Blur: A Sports Romance

by Piper Page

  “Oh damn, he’s caught in the pocket,” Robbie was on his feet with his hands cupped around his mouth, “Run, run, run,” he screamed from his seat.

  I saw Adrian’s feet move like he had heard Robbie yelling. He cradled the ball in his arm, and his feet took him across the field until a wall of a man flipped him backward over his shoulder, and Adrian slammed to the ground, the ball bouncing out of his arm, and the man on the opposite team scooped it up and ran back the same way Adrian had just come from. The crowd was on their feet. I was astounded.

  As the game went on, things didn’t seem to improve. I looked at Robbie. Even I could tell it wasn’t going well. Our team was keeping them at bay, but no one was scoring.

  “What the hell is going on?” Robbie asked, like I knew.

  “I take it this isn’t the norm?”

  Leslie frowned and huffed at me. “Your man is playing like crap.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s almost halftime. He needs to get his head out of whatever cloud it’s in and play right,” interjected Robbie.

  After another fumble, we all heard as the Mavericks’ coach blew his whistle, threw his clip board and hat to the ground, and signaled to Adrian with a snap of his fingers and a wave of arm. Adrian ran across the field to him, and we could see the coach’s head jerking like a chicken as he yelled into Adrian’s face mask. He pointed his finger at the bench, and we all sat there slack-jawed as the coach benched Adrian. I wanted to climb down the stairs and run to him. Find out what was wrong and let him know I was cheering him on. The coach smacked the backside of another player that must have been Adrian’s replacement.

  The ball went out from the other team, and the crowd was cussing and screaming as the opposing player took off like a shot and made it look like a breeze to run down to the end zone and score the first touchdown of the game. I watched the score go from zero-zero to six-zero.

  “That’s not fair, why do they get six points for one touchdown?”

  “That’s the way it’s scored, Mallory. Each touchdown is worth six points, and then they kick for the extra point.”

  “They get an extra point?” I was furious. “They just got six, why do they need an extra one?”

  Robbie shushed me. “Watch.”

  A little guy stood behind the ball, and I laughed out loud. “He’s a little dude, how’s he gonna get that ball though those two poles? It so…” I stopped and watch the ball sail into the air and right through the goal posts.

  “Well damn it. That’s the half.” Leslie stood up. “Anyone want another beer?”

  Robbie was pouting, “Might as well ease the pain somehow.”

  While we made our way through the crowd back to the VIP area, I began to wonder if it was me that was affecting Adrian’s game. Maybe I should leave. Maybe I was a football jinx. I slid up beside Leslie and whispered in her ear. “Do you think I’m bad luck for him?”

  “Who?”

  “Adrian?”

  “Oh sweetie! No, it’s not you. He’s just having an off night, it happens. They’ll go back to the locker room, the coach is going to give him hell, and he’ll come back better than ever. There’s still the second half, and the other team really isn’t doing much better.”

  I had no choice but to believe her. She knew way more about the game than I did. We restocked on drinks, and this time, they had an array of chicken wings and cookies spread out at various stations. Robbie dug in once more and shoved four or five cookies into his pocket for a “late night snack,” he claimed.

  On our way back to our seats, I saw a kiosk of Mavericks-logoed merchandise. I scanned the various items and came across a pair of binoculars. I bought them in hopes of having a better view of Adrian. Maybe he could feel me behind him if I could focus on him better. I knew it was silly, but it made me feel helpful. I held them to my eyes and adjusted them as soon as we sat back down. Adrian came back onto the field, and I squeaked with joy. His face was determined and serious and…what was wrong with his eye?

  “Leslie, look at Adrian, does he look like he’s wearing eye shadow?”

  She took the binoculars. “It’s probably grease paint. It helps cut down on glare from the lights.” She peered through the glass, and her mouth dropped open. “Oh my damn, someone clocked your boyfriend a good one.”

  I yanked back the binoculars and looked again. His eye was purple. Who could have hit him? Why didn’t he tell me? Did someone do it before the game? The crowd got back on their feet, and I took the opportunity to scan the opposing team on the other side of the field. I nearly dropped the binoculars over the ledge when I spotted Giovanni. He was standing behind several rows, up from the opposite team’s bench, with some very intimidating men beside him, one of them sporting two black eyes and a broken nose: Nick and Luca.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Adrian

  Coach was literally pulling out his hair, or what little he had left of it as he paced up and down between the locker room benches. “It’s time to grow up, boy, time to get off your mamma’s milk and get your own fucking dicks in your hands. This ain’t the playground anymore, it’s a war zone, and if you don’t get your asses into the game, that other team is gonna hand them back to you on goddamned silver platters at your own dinner table!”

  Normally, I would have snickered at this speech, but Coach was right—we were getting creamed out there. Even if they had only made one touchdown, they had held their ground the whole way through. I knew the majority of the blame rested squarely on my shoulders. Coach had been well within his right mind to pull me from the field and put someone else in, but McIntyre wasn’t fairing much better and had less playing time. I needed to get back in there and focus.

  “Maxwell.”

  Oh no, here it comes. Coach let me have it out on the field, but that wasn’t enough, he was going to give it to me again right here in front of everyone. I hung my head, ready to have him read me the riot act.

  “Where the hell is your head today? I think you’re screwing around in la la land with all the pretty fucking painted ponies. You want to let your team down? You want to keep us from the championship? Do you?”

  I shook my head.

  “What? I don’t think these fine men heard you.”

  “No, Coach.”

  “Well, what the hell are you going to do about it? Your ass is on the bench! You can’t throw a damn ball from the bench now, can you? McIntyre’s got a better chance of making a play from the damned parking lot than you do today.”

  “I’m sorry—put me back in, Coach. I’m good.” I mumbled.

  “Like hell I will. You sound like a whiney….”

  “What in the name of God’s green earth are we doing out there?” barked Mike Richardson as he stomped into the locker room.

  Coach swore and pulled out another fistful of hair. “Mike, I got this. We don’t need you interfering here. These are my men.”

  “This is my team, my team. I own the Mavericks, and by the way they’re playing today, I may need to find a man who can get them into shape and keep them that way. What happened to the superstar I saw during practice? I pay damned good money for these boys to be their best, and you’ve thrown it all into the toilet!”

  Coach was in Mike’s face like a flash. “You listen here, you little rich asshole, your money doesn’t whip this team into championship shape, I do! Without me, you’d own a name nothing more. That field out there would be empty along with the seats and the cash registers. Don’t drag your pretty-boy rich-ass in here and think you can step over me and be their coach. Not gonna fuckin’ happen. Now get the hell out of my locker room.” Coach shoved his pointed finger toward the door.

  Mike didn’t back down—in fact, he took a step closer. “I got every right to hire or fire who ever I want. You think this team is where they are because of you?”

  “Damn right they are.” Coach interrupted, poking his finger into Mike’s polo shirt-covered torso.

  I stood up and wedged myself betwee
n them. “Hey hey hey, this isn’t helping. We blew the first half, we still have thirty minutes to pull it together.”

  “Oh, you’re finally gonna decide to show up?” asked Mike.

  “Jesus Christmas.” Coach swore.

  “Hold up,” I put my hands on both their shoulders. “We absolutely won’t win this game if we’re fighting amongst ourselves. We need to go back out there as a unified team. Show them who owns this stadium and bring the game back into our hands. We can’t nail this win divided, it’ll be a loss that’ll haunt us the rest of the season.” I turned to Coach and put Mike Richardson aside. Like Coach, I could care less what he had to say, but I wasn’t going to show those colors now. “Coach, if you put me back in, I promise you I’ll deliver to the best of my ability, you just got to send me back out there. Your call, but I’m ready now.”

  Coach shook his head, defeated. “All right men, let’s do this. Take off your skirts and let’s show them who house this belongs to,” he barked.

  The men clapped and yelped and showed their pride as a team. Mike patted a few guys on the back as they passed him by, but when we left, he stayed behind, watching us from the tunnel. We ran as one unit back out onto the field in front of the crowd, and despite the poor showing during the first half, our fans were still there, still rooting for us, still giving us their all, and now, we had to give them ours.

  I sat with my helmet between my feet and looked up to the full seats. This was my place. This was what I lived for. How could I let these people down? They were my support, my career. If I did what the mob wanted me to, I would lose all of this, the part of me I had known for as long as I could remember, the part that held me together and kept me connected with so much of my life.

  On the other hand, there was the new part of my life, the Mallory part of my life. The part that woke up within me and I never knew existed before now. Was I willing to give that up, was I willing to bring danger into her life and still end up losing her? Could I live without her, let her go to keep her safe?

  “Fuck a duck,” yelled Coach as McIntyre got sacked for the second time in a row. “This is not working, not at all.”

  I stood up and gripped my helmet in my hands. “Coach, put me back in. I can do better.”

  “Well you sure as hell can’t do worse. Jesus, just get us on the board.”

  “I can do that Coach, I swear,” I said resolutely, honest determination in my eyes.

  He gave me a wary look. “I’m putting my faith in you Maxwell, don’t fuck it up. McIntyre!” He signaled with his hand to pull the lesser player out and informed the referees I was coming back in. The crowd went ballistic. I looked up to Mallory. She was secure and safe with Robbie and Leslie in the box seats. She was looking across the field with binoculars. I followed the direction of her gaze and spotted G, Nick, and Luca with two other very serious looking men sitting in the stands. It was then that I knew what I was going to do.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mallory

  Leslie slapped at my shoulder, jumping up and down in her seat. “Look, they’re putting Adrian back in!” She stood up and clapped and screamed out over the heads of those in front of us on the lower seats. Robbie joined in, and I pulled the binoculars away from my face and fixed my eyes on Adrian. He looked ready to play. I couldn’t see his face, but his body language seemed more focused more intense as he moved around the field. We were all on the edge of our seats by the time they set up the play.

  The ball sailed from Adrian’s fingertips. It amazed me how immediately before it released, the ball seemed glued there, unmovable, like he had iron fingers, and then it was free, soaring through the air like a missile to its target. The target was a large, wide man of seemingly steel springs who launched himself into the air and snagged the ball to his body as if it were a magnet and he was indeed made of metal.

  “Whoa, did you see that—oh my freaking—no way!” Robbie yelled with his hands on his head. “Amazing.”

  Leslie was in awe. “Who is that? Who’s number twenty-three?” She snatched the calendar she had bought from the bag under her seat and thumbed through the pictures of the players. “Emmet Dawson? Hello, my new husband,” she gushed.

  “Wait what?” both Robbie and I exclaimed for different reasons.

  I snagged the calendar from her hands. So that was Emmett? It was nice to have another connection to put in my Adrian mind-file.

  “He doesn’t seem so great,” Robbie griped, leaning over my shoulder to see the picture.

  “Why, because he doesn’t have on VR glasses, headphones, and a joystick in his hand?”

  Robbie ignored Leslie and slumped back in his seat. I felt bad for him. It seemed like Robbie was more attached to Leslie than she understood. Maybe I should talk to her about it. While I was considering it, a loud roar went up and circled around the arena. What had I missed? The score board flickered, and the score changed from seven-nothing to seven-six. The Mavericks had scored their first touchdown!

  We all held our breaths as another little guy came out on the field and prepared to kick for the extra point. I thought there would be a riot in the stands when the ball flew right between the posts. The crowd was on their feet, cheering, dancing, and whooping it up. The air had definitely changed for the better,

  People stayed on their feet. They set down their chips to give their full attention to the players, chanting and cheering as the clock ticked down. I was biting my nails. I knew nothing about football, but it seemed counterintuitive for the other team to have the ball with this sparse amount of time left. If it took over an hour for both teams to rack up enough points to be tied, how was either of them going to win?

  “Do you think we’ll go into overtime?” asked Leslie.

  “Are you asking me?”

  She smirked and looked up to Robbie. “Do you?”

  He threw his hands in the air. “I haven’t been able to predict one minute of this game!”

  My eyes followed the ball—the other team had possession. They tossed it back to their quarterback, who promptly took several steps backward and drew his arm back, aiming for the obvious open man. From the side of my eye I saw one of the Mavericks circling around behind the intended catcher. The ball flew, spinning from the player’s fingers and spiraling above, crashing and tumbling masses of men. It was either deafeningly quiet in the stands, or I had lost the ability to hear. No one even dared breathe. Then the crowd erupted into the noise of an exploding volcano, wrapped in a hurricane, swirling in a tornado. The Maverick behind the intended catcher jumped at the last moment, reached out over the opposing team player’s head, and ripped the ball from his fingertips. The man with the flying feet glued the ball to his body and landed surefooted on the turf. He took off like a flash of lightening in the storm and ran towards the Mavericks’ end zone, dodging and weaving through stunned players on both sides. The crowed was a mass of noise.

  As we clapped and shouted, I heard Robbie yell. “Holy shit, that’s Adrian!”

  What, how did I not know that? Oh my god, my boyfriend was making a run to score the winning points and I didn’t even realize who he was! I was jumping on my feet screaming, “Go Adrian, run baby run!”

  I thought the crowd was beyond loud when he caught the ball, but when he tucked his body and rolled just feet from the end zone, the volume shot up to hysteric levels. We all stared at him as he lay curled up on the green field. When he unraveled his body, I heard people asking where the ball was. I searched the ground; there was no sight of it. Then he unfurled his arms and lifted the oblong, brown and white ball into the air. People cried out, and I could swear I saw tears streaking down some of their faces—that’s how happy they were. The scoreboard registered the points, and they set up to kick for the extra point. I couldn’t believe the turnaround that had taken place. I wanted to rush down to the field and throw my arms around Adrian. This had been so exciting that it might have made a sports addict out of me.

  The crowd started to pick up their
belongings even though there was fifteen seconds left on the clock. Leslie, Robbie, and I stayed in our seats. I picked up my Maverick binoculars and looked across the field—my brother and his lowlife friends were gone. I looked back to the field, and the players were running off. There were camera men and news reporters waiting to interview them.

  “We should make our way down. Did Adrian tell you if we should meet him afterwards or get a cab back to our cars at the shop?” Robbie asked as we walked down the steps.

  “No, actually, he didn’t. I think I’m going to hang around and wait for him. If you two need to go, that’s fine. I can give him your congratulations,” I offered.

  Leslie linked her arm through mine and whispered, “Do you think there will be a chance we could meet Emmet Dawson?”

  “Les,” I eyed her and whispered back, “Come on, Robbie’s right here.”

  She let go of my arm with a huff. “Fine. But I’m not going to leave you here alone. Robbie, are you staying or going?”

  I saw a new revival behind Robbie’s eyes. “Staying.”

  We gathered at one of the bars in the lower levels and ordered drinks. The news was on and showing highlights of the game while the announcer gave his story.

  “Now let’s take it to Jake Ford out on the field with tonight’s all-star player Adrian Maxwell.”

  “Thanks, Bret. I’m here at Princeton National Stadium with the Adrian Maxwell, New York Mavericks’ star quarterback. Adrian, what were you thinking in those last few minutes while you were running the ball to make that ambush winning touchdown?”

  Adrian smiled and looked right at the camera. “I was thinking about my kitten.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Adrian

  “Your cat? Seriously, man? When the fuck did you get a cat?” Emmet was slinging has gear over his shoulder. He was fully showered and dressed and heading out of the locker room for his own interview.