by J Santiago
He could tell she was waiting for him to continue, but her movement had both distracted and discouraged him from continuing. Looking into those brown fathomless pools of her eyes seemed to make it real and scarier. She studied him. Then, she reached out and grabbed his hand off the bed, pulling it toward her and cradling it in her hands, drawing lazy circles on the center of his palm with her thumb.
“I wish I could say that there’s nothing to worry about. And it makes me sad for you. Because, I’m sure, somewhere in the back of your mind, you have to be thinking that this taints everything.”
Startled, Tank looked away from her. She’d somehow plucked all of the worry from his scattered ideas and arranged them in an ugly picture that he’d been afraid to look at too closely. His eyes widened, and he was thankful that she couldn’t really see what he was thinking. In that moment, it seemed to him that she would have no trouble piecing together his thoughts. He wasn’t able to control the involuntary clenching of his fist though, and she caught it with her hands, smoothing it out, smoothing him out.
“Pure,” he murmured.
“What?”
“I wanted it to be pure. Not like the spectacle that was signing day. Not like Richard’s fall from grace, ya know? I wanted one thing to be completely clean. And, now, no matter what happens, it won’t be. I have to share this with the NCAA and people picking it apart, questioning if I deserve the Heisman, the hype. I don’t want that. They’ll pick apart my character. I’ll become another Heisman candidate who has some shit going on. I wanted it to be so different. And it won’t be.”
There, he thought, I said it.
Relief skittered through him after laying his worries out there for her to sort through.
Amber didn’t say anything. She just continued holding his hand in hers. He still faced away from her, and suddenly, he wanted to see her—to look for censure or acceptance, he wasn’t really sure. Sitting up abruptly, he pulled the sheet out of the holding place under her arms and scooped her up so that she was sitting across his lap, her right arm draped across his shoulders, her black hair hanging down in front of her neck, the smell permeating his nostrils. He loved having her close, her badass attitude disarmed but present, her nimble mind dissecting the maze of his words.
She looked directly at him.
“The shit thing about it is, I’m sure they’re right. I am sure that he did something to jeopardize what I’ve worked so hard for.” Tank shrugged, as if to indicate that he’d expected nothing less from Richard Howard. “It would be fitting, ya know?”
“Fitting?” Amber questioned, horror lacing her words.
“Fitting. I fucked him on signing day and haven’t spoken to him since. And then I went about my business, acting like he wouldn’t try to get me back for that.”
“Tank,” she said. He could hear the pity in that single word. “No one should go through life, expecting their father to get them back for something they did when they were eighteen.”
“You don’t know him,” he snapped.
He expected her to pull some Amber attitude shit on him, but she merely said, “You’re right.”
“I let my guard down. And my mom tried to warn me; she knew something was happening, but I just…I didn’t believe her. I didn’t think I could be touched.”
“Untouchable. Ego can make you feel that way,” she said so softly.
If he hadn’t been looking directly at her face and thus her mouth, he might have missed it.
He wanted to be mad at her statement, but it was so true that he bit back his sarcastic retort. She reached up to stroke his jaw, rubbing her thumb over his lip, when he paused to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to coax him to speak or to rub out any incriminating thoughts.
“Yeah,” he finally admitted, “ego.”
Maybe she sensed his disappointment in her assessment, or perhaps she knew that he wanted to pull away, not wanting to be stripped bare. So, when she leaned forward and kissed him, he met her lips in a frantic search, pushing his tongue insistently into her mouth, wanting to take the words from her, to somehow draw them back in so that he could forget that he’d started them down this path. His hands gripped her hips and lifted her so that she could straddle his lap. Then, his hands moved up so that they cradled her face, as his kiss turned urgent, all of his confusion, anger, aggression wrapped up in the mating of their mouths. He felt sure the intensity of the kiss would scare her, but she met him thrust for thrust, barrage for barrage, giving him all the acceptance and understanding he was searching for, forgiving all of his shortcomings. He broke from the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, trying to gather his thoughts and control his desire.
“Tank,” she breathed, the loss of breath still apparent in her speaking of his name.
He pulled back, so he could see her. Leaning forward, he dropped a quick, gentle kiss on her abraded mouth. “Yeah?”
“You know I believe in you, right? For me, it’s pure. And it should be for you, too.”
He continued to stare at her as her words washed over him, soothing him in a way that surprised him. He didn’t say anything, and his hesitation allowed her to go on.
“And Franco and your mom, your coaches and teammates, they all believe in you. Sometimes, that has to be all that matters. Because there won’t be a whole lot you can do to sway public opinion. It’s already been dismantled and put back together in a way we can’t control. But you? You deserve to enjoy this ride. Try to take comfort in the purity of our belief in you.”
He wanted to respond. He meant to. Rather than speaking, he captured her mouth with his, smothering the need to put feelings he was just starting to understand into words.
Thirty-Seven
Amber entered the stadium, both trepidation and excitement coursing through her. She hadn’t fought Tank on this, like she had his invitation to breakfast with his mother, and she tried not to think about the reasons. She knew his mother would be here, and it was essentially the same thing that she’d tried to avoid a few weeks ago. But so much had seemed to change over the last forty-eight hours, and it stole her breath every time she let herself think about it.
She hadn’t been to a live football game since before her accident. The reasons for her reticence abounded, but somehow, now, standing in the bowels of the stadium, they all faded away, making her giddy. When she’d first made her decision to come, she’d decided she’d go about it like a normal spectator, sitting in the stands among the masses. But, as the day had drawn near, she had shaken off her hesitation and called Franco. She’d counted on a fight, but after a brief pause, he’d agreed.
One of the minions met her at the gate with a pass and led her up to the box. When she walked in, Higgs greeted her with a huge smile, a hug, and a headset. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Taking a seat next to her father’s offensive coordinator and longtime friend, the excitement came back to Amber, and she silently thanked Tank for inviting her to the game.
As the team left the field, following their pregame warm-up, Amber caught Higgs’s eye.
“Thanks, Higgs. I know you are usually in the locker room right now, and I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you staying in the box with me.”
Higgs didn’t say anything for a minute. He just took her in, looking her over, as if making sure she was really there. “Don’t you ever scare us like that again,” he said gruffly.
If it had been anyone else at any other time, she probably would have told him to fuck off or walked out or done something mean or stupid. But all of her darkness seemed to be giving way to the light of Tank. So, she smiled gently at the big bear of a man next to her and nodded. The moment held as they both seemed to assess each other.
“Let’s see what your boy can do today,” he said with a wink.
She noticed his reference and actually blushed—not something Tank’s Sunshine would do. Then, she laughed. Oh, Tank, she thought, what the fuck have you done to me?
As the Be
ars took the field, Amber left all thoughts of introspection behind. Poised on the edge of the chair, the headset in place, she became someone who looked a lot like her old self. But, in the midst of the atmosphere, she didn’t recognize it, nor would she have acknowledged it if she did. In the booth, denial wasn’t an option.
Amber had watched Tank put himself through workouts; she’d watched him on television. But, now, here, in person, she was able to take in and appreciate his greatness. His physical presence alone would be attractive to the NFL. He looked right at home among the beasts named Marsh and Tilly. He demanded their attention and their respect. She saw Iman, whose confidence and swagger was a phenomenon in and of itself, look to Tank for reassurance and direction. He took to the field like a general commanding his troops, and he led every attack.
In the first quarter, his line faltered under a blitz from the defense. Everyone in the stadium watched with bated breath for the bone-crunching sack, but somehow, Tank evaded the defenders and hit Iman on a crossing route for a touchdown. In the second quarter, he ran for a fifty-yard touchdown off the option.
At halftime, he’d played a near perfect game, and Amber sat back in her chair, awe coursing through her. Pulling off her headset, she looked over at Higgs with a radiant smile affixed to her face.
“He’s amazing,” she murmured.
“He is,” Higgs confirmed, laughing softly at her expression.
“I knew he was good, and I’ve watched him play, but holy shit, Higgs! How could he not win the Heisman?”
“I don’t think there’s any doubt that he’ll win. No one is putting up numbers like him. And our record doesn’t hurt either. We just need to keep playing like we’re playing and keep our eye on the ball.”
“Where’s the stat sheet?” Amber asked, all business.
“It’ll be here soon. I’m going to run down to the locker room. I’ll be back shortly.”
Higgs handed her the stats before he left her alone to wait for the second half to start. It was then, sitting there, perusing the stat sheet, that her conversation with Tank really sank in. All he wanted was for what he could do on the field to be his, to get the recognition he deserved for being the best at what he did.
It’s not so much to ask, she thought.
He didn’t take his gift for granted. He worked at it, honed it, made himself better every day. She understood his desire for the taint to be absent, but until this moment, with the nearly perfect stat sheet in front of her, did she understand the travesty of the controversy swirling around him. She meant what she’d said to him about it being clean for everyone around him, but it was no longer that way for him. It wasn’t pity for him that took up the spaces in her heart; it was anger for the craziness of it all. He didn’t just want to win the Heisman; he wanted everyone to think that he deserved it and that he had done it the right way.
Her ever-present worry about her reasons for wanting Tank Howard dissipated like a shimmery mirage on a hot summer day. He was so much more than a football player to her. The irony was not lost on her. She’d needed to be immersed in the game to realize that his appeal stretched far beyond the hundred yards of green. It wasn’t the cleat-chaser in her that had fallen in love with the star quarterback; it was the broken, scarred woman who loved the optimistic, intelligent man-child who happened to play football. Every stroke of his fingers across the marred skin of her face had stripped away the anger and fear that she hoarded like one of those people who stacked and collected stuff until their lives were overrun.
When the Bears took the field in the second half, Amber watched Tank with a new perspective. While she marveled at his grace and skill, she saw him through the hopeful eyes of a woman in love.
Following the game, Tank left the field hyped up on the adrenaline of their victory. He could feel it coursing through his body—that natural high that so many tried to mimic by other means. He’d only faltered once when a reporter had touched on the taboo subject of the investigation, but Cy had been there, waiting in the wings, to swoop down and rescue him. Even that brief reminder of the shitstorm brewing around him couldn’t take the edge off. He didn’t need to see the stats or even see Franco’s face to know that they’d played their asses off.
As he came through the tunnel on his way to the locker room, he saw Amber. In the space of a heartbeat, he took her in. Dressed in her ever-present jeans and a green T-shirt, a set of credentials hanging around her neck, she looked to him like every single dream he had about who he wanted to sink into. He didn’t notice anyone or anything else once he’d spotted her.
Walking directly to her, he scooped her up with his free hand, wrapped it around her waist, and slammed his mouth down on hers with little finesse. The pads impeded him from feeling her body against his, but her hands came up to cradle his face as he plundered her mouth, immune to the people around them. Retreating from her mouth, he kept his forehead banked against hers.
“Hey, Sunshine,” he murmured.
“Hey yourself.”
He nipped at her lips again but held himself in check, suddenly aware that they weren’t alone. “Glad you’re here.”
“Me, too,” she said.
He could hear the smile in her voice, and that made him want her right then.
Instead, he cocked his eyebrow at her, gauging her sincerity. “Really?”
Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he kissed her again. The murmurs around them started to penetrate his haze, and he reluctantly set her down, belatedly realizing that she hadn’t answered him. Looking around at the people surrounding them, Tank tried not to sheepishly duck his head. He held on to her hand though, not ready to release her.
Franco was leaning back against the wall, waiting by the door to the locker room, not willing to enter without his team captain. His mom stood unmoving in the middle of the corridor, an incredulous statue frozen by Medusa’s icy glare. Cy and Miss Magee hovered around, looking lost in the mini drama about to play out around them.
Tank felt Amber squeeze his hand before she broke away and walked toward her father.
“Good game, Coach,” she said.
Here, he watched her hesitate. He could tell that the momentum had been carrying her forward and that she’d been about to embrace her father, but she’d caught herself. For some reason, a bit of the edge fell off of his excitement.
Still holding back, huh, Sunshine? he thought.
He watched in a sort of frustrated fascination as Franco struggled to keep in check. He could see his coach visibly still as Amber came back toward Tank. Knowing he had his own family issues to tackle, he grabbed Amber’s hand and pulled her toward his mother. He knew he’d already breached family etiquette, and he prayed that his mother would make him pay and not her.
“Hey, Mama,” he said, letting go of Amber’s hand to lean down and place a kiss on her cheek. Looking to make his intentions excessively clear though, he stepped back to pull Amber into their small circle. “This is Amber.”
“Son, great game,” she said.
Tank had never forced his mother on anything. He’d never tried to get her to see an opposing point of view or to get her to allow him to do something that she’d already told him he couldn’t. You just didn’t defy Chantel. That was not how things worked. As he stood, waiting for her to acknowledge Amber, he thought of that—with some anxiety. He hadn’t intended to introduce them here with the sweat of his game still clinging to his body, his stench taking over their small circle, in front of Amber’s father and the staff. He’d meant to do it over breakfast with some clear warning.
As the silence lengthened, a different kind of sweat started to trickle in between his shoulder blades. He felt rather than saw someone move, and suddenly, Franco stepped into the fray.
“Hello, Chantel,” he said, kissing her in the exact same spot that Tank had only seconds before.
This seemed to snap her out of her trance. “Franco, great game,” she said, some life coming back into her face.
; “I don’t think you’ve met my daughter, Amber,” he said, pulling her forward, letting Chantel know that whatever was going through her mind about the girl in front of her, she needed to rethink it.
Tank knew, at that moment, that Amber hadn’t helped herself with her hesitant congratulations to her father. Had she embraced him, had Chantel seen her as something other than some groupie with her son, this meeting would have been much smoother.
Chantel finally looked at Amber and extended her hand.
Tank found himself mentally trying to prod Amber to get this right. He knew that, even if she didn’t, he’d figure it out, but right now, he didn’t need Sunshine breaking through.
Amber stepped forward to shake Chantel’s hand. “Hi, Miss Jones.”
Tank noticed she kept her left side prominent and her hair forward, hiding as much of her scar as she could.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Chantel smiled—a real one, Tank noted. “I’d actually forgotten Franco had a daughter. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, too.”
They made some small talk for a short time until Franco reminded them that he and Tank needed to get into the locker room. Tank said good-bye to his mother and then pulled Amber to the side, completely cognizant of the watchful stares around him.
“Meet you at the Bear’s Den? Around eight?” He held both of her hands in his, trying like hell to make sure she was good.
She nodded, and he couldn’t get a read.
When she didn’t answer him, he leaned forward, bringing his mouth to hers. Kissing her chastely, he asked, “Are you good?”
Again with the nod, her big brown eyes locked on his.
“Can you speak, Sunshine?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Yeah, eight o’clock.”
He let loose a visible sigh of relief, believing her. “Good.” He moved around toward her ear. “But I don’t want to stay out long. I have other plans for you.” Then, he kissed her on the spiderweb of her jaw, his spot. He started to walk away.