by Shey Stahl
Table of Contents
Blindsided
Copyrights
Contact Information
Books by Shey
Quote
1st quarter
1 Landon – Bootleg
2 Ember - Offside
3 Landon - Cadence
4 Landon - Alligator Arms
5 Ember – Front Four
6 Landon – Man to Man
7 Landon – Down by contact
8 Ember – Bit
2nd Quarter
9 Landon – Trick Play
10 Ember – Belly
11 Landon – Dink and Dunk
12 Ember – Field Position
13 Landon – Encroachment
14 Ember – Line of Scrimmage
15 Landon – Out Pattern
16 Ember – Pocket
17 Landon – Shovel Pass
18 Landon – Quarterback sneak
Halftime
19 Landon – Safety Valve
20 Ember – Prevent Defense
21 Ember – Sneak
22 Ember – Draw
23 Landon – Square In
24 Ember – Hard Count
25 Ember – TD
3rd Quarter
26 Landon – Trenches
27 Landon – Intentional Grounding
28 Ember – Tuck Rule
29 Landon – Leading with the head
30 Landon – Weak side
31 Ember – ACL
32 Landon – Blind Side
33 Ember – Franchise Tag
4th Quarter
34 Landon – In the grasp
35 Ember – Hang Time
36 Landon – Play Action
Overtime
37 Ember – cheat Sheet
38 Landon – Zone Blitz
39 Landon – Kickout Block
40 Ember – Chain Gang
Acknowledgments
Meet the author
Copyright © 2018 by Shey Stahl
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of Shey Stahl.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, games, the National Football League (NFL), the situations the players encounter, locales, or persons, dead or living, is coincidental. Certain phrases, quotes, and/or lines from the author’s previous works may appear in this book and are copyrighted by Shey Stahl.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, teams, sponsors, songs and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Football terms used in book are copyrighted by https://www.footballoutsiders.com/info/glossary_general
Editor: Becky Johnson, Hot Tree Editing
Proofreading & BETA Reading:
Cover Image: Furious Fotog
Cover Designer: Perfect Pear Creations, Sommer Stein
Graphics and Formatting by A Designs
Plagiarism checks carried out by Hot Tree Editing using Grammarly, Plagiarisma, and by Shey Stahl using Plag Scan.
www.facebook.com/SheyStahlAuthor
[email protected]
www.sheystahl.com
www.pinterest.com/authorsheystahl
www.instagram.com/racergirl99
Happy Hour
Black Flag
Trading Paint
The Champion
The Legend
Hot Laps
The Rookie
Fast Time
Open Wheel
Pace Laps
Dirt Driven (TBA)
Behind the Wheel (TBA)
The Trainer
The Fighter
Waiting for You
Everything Changes
Deal
All I Have Left
Awakened
Everlasting Light
Bad Blood
Heavy Soul
Bad Husband
Burn
Shade
Love Complicated
Tiller
Untamed
How to Deal
Promise Not to Fall
Blindsided
Delayed Penalty
Delayed Offsides
Unsteady
Unbearable
Unbound
Bootleg – When a quarterback runs out of the pocket with the ball looking to pass the ball as his first priority but instead runs with it if he can’t find an open receiver.
Your life can change in the blink of an eye. Don’t believe me?
Blink.
Okay, now open your eyes. Time changed, didn’t it?
My point exactly. It’s one second later and that second before, you’ll never get it back. I know I won’t. And one second, that’s all the time it took for mine to change. Completely blindsided with reality. I could give you a white-washed version of how it happened, but that’d be boring. So I’m just going to go ahead and toss you out of the moving train we call life and land ya right on your ass beside me. We’re in this together now.
My blink of an eye change starts with: “In the event of the passing of Grant and Melanie Slade, the custody of the five children will be granted to Grant’s brother, Landon Charles Slade of Seattle, Washington.”
Welcome to hell. I know, dramatic much… but I’m there. I’m so fucking there. This was not what I was expecting. Not at all.
Ember, my assistant slash best friend slash FILF aka friend I’d like to fuck, side-eyes me, gauging my reaction. “Just stay calm.”
It’s only partially reassuring that she’s here today. Stay calm?
I stare at her as if she’s lost her mind. How can I stay calm at a time like this? My whole life is changing in one day. Stay calm isn’t in my vocabulary.
You’re probably confused—much like myself. In case you’re wondering, I’m that guy at the large mahogany table with my initials and the words “I hate Oma” carved underneath it. I’m not the one with his head in his hands. I’m not that gray-haired son of a bitch with the beer belly and barbecue sauce staining the front of his white shirt. Sure, we’re both presumably in the same seated position, but that’s my Uncle Lou. He’s holding his head because Adler, my nephew, threw a baseball at him. I think he was supposed to catch it, but Uncle Lou didn’t get the message; or Adler just didn’t tell him and just threw the motherfucker at his head. Can’t say I blame the kid, either. Uncle Lou is a bit much when you’re nine years old. Hell, he’s a bit much when you’re twenty-six.
Back to me. It’s all about me because my dilemma, my problems, are clearly the ones that matter at this given moment. As you look at me, you’re probably thinking to yourself, fuck, he’s one good-looking dude. I know. I am. There’s no sense in denying it. But look closer. Do you notice the devastation? The confusion? And… wait for it… the denial? It’s all there, if by chance you’re paying close enough attention.
“Custody of the five Slade children is given to Landon Charles Slade.”
My heart beats erratically. I push back the panic. I’m good, in fact, excellent at controlling my emotions, until now. The word “custody” rattles around in my head as I attempt to find meaning in it. Okay, maybe not meaning, but the “what the fuck?” in it. This just… can’t be happening to me.
&n
bsp; “I can’t believe this,” I mumble, raking my hands down my face. “What the fuck was Grant thinking?”
Ember stands from her place beside me. “I’ll get you some water.”
What the fuck is water going to do? Drown me? I feel like I’m drowning now, barely able to catch a breath as wave after wave of emotions and denial crash over me.
“Clearly, he wasn’t,” Adler pipes up, staring intently at Lou’s face and the swollen purple lump under his eye. “You’re not gonna tell Oma, are you?”
Lou snorts, watching Ember’s ass as she walks away, but doesn’t offer Adler reassurance. He wants to let him sweat a little. Sinking down into his chair, Adler’s eyes teem with little-boy worry.
I can’t offer him anything, either. Oma once whipped my ass with a belt, and I still have a mark to prove it. She’d hit us with anything she could get a hold of, too. Whatever was within her reach became a weapon of choice. Brooms, lamps, belts, she had no real preference. Sure, in today’s world, she’d be considered abusive but back then, that was discipline, and I have to be honest here, we were good kids because of her. Aside from Revel. He’s never been good.
Despite being good, for the most part, and raised right, how am I supposed to take over raising my brother’s kids? How am I gonna be the one who has to whip them into shape? Not to sound like the selfish bastard that I can be but, I have enough to worry about with my own life.
I know, I jumped ahead a little bit there and just hit you with the news. Why? Because that’s exactly how they hit me with the news. I’m still trying to process the information, so you might as well come along for the ride.
And in case you didn’t know, he has five goddamn kids ranging from thirteen to two. It’s fucking ridiculous. Was he trying to create an NFL team? Who needs that many kids?
“You look pale,” Adler notes, staring me down.
Pale? I’m lucky I’m still upright at this point.
“He looks like he’s going to throw up,” Braylee, Adler’s twin sister adds.
Throw up? Yeah, I might.
Kids. I have custody of kids. As in plural and, quite possibly, forever. I haven’t felt this bad, this sick to my stomach, since the playoffs earlier this year where we lost the divisional title to the Falcons and, for the first time in my NFL career, didn’t make the playoffs. It didn’t matter that I broke the record for the most touchdowns in the fourth quarter with eighteen. The previous was fifteen. It also didn’t matter that I held the record for the most touchdown passes at thirty-four. What mattered was that for the first time in my professional career, my team hadn’t made the playoffs. And as the quarterback of the team, I felt completely responsible for it.
This… this huge life-changing decision Grant made without thinking of me, this was me never making the playoffs again. How am I supposed to live my life now? Shit. How am I supposed to get laid with five fucking kids? Whoever said it’s possible is fucking lying. I know it. If we’re talking in terms I’m familiar with, this would be what I’d refer to as intentional grounding. I’m in the pocket, looking for an eligible receiver and to avoid being tackled, I throw it away. Preferably at Uncle Lou’s face.
Of course, I don’t intend to actually throw the kids away because while this certainly isn’t ideal, I’m not a piece of shit and I know first-hand what it’s like to lose your parents and have no other place to go.
Ember, my assistant slash best friend I’ve been trying to fuck for years, returns from the kitchen and hands me a glass of water. “Drink this.”
I stare at the water. I want to splash the water in my face and then take the glass and throw it against the wall like a child throwing a tantrum. Maybe it’ll make me feel better. Probably not. Also, I hate the sound of breaking glass. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard for me. Not that any of that fucking matters either, just thought you should know.
“Why can’t Oma take us?” Braylee asks, looking at me like she’s worried I might faint. I still might. In case you’re wondering, Oma is my grandmother. Anyway, she is their great-grandmother and I’m sorry, but at ninety-one, she might be able to take care of this ranch and her home, but raising kids again, yeah right.
“Because you pussies wouldn’t survive her,” Lou tells them, removing the ice pack from his eye and leveling Adler a stone-cold glare. “Say you’re sorry, Adi.”
Adler’s glare is more vicious than Lou could ever pull off. “Take it back you…” I’ve only been around my nephew for a few days, but I’m gathering calling him Adi isn’t high on his list of things he enjoys. The pissed-off kid pauses and sweeps his eyes across the room to where Oma is pushing plates of food upon anyone standing in one place for too long, knowing that if a curse word passes his lips, he’ll be backhanded to next Tuesday. “You stinky potato.”
“Stinky potato?” I raise an eyebrow. “That’s the best you could do?”
He shrugs, his eyes still focused on Oma like she might skin him. “I guess so.”
They’ve been staying with Oma since the night their parents died. I suppose this little dude’s had some interactions with old Oma by now. Chuckling, I reach for my beer in front of me. I take a long pull, then set it back on the table. “Fuck, your dad was a pussy. Didn’t he teach you how to insult someone?”
The glare turns to me and Adler’s eyes brim with tears. I realize immediately my playful remark wasn’t playful at all and this kid just lost his dad a week ago. I might not have been close with Grant, but they obviously were.
Standing, Adler’s chair screeches against the hardwood floor in the massive dining room we’ve been sitting in. “You’re the pussy, asshole,” Adler grits out, walking away, completely ignoring Braylee’s attempt to reach for him.
A laugh bubbles in my chest but doesn’t push past my lips because I know where I went wrong with my words. But I’m also wondering what the fuck I do now. Do I apologize? Do I leave him be? Do I run away and let them go to foster care? Douche move, but it crosses my mind because fuck, this shit’s heavy.
Adler stomps upstairs, Braylee following him, and I’m left with Lou and Ember.
Lou laughs. “You’re off to a great start, kid.”
I look to Ember, waiting for her to offer some kind of useful advice. She shrugs. “You are kind of an asshole.”
“Nice.”
Oma finds me next, pushing a plate of food my way. It’s barbecued ribs, corn on the cob, Texas toast, potato salad… pretty much everything else she has in the kitchen, too. Southern women and their ability to throw down a meal is ridiculous, and God forbid you deny it. You might as well have slapped them across the face. “Eat, Landon. Eat some food. You’ll think better.”
Oma’s answer for everything is to eat. She must not take her own advice, though. She’s five two and eighty pounds. I can cough and knock her over.
I don’t take the plate, but she leaves it anyway. I stare at it and push it away. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Lou takes hold of the plate. “No sense in wasting good food.”
I can’t stand the noises people make while eating. It’s disgusting.
Ember watches Lou, a look of disgust on her face. “Are you even chewing or just inhaling it?”
He doesn’t respond. I suppose you can’t respond with food in your mouth, or, at least, he has the manners not to. My phone rings and Ember reaches for it to check the number for me. Maybe it’s my brother’s attorney calling to tell me this is all some kind of sick joke.
Ember holds up the phone. Our eyes meet for the briefest moment, but I can’t make out the expression in hers before she blinks it away and mumbles, “It’s Alessa.”
I groan. She’s the last person I want to talk to. She’s my on-again, mostly off-again girlfriend who, when I told her I had to fly home instead of following her to Brazil next week because my brother died, asked me who was more important.
I’ll let you think about that for a moment.
You’re wondering why I’m with her, aren’t you?
&n
bsp; Yeah, me too, but that’s a story for another day.
“I don’t want to talk to her,” I tell Ember.
Ember picks up the phone and steps out the back door onto the back patio without question.
While chewing on a rib like it’s his last meal, Lou gives a head nod to the space Ember occupied beside me. “She your girlfriend?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Ember?”
He nods.
“No. She’s my assistant.”
He stares at me, mouth open and I can see chewed food. My stomach rolls. So gross. “You’re the quarterback of the Seahawks.”
He points this out as if I don’t know it, and it should change the fact that I’m not fucking my assistant. I, too, have wondered why we’re not fucking, and it’s certainly not my choice, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me being the quarterback of the Seahawks. That in itself might be one of her reasons, but it’s not mine.
“Why does that matter?”
“You can have all the pussy in the world. Why won’t she give it up?”
I shrug. For the first time in years, that’s not on my mind today. Okay, it is, but there are some bigger issues at hand.
Pushing away from the table since the food and sounds are making me nauseous, I stand, but then I don’t move because I don’t know what the fuck to do, let alone where to go in this house to process the information. “What the fuck am I going to do, Lou?”
With a mouthful of corn muffin, he says, while spitting chunks at me, “Not get laid for the next eighteen years.” And then he pauses, swallows the food in his mouth, wipes my arm off where I’m wearing chunks and smiles. The bile rises in my throat. “Actually, Lani’s two… so sixteen years.”
Lani? Who’s that? Oh… right. Another one of the ten kids he left me with.
Grant, you’re an inconsiderate bastard, you know that?
Finally, I surrender to my intense need to escape and flee. I head to the one place I remember ever being alone and at peace in this house as a kid. The attic.