillion-dollar starting quarterback was home studying plays on the weekend. Not hitting up girls at the local bar.”

  Silence hung over the room. Coach Cameron finally drew a long breath and took his place at the table again. “The penalty holds. Derrick’s starting at quarterback the first preseason game.” He leveled a look at Aaron. “Maybe for the first two games.”

  “Look.” Aaron felt a flash of anger rip through his gut. “That’s ridiculous. I told you the girl’s—”

  Next to him, Bill Bond’s cell phone rang. Good, Aaron thought. Maybe it was the girl’s attorney.

  Bill stood and excused himself. While he was gone, Coach Cameron talked about his plans for the season, his dreams. “We have no room for this kind of garbage, Hill. Not a minute of it.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “You’re not the only guy on this team.” He gestured toward the window. “We got guys who’ll get cut if things don’t go well this year. Guys whose future depends on you. Ever think of that?”

  Not even the slightest regret rattled around in Aaron’s head. He shrugged, his tone light. “I didn’t think I was on the clock.”

  “You need to start thinking.” Coach sneered at him. “You’re the quarterback of this team. You’re always on the clock.”

  Before Aaron could think of another way to defend himself, his agent returned. Victory screamed from his expression. “Done!” He held up his cell phone as he took his place at the table. “She dropped the charges. Her official statement’s going to say she must’ve misunderstood Aaron’s intentions.”