Red, White and Blue Weddings: Red Like Crimson, White as Snow, Out of the Blue

by Janice Thompson

  Funny. She hadn’t given much thought to what he did or why he’d come to Pittsburgh. Maybe it didn’t matter.

  Maybe she was just supposed to settle back and enjoy the fact that he had arrived.

  ELEVEN

  Brandon stopped off at the house, changed clothes, then rode in the back of a plush limousine to the stadium. He arrived with nearly an hour to spare. As he made his way to the media room, he found himself distracted, pondering the fact that he would soon be playing ball right here in this very place. The thing he had hoped and prayed for for years had come to pass. In spite of his past fumbles.

  “There’s our star player.” Burroughs looked over with a nod as he came through the door. “Glad you could join us.”

  Brandon gave him an I’m-sorry smile. “Yeah. Thanks so much for yesterday. I’m really sorry.”

  “How’s the lady? The one who took the fall?”

  “My neighbor? Abbey? Her hip was broken, but the doctors pinned her back together,” he explained. “I was at the hospital till late last night with her, uh, family.”

  “That story will go to print in a few days,” Burroughs said. “Star quarterback rushes in to save the day for local woman. We’ll go on to tell them how much you love Pittsburgh, so much so that you’d stop the clock to care for a neighbor in need.”

  “I, uh, I really don’t think that’s necessary, sir.”

  “Why not?” Burroughs slapped him on the back. “It’ll make for a good story, and a good story translates into ticket sales. Not hard to figure that one out. We play up every opportunity we can get.”

  “Hmm.” Brandon wasn’t sure how Abbey would react if she read her name in the paper. Or Brianna. He shuddered, thinking about it. What would she say? Would she feel taken advantage of?

  He would find some way to smooth this over. Or talk Burroughs out of leaking the story.

  Coach Carter entered the room with a jersey in his hands, which he tossed to Brandon. “You’ve got your work cut out for you between now and tomorrow night. Hope your memorization skills are as good as your plays.”

  “Thanks.” Brandon slipped on the jersey, loving the way it felt.

  Minutes later a stocky man with a thick mustache entered the room. Brandon stood at once. “Mr. Mandel.” He extended his hand toward the team’s owner, who shook it with vigor.

  “Glad to meet you, son.” Mandel patted Brandon on the back. “We’re counting on you to pull us out of a slump.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “I know you will.” Brandon swallowed hard and sat back down, and the room slowly filled with reporters, no doubt armed and ready to snag their story.

  At three o’clock straight up, Burroughs approached the microphone with Mandel at his side. Brandon watched it all, his excitement building. The reporters—who till now had been talking loudly among themselves and snapping an occasional photograph—grew silent. The clicking of cameras filled the room.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Mandel said with a nod. “The news today is good. As you know, Harper’s out of the game. That left us with a hole in our line. We’ve had our feelers out, and I’m proud to announce today that Pittsburgh has a new starting quarterback, Brandon Campbell.”

  He motioned to Brandon, who smiled broadly. At once the cameras shifted his way. He nodded.

  Mandel continued on with a look of confidence. “Brandon is more than going to fill Harper’s shoes, starting tomorrow night. We’re looking forward to our best season ever.”

  The reporters tried to toss out a couple of questions, but Burroughs interrupted them. “Coach Carter will speak for a few minutes, and then you can ask your questions.”

  Carter stood and approached the podium. He started a rapid-fire dissertation of Brandon’s skills, homing in on his successes in Tampa over the past two years. Afterward he gestured for Brandon to join him at the microphone.

  Brandon trembled as he opened his mouth to speak. “First, let me say how excited I am to be here. I had two great years in Tampa. Great years. Got my start in the league there. For a while it looked as if I might be watching the game from the sofa this year. But coming here to Pittsburgh, to be part of this franchise, is a dream come true for me. To lead this football team is”—he stumbled over the words as the lump in his throat made it difficult to speak—“to lead this team is nothing short of a miracle.”

  Mandel slipped into the spot behind him and put his arm over his shoulders. “You know how I feel, folks. Winning is about growing. Getting better. We’re committed to getting better, and adding Campbell to our family of players does just that—makes the whole team better. I truly believe this is going to be the best year ever for our fans.” At this point Mandel opened the floor to questions.

  “How are you adjusting to life without beaches?” one reporter asked.

  Brandon laughed. “That’s an easy one. I didn’t get to the beach much. The field was my beach.”

  “Yeah, but you know it snows here,” another reporter added. “Even on the field.” They all erupted in laughter, obviously aimed at Brandon.

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “Have you ever played in snow before, Campbell?” the reporter asked with a smirk. “For that matter, have you ever seen snow before?”

  “Seen it.” Brandon looked at the coach for reassurance before admitting. “Played on it a couple of times over the years.” He tried to think of something clever. A smile rose to his lips. “But I plan to move so fast that it melts underneath me, so I doubt it will be a problem.”

  Another round of laughter rang out, this time in his support.

  “Why didn’t Tampa renew your contract this season?” one reporter asked.

  Brandon cleared his throat, then spoke with as much confidence as he could muster. “I leave the negotiations to my agent, and he leaves the passing and throwing to me.”

  “Any reason why you weren’t picked up by another team?” another reporter called out.

  Brandon shrugged. “Just wasn’t God’s plan, I guess.”

  “God?” A couple of the guys chuckled. “So are you saying God led you here—to Pittsburgh?”

  Brandon noticed the look of surprise in Burroughs’s eyes but forged ahead. “Well, I guess you could put it that way.”

  “He’s here now, and that’s what matters,” Burroughs interjected. “And we’re happy to have him. We know the fans will be, too.”

  “Especially the women!” one reporter threw in. “Are you still a ladies’ man, Campbell?”

  Brandon felt his cheeks flush and simply shrugged to avoid the dreaded subject. Lord, please don’t let this story go any further.

  “I’m not the man I was back in Tampa; let’s just leave it at that.”

  The time came to pose for a few photos. Brandon put on a winning smile and stood alongside his new coach and manager. With the cameras in his face and the jersey on his back, he was ready—ready to run for the goal.

  ❧

  Brianna thought back to her last bit of time at the hospital as she pulled away in her car. At ten minutes till three Gran- Gran had announced her need to watch the news conference, which gave Brianna the perfect opportunity to slip away for a couple of hours.

  “I have some grocery shopping to do,” she said. “But I’ll be back later tonight if that’s okay with you.”

  “Of course, of course!” Her grandmother had waved her away, turning to the television, and Brianna slipped out the door, content for some time alone to plan for the days ahead.

  Now, as she made her way north, she found her thoughts drifting to Brandon. Despite her earlier thoughts, Gran-Gran was right. What she saw she liked. A lot.

  But did he like her, too? Would it be presumptuous to think so after such a short time? Interesting to think about it. On the other hand, she needed to shake off this childish fantasy and stay focused on her grandmother. She would have plenty of time in the future for romance. Right now

  Gran-Gran needed her,
and she came first. Brianna whipped the car into the parking lot of the grocery store and got busy making her purchases. By the time her grandmother returned home in a few weeks, Brianna would be ready with some of her favorite foods. She would spend the weeks learning.

  And Brandon.

  Maybe she would invite him over for dinner. Let him know she had acquired at least a bit of her grandmother’s talent in the kitchen.

  Brianna left the grocery store with a smile on her face.

  Once she got home and put the groceries away, she’d make a quick call to the office then head back up to the hospital.

  Hmm. Maybe she’d better call Gran-Gran before leaving the house, just in case she wanted or needed anything from home.

  Lost in her thoughts, Brianna made her way toward the duplex. When she pulled onto the street, she almost didn’t recognize it as her own. A mob of television vans lined each side, as well as cars and vans bearing the logos of prominent radio stations. They seemed to be centered in front of her house.

  Or were they? How could she tell through the traffic?

  She honked at a fellow with a television camera in his hand as she attempted to pull her car into the driveway. What? He pointed the camera in her direction, and for a moment she wanted to jump out of her car and smack the guy. He had some nerve!

  With her pulse racing, she drove slowly up the driveway toward the garage. The second she stepped out of the car, a mob of reporters surrounded her on every side, many of them shoving cameras in her face. She couldn’t make heads or tails out of what they were saying.

  At first.

  But then one name rang through, clear as a bell: Brandon Campbell.

  “B–Brandon?” she stammered. “W–what about him?”

  A female reporter who introduced herself as a sportscaster for a cable affiliate started a round of questioning. “Can you confirm that Brandon Campbell lives next door? If so, can you tell us anything about him?”

  “Well, I, uh, he’s a great guy,” Brianna managed to say. “But why do you want to know?”

  A laugh went up from the crowd. “Why do we want to know?” One male reporter jeered. “That’s priceless.”

  “So tell me,” the female reporter continued, “how does it feel living next door to the man who’s going to take our team to the Super Bowl this year?”

  “What?” For a minute there Brianna thought the woman said Super Bowl.

  “We hear Brandon was quite a ladies’ man back in Florida,” another reporter threw out. “A woman on each arm and a party that never ended.”

  A woman on each arm? Parties? They had to have the wrong guy. Surely.

  “Would you say Pittsburgh has changed him much?” the female reporter asked. “Or are old habits hard to break?”

  “Yeah, is he throwing any passes your way?” another man hollered out.

  A roar of laughter went up from the crowd, and Brianna turned to face the man, anger rising to the surface. Enough was enough.

  “Look,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about— any of you—but this much I do know. You’re trespassing on private property. You are going to get off my lawn, or I’ll call the police and have you removed.”

  Several of them backed off right away, and a few of the ones who remained gave her the oddest looks she’d ever seen. As if she’d just spoken to them in a foreign language.

  “Lady, are you kidding?” one asked.

  “We thought you’d be thrilled to tell us about Brandon,” someone else said with a shrug. “No harm intended.”

  He and the others trekked across the lawn to Brandon’s driveway, where one or two began to photograph and videotape his side of the duplex. Brianna stood in stunned silence as she attempted to figure out what had just transpired.

  She raced back through the tidbits of conversation in an attempt to make sense of things. Surely the woman hadn’t said Super Bowl? Brandon was an actor, right?

  An idea began to emerge, one she couldn’t shake. Maybe the paparazzi had followed him here. Maybe all that stuff about women and parties was part of a gag, something his agent had cooked up to draw publicity for a movie or something.

  Still. . . Even at that, something about all this just felt wrong.

  Brianna grabbed her bags of groceries and shot inside the house, ignoring her phone, which was ringing nonstop. Once inside the safety of the kitchen, she looked down to discover she’d missed three calls.

  From Gran-Gran.

  She called back right away, amazed at the emotion in her grandmother’s voice as she cried out, “Bree!”

  “Y–yes?”

  “You’re not going to believe it!” Gran-Gran let out a squeal. “Brandon Campbell—the one and only Brandon Campbell—our Brandon Campbell—”

  “Y–yes?”

  “He’s our new quarterback!” Her grandmother began an animated conversation about all she had seen and heard during the press conference, but Brianna never heard a word. Everything was starting to spin out of control.

  Was it possible? Could it be? Mr. Trouble with a capital T was just that—trouble. Only a different kind from what she’d expected.

  With Gran-Gran still chattering away, Brianna snuck a peek out of the kitchen window, staring in horrified awe at the crowd of people on Brandon’s lawn. The news teams clearly wanted to meet him face-to-face—drill him full of questions about his past and his future.

  A wave of nausea came over Brianna, and she dropped down into a chair. Her hands trembled as the grim reality set in. She’d done it again—fallen for a guy whose first love was the game. Only one problem this time. . .

  This guy didn’t love football. This guy was football.

  TWELVE

  After the press conference Brandon decided to swing back by the house to send a few e-mails before going to the hospital. He arrived home to an unexpected mob scene. As the limo driver eased the car down the road, the press met them on every side. They started pounding on his car windows before he ever hit the driveway, shouting questions at him through the tinted glass.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  The driver managed to pull up to the curb, and Brandon mumbled a thank-you, then wrangled his way out of the backseat, hands up in the air. “Easy, fellas!” he said, as one guy almost hit him in the head with a microphone on an extended boom stand. “I’d like to live to play my first game if you don’t mind.”

  They began to barrage him with questions, many of which he was able to answer without trouble. He only stumbled when they got to the part about his last year in Tampa.

  “So you spent some time in a twelve-step program,” one of them jabbed. “What was that like? Are you clean and sober now?”

  “I, um. . .” He raked his fingers through his hair, embarrassed, yet knowing this was a question he couldn’t avoid. “I haven’t touched a drink in months. In fact, my whole life has changed—every aspect of it.”

  “Would you like to elaborate?” a female reporter asked.

  “I–I’m a different man. I’m not the old Brandon Campbell anymore. I’m the new, improved version.”

  “Same throwing arm?” one of the guys jeered.

  “Yeah, same arm. Just different. . .heart.”

  On and on they went, pounding him with questions and asking about his new team members. And the one who’d preceded him.

  “What’s your opinion of Harper?” the female reporter asked. “Do you feel like you can fill his shoes?”

  “Harper’s great,” Brandon acknowledged. “One of the best players in the game today. I wish him the best with his recovery, and I’m honored to take up where he left off. But I am not Harper. I’m Brandon Campbell. So don’t look for me to lead the team in exactly the same way, okay?”

  Just then something caught Brandon’s eye. Brianna, in the next driveway, slipping into her car. She glanced his way with an odd look. He could read the pain in her eyes, but why? What was up with that?

  Ah. She was probably a little confused
. He hadn’t exactly prepared her for this, had he? Then again he couldn’t have. Keeping everything under wraps had been critical. But now he could tell her everything. And she would not only understand, but he hoped she would also celebrate alongside him, as would Abbey.

  If he could just get to her through this crowd.

  Brandon managed to shake off the reporters, promising to give them all interviews at a later date. As they dispersed, he watched Brianna pull away. He wanted to run after her, but she seemed intent on leaving.

  Well, no problem. He would catch up with her later. . .at the hospital. Surely by then the frenzy would be behind him.

  He hoped.

  ❧

  Brianna pulled up a chair next to her grandmother’s bed and did her best to ignore the zeal in the reporter’s voice from the television across the room. “Listen, Bree—they’re talking about Brandon again.”

  “Uh-huh.” She refused to look. Let them talk. Why should she care?

  “Well, listen to this—why don’t you—?” The reporter’s interview covered Brandon’s past plays on the field and off. In a clip at the end Brandon added a few lines, insisting he wasn’t the man he used to be.

  Whatever.

  As the report came to an end, Brianna turned toward her grandmother, who couldn’t seem to say enough about Brandon.

  “I just knew there was something special about that boy. I knew it.”

  “But you heard what those reporters said,” Brianna argued. “He’s got a—a past.”

  Gran-Gran gave her a scrutinizing look. “We’ve all got a past, Bree. That’s why we need Christ so much.”

  “Well, I know, but this is different. He’s going around talking like he’s a Christian, and then every news channel flashes photos of him in bars. With women.”

  “But you heard what he said in that last interview,” her grandmother scolded. “He said he’s a different man now. His heart is different. And you know what that means. You’ve spent time with him. It’s clear to see that his sins have been washed away—just like yours—just like mine.”