There's a muted mumbling around the room as the President finishes reading the summary. “I’m calling a pause to this Hearing to confirm this report. Miss Mittel, during this pause, your restrictions to activities are still in place. This Hearing is temporarily adjourned."
Professor Vladisova comes up while Duncan packs his briefcase. Chelsea has already slunk out of the hearing room without a word. "I apologize, Miss Mittel. I’ll reinstate your grade, and I look forward to seeing you next week in class."
I nod and shake hands with her. She's not a bad person, just trying to do her job, and I understand that. I look around and see that the only people left are Duncan and me. He closes his briefcase and turns around. "Like I said, I'm sorry I was late."
"I'm sorry I doubted you. I admit, I was starting to get a little gloomy,” I say, wrapping my arms around him and pulling tight. "For a moment there, I was scared."
"I know," Duncan says, hugging me back. "I didn't tell you about NuTech because I didn't want to get your hopes up. They were slow on getting back to me, or else I would’ve told you. I barely had time to print out the report and get over here."
"But you did," I reply. “Thank God for that.”
Duncan chuckles. "Come on, let's go get some lunch and change clothes. I hate wearing a suit."
As we walk out of the Hearing room, I turn and look at him. "I don't know. I think you look handsome in a suit."
Duncan looks over, his gray eyes twinkling in the dim light of the hallway. “Take it in while you can. I don’t like wearing this monkey suit,” he says, rubbing his belly. “I’m starving.”
"Me too. Let's go. You said something about pot roast, right?"
Chapter 17
Duncan
"Last time, seniors. This is your day. Enjoy it," Coach Bainridge says as the other members of the team form two lines that stretch all the way from the tunnel to the big Western logo in the middle of the field. "Just keep your heads right for the actual game."
Coach runs out of the tunnel with the other coaches, leaving just us twenty-five seniors. It's our last home game, and Coach dressed a couple of guys from the scout team who busted their asses the past four years, giving them their time in the sun. The crowd is nuts, with big cheers even as these guys go out, their helmets glittering in the fall sun.
“Sucks that your girl can't be sideline for this,” Tyler says as the defensive starting seniors are introduced. "You know, being part of the cordon and all."
"Nah, she's got seats at the fifty-yard line. I offered to her parents, but they said no, so I think she gave them to a couple of her classmates. I don't know. Either way, she's up there, so it’s all good.”
"From Monte Sereno, California. Tight end, number eighty-three, Duncan Hart!"
"Excuse me, time for my entrance."
The PA system is playing music, a remixed version of Queen's Princes of The Universe that somebody picked out because of my first name and my dark hair, but I can't hear anything over the physical roar of the crowd as I walk out, my arms crossed over my chest, walking out a few yards before throwing my arms out, letting the joy and roar of the crowd move me. It's different now than before, and talking with Carrie has helped me so much. I still love the crowd, I love the feeling, but I know there’s something even more important out there. When I get to the logo, I turn to the home side, where I pick out Carrie in her seat and point to her.
She sees me, and she points back, her words lost in the roar before it's Tyler's turn, and the rest of the offensive seniors. We get ready, and it's game time.
We take the opening kickoff and start from our twenty-seven.
I line up tight and drop into a three-point stance. We're playing against Washington Poly, a good team that's got a bowl berth already, but it isn't in the mix for the conference title anymore. If we win, we play Clement for the conference title next week. If we lose—well, we don't.
The WP defensive end is nearly bug-eyed as he gets into his stance, growling at me. "I'ma fuck you up today, pretty boy.”
The ball snaps, and we crash into each other, helmet to helmet, and I'm trying to drive him. I get my shoulder to the inside like I need, at least, and I push the end out, away from the run before the ball is blown dead on a four-yard gain. "Just wait, bitch. I've got your ass."
"Who the fuck is that guy?" I wonder as I go back to the huddle. “Is he trying to be me or something?”
"Don't you remember?" Tyler asks, laughing. “You showed him up pretty bad last year, and I’m sure you rubbed it in good after. I think he’s got it in for you.”
"Oh, yeah," I recall, thinking back to last year's WP game. It was a night game, though I didn’t quite remember the specifics. It was just another game for me.
Dropping into my stance, I get ready to run my route, a release to the flat that could net us good yardage.
I fire off, spinning off the defensive end who overextended himself trying to fight me, and into the flat. Tyler sees me open and tosses it nicely. I snag the pass and turn up field, getting tackled by two men for a twelve-yard gain. We’re off to a good start, and as Tyler comes over, he’s grinning. "We’ve got this. Clement, here we come."
The drive continues, and I line up on the left side, standing up as we spread the field, and when the ball snaps, I pop the linebacker covering me, going over the middle on a crossing X pattern. I turn and see the ball and catch it, going up before the free safety hits me, stopping my momentum. The ball blows dead, and I get to my hands and knees when suddenly, a huge weight crushes into my back, and I feel my elbow give way in a crunching snap that causes me to scream. A scuffle breaks out between the teams, but I can't do anything but lie on the turf, holding my arm and trying to stop screaming, it hurts so damn bad.
"How is it, Coach?"
We're at University Hospital, and I'm still in my game pants, but they took off my shoulder pads, although I wish they hadn't cut my jersey off. I liked that jersey. It lasted me through a year and a half without being replaced.
Coach Thibedeau shakes his head. "We don't know yet, Duncan. The doc's going to get the X-rays back in a few minutes and—"
"Not me, Coach. The game. Did we win?"
Coach swallows, then shakes his head. "Thirteen to seventeen. We couldn't punch it through for one last touchdown."
"Who did it? I never saw who hit me."
"The defensive end . . . Petersen. He got ejected for it, at least."
I chuckle mirthlessly, then look out the window. "So Clement and Willamette for the conference championship."
Coach Thibs nods, then comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Don't sweat it. You did everything possible, all season long. Twelve hundred plus yards receiving, twenty-one touchdowns . . . those are conference records that'll stand for a long time among tight ends."
"We've still got a bowl game to worry about," I reply when the curtain pulls back and the doctor comes in. "Well, Doc?"
"I wouldn't be looking for a bowl game, if I were you," Doctor Lefort says. Guess I'm lucky he was on duty tonight. "I can't confirm it until we get an MRI tomorrow, but you aren't using that elbow for a while. You're going to need surgery."
"What's the deal? Rough guess, Doc?"
He looks at me, curious, then continues. "Nothing's broken, bone-wise. But you've at least partially torn the anterior band of your elbow joint, and it's my guess, the biceps tendon too. That crunch you told me about was your elbow bending the direction it's not supposed to bend."
Coach Bainridge comes in, his face grave. "How's it going, Duncan?"
I force a smile to my face and sit up. "Not bad, Coach. Just need to rub some dirt in it, and I'll be good."
Coach Thibedeau is looking at me like I'm out of my mind, and even Dr. Lefort is shaking his head. "Duncan, did you hear what the doctor said? You need surgery."
I look at Coach Thibs and shake my head. "No. What I heard is that I have partial tears of a ligament and a tendon. Partial tears. Not total. So it's something that ca
n wait until January. We've got a bowl game to win, and I intend to help the team do it."
Coach Bainridge looks at Thibs and gives him a thumb. He gets the message and gathers up Dr. Lefort to leave the exam room. Once we have privacy, Coach B sits on the edge of the bed. "What's going on?"
I take a few seconds to think about how I want to say what I want to say. Finally, the words come to me. "For four years, I've been an arrogant, greedy, selfish asshole. I've hurt this team as much as I've helped it, and I can't make up for that. For these last few games, since my suspension, I've tried, and I've found something out.”
"What's that?"
I look at him and smile. "I love football. Not the fame—I mean, that's cool too—and not the money that might come in the next few years. I love the game. I've loved being part of this team. And I won't let this team down again. So if that MRI says I can move my elbow at all, that I can even bend my arm, then I'm going to be out there. We can worry about the surgery afterward."
Bainridge shakes his head. "Duncan, if you go out there in a bowl game, you're putting your entire future at risk. One wrong hit to that elbow, and your biceps tendon gets fully torn off the bone. You lose at least a year to rehab, and nobody's going to draft a tight end with a bad bicep in the first round. You'll be lucky to get a third-round pick—if you can even play at all."
"It's my career, Coach. Besides, there are things—" my voice catches, and emotion chokes at my throat. "There are things more important than football. That's why I have to do it."
"Tell me. Tell me why, or else I put you down as unable to play in the report to the AD."
In my mind, I see Carrie, and the words come easy. "Because I love her. Because I need to be a good man for her. A good man . . . he'd go out and fight with his team."
Coach studies me for a minute, then nods his head. "Okay, fine, but you could be making a huge mistake. I guess I get to tell you now that the team got the invite right before I came to see you. We're going to be playing in the Sunshine Bowl."
I nod, somewhat pleased. "Sunshine, huh? That's in Florida, right?"
"Yep. Not a New Year's Bowl, though, but right after Christmas. It doesn't give you a lot of time to heal up."
Chapter 18
Carrie
"Are you insane?"
Duncan shifts the sling strap around his neck to get a better seating for the padding and chuckles before reaching out and taking my hand with his good one. "You're about the third or fourth person to ask me that exact question this morning. Can we at least get back home before I have to answer it again?"
I roll my eyes and nod, carrying his bag over my shoulder. We get on the bus from the hospital to his apartment, and as we ride, I can't help but feel better. Seeing him down on the turf, holding his elbow and trying not to scream, I'd been so scared. What made it even worse was that, as Duncan's girlfriend, I couldn't get past the nurses at the front desk. I wasn't family, and I wasn't one of the coaches. I was just some girl. Thank God Tyler saw me and snuck me in a side door.
"I owe a date to a very star-struck nurse for this one, so make it good," he whispers as I go by. "I have a feeling I'm going to regret the date."
It was helpful to see Duncan in the hospital, and now, riding the bus next to him, I'm even happier, even if his plan is crazy. "So are you gonna tell me why you're thinking of sacrificing yourself and your future for this?"
Duncan thinks about it, then nods. "I've got a laundry list half a mile long. I can't begin to name them all. When Coach B first came around, I said it was for me, to become the man that I want to be instead of the person I am. I told him it was for you for the same reasons. But that's only part of the truth."
"What do you mean?" I ask, already moved by what Duncan said.
Duncan puts his arm around me and gives my shoulders a squeeze, smiling. "I do want to be a man who’s good enough for you. That's not a lie. But when you don't have a model to base yourself on, you have to base it off what you don't want to be. So, I looked at my father. Did you know he used to be an athlete?"
"Not really, no. Was he a football player too?"
Duncan shakes his head. "Nope, or else, I never would have gone near the game. He was a basketball player, actually. From what I heard from my grandfather before he died, he was a pretty good shooting guard. Not pro-caliber, but when you add that to Mom, you get me. She was a near-Olympic level heptathlete. I double-checked recently. Anyway, I looked to Dad. And what I said to myself was, what would Winston Hart do?"
"And what would he do?"
Duncan pulls me closer. "He'd take the easy way out. He'd take the surgery, cruise past the pro combine or the school's pro day, and then cruise into a rookie contract if someone offered it to him. You see, for all his venture capitalist act, he's always cut and run when the going gets tough. So skipping the Sunshine Bowl—that's something he would do."
I nod, not liking Duncan's thinking, but at least understanding it. The game is as much about personal development as it is the team, and there's nothing wrong with thinking that way. After all, being a team player doesn't mean you need to be a masochist. Just partly so. "Then can I ask you a favor?"
"What's that?"
I raise my head, whispering into Duncan's ear. "Can I help out?"
The bus stops, and Duncan and I get off, walking the half-block up to the Vista Apartments before taking the elevator up. Duncan's thinking the entire time, and when we get inside, he closes the door behind us and goes into the living room. "Carrie, it's not that I'm not happy that you offer, but you know with the Honor case still pending against you, that you're technically under suspension. If some jealous bitch like Chelsea Brown catches you working any sort of rehab with me, you're putting your future of getting back into the intern program at stake."
I nod. "I know that. But I know something else, something you haven't thought of yet."
"What's that?"
"Us. What you’re doing could be dangerous, and I want to do whatever I can for you. Besides, after I’m cleared, I really doubt they’d ever do anything to me. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Actually, I'd like to go one better."
“What do you mean?” Duncan asks, and I point to the bedroom. "I think I'm a little banged up for that."
"No, you horndog," I say with a laugh. "Look."
Duncan goes into the bedroom, where I've fully made the bed and cleaned, something that he, despite being neater than most men, didn't do a great job of before. I set a bag next to the dresser, where it sits face up. "Two sets of pillows. Nice, and I appreciate the cleaning job, but what are you saying?"
“What I'm saying is . . . maybe you'd like a live-in rehab specialist?"
Duncan turns to me and shakes his head. "No . . . but I'd love to have a girlfriend who wants to live with me for as long as she wants. How about that?"
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod, blinking away the tears that are forming in my eyes. "You have no idea. Actually, there’s one more thing, if you don't mind me being positively domestic."
“Huh?”
I laugh again. "Actually, I was thinking . . . after we talk, would you like to meet my parents? Skype, of course . . . at least for now.”
Duncan nods, then his face clouds. "I get the feeling from what you’ve said, though, that your parents don't like me."
I nod. "Dad doesn't. Mom's just . . . Mom."
"Why?"
I sit down on the bed, and Duncan takes a seat next to me. He undoes the strap on his sling and slowly lays back, resting his arm on the bed while he begins to slowly curl and relax the arm. He's gritting his teeth. It has to be hurting him, but I know he's trying to keep his joint mobile, not stiffening up on him.
"Dad's a long-haul trucker," I tell him as I shift sideways, sitting cross-legged next to his arm. "But he used to be an athlete too. Baseball player, actually. I guess I take after him that way. At his high school, at least my grandmother told me, baseball was a very distant second to football, and the players at his
school were, in general, assholes."
"Hmm, asshole football players. Never met one," Duncan jokes, and I teasingly slap him on his chest. "Ouch. Now, you have to be fully moved in before you can do whips and handcuffs, but spanking is okay already, got it?"
I laugh and pat him on the chest again. "Careful. I may have a side to me you haven't seen yet. But, as to Dad . . . long story short, one of the football jocks stole his girlfriend. Of course, he has a grudge against all football players. Perfect logic.”
"Ooh, ouch," Duncan hisses. “Sounds about right.”
"Well, that's half the reason he doesn't trust you. The other half has to do with his trucking."
Duncan sits up some, confused. “What do I have to do with trucking?”
“He’s an independent long hauler, doing cross-country runs about two to three times a month. This keeps him on the road a lot, but it wasn't always that way. When I was a little girl, he was part-owner of his own trucking company, Longstar Consolidated."
"What happened?" Duncan asks, and I shrug.
“He got bought out. Some bigshot came in when Dad was looking to expand the fleet and pushed him out the door. Now, it wasn't your Dad directly, but he was supposedly one of the investors."
Duncan thinks about it, then nods. “Well, this is going to be fun. Tell you what. How about I finish up these arm flexes I'm doing, and in the kitchen, there are two buckets under the sink. We can get some contrast baths going to help out . . . and then when I'm done with that, let's call them."
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