Fourth Down: A Beaumont Series Next Generation Spin-off

by McLaughlin, Heidi

  “The NFLPA has some odd rules,” Liam says.

  “The what?”

  “The players association,” Peyton answers. “The day before a home game, the players must be at the field for a walk-through. It takes an hour. If the player doesn’t show, they don’t play tomorrow. The night before the game, they’re in a hotel, regardless of whether it’s a home game or not. All the players need to be together, and they’ll be bussed to the stadium in the morning.”

  “But Julius was with me this morning. Reggie had a game,” I say.

  “The walk-through was at six a.m.,” she says.

  My mouth makes the “oh” sound without me saying anything. “I never realized how structured football was.”

  “It really is,” Liam adds. “The NFL is working hard on cleaning up their image after a few incidents. Things used to be stricter, but they’ve eased up for the past couple of years.”

  “I’d like to go back to where you said you were with Julius this morning.” Peyton looks at me with her eyebrow raised.

  “Um . . .”

  “Ooh, gossip. I’m here for this,” Quinn says as he leans forward. Liam and Peyton bust up laughing while I stare at him. He waggles his eyebrows and motions for me to start talking. I finish off my half-empty glass of wine and let the words tumble out of my mouth.

  Twenty-Two

  Julius

  It’s been a long time since I’ve had a sleepless night before a game. If we were playing in the Superbowl, I would expect to spend the night staring at the ceiling, but we’re not. It’s a typical game. One we must win to keep a two-game lead over our opponents. And one we’re expected to win. Noah Westbury is having a career season and is one of the top-rated quarterbacks in the league. I shouldn’t be anxious or nervous about our game. Yet, something is on my mind, and I can’t pinpoint what it is. I want to blame everything on Elena, and I probably should. Each time she calls, she makes more of a mess of our lives than they were before she calls, and I’m left picking up the pieces of the kids’ broken hearts. Mine is well past the point of breaking. It’s on the path of healing and finding happiness again, thanks to Autumn.

  Autumn.

  Saying her name makes my heart race and my palms sweat. These feelings are supposed to be good, the type I should embrace, but the thought of her and me together is somewhat terrifying. There’s something there that I can’t put my finger on. I like her, and I do not doubt that she wants me—even though she shouldn’t after the way I treated her. Autumn is a forgiving person. That much is true. And as much as I want to be with her, I’m hesitant to pull the trigger. Each time I’m with her, I feel comfortable, and that scares me. I’m still married, and starting another relationship before I’ve even filed the paperwork on my divorce seems wrong.

  The alarm on my phone goes off. I blink at the ceiling a few times before mustering the strength to roll over and shut the piercing sound off. Today is going to be a long day. It was vital for me to get a good night's sleep to be focused on the field. I don’t need another replay of my epically shitty game like last time.

  My eyes adjust to the bright light on my phone. I have texts from my parents, Elena and Autumn. I stare at Elena’s name on my phone. When she walked out, I changed her name in my contacts from My Wife to Elena White. White being her maiden name. I couldn’t stomach seeing Cunningham after her name, not after she did what she did. I open Elena’s first because I already feel off today. I might as well let whatever she has to say to me make things worse and have my parents and Autumn build me up.

  Elena White: I want to finish discussing this new girlfriend of yours.

  There’s nothing to discuss.

  It’s too early in the morning for her to be awake. I close this chat window and go to the message from my parents. It’s a video of the kids wishing me good luck today. Seeing them, happy and with smiles on their faces, brings tears to my eyes. I love them more than I love life and want them to be happy. I don’t know if I’m doing a good job or not. I don’t know if I’m on the right path to being a successful parent and guiding them through a divorce. I honestly don’t know much about anything except how to love them wholeheartedly.

  I’ll see you at the game – I text my parents. I’m forever grateful that they gave up their retirement to come live near me. I don’t know what I’d do without them. More so, since they’ve become my go-to for babysitting, especially during overnights and away games. Sure, the kids have Miss Meghan, but she’s young and deserves a life as well.

  I finally allow myself to look at Autumn’s text. It’s one line: I should be able to make it by half-time. I open the message to reply and am saddened when I see that’s the only thing she sent. I don’t know what I was expecting, especially since I didn’t text her after leaving last night. I wanted to, and I thought about it a lot. I wanted her to send me a flirty message like before. I suppose if I wanted something like that, I could’ve initiated it. I respond with: I’ll leave the ticket at Will Call. I hope you had a good night with Peyton. I’ll ask her to make sure you have a press pass. I’m excited Autumn will be at the game, albeit slightly nervous. The last time she was there, I laid a giant egg on the field and played the worst game of my life. Of course, in my infinite wisdom, I blamed her. Everything from the moment I met Autumn was her fault. It was easy to blame her than myself and the shit that’s going on with Elena and my joke of a marriage.

  My alarm sounds again. It’s time to get moving. I take my phone into the bathroom and turn on the self-help podcast I found. For some reason, listening to people talk about their problems and how they’ve solved them is soothing. It shows that I’m not such a fuck up. When the temperature is decent, I step in and let the water run down my back. It won’t be until later, when I’m at the stadium or home, that I'll get a powerful spray that I need to loosen up my muscles. These hotels aren’t designed to help us athletes ease our aches and pains.

  After dressing in sweats, I make my way down to the conference room where breakfast is. This is the most essential part of my day, and the only time I’ll eat until dinner tonight. Once I get to the field, the last thing on my mind is food. Water and Gatorade are all I’ll have later. Right now is my only chance to add all the necessary fuel to my body so I can outperform everyone determined to bring me down today.

  Noah raises his hand when he sees me. I nod, signaling I’ll be over after I make my way through the buffet line. Thankfully, the hotel provides staff to help us carry our plates to the table. Because us football players see a buffet and it’s game on. It’s a challenge to see how many plates we can fill on our first trip through.

  The unlucky employee who helps carry my food follows me to where Noah is sitting. Players usually sit wherever they want. Sometimes the coaches want to have impromptu meetings while eating breakfast and will beckon a player over, and sometimes this is just like the cafeteria. Breakfast can totally turn into a popularity contest. You can fully expect a rookie receiver or running back to try and sit with Noah to plead their case that they need the ball when they’re in there. Unless they’re a first or second-round pick, these rookies are likely filling in for a down to give people like me a break.

  I sit down across from Noah, who moves a couple of the empty plates he has in front of him to give the hotel employee more room to set my copious amounts of food down. Noah looks at me and then down at the table and back at me. He grimaces and then laughs. “Are you seriously going to eat all of this?” he picks a piece of bacon off one of the plates and sticks it in his mouth.

  I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t want to have to get back in line with the defensive backs.”

  Noah nods in agreement. “You ready for today?”

  It’s a question Noah asks most of us on game day. He’s trying to get a feel for where his teammates heads are before we get onto the field. It’s his job to lead us, but we won’t be in sync on the field if we're not on the same page.

  “I am. I feel good. Slept like shit though.”


  “I rarely sleep well the night before a game. I hate hotel beds, and I hate being away from Peyton, especially when I know she’s at home. At least she’s not by herself.”

  “Parents in town?”

  He nods. “Quinn too. He and my dad went out to dinner with Peyton and Autumn last night. My dad went all out, according to my wife, and they ended up staying at the restaurant until closing.”

  “Great, so what you’re telling me is your uber-famous dad is trying to woo the woman I’m trying to woo?”

  Noah leans forward and asks quietly, “Are you and Autumn a thing?”

  I shake my head slightly. “No. Maybe? I don’t know. I like her a lot, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me I need to take a step back and let this relationship, or whatever it is, germinate a bit longer. I haven’t even filed for divorce yet. Elena is already on my ass about my ‘new girlfriend’ and I have a feeling she’s going to try and use this against me.”

  “Can she?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve put off the attorney talks this entire time. In hindsight, I should’ve spoken to one the second Elena walked out, but I think there was a part of me that hoped she would come back. That was until I found out she was having an affair.”

  “Affairs are hard to get over,” he says. “I know my emotional affair with Peyton wasn’t fair to Dessie.”

  “The whole situation with Dessie, and what she did—that was messed up.”

  Noah sets his napkin down onto the table. “That was my fault. I should’ve ended the relationship long before it started. But I agree, the actions she took when everything started falling apart were very bothersome. She really could’ve messed up a lot of lives with her antics.”

  “What’s she doing now?” I ask.

  Noah shrugs. “Don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m married to the woman I’m supposed to be with. It took a near-fatal accident to realize I don’t care what people think about our age difference. I’ve been in love with Peyton for as long as I can remember.”

  “Is it weird with your dad being her uncle?”

  Noah shakes his head. “It’s not like they’re related. It’s the life-long friendship thing. No different than our mothers. I grew up calling her mom Aunt Katelyn, and now she’s my mother-in-law, but I still refer to her as my aunt.”

  “It’s definitely weird,” I tell him.

  He picks up his napkin and throws it at me. “It’s why we don’t talk about it. Only our closest friends know. People judge others too much.”

  “That, they do,” I say in agreement.

  Noah waits with me while I finish breakfast. A few of the other guys come to the table to shoot the shit and whatnot. None of the rookies stop by, which is good. I don’t want to tease anyone today. Honestly, the rookies we have are promising and will be a great asset next year.

  After I finish and head back to my room to change, I’m on the bus with the rest of the team. The sun is shining, but it’s cold out—a typical fall day in the Pacific Northwest. I’m not looking forward to the winter though. Lately, with climate change, our calm—no snow winters—have been anything but. A couple of years back, the team ended up stranded at the stadium because of icy roads. For two days, we couldn’t leave. Elena freaked out, and rightly so. Growing up in the South, she rarely dealt with ice or freezing temperatures. It’s partly the reason she wanted to be in Los Angeles all the time, especially in the off-season. She craves the heat. The hotter, the better. Give me four seasons, and I’m happy, except when it’s below zero. No one likes to be that cold.

  I’m not surprised when we pull into the parking lot to find people already tailgating. The smell of lighter fluid and briquettes fills the air, as does loud music. We have die-hards, those fans who are here the moment the gates open to get their favorite parking spot. This one time, when I was injured and couldn’t play, I came out here to check things out. Being on the other side of things really puts my job into perspective. I got to see firsthand what goes into a Sunday game. Fans love their sports teams and their favorite players. When we can give a little of ourselves back to them—they love us even more.

  Inside the locker room, my gear is hanging and ready for me. I strip out of my suit and hang it up nicely. I learned a long time ago to make sure I’m wearing my supportive gear under my slacks. One too many towel whips to my ass were enough to teach me a lesson. I dress in my workout gear before heading over to the trainer to get my ankles and wrists taped. I’m old for this game and probably have a good five years left, assuming I don’t have any injuries derailing my career. It’s hard to imagine I’ll be retired or no longer able to play in my late thirties. Football is hard on the body.

  Once taped and ready, I head out to the field. I like to start with a good stretch and meet with one of the trainers on the sideline. He works my hamstrings, checks my knees, and then helps me stretch. When he moves on to the next guy, I head out onto the field and run the snake, but only a quarter of it. I’m not looking to get tired before the game starts, but I want my legs as warmed up as they can be. When Noah wants to practice throwing the ball, I volunteer. Each and every time. There is no better way to get ready than to take a toss from your quarterback.

  Noah gives me a hand signal, and I run the route. He hits me in stride, right in the center of my chest, with every throw. This is, of course, unrealistic because there will be a defender or two—or five, trying to prevent me from catching it. Football might be a physical game, but it’s a mind game as well. And some defensive specialists really know how to fuck with your mind.

  The stands start to fill up, and the media outlets are either setting up or already on air. I have no idea how many times the cameras are on me. We’re given the signal that we need to get ready for the game. We head back into the locker room, where we dress in our pads and full uniform. The vibe around the locker room is different than when we first arrived. It was chill and relaxed, and now we’re focused and hyping each other up. Coach gives us a quick pep talk. This isn’t like high school, where we only see our coach for two hours a night, and he has to use the time before the game to go over strategy. We’ve done that all week and again yesterday morning. We’re ready.

  We head out to the field after the team introduction. The stands are full, and everyone is on their feet. I run to the bench and look up, spotting Reggie, Roxy, and my parents right away. I wave and blow them a kiss before slipping my helmet on. It’s time for the coin toss. My teammates and I go out to the center of the fifty-yard line. Handshakes happen with our opponent, and the head official tosses the coin, with me yelling, “tails.”

  “Tails it is.”

  “We’ll receive,” I say, and the official makes the catching motion and points to which direction we’ll start. I’m halfway toward the bench when our special teams take the field. Each guy that passes by, I either bump chests with or grab their helmet and tell them to run like the wind. I’d love to start this game off with a run back.

  Sadly, the run back doesn’t happen.

  Noah and I run out together. In the huddle, he tells us what play we’re starting with. I line up on the left and watch him. As soon as the ball is in his hands, I’m down the field, juking my defender as much as I can until I cut across the field, poised and ready for the pigskin to land in my arms. As soon as I see the perfect spiral, I raise my hands and leap. The ball touches my fingertips, and I curl them to pull the ball into my palms. The moment my foot touches the ground, I’m in stride, running toward the end zone.

  I glance over my shoulder to where my defender is. His hands reach for me, but I veer. Not today, I repeat in my head. What I forget to do is look to my right. The safety comes out of nowhere and takes me to the ground. As much as I want that touchdown, we’re on the ten-yard line, and I couldn’t be happier.

  The next play goes to the running back. He wiggles through the melee of men and comes out the victor on the other end. I’m happy because we’re on the board but pissed I didn’t get the c
all.

  At half-time, we have a two-touchdown lead, with Noah scoring the second one.

  When I come out of the locker room, I spot Autumn at once. She’s standing with Peyton, wearing the Portland Pioneers shirt she wore to her first game. Damn, she’s beautiful. Her long dark hair is in a braid, which I’m learning is her favorite hairstyle when she’s not working, and she’s wearing a Pioneers trucker cap. Autumn looks every bit a fan. As I approach the bench, she sees me and smiles. Instead of going up to her, I pick up a football and lob it to her. I fully expect her to catch it, but she doesn’t. She steps to the side, and Peyton takes it easily out of the air. She sends it back to me, the ball whizzing in the air.

  “Damn, Peyton. I’ll never understand why you don’t play football.”

  Noah laughs and shakes his head. “She would need to put on about a hundred pounds and grow at least a foot.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t have a ball in my hand, Westbury,” she yells back.

  “How the hell did she hear you?” I ask him.

  He points to his helmet. “Mic’d up.”

  “Oh,” I mouth.

  We start the second half with the same play we started the game with. This time though, I make it to the end zone for six. After I cross the line, I wait for my teammates to congratulate me and then hand the football to the referee. I’ve never been one to celebrate in any other fashion. Some of my teammates like to dance, while others like to spike the ball. Me—I like to keep things simple.

  Twenty-Three

  Autumn

  This is the first time I pay attention to the game. The last time I was here, I watched occasionally but mostly chatted with Peyton, Aiden, and anyone who stopped to talk to me. I have a purpose this time. He’s on the field, running routes, cutting across the field, and dodging defenders—all terms I pick up from Peyton. I still don’t know much of anything about the game, but by the smile on her face, the roar of the crowd, and the cheering coming from the sidelines, whatever Julius is doing must be good. As I stand next to Peyton, I realize that if Julius and I are going to be a couple or whatever the proper term is these days, I’m going to have to learn about the game of football. He’s asked me a lot of questions about reporting the weather. At first, I thought he did this because he had mocked me, but now I know it’s because he’s genuinely interested in what I do.