by Frost, Sosie
“Yeah.”
“Name of the game. That’s why we’re sending you out there, rookie. Show me you can handle it.”
Show him?
I was still walking, wasn’t I? Barely. I chugged my water and searched for Elle.
She wasn’t hard to find. She was the only woman wandering the sidelines with a camera.
And she did it well. Read the plays. Sensed the action. She hauled her camera and bag over her shoulder and rushed down the field closer to the thirty. The other photographers hovered twenty yards back. Either she was way out of position, or she knew something they didn’t.
I shouldn’t have doubted her. She understood the Hurricane’s offense better than I did, recognizing the new personnel on the field. She had anticipated the long bomb down the sideline.
Elle snapped her picture as the receiver caught the pass. He took two steps before getting obliterated by Cole Hawthorne. The ball popped out, and Cole landed on it like a rabid dog seizing a piece of raw meat.
My cheer was short-lived.
I expected a few minutes of peace before returning to the field.
Cole led his defense to the sidelines, and I grabbed my helmet once more.
I tried not to hesitate. Tried not to realize it.
But, Christ, was I overwhelmed—and the coaches knew it.
The next call was the same play as before, forcing me down the middle again. Jack fed me to the damn lions. He pointed at me.
“You good? Hanging in there?”
“Never better, boss.”
“Catch that mother-fucker for me this time.”
“Gotta ask me nicely,” I said.
“Catch the goddamned ball or I’ll shove it up your ass.”
“That’s the kind of pillow talk I expect from Jack Carson!”
Maybe it was easier to fake knowing what I was doing.
At least for now. At least while it felt like I ran through mud with feet made of wood.
I caught the ball, but that was instinct by now. First down and a cheer from one very excited photographer.
It wasn’t enough. The rest of my game had to improve. I had to be faster, read the plays quicker, plant my feet better, block stronger…
I could do this. My career couldn’t end this quickly. Not yet.
We won the game, but my play wasn’t pretty. At least I’d survived.
I showered and changed, avoiding most of the media as it was just the second exhibition game of four. They weren’t circling to scavenge their prey yet. It wasn’t the cameras I had to worry about.
Coach Thompson forced me into his office before I could escape from the locker room. He slammed the door behind us.
I already got beat on the field. I wasn’t looking forward his particular brand of sodomy.
“Well. You got your taste of the league, Reed,” Coach Thompson said. “You feeling good about that performance?”
What was the right answer to that? “Yeah. Sure.”
“Yeah, you looked good getting your ass knocked to the ground. Did we watch the same game?”
“I could show you the play-by-play on my bruises if you want.”
He grabbed my collar, yanking me to meet his face, eye-to-eye. He didn’t have the balls or strength to hurt me, but I couldn’t raise a goddamned hand to defend myself.
“Listen here you little cocksucker.” He sprayed me with saliva. “You have one chance left. You better prove that I didn’t waste my first-round draft choice on your sorry ass. Figure out your positioning on the field. Anticipate the blitz. Get your ass open. You hear me?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“I don’t give a damn about your pretty boy charm. Fuck the photographer all you want. Joke around with the team. But if you don’t improve in the next five-fucking-minutes, you’re gone. You understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Get the hell out of my locker room. I better see your smiling face on the field bright and early tomorrow. You get a day off when you earn it, rookie.”
I wasn’t sticking around for any more verbal fucking without some lube. I burst from the chair and returned to my locker, heart-racing. Didn’t know if I wanted to slink home and lick my wounds or tighten my fists and brace for a fight that hadn’t come.
The guys laughed as they packed their shit. I kept quiet. The black and gold uniforms and locker room sickened me more than I sickened myself.
I had to get out of there.
I didn’t make it far. Jack pointed me to the hall.
“Got someone waiting for you,” he said.
I wasn’t in the mood. “I’m leaving.”
“She’ll want a picture.”
Fuck me. Elle.
She usually marauded around the locker room after a win—and the guys made sure they celebrated properly by flashing a dick in any or all of her pictures. But if I couldn’t look myself in the mirror, what was I supposed to say to her?
I exited the locker room, checking the stadium’s tunnel for Elle. A couple staff members and field managers lingered, and the few players chatted on their way to the team bus. Voices echoed off the cement tunnel.
None as loud as his.
Sebastian ran for me, full-fucking-speed, those little devil fists curled up tight.
“I saw you! I saw you! I saw you!”
He jumped up like he expected a hug.
Fuck.
I’d have bent over, but I packed a bag of ice between my suit jacket and dress shirt. Last thing I needed was for my spleen to fall out when I grabbed the kid.
“Hey, little man.” I kept him an arm’s length from my worst aches and pains. “Careful. I’m sore.”
“I watched you! Lachlan…Lachlan listen. We…hey, listen. We were in the seats right over the field. You caught the ball, and…Lachlan, look. Hey watch. The people went crazy!” He leapt around me. “Like this. They just…” He made an explosion sound through pursed lips. “And, and, and, Mom let me have…she let me eat a hot dog and then Elle came to get me. Can I see the locker room? I have to go the bathroom!”
Elle still wore her khakis and polo, but her camera was packed up for the night. She dodged Bast’s flailed fists as he regaled us with a play-by-play of the game. I didn’t remember gaining any superhuman ability to fly across the field with rocket jets, but his version of the events was definitely more exciting.
“Lachlan! Hey! Listen!” He zoomed around me, hyper as fuck, grinning like a maniac.
At least someone enjoyed the game. The bluish slushie stain around his lips probably had something to do with his newfound ability to bounce wall-to-wall.
Elle edged in close to me. “Hey. Are you okay? You got hit pretty hard a couple times…”
Was she pitying me? “I’m fine. Just sore.”
“How’d it go?”
I snorted. “You had the viewfinder. You tell me.”
My tone was harsh, and she punished me for it. Her voice had returned, and so had her sass. “Well, it looked a little sloppy.”
Sebastian tugged on my arm. “Lachlan! Lachlan, listen! Hey!”
Sloppy was my middle name these days. I sneered. “Say it. I screwed up. Don’t patronize me. Just make sure you get my good side in those pictures.”
“Yeah. I got a lot of good shots of your ass—butt…which is what you’re acting like now.”
Sebastian clapped. “Lachlan, watch me!”
“I had a tough game, Red.”
“And I’m trying to help.”
“Lachlan!” Sebastian got louder. “Lach? Lach. Lachlan. Watch what I can do!”
He ran laps around us. He sprinted down the tunnel, nearly getting trampled by the guys as they left the locker room.
“Bast, get your butt over here,” I said.
“It’s Sebastian!”
“It’s time-out if you don’t get over here right now.”
Elle touched my arm, accidentally squeezing a bruise. “He’s so
excited. Your mom said he was thrilled to see you play.”
“Yeah!” Sebastian launched at me. “You were the best!”
For a little guy, he packed a decent punch. Then again, he had run full speed at my kidneys. A shock of pain burst through my body. I shouted.
“Christ! Watch it, Bast!”
The kid jumped back, eyes wide. “Sorry!”
“I told you I was sore!”
“I’m sorry!” His eyes widened.
I never saw him go completely motionless, but I’d never really yelled at him before. Elle cleared her throat, a quiet sound.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m peachy fucking keen.”
Goddamn it. I was usually careful with my words, but the language came naturally in the stadium. Elle rolled her eyes. Sebastian thought it was the greatest thing he’d ever heard.
“Wow! You said a bad word.” He grinned at me. “Mom’s gonna be mad.”
“Don’t repeat it.”
He did it to challenge me, just to have some fun. “Peachy fuc—”
“Sebastian!”
My voice echoed through the hall—loud, sharp, and absolutely the wrong tone to take with him. My teammates stopped to look. The couple reporters went silent.
Sebastian didn’t know what to do.
He stared at me, stunned, lip quivering like he was about to cry.
Oh, Christ. I couldn’t handle that. Not now.
“Lachlan.” Elle took Sebastian’s hand. She was like a natural with him. “I think you need to calm down. I know you’re disappointed about the game.”
“You have no idea.”
“So tell me. Talk to me. If you need help…”
I wasn’t having this conversation. “I’m tired. I’m sore. I just want to go home and ice my body.”
Elle understood—somewhat. “Want some company?”
“No.”
She frowned.
Fuck. Did I piss her off too? I didn’t have the energy or patience to explain how I felt. I just wanted to sleep it off and deal with the shit tomorrow.
“Not tonight.” I mussed Sebastian’s hair. He flinched away. Damn it. “Take him to my mom. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Even the Tinkerbell bag hurt my shoulders. I carried it gently, unwilling to let Elle or Bast see the pain.
Sebastian hadn’t mastered the art of the whisper. His voice echoed through the tunnel.
Heart-broken.
“Did…did I make him mad?”
Elle softened her voice. “Oh no. He didn’t mean it. He had a really tough game. He’s just tired.”
“I thought he did awesome.”
“Me too. Let’s go find your momma.”
I made it out of the stadium and to the team bus without collapsing. It was a short ride to the practice facility, but I had to drag my ass to my car.
It wasn’t adrenaline that kept me moving.
It was fear.
I stared at my brand new Lexis. I’d bought two new cars, two houses, new phones and computers and everything else that would spoil me, Mom, and Sebastian.
But now, it worried me. I’d played my second exhibition game, and all I had to show for it was a handful of pissed off coaches, a traitorous media, and skeptical teammates.
My once-in-a-lifetime opportunity faded. Everything I worked for—almost gone.
It wasn’t my sacrifices that hurt the most. It was Mom’s. Everything she’d done to help me. The schools. The travel. The personal trainers.
Sebastian.
It didn’t matter what happened to me. I had to make sure they were taken care of. I had to put the family first.
All of my family.
Including Elle.
I could see a future with her. Playing with Sebastian. Cuddling with me on the couch. Rock climbing in the spring. Sweaty sex every night.
She was so much fucking more than a mistaken elopement.
I knew I loved her, but admitting it to myself drove the air from my lungs like a hit from a linebacker. She was my everything now. A tease. A friend. A lover.
A wife.
This game wasn’t about me anymore. I’d work my ass off so I could provide for everyone I loved.
Mom. Sebastian.
And the woman I’d love for the rest of my life.
17
Elle
I was out of time.
The interns and videographers running around the office didn’t notice Peter’s fake smile.
He closed my laptop and summoned me with a curled finger.
“Elle, Coach Thompson and I wanted to speak with you. Got a minute?”
I was used to getting queasy now, but this wasn’t because the baby was using my stomach as an in-utero trampoline.
I picked up my camera. Peter shook his head.
“Don’t worry about that.” He stopped me before I reach for my cell phone. “This won’t take long. Leave your phone.”
He didn’t want me recording the conversation.
Damn it. That had been my contingency plan, especially since the only wire I had was the broken bit of my bra, poking me in the side.
I followed Peter to Coach Thompson’s office. The hall was quiet, most of the coaches and staff still working with the players on the field.
The door closed behind me. I sat in the chair opposite Coach Thompson’s desk.
The silence prickled every hair on the back of my neck.
Something was wrong.
Coach Thompson pulled a file from his desk drawer. I stayed silent as he pushed a glossy, 8x10 print towards me.
Just what I expected. The nude was a shade too fuzzy and a lot too nefarious to catch the cover of Sports Illustrated. I’d find it on TMZ instead.
I said nothing. I had no defense. The photos were clear, leaving no doubt that it was my naked tushy posing in the Rivets’ locker room.
“Do you know what this is, Elle?” Coach Thompson asked.
“Twenty-three years of good diet and exercise?”
“Proud of them?” He studied the images. “I would be.”
He wasn’t going to scare me.
“I look good in that particular lighting.”
“You’re right. Maybe you want everyone to see these pictures?”
“I don’t think it’d be much of a surprise anymore. Most of the team has seen the goods.”
“And what about people outside of the organization? Would you like to show the world too?”
“Do I have a choice?"
“Of course you do. And we hope you make the right one.”
So did I, but the right choice was starting to look like the wrong one.
I had been prepared to refuse whatever orders they gave me…then I got pregnant. Everything changed within the two-minute wait for the test to read positive.
Before the baby, I could stand by my principles, but good intentions and strong morals didn’t feed a family. Even though the baby was Lachlan’s, I wouldn’t depend on him. No matter my feelings, our relationship was built on an adrenaline rush. I’d do everything I could to prevent a crash, but my priority had to be taking care of my child.
Which made refusing the coach’s order just as foolish as obeying it.
Peter played the good guy, but I didn’t believe it. “We know you were the one who tampered with the office. You took the SD card from my computer.”
I shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“We have the security footage. It’s grainy, but the video shows a black woman with red streaks in her hair saving our first-round draft choice from a speeding car. You were at the practice facility. You called off sick after you’d stolen the card. You ran away, thinking you wouldn’t get caught.”
“That’s some imagination you have there, Peter.”
“This is very simple, Elle.” He had the decency not to glance at the nudes. “We’re asking for you to be a team player. We wouldn’t want these to fall into the wrong hands.”
> The photos didn’t intimidate me. “Do what you have to do. Nine months from now it’ll be nice to see how I used to look.”
Peter hesitated. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yep.” It was the first time I said it aloud. “And you’re blackmailing an expectant mother. Pretty sure you’ll go straight to hell for that. They’ll save you a seat next to the puppy-kickers and the jerks who steal coworkers’ lunches from the break room.”
Coach Thompson sighed. “Think of your reputation. The scandal. Knocked-up by a member of the team? How unprofessional.”
“I’m having a baby with my husband. We’re as conventional as it gets.”
“You got married drunk in Vegas. This won’t look good for you or him.”
“I think it makes me look very good. In fact, I bet both of you have your own personal copies of these pictures at home.”
Peter refused to admit it. “Elle, you’re going to travel to the Atwood Monarch’s practice fields and provide us with pictures that will assist the team for the season opener. You will take as many photographs as you can, and you’ll capture as much of their game plan as possible. Bring the information back, keep quiet, and we’ll enter the regular season as one big happy family.”
I shook my head. “Just release the nudes. I won’t do it. I won’t endanger this team by doing something so damn reckless.”
Coach Thompson didn’t blink. “Refuse and you’re fired.”
“That will suck.”
“Yes. It will.”
“But not as much as compromising my integrity,” I said. “Don’t you see what you’re doing? Once the league finds out, the team will be ruined. This mistake will cost us future draft choices, hundreds of thousands of dollars in fines, and probably suspensions, if not expulsions, from the league. President Bennett flips shit when a player is caught partying. He was going to expel Jack Carson for being a trouble-maker. What do you think will happen when he learns the entire Rivets’ organization has been cheating for years?”
“He’s not going to find out,” Coach Thompson said.
“You think I won’t go directly to Frank Bennett?”
“You won’t.”
“Try to stop me.”
“You will do as we ask, without complaint.”
I held my ground. “I refuse.”
He stared at me, his voice hard. “You will take the pictures…or we cut Lachlan Reed.”
