Snap Count

by Daphne Loveling

  “That it was,” he agrees. “Maybe we can work our way up to video chat before I get back.”

  Part of me is mortified all over again at the idea. But there’s another part of me — a small, but enthusiastic part — that thinks I might be willing to try it.

  We talk for another half an hour or so, until both of us are yawning so much that Knox finally says he needs to get to sleep. He tells me he’ll call me tomorrow, and I blush at the idea of a repeat performance of tonight.

  After that night, we talk on the phone every day, at least for a few minutes. He sends me information about next week’s game, and I make arrangement with Mrs. Latimer downstairs to feed and walk Zeus while I’m gone. Then, a week later, I pack an overnight bag into my car and point myself in the direction of Port Lewis, excited and nervous to see Knox again.

  24

  knox

  For the next week, I feel like a little goddamn kid waiting for Santa Claus to show up on Christmas morning. I can’t wait to see Ivy again. It’s fucking distracting. Thank God the training camp schedule is so grueling that most of the time I’m too busy or too exhausted to get too obsessed with thoughts of her during the day. But at night, after I’ve talked to her on the phone for as long as I can let myself, I lie back and stroke myself to completion as I imagine her riding my tongue.

  When the day comes for us to go to the exhibition game in Port Lewis, I’m more excited to see her than I am to play my first pre-season game with the Rockets. The team flies out the day before in our chartered Boeing 767, with all our equipment loaded into the belly of the plane. When the plane lands in Port Lewis, I wait with the rest of the team to grab my shit, and then we get shuttled to our hotel. Since I’m sharing a room with Westy, one of the running backs, Ivy made reservations at another hotel a couple of blocks away, where she’ll be staying.

  I throw my stuff in my room and say goodbye to Westy, then jog up the couple of streets to Ivy’s hotel. I’ve got a couple hours free until the team meeting this evening, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna spend it with a bunch of sweaty, smelly football players.

  Ivy texted me with her room number when she checked in. I go up to her floor and tap on the door with the number she gave me. After a few seconds, she answers.

  She’s wearing one of those big, fluffy white robes hotels always have. As she stands in the doorway, her eyes wide and pupils dark, she pulls the belt off the robe so it falls open.

  She’s not wearing a damn thing underneath.

  “Surprise,” she says shyly.

  In a split second, I’ve picked Ivy up in my arms and I’m striding to the king-sized bed with her. The door mechanism slams it shut behinds us. Then she’s on the bed, and I’m on top of her, and I’m yanking off my shirt and my jeans and sinking my throbbing cock inside her with a deep groan.

  “Holy shit, Ivy,” I rasp, my voice strained. “Two weeks is too fucking long. I’m not gonna last.”

  “Fuck me, Knox,” she urges with a moan. I’ve never heard Ivy talk dirty like that, except that one time over the phone. It’s hot as hell.

  As ready as I was for her, she’s soaking wet for me, and as I push inside her as deep as I can go, it’s like coming home. Her body, now so familiar to me, responds eagerly to every thrust, every touch. Ivy starts making low, whimpering sounds, arching her hips so that I plunge even deeper inside her. I feel myself hitting the spot that makes her crazy with desire, and sure enough, she clutches at my back and her whimpers turn to desperate little animal noises. I drive into her, knowing by the way her body responds to mine that she wants me to take her hard, Then, suddenly, Ivy lets out a sharp cry and begins to spasm. It’s all it takes to send me over the edge, and I shudder and empty myself deep inside her with a loud groan. I come so hard it’s almost painful, two weeks of needing her building up and exploding in one shattering orgasm.

  I don’t know how long we lie there, gasping for breath. Little by little, my brain starts to come back online, and I realize I’m kissing Ivy deeply, stroking her hair as she holds me deep inside her, legs wrapped around my torso.

  “Ivy,” I’m whispering against her lips. “Ivy, fuck, I’ve missed you so much.”

  It’s all I can say right now. Or rather, it’s all I can let myself say. Because what I want to say, what’s on the tip of my tongue, is a little scary. Even though I’m pretty sure it’s true.

  I love you.

  The thing is, it’s practically bursting out of me. It’s the craziest sensation. I have to practically bite my tongue not to tell her. I’ve never said it to anyone before. I’ve never wanted to. Which is why I think it’s the real deal that I want to say it now.

  Why I don’t just do it, I don’t know. Am I afraid she won’t like it? I don’t think so. The way she’s looking up at me now, her eyelids heavy with sated passion, I’m almost sure she feels the same way.

  But even so, I push the words away. I keep kissing her, though, and eventually we fall asleep, with me still inside her.

  “Fuck,” I groan as I glance over at the clock on the bedside table. “I gotta get going.”

  Beside me, Ivy sighs. “Okay.” She rolls to the side and detaches herself from my arm, where she’s been sleeping curled against my chest. “You don’t have a practice tonight, do you?” she frowns.

  “No. Just meetings to prep for the game. And I gotta get some rest, anyway.” I look at her and let my eyes rake down her naked body. “If I stay here I’ll never get any sleep and I’ll be dead on my feet tomorrow.”

  Ivy bats her eyes mischievously. “You would blame me for that? It’s not my fault you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

  “Oh, yes it is,” I growl as I reach for her. “If you weren’t so goddamn sexy I’d have a chance of resisting your charms.”

  We make out for a couple more minutes, and then I let her go with a sigh. “Okay, seriously, this time I really do have to go.” I get dressed before I can change my mind, and watch Ivy wander over to the floor to pick up the bathrobe where I pulled it off of her. “You’ll be okay finding your way to the game tomorrow?”

  Ivy nods. “I looked it all up. I’ll be there.” She smiles at me. “Are you nervous?”

  “Not too bad. It’s only an exhibition game, after all. The stakes are pretty low.”

  Ivy walks me to the door, and I kiss her deeply one more time. “I’ll call you from the locker room after the game,” I promise her, and she nods.

  “Good luck,” she murmurs, her face earnest. It’s so goddamn sweet it makes my heart melt. I pull her against me in a tight hug, and then let her go.

  “Thanks, cupcake.” I wink. “See you tomorrow.”

  When I trot out onto the field with my team the next day, I find myself listening for the sound of Ivy’s voice in the cheering crowd, even though I know it’s impossible that I would ever be able to hear her. Still, I can almost feel her eyes on me up in the stands. I don’t know where she’s sitting, but just knowing she’s out there is enough to give me a huge shot of adrenaline before the game’s even started. I’ve played plenty of games with friends and family in the stands, but this is different. This is the woman I’m in love with. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

  The opposing team, the Panthers, are on their home turf here in Port Lewis. But even with that slight disadvantage, I think we’re pretty likely to win today’s game. The Panthers have a pretty strong defense, though, even though their offensive game was a little weak last year, so we’re not taking anything for granted. The first quarter goes well for us, and we go into the second quarter with a 7-0 lead. The second quarter’s a little tougher as their offensive line starts to wake up a little bit. We end the first half tied at twenty-one points, and head back into the locker room to piss, stretch, or grab some Ibuprofen. A couple minutes before we’re due back out, Davis puts on a jam and cranks the volume. The driving beat amps the guys up, and before long everyone’s yelling and laughing. Then Coach Porter comes out and shuts off the music.

 
; “I wanna see some extra hustle out there in the second half,” Porter starts. “Just because you think the Panthers’ offensive game is weak doesn’t give you any excuse to half-ass this. We should not be tied right now. I wanna see you end the third quarter with a comfortable lead, goddamnit.” He looks over at Jake, who nods. “Okay, then. Pull your shit together. See you out there.”

  Back out on the field, we’re in the middle of the third quarter when Jake calls a snap count in the huddle, which will give us just a split-second’s head start on their defense. I head to the line of scrimmage and wait for the count, then spring forward past the Panthers cornerback ahead of me. I look back at Jake, in the clear, and he bombs the ball to me, a perfect spiral flying through the air. The pass is just a little ahead of where I want it to be, but I lunge forward and grab it, then dodge to the side and start running full-speed toward the end zone.

  The cornerback is charging behind me, and one of their safeties is flying toward me trying to cut me off and out of bounds. There’s nothing to do but just run until I’m down, so that’s what I do. I’m almost in the clear, but at the last second, the safety lunges for me and plows into my legs like they’re bowling pins.

  On the way down, my helmet smacks against the guy’s shoulder.

  Hard.

  A flash of blinding pain sears through my skull, obliterating everything. The world seems to tilt on its axis, like gravity’s been suspended. My stomach does a sickening lurch, and I resist the urge to retch. I fling my hands out, trying to find the ground, and somehow I manage to lie down on the turf. Then, I just concentrate on breathing, and wait for the pain to subside.

  Eventually the ringing in my ears starts to lessen. I can hear voices around me, asking me questions. I try to tell them I’m okay, that I just need to lie still for a few minutes, and I think the words reach my mouth and come out, but I’m not sure. The medics arrive, and I feel myself being lifted onto a stretcher and carted off the field. The motion brings a fresh wave of nausea, and again I fight the impulse to puke.

  The next hour or so is a blur. I try to stay as still as possible to wait for the pain to lessen and the fog in my head to lift. Lights get flashed in my eyes to see if my pupils are dilated. I get poked and prodded by the docs to make sure all my limbs are functioning. In the end, they take me to the hospital for a more thorough analysis. There docs, say they’re gonna keep me overnight for observation, but the general consensus is that I’m probably okay.

  At the hospital, my head finally clears enough for me to realize Ivy has no idea what’s happened. All she would have seen was the hit, and then me getting carried off the field. I don’t have my phone, though, and I don’t have her number memorized. Since she’s not a spouse, the team won’t have her information on file. That means there’s no way for me to get hold of her unless I can get someone to bring me my phone. I groan in frustration. Ever since I joined the NFL, I’ve resisted getting a personal assistant, but this is the one time I really wish I had one.

  In the end, one of the publicity reps sends a lackey to grab my stuff and bring it to me. When Ivy picks up the phone, she starts to cry. I do my best to reassure her that I’m fine, and tell her which hospital they’ve taken me to. Then I ask the nurse who comes in a few minutes later to make sure the security people staged outside my door will let in a petite redhead named Ivy, because she’s my girlfriend.

  25

  ivy

  By the time the uniformed man standing in front of Knox’s hospital room lets me in to see him, I’ve already cried so much that I feel like a dried-up, shriveled prune. I wouldn’t think it would be possible to cry anymore — and yet, the second I see him lying there in the bed, tears well up in my eyes and I have to stop myself from letting out a loud sob.

  “It’s okay, cupcake,” Knox interrupts me before I can say anything. He gives me a tired wink. “I’m fine. Really.”

  He doesn’t look fine. There’s nothing specifically wrong that I can put my finger on, exactly. But he’s pale, and the skin around his eyes is lined with fatigue. Mostly, though, it’s just that he’s so subdued. The Knox I’ve come to know is always practically exploding with barely-contained energy. To see him like this, looking like he wants nothing more than to just go to sleep, is jarring.

  I try to take a deep breath and let it out without starting to cry again. “Knox, oh my God, I was so scared,” I say shakily. “They carried you off the field, and then all the announcer said about it was that you were out for the rest of the game!” A fat tear slides down my cheek and I brush it away. “I tried to go find the locker room, to tell me what was happening, but… well, everyone just assumed I was some stalker fan or something, so…” My breath hitches. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  “I know, babe, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I tried to figure out how to get hold of you, but it took awhile.”

  “How are you?” I ask tremulously.

  He gives me a grin, but it’s not as reassuring as he wants it to be. “I really am fine,” he tells me. “I just got my bell rung, is all. It happens.”

  That doesn’t make me feel better. “Has this happened before?”

  Knox shrugs. “Sure. Happens to all players from time to time, Ivy.”

  I bite my lip. “Knox… the cumulative effects of injuries like this…”

  “I know, I know,” he cuts me off with an impatient frown. He continues in a mocking, sing-song tone. “‘The more this happens, the more at risk I am for something more serious.’ You’ve told me that, Ivy. Hell, any athlete in a contact sport knows that.” He sighs tiredly. “Could you just let it go, please?”

  “But don’t you care —,” I begin.

  “Let it go, Ivy.” There’s a hard edge creeping into his voice. “Fuck! Of course I care. But it’s a risk all players take. We’ve been through this before. I’m fine.”

  “But you’re not fine!” I insist, my voice rising. “You’re in the hospital, Knox. That is kind of the definition of not fine.”

  “I’m here for observation,” he bites out. “They’ll let me out tomorrow, and I’ll go back to playing. Case closed.”

  “How many times have you been in the hospital for ‘observation,’ Knox?” I demand.

  “Enough!” he shouts. His face contracts slightly in pain from the loud sound of his own voice. I’m about to point it out, but the sharp look he gives me is a warning not to keep pushing it.

  He’s not going to listen anymore. He’s done.

  I stand there frozen to the spot, my heart breaking. I realize for the first time that this is the reality of Knox and me. This is what I’ll be signing on for if we stay together: Knowing that every time he goes out onto that field, he puts himself in danger. Living in constant fear that he’s going to be hurt.

  An entire relationship telescopes out before me in my mind’s eye.

  I don’t think I can do this.

  “I’m going to let you get some rest,” I choke out, and stumble out of the room. Tears blind me as I fly down the hallway and out of the hospital, ignoring the curious looks people give me as I run by. Outside, I collapse onto a bench near the front door and sob, my head in my hands.

  “I can’t do this,” I whisper to myself, over and over. “I can’t do this.”

  I check out of the hotel a day early and drive back to Springville. That night, I sit in the dark in the living room of the condo, staring at the wall. My body feels like it’s going to shatter into a million pieces. Like my skin isn’t strong enough to hold all of me in and prevent me from breaking apart.

  Why did I let myself fall for him? Why didn’t I stop myself as soon as I realized what he does for a living? Why did he ever have to move in next door in the first place?

  Next door. He’ll always be next door. As soon as he gets back from training camp, I’ll have to see him every day again. I’ll never be able to avoid him.

  26

  knox

  The next day, they release me from the hospital. The team’s alrea
dy flown back to Rochester in the charter plane, but there’s a ticket on a commercial flight waiting for me at the airport.

  The next week of training camp passes more slowly than I’d like. I take it easy for a couple of days, but soon the docs have cleared me to go back to full practices. We have one more exhibition game during camp, and I’m back in the starting lineup and playing strong, my injury forgotten.

  When the team gets back to Springville at the end of training camp, I take a cab home to the condo. I’ve texted Ivy a few times since our fight, but she hasn’t responded. I stop by her place on the way to mine and knock on the door. No answer, and her car’s not there.

  I don’t know what to do here.

  When Ivy stumbled out of my hospital room that day, I tried to go after her, but I got a bolt of pain to the head and by the time it cleared, she was already long gone. The more I thought about it afterwards, the more it seemed like a good idea to give her some time to calm down. Maybe that was a mistake. I don’t know.

  Before I got hit that day on the field, I’d been planning to take Ivy out somewhere nice when I got home from training camp. Do some sort of big romantic gesture, and finally tell her how I feel about her. Now, with the memory of our fight hanging between us, I want to do that even more. If I can get her to talk to me, that is.

  I go to a flower shop and spend what seems like hours looking for the perfect bouquet to give her. I’ve never bought flowers for a girl before. Roses seem too cliché, and carnations smell like funerals. In the end, I pick some vibrant purple irises, and have the lady behind the counter wrap them up for me without a card.

  Back at the condo, Ivy’s car’s out front now. So I hike up the stairs, flowers in hand, and ring her doorbell.

  A few seconds later, Ivy opens the door. She looks startled to see me.