Quarterback Sack

by SE Hall

  My father quickly follows. “She’s not old enough for that kind of responsibility.” I don’t bother pointing out that I’m the same age as Grandfather was when he bought the team all those years ago—he seldom listens to anything I say. “She’s an unacceptable choice. My daughter doesn’t even watch the games and will have the team in shambles in no time at all. Ava, tell Mr. Oliver you refuse to accept,” my father directs me in an icy threat. Thanks for the vote of confidence Dad. And dear old Mom, reiterates her mutual non-support by saying nothing in my defense, avoiding my pleading look at her by busying herself with a hair and make-up check in her compact.

  While it may be true that I don’t know much about the team, for my grandfather, I’ll try my hardest to make sure his team continues in the same fashion as if he were here to run it himself.

  He always sheltered me from the game, never wanting me to get involved with a player, citing that I deserved a man who’d be home every night. Not that he was that type of man, but I guess he wanted better for me. I may lack the first clue on how to run a team, but I’m certain I know how to step up and accept any challenge of which my grandfather thought me worthy. Besides, there has to be Council or Board of some sort to help me until I learn the ropes myself, right?

  “I refuse to just stand around and watch my father’s team be handed to her,” my aunt strikes again with an evil hiss. As usual, Aunt Charlotte always knows how to make an already painful day that much worse.

  “You have no choice. And neither does anyone else, including Ava. This is set out very clearly in his iron-clad will and he specifically stated that anyone who attempts to fight or overturn anything he’s outlined within these documents is to be immediately removed from the beneficiary list.” Mr. Oliver isn’t even finished speaking before my cold-hearted aunt stands and starts pacing in front of his desk.

  “This is ridiculous. Who was present during the signing of the will?” She flails her arms as if trying to fly away, please do, as she thinks about what all of this means…and any last- minute loopholes to fight it.

  “Let me finish, and then I have a video for you all to watch.” He motions for her to sit back down. She reluctantly obeys and I listen as my family continues taking turns audibly losing their minds as he tries to read the rest of the will. Seriously, the man can’t even get out two sentences in a row without an interruption of greedy, shameful proportions.

  He finally decides to blatantly ignore them and raises his voice to speak over the heated outbursts. “The mansion, including all of its contents, has been left to Ava Vanderbilt. The estate is to remain in her possession for as long as she actively represents Tennessee Thunder Athletics. If she chooses to sell or walk away from the team, the home, with the exception of its contents, is to be transferred to the team and used as incentive to secure a reputable new owner in her absence.” More gasps of outrage and frustration fill the room as he takes a deep breath then continues reading aloud.

  “Each family member has a bank account set up in their name and the information to each account is secured for privacy. I will provide everyone with the details pertaining to them individually.”

  “That’s it? A bank account? That’s all he left his own children, yet somehow my daughter, who can scarcely manage her own life, manipulated an obviously sick and delirious old man into leaving her everything that rightly belongs to us? Ava,” my father pins me in place with a chilling, loveless glare, “what did you do?”

  “N, nothing,” I stammer past the devastation clogging my throat, beyond slayed to the core at hearing what my father truly thinks of me and the contempt he’s been harboring.

  “My father wasn’t in his right mind. I plan to fight this.”

  Mr. Oliver wears a tight grin of superiority as he holds up a finger. “I’ve already told you what will happen if you fight any thing, in any way. As for clarity, I’ll now let you watch the video your father instructed I show you in the event of his death.”

  I sit quietly, in complete shock and even more so pain, while my stomach cramps and I start to feel nauseous. It’s not until I see my grandfather’s face on the screen that I can finally take a calming breath, no longer feeling so alone in a sea of sharks. It’s like he’s here with me now.

  “Hello, everyone. If you’re watching this, then you already know that I’ve left this life. I want you all to see that I’m alert and more than aware of the decisions I’ve made, regardless of the repercussions I suspect some of you will try to set in motion. Stop. You’re all receiving large bank accounts that will keep you from ever having to lift a finger, so calm down. Ava, my darling,” he smiles and I swear, the warmth and love in it comforts me, “you came to help me when no one else would, no expectations, no self-seeking motives. Because of that, the unselfish character you somehow managed to let shine brighter than your own examples, I know you’re the perfect person to entrust with my home and team. Don’t worry,” he laughs, and reminds me just how well he knew me, “I’ve organized a group of the best men I know to assist you in getting to know the team and the business. You’ll be fine, sweetheart. I love you, dearly. Charlotte,” his voice freezes over, the smile for me replaced with an icy stare to match his tone, “your account will be frozen if you interfere with the Tennessee Thunder Organization in any way.” My aunt’s rage is obvious, roaring just under the surface as grandfather says my dad’s name in the same menacing tone. “David, you too. Leave my team, and Ava, alone. I have nothing more to say, except that, despite my attempts to be a good father, I’m sorry I didn’t raise more compassionate children. But at least my granddaughter didn’t let me down. She exceeded my expectations, and for that, she will be rewarded. And there’s not a damn thing any of you can do about it.”

  The screen goes black and my eyes fill with bittersweet tears. I know I just heard the last loving words from family that I ever will. I often teased Grandpa, telling him he was a crazy old man, and he just confirmed it. I shouldn’t be surprised—he couldn’t have brought the family together and then put them all in their place in “his way” any better than if he’d been here. Part of me wants to smile like a villainous loon. Not because of my overly-generous inheritance. No, my slight wave of happiness is wholly due to the fact that…they all just got served an earful of exactly what they needed to hear. Way to go, Grandpa!

  RUSH

  “Move your ass, Tyler. I’m not gonna be late to the funeral because you can’t get your shit together.” The last few days have been nothing but chaos for the team. With the death of Mr. Vanderbilt and all the concerns over who the next owner will be, things are a clusterfuck, but that’s exactly what I expected when I heard about his death. Walter Vanderbilt was a huge, active part of his team and will forever be the face of what the Thunder Organization was built upon.

  “Slow your fucking roll. I’m coming.” Tyler looks in the mirror to finger-comb his hair for the umpteenth time as I check at my watch.

  “One minute and I’m walking out the door.” This is the same bullshit argument we seem to have any time I pick him up for something he doesn’t really want to go to. Today, he has no choice. It would be disrespectful as hell not to show up for this funeral, on time, and I’d be one of the many to tell him that. Loudly.

  “I’m waiting on you.” He moves to the door and looks back at me as if he’s been standing around because of me this whole time.

  I don’t take the bait. Tyler isn’t real apt on knowing when to stop being a pain in my ass. Everything’s a joke to him, all the time…but he fails to notice when I stop fucking laughing. Like the other night, which I still need to talk to him about, since he’s done an outstanding job of avoiding me since he woke up that morning and snuck out. My neck was kinked all to hell from not sleeping in the damn recliner, but when I did finally crash, he somehow managed to get by me.

  “Jesus, you’re a cranky bastard today. You need to get yourself laid, my friend.” I’m not even out of his driveway before he starts in on me. It’s the irritation
in his voice that pisses me off. He really has no idea that he’s treading on thin ice with me after the other night.

  “Don’t start with me, Ty. I’m not in the mood for your crazy ass to distract me when I literally have my career on the line. If you want to get obliterated every night, that’s your choice, but don’t give me any shit for trying to get you somewhere you need to be on fucking time.” He looks over at me as I start the truck and speak louder than I mean to. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember and we’ve always put up with each other’s bullshit without a word, but he needs to understand that this means too much to me to let some whores fuck it up.

  “One night I get out of hand and you act like it’s a regular thing. So what…I like to have fun and love how my dick feels buried in different pussy every night. It doesn’t mean you can dad up on my ass and start telling me what to do.” I sense him cutting a stern glare my way and suddenly feel bad for saying anything at all. This is who Ty is. I know this, but I’ve never seen him completely blacked out like he was the other night. That isn’t “fun.” That’s stupid. And dangerous.

  “You let those bitches get to you the other night. Someone drugged you and that shit can’t happen. We’re in the motherfucking NFL. That’s a damn TMZ headline waiting to happen.” I try to reason with him and remember where the church is at the same time. He’s quick to come back, like I knew he would be.

  He grabs a handful of his dick as he starts to talk. “I’ll give those TMZ bastards something to talk about. Fuck them. I do what I want and there’s nothing those fucking assholes can say to make me a shitty player when I’m on the field. If I do my job there and stay legal otherwise, they can talk about me all they fucking want. Keep my name in the papers. It’s only making me more fucking famous. I like that shit if you haven’t noticed.” I glance over to see him smile when he finishes talking. That shit eating grin he wears when he’s loving life.

  “Just be careful. What if they would’ve done some bad shit to you that night?” I know I’m wasting my time, but I decide to give it one more shot.

  “What could they have done? Tied me up and fucked me good? That sounds fucking horrific.” His laughter fills the truck as we pull into the parking lot. Fuck it. I’ve said my piece, it’s up to him whether or not he listens. Which knowing Tyler, he won’t.

  There are cars everywhere and it’s obvious this is going to be a huge funeral. Not that I expected anything less.

  We meet up at the back entrance as we were instructed to do. Current players are mixed with legends from the past, making me feel insignificant when I realize the greatness I’m standing amongst. I try to act nonchalant but polite as I meet some of my heroes, but I know they can see right through my weak attempt.

  The church is already filled to capacity when we all walk in together, but there’s an entire section toward the front saved for the team. Each of us in our black suits, looking completely different than we usually do, but all solemn with emotion as a video of Mr. Vanderbilt, laughing, cheering, sometimes throwing up his hands with a ‘what the hell was that’ at various Thunder games’ plays on the large screen at the front of the room. The man loved the game, and his team, fiercely.

  His casket is closed and jerseys from years past drape over the box in his honor. It’s a vision I’ll never forget.

  I’m sitting in the first row of our section, looking down, when the creaking sound of a door opening has me turning to my right. I glance up to see what must be the family begin to enter, being led to the three rows of reserved pews in the very front. As they pass by, I think to myself how odd it is that I don’t recognize anyone, not from a single Thunder game or event…until I more than recognize one of them. And not from anything football related. It’s her, the shy little brunette who went dick-crazy for me the other night. The same sexy vixen I tasted and teased until she begged me to fuck her. Which I did, thoroughly.

  Why is she with the family? She’s walking behind an older man who I assume is her father, but keeps an uncomfortable distance, almost as if she doesn’t quite belong in the procession. Maybe she’s a family friend? Employee? Or I’m grasping at straws of wishful thinking.

  It dawns on me…the way she kept asking if I was a football player. I never thought to ask her why she cared so much. Lord, I wish I had.

  “Who’s that?” I whisper to Tyler, just to test if he knows who she is.

  He of course does.

  “Granddaughter. Off-fucking-limits, bro. Don’t even think about it. Seriously, you’re telling me to chill out and you’re getting sweaty for the granddaughter of the man who lays dead at the front of the church?” His words vibrate through me as I realize what I’ve done. Holy. Shit. I fucked the owner’s granddaughter.

  Well, technically…he’s not the owner anymore. Even fucking worse. The new owner will no doubt be his son, which means I fucked the owner’s damn daughter. Helluva job, Riggins. Only me. I finally get a starting position, right about the time I pull my dick out of the one woman I should’ve never touched.

  She doesn’t make eye contact with me, and why should she? There’s obviously bigger, devastating things for her to think about. That goes for me too. I shouldn’t be reminiscing about her soft moans and even softer, tight little pussy at a funeral. That would make me even more fucked up than Tyler.

  Maybe this will all pass and nothing will ever come of it. I mean hell, she probably doesn’t even remember me. And since she didn’t recognize me that night, I stand a very good chance of slipping out the door unnoticed when this is over, no one the wiser. Weird though; if this is her family’s team, you’d think she would know what the guys on it look like, but I guess that’s a ridiculous thought. There’s a shit ton of players, not all of us notable presences in the media.

  I try to turn my focus back on the service, but it’s impossible when her slight movement catches my eye. I watch her wipe away her tears and a feeling I’m unfamiliar with has my chest clenching. Empathy, sympathy? Like I said, it’s unfamiliar, so I’m not sure what it is exactly, all I know is I feel terrible for her and want to help her. Hold her. Beg her to tell me what I can do to make it even a little bit better. I force back such crazy thoughts and look away from her, only to notice that none of the other family members seem to be as affected as her. I’ve never lost anyone close to me, so maybe it’s normal to be as calm as they appear. Perhaps they’re numb. Or reality hasn’t fully set in.

  I’m not paying attention to what’s being said and before I know it, the team stands and Tyler gives me a push to walk out into the center aisle. I look back to see the rest of the team following, but I have no idea where I’m supposed to be leading them. So I go on instinct, not caring if it’s “right” or not.

  I face away from those in attendance and stand in front of the casket, head lowered, hands behind my back. The rest of the team forms a full circle around our fallen leader and in silence, the service comes to a close, with his players, current and past, surrounding him.

  Walter Vanderbilt lived for this team. I didn’t have to know him well to know that much. His love for football and his team goes back so many years that all any of us truly knew about him was…he was a Thunder. The original rumble. I make a vow in the somber moment to focus only on my dedication to the game and put the girl out of my head.

  Which should be easy, since I’m sure this will be the last time I ever see her again.

  Chapter Five

  RUSH

  “Get your ass to the end zone on this pass. The coaches are watching and I’m going long.” I grab Tyler by the facemask and make sure he knows to run his ass off on this play so we can show off a little. He nods and claps me on the shoulder, knowing exactly where I’m going with it. Fifty-two yards of pure arm and a deep post later, the ball drops right in his hands for six. We make it look easy…just like we’ve been doing for years.

  Today has been an extra-long practice. The buzz going around is that the new owner is going to make an appearance today. I j
ust hope he’s not a stiff-ass that makes our lives miserable, but I am looking forward to meeting him before I start in his stadium this Sunday; it seems like the right thing to do.

  “Everyone, plant your asses behind the water station. Management’s in the house and I expect you all to be on the best behavior. Don’t make me sell any of you punks to the highest bidder,” Coach Benson yells as we make our way over to the sideline. It’s almost dark, but the overhead lights kick on as we all sit down. The guys are all chattering about some random bullshit or another while I’m trying to stay focused so I can make a great impression on management, and the new owner. Especially the new owner. I want him to know, without a doubt, that I’m ready to be his starting quarterback and I’m looking forward to proving myself to this organization.

  A line of suits come walking up the small set of stairs that lead from the coach’s office. I don’t recognize very many of them and can’t tell which one will be introduced to us as the owner just by looking at them. I was figuring on it being Mr. Vanderbilt’s son, but he’s not amongst the group.

  “Good evening everyone. I’m Doug Grayson, this is Bob Oliver, Darren Franklin, and George Wabash. Thank you for staying late for us to come by and introduce ourselves. We’re the team Mr. Vanderbilt assembled to represent the new owner of The Tennessee Thunder Organization. We’ll be meeting with each of you individually over the next week, along with the heir that has taken over ownership. But first, we’ve been asked to invite you all to a gathering at the Vanderbilt mansion after the home game tomorrow night.” I make note of what each of these men look like. I’ll need to make sure I speak to each of them at that party, more than once.

  “Please change into your away jerseys for the party, to help identify who you are. Until we all get to know you a little better, this will help us recognize who we’re talking to. Mr. Vanderbilt made this team up of both individuals who are very familiar with the team and those who aren’t, so we appreciate your patience while we get to know the organization as a whole.” The seemingly oldest of the men steps back so that someone else can speak. I watch this nerdy motherfucker take center stage and try to think of one damn thing I’ll be able to talk to him about. I’m a little rusty on Quantum Physics…maybe I’ll catch a quick episode of Star Wars?