Hard & Deep: A Football Romance

by Krista Lakes

  Mr. Hayes’ voice wafted through the high windows and asked the same question that Tracy was thinking, "Why?’

  John laughed loudly and sat back down in his chair. "Come on, Paul. I can't tell you all my secrets. I have plans.”

  "That still doesn’t explain why you want that building back." Mr. Hayes crossed his arms now, obviously annoyed.

  "That building?" John fiddled with his onyx cufflinks and continued, "There's not much I can say about that building, other than the fact that it holds your precious Tracy's dreams. After the two of you seduced my beautiful daughter and ruined her life, I would think that you would understand and give me the benefit of the doubt."

  "After your kid tried to poison me?" The rising agitation was showing through in Mr. Hayes’ voice. "Why would I give you the benefit of anything? I already let you go once, you and your crazy daughter. Clearly that was a mistake."

  “The mistake would be not signing that restaurant over to me,” John replied. “You won't like the consequences if you don't. I have the paperwork right here. All it needs is your signature. And I will get your signature with any means necessary.”

  Mr. Hayes laughed at the threat. “Over my dead body.”

  “That can be arranged, Paul.”

  “Don't make threats you can't keep,” Mr. Hayes cautioned. “I'm not giving you anything.”

  “Fine. Over your slut girlfriend's dead body. You left her at home, didn't you?” John smiled like a crocodile about to devour its prey.

  “If you hurt her...”

  But before she could hear any more, a different sound made Tracy's ears perk up. It was a crunching, like shoes on the gravel driveway. In fact, that was exactly what it was. A man in all black approached the warehouse, moving as softly as the gravel would allow. She knew that the men inside would never hear it through the door. Both of his hands were tucked into the front pockets of his leather jacket. The dark garment had been zipped all the way up to his clearly boxy chin.

  Tracy froze, the acrid sting of vomit rising inside of her. She knew that chin. She knew that profile. Her heart froze and her stomach threatened to empty right there.

  "Fuck," she mouthed silently.

  It’s him.

  The periphery of Tracy’s vision faded to black as she locked eyes on her supernatural stalker. She couldn’t hear Mr. Hayes’ voice any more. All that came through was a fast, powerful pounding as the blood coursed through the vessels in her head at breakneck speeds. Her heart felt like it was going to bore a hole right through her chest and her knees went weak, forcing her to put both hands onto the cooling unit to keep from falling.

  The man crunched his way toward the building. He would cast a wary glance over his shoulder every once in a while, but otherwise seemed relatively calm. Tracy, on the other hand, was experiencing a whole new level of fear. Her skin tingled and her mouth went dry. She knew damn well what he was there for.

  He was going to kill Mr. Hayes. The dreams said as much.

  He walked past Tracy's hiding place and beyond the edge of the building. Tracy closed her eyes and swallowed before forcing herself to follow. She crept along the wall, being careful to step of patches of gravel that already looked worn down into the ground. Those would be the quietest.

  When she reached the end of the wall, she carefully peeked around the corner. The man was only a few steps away from the front door, and his left hand was no longer in his pocket. Instead, his stubby fingers gripped a pistol close to his side.

  Tracy started to panic. She didn’t have a plan.

  The faintest shadow of a whimper escaped through the bile in her throat, but it was just enough to change everything.

  The man turned on his heels, prompting Tracy to double back a few feet and press herself against the building’s rough stucco exterior, which scraped her back as she pressed hard against it. There was nowhere to run, nowhere that she could get to in time. It was only a matter of seconds.

  In the blink of an eye, Tracy’s need for flight gave way to the resolve to fight. There was no more time left to consider how or why.

  It had to be done. He had her cornered.

  The tip of the man’s shoe was the first thing that crossed into Tracy’s sights. Then she closed her eyes, screamed at the top of her lungs and charged.

  What happened next was a blur. She lunged toward him, aiming low and colliding with his knees, sending him down onto the ground with her. The man was visibly surprised, but quickly began to fight back against a barrage of thrashing limbs. Tracy couldn’t see the gun during any of it. All that she saw was white – blinding white.

  The weapon’s cold metal grazed her thigh for a moment and everything slowed down to a crawl. Her vision snapped back on in time for her to look down and see the blood-red handle waiting to greet her. It was so much like her dreams that she nearly fainted.

  Tracy looked back up to find the man scrambling to his feet. He already had his finger curled around the trigger. By the time that she opened her mouth to scream, he was raising the gun to meet her horrified stare.

  Behind him, Paul Hayes appeared, grabbing the shoulder of the man’s leather jacket with both hands and yanking him backward.

  BANG!

  The gun went off. Tracy saw the brief flash at the end of the muzzle, and the bullet rocketed through the edge of her upper arm. She immediately cried out and fell to the ground, her blood spattering onto the gravel below. Red pain flowed down her arm.

  Mr. Hayes, whether through his prowess or pure luck, wrestled the man to the ground and climbed on top of him. By the time Tracy was able to clamp a hand onto her wound and stand up onto her shaking legs, Mr. Hayes had beaten the assassin into unconsciousness and was still going.

  "Mr. Hayes," she screamed. He kept hitting the man, pummeling him into a red pulp. He was going to kill him if he didn't stop.

  He didn’t answer, but she still wasn’t close enough to reach him.

  "Paul!" she cried out, desperate to keep him from making a mistake he would never forgive himself for.

  Hearing her call him that name made him snap out of his blood-hungry trance. He grabbed the gun from where it had fallen and climbed off of the man, never once taking his eyes off him.

  "Tracy,” he whispered as she hurried over to him. He kept the gun pointed at the man, but his eyes went to her. "Please tell me you’re okay."

  She looked down at the man as a steady pattering of her blood dripped onto his jacket. Mr. Hayes had done a number on his face, but there was no doubting who it was. It was the man from her dream.

  “I'll survive,” she replied, putting her hand on the wound and applying pressure. It hurt like hell, which she supposed was a good thing. If it didn't hurt she'd be far more worried. “You saved me.”

  “I heard you scream,” Mr. Hayes said quietly, returning his gaze to their attacker. “You shouldn't have come, Tracy. He could have killed you.”

  “He was coming for you,” Tracy replied defensively. “I just distracted him.”

  Mr. Hayes glanced in her direction, his face going pale. “That explains some things.”

  Tracy snapped her head up at the sound of a car peeling out and scatting little rocks everywhere. “No!” she whispered, taking a step away. It was John Tice and he was well on his way to being long gone.

  "What is it?" Mr. Hayes asked, keeping his eyes and the gun on the would-be-assassin.

  "It’s John. He’s getting away,” Tracy replied, frustration making her words sharp. “He's not even going to try and help this guy.”

  It came as no surprise to either of them. John Tice was the type of guy who got away with things because of his position, even if that meant throwing his hired help under the bus. It was nothing new, but it made Tracy wonder if maybe they had scared him enough to lay low. Maybe her restaurant wouldn’t be worth it to him anymore and they could go back to their lives.

  “Get my phone,” Mr. Hayes commanded. “Left back pocket. Just hit the six and hold.”

&nbs
p; Tracy did exactly as he said. Within seconds of being pushed, a voice came through. “Hayes Security. Mr. Hayes, how may I help you?”

  “I need a full detail at my current location. Level five,” Mr. Hayes barked. “And tracking on John Tice.”

  “Of course sir,” the voice replied. “The estimated time of arrival will be six minutes.”

  Tracy stared at the phone. It was a ten minute drive just to the highway.

  “I also need a doctor,” Mr. Hayes added, his voice softening slightly.

  “One of the security detail is a fully trained medic, sir. Will that suffice or would you prefer a medical doctor?” the voice asked. “ETA for a MD is thirty minutes.”

  “The medic will suffice until the doctor gets here,” Mr. Hayes replied. “But I want the doctor.”

  “Of course, sir. The team will be there shortly. Would you like me to stay on the line until they arrive?”

  “That's not necessary,” Mr. Hayes informed the voice.

  “Of course, Mr. Hayes. Have a nice day.”

  The line disconnected and Tracy stared at the phone for a moment.

  “What was that?”

  “Private security,” Mr. Hayes answered, as if it were obvious.

  “Why the hell didn't you bring them to this?” Tracy shouted. She glared at him, but he was focused on keeping the gun pointed at the unconscious man. Right now, he was their only lead.

  “Because John said to come alone,” Mr. Hayes replied, his voice aggravatingly patient. “I have no doubt that he would have discovered them. I'm honestly surprised he didn't know you were here.”

  “Well, I'm sneaky,” Tracy said, holding her arm. Somehow, it hurt more now than when she was first shot. “Plus, no one looks twice at a crappy old car. There's a reason I didn't drive the Porsche.”

  Mr. Hayes smiled. “That's my girl.”

  He was going to say more, but the heavy hum of a helicopter stopped him. Tracy now understood how the security team was arriving so quickly. They were flying in.

  Tracy gripped her arm while she waited for the helicopter to land. Luckily, the parking lot was empty as it was still ridiculously early. There were no workers yet, so the helicopter had ample space. She closed her eyes from the dust and waited for the blades to slow.

  Everything moved in a blur. Men in dark uniforms with weapons took the gun from Mr. Hayes and bound the hands of the man from her dreams. He disappeared off somewhere and Tracy was sure she didn't want to know where he went. One of the men pulled her aside and poked and prodded her arm, making sure that it was just a flesh wound.

  “You'll need stitches,” he told her, carefully wrapping her arm in a bandage. Crimson quickly seeped through the pristine white. “Luckily, the bullet just grazed you. You must have a guardian angel looking out for you.”

  Tracy laughed at that. She'd heard it before. Her guardian angel needed to work on its skills. Getting hit by a drunk driver and shot within the same year couldn't be the mark of a good angel. She was going to need to speak with whoever was in charge one of these days.

  “How are you doing?” Mr. Hayes asked her, leaving the group of uniformed men working on a computer.

  “I've had better days,” Tracy replied. “I could really go for some breakfast, though. Getting shot makes me hungry.”

  Mr. Hayes chuckled and kissed her forehead. She leaned into him, drawing strength from him. Her arm ached, despite the medicine the medic had given her. Someone had said something about the doctor being delayed, but as long as the medicine kept working she didn't care.

  “I'm just glad you're okay,” he whispered. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

  “You'd probably have to sell the restaurant,” she teased. He gave her a stern look.

  “Not funny, Tracy.”

  “Sir, we got him!” One of the men in uniform called out, interrupting their moment. “He's heading west on the highway.”

  “I want him intercepted,” Mr. Hayes told him. He gave Tracy a quick kiss on the forehead. “You stay here. The doctor should be here shortly.”

  “Stay here?” Tracy asked, not following. “Where are you going?”

  “To bring down John Tice,” Mr. Hayes answered. The helicopter blades started to spin as several of the men piled back into the helicopter.

  “Like hell I'm staying here,” Tracy said, staggering to her feet.

  “Tracy-” Mr. Hayes started.

  “No. I need to see this finished,” she told him stubbornly. “Besides, look what happened the last time you tried to leave me behind.”

  Mr. Hayes frowned. “Please tell me you don't have a helicopter stashed around here that you're going to follow me with.”

  “It would please me.”

  Mr. Hayes sighed. “But you stay in the helicopter the whole time, understand?”

  Tracy nodded, her head feeling strangely light. She knew she hadn't lost enough blood to make her woozy, the medic had even said the bleeding was minimal.

  Tracy suspected it had something to do with dream visions.

  She followed Mr. Hayes and several uniformed soldiers onto the dark helicopter. She didn't know much about military weaponry, but from what she could see of the helicopter and its computer systems, it was a top of the line military tool. She didn't even want to know what Mr. Hayes paid to use it.

  The ground fell away as the chopper lifted into the air. Tracy pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose, hoping that the change in altitude would help clear the pressure growing in her head. It felt like one of the dream connections, despite the fact that she hadn't had the blinding white light that usually preceded it.

  It had to do with John Tice. The visions hadn't bothered her until she connected with him. The dreams had only become chaotic after merging with his. He was the key. His connection with her was what was causing the pain. She didn't know why, but she knew she needed to connect with him again. Kind of like resetting a switch by overloading it, she needed to connect again.

  The more she thought about it, the more she knew the headaches and the lack of consistency in her dreams was due to John Tice. He had been the one dreaming of his evil henchman. He had been the one dreaming of Gordon. He had been the one dreaming of hurting her.

  The power of his dreams and the intensity of his hate were fueling the dreams. She hadn't been able to connect with anyone else because his connection with her was so strong. He hated her that much that he was forcing out all the other dreams, forcing her brain to defend itself constantly against the onslaught of hostility he kept sending her.

  No wonder she'd been having headaches.

  The helicopter flew across the treetops, the men inside silent as they prepared. Tracy was the last to spot the dark SUV traveling down the road. John had taken an exit and was no longer on the helicopter.

  It felt like a scene from a movie. Everything moved in slow motion with every detail magnified and yet somehow distorted at the same time. The helicopter hovered over the black SUV, following its every move as the driver tried to find a way to elude the floating machine.

  Four black SUVs with the Hayes' logo came out of nowhere, flanking John's car. Between the four vehicles and the helicopter, he had no where to go.

  He pulled over and was quickly put in handcuffs.

  Tracy's hair danced in the wind as the helicopter landed and let the two of them out. John was pressed up against the side of the car, his hands bound behind him and his gray suit crinkled. He didn't look nearly as confident as he had an hour ago.

  “You tried to have me killed,” Mr. Hayes said.

  “Fuck you.” The older man spat, but it came no where near Mr. Hayes or Tracy.

  “Why? Why did you do this?” Tracy asked, stepping forward. She made sure to stand directly in front of him so he would have to look at her.

  “I don't have to talk to you,” John hissed, refusing to meet her gaze.

  Something inside of Tracy snapped. The pain and confusion she'd felt these past few weeks. The b
etrayal from Gordon. The sleeplessness. The fact that she was shot. It was all his fault. She grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her.

  “Why?” Tracy repeated, tightening her grip on his chin to the point of pain. “I want to know why.”

  “My daughter.”

  “What about her?” Tracy squeezed harder, waiting for him to make eye contact with her.

  Pale blue eyes met Tracy's. Searing white hot light flowed through her brain like lightning, shocking every neuron and synapse it touched.

  The whirling, twisting colors of blue and red over white surrounded Tracy. She knew she wasn't dreaming, that both of them were still awake, but the connection was so strong she was able to transcend and enter his thoughts without being asleep.

  John's mind howled with the invasion. It beat at her with icy winds and blistering heat, but she didn't relent. There was no retreat from this.

  The form of Jenna filled her mind.

  Only it wasn't the Jenna Tracy knew.

  A scared little girl, no more than six years old, peered up at her. She wore a simple white dress with a dark blue bow in brown hair. Freckles dotted her cheeks and innocent eyes stared out at her.

  “Why did you let her do that to me, Daddy?” the little girl asked. “Why would you let this happen?”

  “I'm so sorry, baby,” John's voice whispered. “I promised to protect you.”

  “She is going to take him away from me. You promised me that Paul and I would live happily ever after. You promised,” the little girl pouted.

  Tracy knew that it wasn't really Jenna saying these things. It was what her father wanted. Her father had wanted his little girl to end up with the man he had mentored. The real Jenna may have desired Mr. Hayes, but she was also willing to kill. The little girl standing before her was an innocent child.

  “Why would you let this happen, Daddy?” the little girl cried. Bruises formed under her eyes and her skin grew pale. “You have to save me, Daddy.”

  “Of course, baby,” John whispered. The wind stopped howling in Tracy's mind and the dream became deathly silent. “What do you need me to do?”