by SE Hall
“Riggins, get the hell over here.” I hustle toward a very happy coach and take in all the positive responses, knowing it could easily go the other way any second. That’s how football is; when it’s going great, it’s amazing. And when it’s going like shit, it’s miserable. Especially as quarterback. You can literally go from the “hero” to the less than “zero” in one play. Luckily, I thrive on the pressure and use it as fuel to be the best I can be.
I catch a glimpse of Levi, and if the look on his face is any indication of his pain level, he’s hurt badly. It sucks that he didn’t listen to everyone telling him to take it easy, but that’s what happens when you’re stuck on yourself. Even now, he should be in the locker room getting treated, but no. He’s still out here watching, probably just waiting, for me to fuck up. Focusing on the game is my only priority right now, so he can watch all he wants. I’m in the zone, which is where I have to stay to win this game.
Our defense gets the ball back on the second play. I guess the new score lit a fire under their asses. Adrenaline pumps through me as I once again take the field, with less than thirty seconds on the clock.
“It’s go time, mother fucker,” McNamara grunts, running along beside me.
When we reach the huddle, I get the call that will make or break us.
Beast Right Left. I hate this fucking play, but I nod my acknowledgement of the decision. “Alright ladies, the call is Beast Right Left. Let’s get this over with and start the damn party.”
We all break and I go back to my “safe” place. Silence fills my head, even though I know the entire stadium is roaring. Fake a run and flip the ball to the tight end. That’s all I need to do to change this game into a win.
Like one, well-oiled machine, everyone moves exactly how they should and I toss the ball off to Pierce. He breaks through the clearing made by the line and takes off. Sixty yards of anticipation and chaos later, he races over the goal line, landing us the win I wanted more than anything.
Yates makes the extra point…more icing on the cake, and the fans go wild.
I’m proud as hell of our comeback as I walk to the sidelines and join the raucous crowd of players, coaches, and of course, the media…lined up to get their ten seconds with us as we make our rowdy way to the locker room.
A little hottie reporter stops me in my tracks, shoving a mic in my face. “We’re here with Rush Riggins. Can you tell us how you were able to turn that game around so quickly?”
I feel a smile split my face at the rush of excitement in the air.
“What can I say, I went out and did my job. I’m just thankful for the opportunity to show my talent tonight, and grateful to my teammates for working so hard to make the win possible. Thank you to everyone who came out tonight and cheered us on ‘til the very end.” I take a step around the reporter, knowing how hyped the locker room is about to be and not wanting to miss it. I’ve waited a long time for this.
I take the walk down “Thunder Road,” our home tunnel, and slap the large ‘T’ on the wall as a nod to my college traditions. After all, it was my days there that prepared me for tonight. With my head held high, I step into the locker room and pull off my jersey and pads, grabbing a towel to wipe off some of the sweat I was more than happy to earn.
Coach walks in, not sporting a happy look as I would’ve expected. He drops his head to his chest, waiting for the room to quiet down. Levi’s injury must have him upset.
The team’s loud, unorganized chant is silenced by a loud whistle. All attention is pulled to Coach, and we watch as he slowly lifts his head, seeming to struggle with finding his next words.
“It was a great win tonight, damn fine job by everyone. I waited until after the game to say this, and now, I’m even more sure it was the right thing to do,” his voice catches, “because he’d have wanted the win. Gentlemen, Mr. Vanderbilt has passed away.”
No one says anything, everyone processing the information in their own way I suppose. Walter Vanderbilt was the owner of the Thunder organization and a football fanatic, very involved with his time while his health allowed it. We’ve all known he hasn’t been doing well for a while now, but I think everyone, like myself, was hoping we’d make it through this season before anything happened.
Of course, because he was a well-liked and highly respected man, due one, last winning season, but also to delay a change in ownership. There’d been talk of his son and/or daughter getting the team in his will, but then we’d also heard hushed speculations that whomever got it would be forced to sell because of an ongoing family dispute.
I scan the room and take in all the somber faces, a worried sadness now hanging in the air.
“I know you’re all saddened by this loss, as am I, but I also know you’re probably wondering about the fate of the team. As it’s early, we don’t have any specific details, but we’ll let everyone know what we can, as we can. And,” Coach sighs, “Levi has been taken to the hospital. We don’t know the severity of his injuries at this time, so please keep him in your thoughts as well. With all of that, I’m done for the night. Anyone else have anything?” He looks to the other coaches, who all shake their lowered heads, and after a final, mumbled “congratulations,” the staff walks out.
My very first win in an NFL game has ended with me being unsure of the entire team’s fate, not to mention the grief I feel for the man who built and loved it. I’m concerned about who will take the reins, how they’ll change the way things are done and if they’ll honor, or screw up, Walter Vanderbilt’s legacy. They may dissolve the team altogether if they end up in a fight for ownership, spitting greed in the face of his generosity. I pray that doesn’t happen.
I skip the party idea that was thrown out and go home to wrap my head around all of this. I need some time to think. Drinking and pussy aren’t going to help clear things up tonight.
The dead silence in my house is too quiet, so I hit play on our game that I recorded. I fast-forward to where I go in and watch the last few plays over and over, criticizing most of what I’ve done. I’ve always watched my games in slow motion for this very reason, to remind myself that I still have shit to work on and to stay humble in the face of praise.
A call pops up on my big screen, so I pause the game and accept it, already knowing where this is headed.
“Do we have to do this shit every fucking time? Where the hell are you? You know I’m gonna call your ass, so why do you always make things so goddamn difficult?” Tyler yells through the speakers as soon as I answer. He’s drunk, but not plastered yet…speaking in coherent sentences.
“Thought I’d steer clear tonight and let you have the first draft.” I laugh as I sit back and kick my feet up on the coffee table.
“Fuck off. I get the first draft every damn night. Your pretty ass doesn’t have a chance against what I’m packing. So it looks like I’m headed your way then, huh? Need reminding who you’re dealing with? How much pussy are you wanting?”
He’s insane. I know, without a doubt, he’s about to roll up in my driveway with women in tow.
“Fucking hell, Tyler,” I groan, not in the mood for his bullshit tonight.
“Don’t fucking hell me. Let one of these sweet honeys take things off your mind. You know we won’t find out anything until tomorrow, at the earliest.” He stops to talk to someone in the background. “You. How about we go fuck?”
“Please tell me that shit didn’t actually just work.” I’m not sure why I even question him, I already know it did.
“Hell yeah it worked, she’s on my arm right now. How many do you want?” He’s a persistent shithead, and if I don’t respond, he’ll bring a dozen for me to choose from…so I might as well try to minimize the chaos.
“Just one. And I’m fucking paying you back for this shit.” He is such a pain in my ass. I’m going to get him back good…and change my locks tomorrow. Then when he just shows up, he’ll have to handle his shit in my yard. Or better yet, I’ll hire security to keep him off the grounds. Yeah, scr
atch that plan, I know Tyler well enough to save myself the time or money; he’d still find a way to torment me. It’s just what he does.
“No need to thank me; I got you, man.” He hangs up before I can set him straight on exactly how I owe him. It’s all right, he’ll figure it out somewhere in the middle of undressing the transvestite I’m gonna hire and send to his house.
It’s about fifteen minutes later when he arrives—announcing it by setting off my alarm—trying to get in without his key. The laughter of the stumbling girls that surround him fills the house as soon as I open the door. They’re all shitfaced and I know instantly, there’s not a single one of these girls that I’ll be taking to bed.
I don’t fuck completely drunk women. Never have, never will. It’s a disaster waiting to happen and certainly not something I want my name attached to. Tyler, on the other hand, has no issues with his name being splashed in the tabloids. He says it keeps him in their beds and on their minds.
“Changed my mind, we’re going out tonight. Everyone load the fuck up in the truck.” I guide them all right back out the door and herd them toward my vehicle the best I can. My tolerance level was already low, when I thought maybe he’d pick up one girl that wasn’t trashed, just a drink or two into the night. Now? Any tolerance whatsoever…gone.
“I knew I’d get your ass out tonight. We need to fuckin’ celebrate the epicness of that game. You killed it and I’m proud of you, my man.” Tyler throws an arm over my shoulder, leaning on me as I get him to the truck.
“What’s got you so amped tonight?” I have to ask. I know him, and his eyes are telling me something is off. He’s on more than just liquor.
“Life, man. Just fucking loving life.” He sits back against the seat and closes his eyes. One of the girls scoots in close to him and I watch her lean over and rub his dick while he’s passed out. And with that, I move on to plan fucking C. I was gonna drive us all back to wherever Tyler found them, lose them in the crowd, maybe grab one beer, but now I’m pissed as hell. If he was groping her while she was passed out, I’d break his fucking hand and disown him. But it’s okay for her to do to him? Hell no, it’s not. And whatever he’s on must be bad, because I’ve never known Tyler to not rally when someone starts touching his dick. I want to kick his ass for getting this fucked up.
“Get your hands off him and out of the truck,” I seethe, but she continues to rub on him, ignoring me. She leaves me no choice but to walk back around the truck and physically remove her, hauling, then dropping her ass on the lawn.
“I told you to get the hell off him.” I stupidly try to reason with a drunk. The other two girls manage to stumble their own way over to us, so I take a chance. “Where the fuck does one of you live? I’m calling a driver for all three of you and I don’t give a shit whose house you pick.”
The blonde one slurs out an address and I open the Uber app on my phone, selecting the closest one being driven by a female. I’m not sending their drunk asses, no matter how bad I want them gone, with a man they don’t know.
My blood boils hotter each minute I impatiently wait for the car to pull up, so I go back to Tyler and try to wake him up. He stirs just slightly when I grab his face and scream in it. “Wake up! Don’t make me carry your big ass inside, man.” I'm not sure if one of these bitches slipped him something or if his stupid ass took it willingly, but I know one thing—I'm not dealing with this outside, in public, anymore tonight.
Walking him to the house is no easy task, but we manage with me half dragging and him half walking; if that's what you want to call it. I drop him on the couch and turn around to close the door, knowing the girls are still outside. My phone shows the driver is just around the block, so I monitor her progress until she pulls in my driveway then go outside to meet her.
“Get them home on my dime and here's a tip. Whatever you do, don't bring them back here or drop them at a bar, no matter what they say. They’re done for the night. Here’s a tip for your trouble.” I hand her a hundred-dollar bill and her eyes light up. “Trust me, you’re gonna earn it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, and thank you. Looks like they aren’t headed too far from here. I’ll get them home safe.” She looks sincerely shocked by the tip, and obviously needs the money badly enough that she’s not burning rubber out of here, leaving the trio of drunk messes behind. She’s the exact kind of person I love to treat well; no feeling of entitlement to my money, so I tend to give more. If I had another hundred on me, I’d give her that one too.
“Get yourself home safe after that. Too late for you to be out picking up strangers, cutie.” I smile and walk away, hoping she listens. Too much bad shit happens late at night and there’s no way a woman should be out, picking up God knows who, at this hour. Even though tonight, I’m thankful she was.
I shut my front door and hit the security button, and just as I take a deep breath as my phone rings. The offensive coordinator’s name pops up, so I accept the call.
“Riggins.”
“Levi’s out for the season. You're about to get real tired of seeing me.” He cuts straight to the point.
I feel a tad guilty that the news makes me happy, but it does. I've worked my ass off for this opportunity and I didn’t hurt Levi… it is what it is… I’d be an idiot not to take this chance and run with it.
“You sure it won't be the other way around?” I laugh.
“Oh, it’ll be both. See ya at the field bright and early. I'll be in at six, and I expect you there no later than seven.” I can tell he's trying to end the call quickly, so I don't bother telling him that I'll beat him there. He’ll find out soon enough. “Good job tonight, Riggins. Now I'm gonna go do that cuddle shit with my wife before she makes me sleep in the doghouse.”
He hangs up and I take a minute… standing in a quiet house, my best friend passed smooth the fuck out, on the night I get the news I've waited my entire life to hear. This isn't how I pictured it’d be when it finally happened.
“Hey Riggins, you’re now the starting quarterback of the Tennessee Thunder. Congrats,” I mumble to myself as I throw Tyler’s legs up on the couch with the rest of him and roll him on his side. Looks like I’ll be sleeping, on and off, in the chair—watching over this asshole.
I stare at my phone a second, the call one of the only other people in the world that will understand how much this means to me. “Tell me you’re not in jail,” my brother Jett yells over the loud background noise. A smile spreads across my face as I gear up to tell him the best news I’ve had in a long time.
“You better watch yourself, baby brother. You’re talking to the new starting fucking quarterback of the Tennessee Thunder. Don’t make me come home and put your punk ass in check.”
He starts whooping loudly, with just as much excitement as I’ll have when he makes this call to me in a few years. “Congrats, you asshole. It’s about fuckin’ time.” The brotherly love is flowing as usual even though we haven’t been able to see each other much over the last year. Jett’s three years younger than me and took over my quarterback position at Alabama, so both of our lives are busy around ball.
“When you gonna come watch me run your old field? Think I could teach you a thing or two.” Playing college ball was a pivotal part of my life and I definitely need to make an appearance to show my support; I just need to see when I can make the trip and not miss any practices now that things have changed here.
“Soon. I promise.” The music behind his call gets louder and I’m holding the phone away from my ear by the time he decides to let me go.
“Hey, I’ll call you tomorrow. You can tell me all about it then, ‘cause I can hardly hear you. Later, bro.” He hangs up as I’m saying goodbye and I look at my phone in disbelief. I can’t call my parents, they went to bed hours ago… so this really is where the night ends. My lil’ bro doesn’t disappoint, and his text has me smiling.
Jett: Fuckin’ congrats for real bro. I’m proud as hell of u. Get me a ticket, I want 2 see this for myse
lf.
I respond with a promise I know I can keep.
Me: I’ll get you 2, so you can bring Hale’s crazy ass with you.
Chapter Four
AVA
“Thank you all for coming. Today I’ll be reading the last Will and Testament for Mr. Vanderbilt’s estate. Walter was very specific about his wishes and entrusted me with making sure his final requests are met.”
I struggle to comprehend what Mr. Oliver, my grandfather’s attorney and long-time, personal friend, is saying, my mind weary with grief. Not just sorrow from the devastating loss of my only family member with whom I spent any time and held in the utmost respect, but a true, repulsed disappointment from the way this family’s been fighting over his assets. Which is why I’ve simply stood back, numbly, and let them go at one another like money-hungry monsters who each think that they deserve to have it all. With my grandfather no longer here to live his legacies, they’re just shallow possessions, and my strength is better used in honoring his memory with integrity.
“The first order of business is the Tennessee Thunder; and transfer of ownership.” Way to start out with the small, easy stuff and build up to most monumental. “The Thunder franchise, all rights, brandings, holdings and affiliates included, will now belong to Miss Ava Vanderbilt.”
Holy shit, that’s my name. I sit up pin-straight in my chair, surely hallucinating what I thought I just heard him say, but in no way imagining the murderous glares being cast at me by my entire family.
“Are you kidding me? Daddy would never have given his team to her! Impossible. There must be some mistake.” My aunt’s the first to spouts her venom.