The Hail Mary

by Ginger Scott

  I sway my hips slowly and drop one hand so I can bite my finger, teasingly showing the tip of my tongue. Reed’s hands slide up the bottom of my legs.

  “Goddamn, this is a good dream,” he jokes.

  “Shh, don’t wake up then,” I say, lifting my foot and pushing lightly into the center of his chest. He lies back, completely flat and I continue to roll my hips while my hands slowly work on lifting my night shirt up and over my body. I don’t have much to work with, so within seconds I’m straddling him with nothing more than my favorite pair of lace panties. They’re deceptively comfortable, and they get worn on every date we have just in case we find ourselves in a situation like this.

  I lean forward and lower myself so my palms reach his chest. He grabs them before I can take them away. I follow his lead and lower myself slowly until I’m sitting on my knees again.

  “I hear in the champagne room they let you touch,” Reed says, sucking on one of his thumbs then the other.

  “I don’t know if that’s all…allowed,” I stutter, instantly arching toward him as his cool, wet thumbs graze the pink tips of my breasts. My thighs squeeze and I sink onto him more, needing to feel him between my legs.

  “I’m pretty sure it is,” he says, his voice suddenly a lot huskier.

  As my skin dries, his thumbs and fingers position perfectly around my cherry red nipples until he starts to apply the sweetest amount of pressure.

  “Harder,” I beg, really wanting him to bite them, and hard.

  He does the next best thing, pinching them tightly between his thumbs and middle fingers, allowing him to flick the tips until my hips can’t help but grind down on him.

  “Shit, QB one…you know what you’re doing,” I murmur, loving this side of him—the one that always showed up after a really good win. A dose of confidence in the testosterone cocktail does incredible things.

  In a swift movement, Reed shifts himself so he’s sitting, and his mouth is pressed firmly against my right breast, his teeth grazing against the hard but sensitive skin and driving my lower body to writhe against him.

  “I love you so fucking much, baby,” he says against my body, his tongue taking a long, sensual taste of me while his hands travel down my sides to my hips.

  His thumbs hook in my panties and drag them down my thighs as I lift myself and work them off one leg at a time. I come back to him instantly, needing to ease my hunger fast. My wet center is drawn to him, and his cock sinks in as I let my weight fall onto him completely. His palms grip at my ass and pull me into him in a swift movement that drives him deep inside, and I can’t help but yelp out with the relief.

  “Oh God, Reed!”

  “Like that, baby?” he growls, pulling me again and again as he buries his mouth into my neck, leaving hungry kisses behind in a trail that sucks every inch of my skin, from the curve of my neck below my ear all the way to the center of my chest.

  “Touch me, more…everywhere,” I beg, arching so he can taste me while his hands cup my ass.

  I help him lift and rock me faster, chasing after that sensation that teases me deep inside at first, then spreads to every inch of my body. I can feel Reed growing more rigid, his cock flexing while it slides in and out of me. I know we’re both nearly gone. With my head slung back and my hands holding onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, I take him as deep as I can, letting him rock his hips and pull at me violently while my breath nearly disappears.

  “Like that…like that…” I become desperate, terrified of missing it—the feeling going away—but then ah…I fall into the temptation completely. My body grinds against him while he pulses inside of me, hot liquid sticky against my thighs.

  “Champagne rooms are the best,” he says, and I roll my hips one last time in bliss before giving into the laughter he ignites.

  “God yes, they are. Where’s my tip, buddy?”

  Reed lifts his hand from my right ass cheek then brings it back in a heavy-handed slap that I’m sure left a print but that I wouldn’t mind wearing for the day. I fall against his chest, lying there with him inside me and my clothes tossed who knows where.

  It takes him minutes to fall back into his dream, and I hope it’s a lot like the last one, but nowhere near as close to the reality. When I think he’s deep enough into slumber, I slide my weight from him and make my way to the bathroom to freshen up. I manage to find my shirt on the floor at the foot of the bed, so I slip it back on and glance around for my panties. I give up after a few minutes, but before I slide back into the warm spot next to his barely bruised body, I pull out my box from my suitcase and sit at the small desk in the corner.

  His perfect abs have a deep purple spot that I know he got from getting punched on his way into the end zone, and his throwing arm is bruised as well. Anything that he has that’s a weapon is under attack—including his weaknesses. His body feels strong, though, and his head seems right. I hate that I pay attention to those things, that I question it when all I should be doing is making love to the love of my life. But Stacia always said that’s when she noticed things on Trig the most, when they were being intimate. Where he was once sweet, he started to show rage. Reed doesn’t ever show me anything but love. If that ever went away…

  I click the pen and flip the desk lamp so I can see while I write.

  YOU GIVE THE BEST HUGS IN THE WORLD. THEY’RE LIKE MEDICINE.

  I fold the paper and put it in the box. Then I chew at the end of the pen while I toy with writing the next one. When my smile spreads into my cheeks, I decide that Reed should know this too.

  YOU ARE A REALLY GOOD LAY.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Reed

  I knew brutal hits would start to add up, and they have. Those first few games back felt easy, but that was also the adrenaline and dealing with defenses that didn’t quite know how to handle me. I’m different from the guys running the games out there now.

  Fuck, I’m old. That’s what’s different.

  I was talking to my dad after last night’s game against Dallas, and he said he had to laugh when the local sports guys started going on and on about how patient I was in the pocket.

  “Patient, my ass. He’s just slow!” my dad said, reenacting the whole thing for me—him pulling off a two-minute comedy set based on talking back to the evening news sports desk and making cracks about how old I am.

  I laughed with him because deep down, old or not, I know he believes in me still.

  “Older and smarter,” I said back to him, stealing the line he always used on me.

  I miss him.

  I’ve been looking forward to this week’s Arizona game for a lot of reasons, but getting to spend a little time with my dad has shot to the top of the list. I met with the chaplain a few more times, and I’ve gotten a little more honest about the number Trig’s death did on my head. More than my mortality, I think…it got me really thinking about death in general. It got me thinking about loss—all that I have to lose.

  My dad’s survived a massive heart attack, strokes, and a car wreck that he shouldn’t have walked away from. And he’s stubborn as hell. I know he tries to do more when Nolan and Rose aren’t there to assist him. He pushes himself; it’s where I get it from. I know he sneaks things he shouldn’t eat, too. What I’ve come to terms with is the fact that he won’t be here forever, and that…that scares the hell out of me.

  We’re all so temporary. What’s wrong with wanting to live forever?

  I flew out early, and Noles is picking me up. No time to drive the Jeep back across the country again. I’m pretty sure I’ve pushed its limits with the thousands of miles I’ve racked up over the last month or so. It’s due for a really good overhaul over the holidays anyhow…unless of course we make the playoffs.

  It’s all up in the air. We’re five and five. It’s better than one and nine, but it’s not undefeated like Atlanta or nine and one like New Orleans. It’s a long shot, which I used to say was right where I liked to be. Right now, though, sitting co
mfortably in first would be mighty nice. Sitting in third feels like…well, like sitting in third. Mediocre.

  We touch ground in Phoenix just as the sun is setting, and the orange hue makes me feel warmer already. It’s deep into November—close to Thanksgiving, which means my brother is running short on time to spill the beans to Dad.

  The plane dings when we reach the gate and every person on board stands up at the same time. This is the best part about sitting in first class. I don’t have to endure the wait that comes along with getting off a damn airplane. I swear, it’s just grabbing a bag and walking. Why it takes so long is beyond me.

  I’m through the gate first, and my strides get bigger with every step until I clear security and start scanning the seats for my girl. My eyes land on Peyton first, and it surprises me.

  “Hey, Daddy!” Fifteen now, she’s suddenly looking less like the little girl whose knee I had to bandage after our first outing without training wheels. That girl’s still in there, but there’s this other creature there, too—one that looks like maybe she doesn’t need me so much anymore.

  Her arms swing around my neck, and I drop my bag and wrap mine around her to turn her in a circle, planting her by the chairs right where I picked her up.

  “Where’s Mom?” I glance around.

  “She’s waiting in the car. She woke up feeling like crap,” she says.

  Nolan never gets sick, but when she does, it hits her like a sledgehammer. That’s rotten timing.

  “Well, I guess it’s gonna be movie night for us then, huh?” I pick up my bag and open my arm for her to tuck herself at my side. We start walking to the elevators at the end of the concourse, and she grows fidgety and quiet.

  “Uh,” she starts.

  I push the elevator button and look down at her.

  “I kinda have a date,” she eeks out, the side of her bottom lip lodged tightly between her teeth. She’s nervous.

  “With Bryce?” I have no idea how I remember that dick hole’s name!

  “Dad, don’t…” she sighs, stepping into the elevator first. I drag my feet in behind her, warring with myself mentally. I’m a little pissed Nolan didn’t tell me that there was still a Bryce and Peyton in existence.

  “Will he be picking you up at the house?” My chest is thumping with a sense of urgency. I want to greet him, then pound him into the ground. It’s not illegal to imagine it. It’s a father’s right.

  “Ha, definitely not.” Peyton folds her arms over her chest as the elevator doors close and we begin to move.

  “Where are you going then?” I ask.

  “I don’t know yet. He didn’t say?”

  I shake my head with wide eyes.

  “And you’ll be home when?” I follow up my line of questions.

  “When…the date is…done?” She glances at me sideways, and her smugness makes me laugh.

  “Yeah, this isn’t happening,” I say, getting out of the elevator first. I find Nolan’s Tahoe a few spots away, so I pick up my pace and ignore my daughter’s whines behind me.

  “But Mom said, but—Dad? You can’t do that…and you don’t know…”

  I toss my bag in the back then slam the hatch closed. Peyton is still pouting at the back-passenger door when I pass her and open mine to lay eyes on Nolan.

  “What’s this date business?” I wave my hand toward our daughter, but when I get my eyes back on my wife, I realize exactly how out for the count she is.

  “It’s not a big deal, Reed. She’s going to eat dinner at his mom’s house…just get in the car…” She’s pale, and her eyes are darker than normal.

  “Babe, let me drive,” I say. She gives in easily, clicking open her door and getting out. I meet her at the front of the car and walk with her back to the passenger side, helping her in and getting her buckled. She’s clammy when I put my palm on her head.

  “What’s wrong?” I lean forward and kiss the top of her head, feeling a little guilty that I’m not kissing her lips but hell, I don’t want whatever this mess is.

  “I think it was Sarah’s food. She made fish, and…” Her throat reacts to the word, her closed mouth puffing with air and a dry heave.

  “I get the picture. Just Sarah’s cooking is enough. Let’s get home and sink into bed, huh?” She’s already half asleep, awake barely enough to nod at me.

  I point at Peyton to climb in and quit moping, then round the car to drive us home. Nolan is shivering in the seat next to me. I reach over to hold her hand, but just the act of moving seems to make her feel nauseous. My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I work it out of my jeans and hold it in my hand by the wheel to see who it is.

  Jason. I let out a short puff of a laugh and answer.

  “Your future wife might have killed mine with her cooking. Just thought you should know what you’re getting into,” I joke. Nolan winces and I mouth to her “Sorry.”

  “Good thing we both like eating out I guess. Hey, listen…that’s why I’m calling actually,” he says. “I finally told Dad the news, and needless to say—I’ll be proposing this weekend.”

  “Let me guess—Dad wasn’t crazy about you missing Thanksgiving,” I say.

  “Bing, bing, bing…show the man his prize,” my brother says back in a wry tone.

  I feel for him. Dad likes family, and he likes to be there for the important things. It makes it hard to deviate from our pop’s prearranged plans.

  “Maybe you can head out for the beach house after turkey?”

  “It’s fine. I cancelled. Besides, this ring is burning a hole in my pocket, man! I can’t wait to ask her.”

  I smile at his excitement, because I remember what it was like for me. I was so nervous.

  “So, what’s the new plan then?” I glance to Nolan when I reach the parking gate.

  “Ticket, babe,” I whisper. She lets her arm flop toward the middle, pointing to the little cubbyhole under the stereo. I grab the parking pass and hand it to the man at the gate, working my wallet from my pocket next.

  “Well, I was thinking tonight, but if Nolan’s that sick…maybe tomorrow? Dad wants it to be at the house, for dinner…so he can film it, of course.” I laugh at my brother.

  “I’ll keep you posted, but tomorrow is probably looking better.” I chuckle. “And you know it makes his day to watch his son's best moments over and over again on video,” I add.

  “Yeah, yeah…but it’s usually football highlights. I’m nervous enough as it is. Cameras make me act dumb.”

  “Oh, it’s not the cameras, I assure you,” I tease.

  Jason fires back a quick “Fuck off,” then hangs up.

  I hand the parking attendant a twenty and wait with my palm open for my change when I hear Nolan frantically trying to undo her seatbelt and kick open the passenger door. She gets her head out, hung over the roadway, just in time to throw up all over the ground.

  “Ewwww!” Peyton screams from the back, folding her arm over her face.

  “Don’t be a jerk, Peyton. Your mom’s sick.” I scold her, but hold my own fist up to my nose because sympathy vomiting is a thing, and this entire family is susceptible to it.

  “Babe, do you need to lay down in the back?” I press my palm on Nolan’s back, ignoring the attendant trying to give me change and hurry me through the gate. I rub in small circles along her spine, and she shivers with my touch.

  “I’m fine,” Nolan manages to grumble out.

  “I’m not sitting back here with her. What if she throws up on me?” Peyton says. I glare at her in the reflection of the mirror.

  “Nice. Real nice, Peyt,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes and flops back into her seat, cupping her nose again even though she no longer has to. Nolan twists back in her seat and manages to refasten her buckle and pull the door closed. She holds the inside of her long sleeve against her bottom lip. I finally turn to grab the change from the parking lady at my window and hurry out of the way of the line of waiting cars.

  “Babe, how long have you been sick?
Do you think we need to stop at the hospital?” I rub my hand on her thigh gently, happy that she can stand to be touched now.

  “I don’t know…I woke up like this. I seemed fine yesterday. Sarah cooked, but that was it. I was mostly just tired all day.” Nolan mumbles out the words, still not quite over that last stomach attack.

  “You better not be pregnant.” Peyton’s protest cuts through the air inside the car. She’s joking and being sharp-tongued, because she’s mad at me for not being happy about Bryce and her date. But her idea sticks to Nolan and me; we both drag our gazes, meeting in the center and widening our eyes at the math.

  The road trip…four weeks ago. The hotel, days later. This is not possible. We were done. That was all we could have because…well…I don’t know why really. I lift a brow as Nolan’s sink to the center, creasing the skin above her nose.

  “Fuck,” she mouths.

  “Oh my god, are you serious?” Peyton chimes from the back.

  “Peyton, if you want to go on this date, then you’ll cool it. Sit back so I can get us home. We’ll figure out what’s going on with your mom after that.”

  I’m lecturing my daughter, but it’s also a good reminder to myself.

  One play at a time. One game at a time.

  One major life-altering WTF at a time.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Reed, Fifteen Years Earlier

  “Reed Johnson, if you don’t get your ass to this hospital right now, I swear to god I will gut you.”

  Sarah has always been good in crisis situations. That’s why she was in charge of getting everything Nolan needed to the hospital when her water broke. I should have put her in charge of me. I’m a mess.

  “Sar, I’m trying. This San Diego traffic is shit!”

  I’m gripping my hair so tightly with a fist that I can feel the strands being yanked out. I glare at my panicked face in my rearview mirror, willing myself to get a handle on things. I can’t miss this—I can’t miss the birth of my daughter.