First Position

by Prescott Lane

  On the fifth ring, John picked up, startling her. “Hi, Daddy.” She put a hand behind her neck, trying to calm the hairs sticking up, and sat on her bed.

  “Hi, baby girl.” John was alone in his office, dressed in a baggy sweatsuit, drawing plays on a chalkboard. It seemed he hadn’t shaved, or left the office, in a week. He took a seat in an old chair behind his messy desk, covered with plays scribbled on napkins and an empty pizza box sitting to the side.

  John still coached the same high school team in the same Georgia town, a few hours outside Atlanta. While Emory always dreamed of getting out, and college provided that, John couldn’t leave and didn’t want to anyway. He was a local hero, having shaped the lives of his players for decades. His former quarterback was the town sheriff; the largest defensive tackle he ever coached now sold real estate; and a speedy cornerback owned the local grocery store. John loved that his players, for the most part, remained in town to work and raise their families, and had turned out to be good and decent men. He didn’t want to leave them. He also couldn’t leave where his wife had died and was buried. He couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, though he wished he saw his daughter more often. “You usually call after Sunday mass. I was beginning to get worried.”

  “How are you doing, Daddy?”

  “I’m fine. Just ate some dinner. Now fiddling around with some new plays and some new schemes.”

  “Offense or defense?”

  “Defense.” He looked down at the mess in front of him and scratched his head.

  “Thinking about changing to a 3-4 defense?”

  His face perked up. “Well, yes I am. How’d you know we’ve been running a 4-3?”

  “Daddy, you know I keep up with the team on the Internet.” Emory smiled, stretching out on her bed, trying to relax. “Read some stories here and there about the team.”

  “We’ve got some kids graduating, and next year I don’t think we’ll have the horses to stay with a 4-3. But I don’t expect you called to talk about my defense.”

  Emory sighed. “No, I didn’t.”

  “What is it, baby?” John sat up straight in his chair, rubbing the stubble on his face. “You can tell me anything.”

  “I know.” She nervously twirled her hair. “It’s just hard.”

  “Emory?” John said, the concern in his voice growing.

  Emory sat up in bed and took a deep breath. “Eric and I broke off the engagement.” John didn’t respond, other than to let out a wry smile that Emory would never see. “Daddy, did you hear me?”

  “Sure,” he said, “I just wanted to make sure you were through talking.”

  “Daddy, now please don’t worry. I’m fine. Eric just wasn’t the guy for me. On paper, we seemed perfect, but my heart just didn’t, well, I just didn’t. . . .” Emory stammered, her voice breaking, unable to find the words to express herself.

  “Oh, honey. I’m not worried.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No. Let me ask you a question. Did you break it off?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Good?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, proud of his daughter. “You know your name means strength. You make the decisions. And usually good ones.”

  * * *

  Mason and Steven got out of a limo and checked into their hotel. The Seahawks, like the Panthers before them, spared no expense in rolling out the red carpet, putting the brothers in adjoining suites on a high floor overlooking the Space Needle. They quickly dropped off their bags and took the elevator back down to the lobby to decide on a place to eat, a hard rain lashing against the windows.

  “It wasn’t raining when we checked in,” Steven observed, as Mason stared at his phone. “I heard it rains something like 250 days a year here. That’s fucking insane.”

  “Yeah,” Mason muttered, typing another text to Emory.

  “Dude, you are so pussy-whipped.”

  “Shut up, weatherman.” Mason put his phone in his pocket.

  Steven laughed, thinking Mason’s dig was rather funny, and decided to give his hopeless, little brother a pass. “Where are we eating tonight?” Steven wanted to talk strategy with Mason about the Seahawks meeting the next day. He also, as instructed by Olivia, needed to get the scoop on Mason’s new relationship with Emory, if it even was a relationship. Dinner, he hoped, would be a time to put down the phones, and get to talking.

  But Mason again ignored his brother and just stared at the falling rain. Where the hell is she? A phone dinged, both brothers reaching quickly for their phones. It was another text from Olivia to Steven.

  “I’m just going back up to the room,” Mason said, sulking. “I’ll get room service.”

  Steven couldn’t decide who was worse company: his love-sick brother or hormone-crazed, pregnant wife. “Do what you want, bro. The weatherman is going out.”

  * * *

  John was excited by Emory’s news but would never say so. He tried not to meddle in his daughter’s life, but when an opportunity presented itself, he took it. He stood up from his desk and walked to the chalkboard. “Let me tell you something, Emory.” He picked up a piece of chalk and began to doodle. “I know you don’t remember your mother very well, and I never wanted to bring another woman into your life, and maybe that was wrong, because you never saw growing up what true love looks like.”

  Emory’s eyes filled with tears. “Daddy, please, you don’t. . . .” She grabbed a tissue from her nightstand and dabbed her eyes.

  “No, no, baby,” he said. “Your mother was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. She was the first thing I thought of in the morning and my last thought at night. Still is. She made my life so full of love. Still does. She gave me you.” Emory reached for a picture of her mother on her dresser, pressing it against her heart. “Every night after you’d go to sleep, we would dance in the kitchen to that old radio. I can still remember how she smelled like lemons from the dish soap.”

  He continued to doodle, and Emory reached for another tissue. “I placed a rose on her pillow on our anniversary each year.” John took a quick step back from the chalkboard to admire his progress, seeing it was coming together. “I still do that every year on our anniversary. Then I take the rose to your mom.” He turned the chalk on its side for shading.

  “Oh, Daddy,” Emory said, sniffling.

  John finished his work and sat back in his chair, admiring the rose he’d drawn. “My point is this. I never saw you and Eric that way. He was nice enough and would take good care of you. But I want you to have what your mother and I had. You deserve that. And you weren’t going to have it with him.”

  She heard her phone ding in the den and plopped on her bed. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “You needed to figure it out for yourself. You did what you thought was best, and so did I.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I gave Eric permission to marry you -- he’s a good guy. But I didn’t give him your mother’s ring to give you. I didn’t feelthat good about him.”

  Emory laughed. “You’ve always been a good judge of character.”

  “Yes, I am. But let’s not talk about me.” John massaged the stubble on his weathered face. “Who’s the new guy?”

  Emory sat up in her bed, her heart beating out of her chest, the room spinning wildly. How does he know? She didn’t dare tell her father. He’d loved Mason -- they bonded over Emory and football -- but her father had yet to forgive him for breaking her heart.

  “Come on, Emory, I know there is someone new. I can hear it in your voice.”

  She twirled her hair feverishly. “No onenew.”

  “Not good enough. Tell your old man, or I will just drag it out of Wesley.”

  She thought her father was joking -- he probably was -- but she knew Wesley would be more than happy to gossip about her love life. She couldn’t take that chance. After a deep breath, she whispered, “Daniel Mason.” Emory braced for her father to yell -- lik
e she had heard him so many times at referees for bad calls. But he didn’t say anything. He kept quiet, snapping a piece of chalk on his desk, and shoving the empty pizza box on the floor. He squeezed a few napkins for good measure.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Well?”

  “I’m reserving judgment for a later date.”

  With that, they talked briefly about her work and his off-season preparations. When she hung up, she heard her phone dinging frantically in the den. She hurried to her phone, seeing multiple texts and missed calls from Mason.

  * * *

  Mason had lost his appetite. He sat at the dining room table in his hotel suite, staring at his steak, baked potato, and chocolate chip cookie on a side dish. He kept his phone close, on the placemat, running his finger across it. Ring, you bastard! And it finally did. Holy shit! He immediately hit speaker. “Em!”

  “Yep, it’s me.” Emory sat on the floor of her bedroom, with one hand on her phone and another massaging her left foot.

  “Jesus, where have you been?”

  “I just saw all your messages,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Bad?”

  “I didn’t say that. I got caught up in the studio, and then I had to make a lot of phone calls telling everyone about the break-up. Sorry you were worried.”

  “I was -- all day.” Mason cut into his steak, his appetite returning.

  “I’m sorry. How was your day?

  “Tests, exams, and pouring rain. Sucked.”

  Emory didn’t want to give Mason a chance to bring up Eric. “I called my dad. Told him about you.”

  “Really?” Mason coughed several times, nearly choking on his bite, then took a sip of water. “How is John? Does he still want to kill me?”

  “I’m not sure.” She switched to massaging her right foot. “I think his exact words were he was reserving judgment.”

  “Damn, what does that mean?” Mason recalled the way her father looked at him at graduation, after they’d broken up. It was a look as ferocious as he’d ever seen from a blitzing linebacker. Fucking crazy eyes!

  “Just keep me happy, and he’ll be happy. When are you coming back?” She hadn’t lost sight of the fact that he could be moving to Seattle.

  “I should be back day after tomorrow, Wednesday, late afternoon. I’ll come by straight from the airport.”

  Emory breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you’re coming back to Charlotte.”

  “I’m going to be wherever you are,” he said, adding some pepper to his baked potato and took a bite.

  “Oh, really? Do I have any say in that?”

  “No!” Mason joked. “Why didn’t you answer any of my calls or texts today?”

  “I told you I was busy. And I forgot my phone this morning, and when I got home, the battery was dead. Crazy day.”

  “Any craziness at Eric’s place?”

  Crap, he hadn’t forgotten about that. “It was fine.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Mason said sharply, carving into his steak with a purpose. “How did things go?”

  “I said things went fine.”

  “This is like pulling teeth. The more you resist, the worse I imagine. You don’t know the terrible thoughts I’ve been having.” He gnawed the steak on his fork. “This fucking rain isn’t helping my mood either.”

  Emory sighed. “OK, he was there.”

  “Shit! I knew he’d be waiting for you.”

  “It wasn’t exactly like that. He was with the wedding planner.”

  “Was he staging some kind of an intervention?”

  “Not quite.” Emory giggled. “He was in the shower with her.” She bit her tongue to avoid giggling some more, not wanting to provoke Mason further.

  “What the fuck!” Mason put down his fork and grabbed the knife. “So you saw him naked?”

  “That’s what you’re concerned about?”

  Mason calmed himself, putting the knife down. “Sorry. Had that been going on long?”

  “I don’t think so. I think he knew I was coming and wanted to make me jealous. That’s all.”

  “Interesting tactic. Did it work?”

  “I thought it was pathetic.” Emory heard Mason exhale through the phone and felt bad for giggling. It certainly wasn’t funny while she was in Eric’s house, and she should’ve known Mason wouldn’t find it funny across the country.

  “So how did Eric handle your interruption?”

  She hesitated, increasing Mason’s blood pressure. He stood up from his chair. “Did that fucker put his hands on you?” She hesitated again, and Mason took her silence as an admission, kicking over a dining room chair.

  Emory heard a loud crash. “Mason!” He grabbed the baked potato from his plate and fired it towards the garbage can near the entrance of the room, striking it hard, the potato exploding like a bomb, shattering into tiny white bits spraying across the floor.

  “Fuck this, I’m coming back.” He breathed heavily. “I’ll be on the first flight back, and then I’m going to . . . .”

  “Mason! Stop!” Emory yelled, rising to her feet.

  Her tone startled him, jolting a small amount of sanity into his mind. He paced the room trying to gather himself. “Please tell me exactly what he did.”

  “Only if you promise to stay in Seattle and finish your contract meetings.”

  “I won’t promise that. If there is one mark on you, I swear to God -- I’ll take a football and spike it up his medical ass!” Mason kicked the garbage can across the room.

  “Mason, you are making it very hard for me to tell you.” Emory had forgotten how protective Mason could be. “Please sit down, and try to calm down. Then I’ll tell you every detail, if you really want to know.”

  Mason stepped over the dining room chair and sat in front of his tray, though only the steak and cookie remained. “OK, I’m sitting down now.” Emory told him about Eric and Molly and the unwanted kiss, staying calm to make sure Mason did, too. She again apologized for her dead phone battery and not calling sooner. “Thanks for telling me. I just hate that another guy had his hands on you.”

  “How do you think I feel about Alexis?”

  Mason gnashed his teeth. “Point taken. But Alexis is the only other woman I’ve been with, and not even in the same league as you.”

  “Really? No one else?” He must be the only NFL player who can say that.

  “No. I was married and kept my vows to her.”

  “So, two women in your whole life?”

  “Yes, I’m not particularly proud of that.”

  She laughed. “I think a low number is good.”

  “So, what’s yours?” Mason braced himself.

  “Wow! That’s direct,” she said, embarrassed by the question. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “No.”

  “Mason, this is very personal. Please don’t make me tell you.”

  Jesus, how high could it be? Teens? Twenties? Mason grabbed his phone and cookie, moved over to the sofa, and stretched out his long body. Maybe I should just drop this, and we can talk about the rain! “My question and your answer are personal for me, too.” He munched his cookie. “I plan on having you in my bed as soon as you’ll allow it, so I think I have a right to know.” Mason nodded, pleased with his own logic. Steven isn’t the only smart guy in the family.

  Emory closed her eyes. Damn, he has a good point. “Just one,” she whispered.

  Mason dropped his cookie on the floor and sat up on the sofa. “Can you repeat that? I don’t think I heard you right.”

  “There’s only ever been you,” she said, blushing.

  “But it’s been six years! And you were engaged! And traveled Europe for two years!”

  “What does Europe have to do with it?” Emory laughed.

  “Lots of clubs and kinky sex over there. At least that’s what I heard.”

  “Right, tons. That’s all they do over there. And you think I’m i
nto that?”

  “Well, remember that one time when we. . . .”

  “Shut up. I was so busy studying in Europe that I had no time for anything else.”

  “What about Eric?”

  “It had nothing to do with Eric,” she said, her voice cracking. “It had to do with you.” Emory explained that her time with Mason was special, and that no one else could compare, and that she’d suffered a lot of grief when their relationship ended. So she guarded her heart carefully, to the point that Eric had to beg her for weeks to go out, and told him she wouldn’t make love again until marriage. That was why Eric pushed so hard for a wedding date, which brought an end to their engagement.

  Mason couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Dude was OK with that? Will this rule apply to us? “I’m sorry all that happened, Em, but I’m here now, and I’m not leaving again.”

  “But if Alexis hadn’t left you, would you be with me again? Or are you only with me by default?”

  “God, is that what you think? Nothing could be further from the truth. I married her by default.”

  “But. . . .”

  “Em,” Mason stopped her, “if I had known I had a chance to be with you again, I would have left her. But you wouldn’t see me. I figured I lost you forever. I fell apart without you.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Seahawks, like the past several years, had fallen short of their goals and missed the playoffs. A lack of depth at the quarterback position was a central issue. The starting quarterback had sustained a concussion in the third game and was sidelined for the next six weeks. The Seahawks turned to their rookie quarterback -- a late-round draft choice from a small college, with supposedly big upside, who’d shown some promise in pre-draft workouts and threw the ball fairly well in a few pre-season appearances. But nothing can prepare a rookie for the speed and ferocity of an NFL regular season game. Management’s belief that he could serve as an adequate back-up turned out to be a huge mistake. The rookie was unprepared and overwhelmed, and so began the demise of another regular season.