"Hey, buddy, how's it goin'?” A strong hand gripped his shoulder.
"Hey, Derek, you came.” He twisted his neck, looking up to smile at Derek standing beside his wheelchair.
"I said I would.” Derek's dark eyes assessed him and clouded with concern. “How's the battle?"
I'm losing. Big-time. And you can see it as clearly as Tyler can read a blitz. “I'm still in the game.” He shrugged; no use stating the fucking obvious. “Hey, Rachel."
"Hey, Ryan.” Coach's sister flanked Derek, as usual. She leaned down and squeezed his cold hand. She was a looker—clumsy as hell, but wicked hot. Derek hovered near her, ready to catch her when she stumbled, and she stumbled a lot. Derek found it entertaining. Rachel didn't.
He grinned and felt better for some reason. Watching those two pretend they weren't hooked up amused him. Like they fooled anyone, especially Coach, who got a stick up his ass whenever he saw them together. Some bad history there.
"Great game last week."
"Yeah, we liked it.” Derek grinned. “Seven straight wins. Who woulda predicted that?"
"I would have.” A note of smugness crept into his voice.
"Ah, of course.” Derek winked at him. “We play next on Thanksgiving day."
"I know."
"So do you have Thanksgiving plans?” Derek pried. It made Ryan uncomfortable.
"Family stuff. You know.” Ryan forced his face into a calm mask. He'd be spending the day alone with stale cornflakes.
"Good. You have a big family?"
"Uh, yeah, big enough."
Derek frowned and scratched his chin but didn't press for more information.
Ryan hung with them for the entire game. Derek held Rachel's hand. Coach noticed, and he looked ready to take on the Dallas Outlaws D-line.
Tyler swaggered into the stadium for the second half, causing every girl within miles—and their mothers—to wet their panties. While Derek flew under the radar, Tyler flew above and beyond it. He devoured attention faster than the Jacks’ running back had racked up the yards last week. Slumming with Ryan's team, he took his place on the sidelines and shouted orders to the offense, much to Coach's irritation. Tyler lived to irritate people, and Coach's annoyance only encouraged him.
Both teams fought hard, but Ryan's team squeaked out the win to advance to the state finals. Derek stayed at his side the entire game, listening to Ryan's opinions on certain plays, defensive formations, and offering his own. Ryan forgot about his troubles for a while. Derek made it easy because he treated him like a normal guy.
Afterward Derek and Tyler treated the entire team, their families, and the coaches to pizza. They sang, separately and together, as the karaoke DJ played all sorts of tunes. Ryan wheeled his chair to the front of the room a few times and sang with the guys. He'd pay for this late night, but who gave a shit. He wasn't sure how many late nights he had left in him.
Still high from the victory, Ryan put off going home as long as possible. He hated his dreary, cold trailer. Unfortunately all things come to an end. A buddy drove him home and helped him up the ramp to his front door. No way in hell would Ryan invite him inside. He hated pity. Cancer was bad enough, but his living conditions were even worse. Waving good-bye, he wheeled his chair through the unlocked front door.
Ryan flipped on a light. It cast a dull, yellow glow over the dingy living room. He breathed a sigh of relief he still had power. Shivering, he nudged the thermostat higher—might as well enjoy the heat while it lasted, not that it warded off the gloom.
His stomach growled. He wheeled into the kitchen, pissed at himself for being too wired to eat earlier and too proud to bring home the leftovers. Leaning forward, he reached for a box of cereal in the almost empty cupboard. His fingertips grazed it. Gripping the sides of the wheelchair, he strained with all the strength his cancer-ravaged body had left in it.
His arms gave out. He slumped into the chair, breathing as if he'd run a marathon. A cold sweat broke out on his face. Frustrated, he swiped at his forehead. Just last week, he'd been able to stand and walk somewhat. How quickly he'd gone downhill shocked him.
Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his eyes. Loneliness seeped through him, empty and looming, a wolf ready to devour what the cancer didn't destroy. He needed someone. He couldn't do this alone. He stared at the door and willed his mother to walk through it and show him she cared.
Who the fuck was he kidding? Over a week ago, she'd come home late. He'd heard a car idling outside, movement in the bedroom. Rummaging in the bathroom. A few minutes later the front door slammed. The car pulled away. The place had grown quiet. In the morning, he found a twenty on the counter. No note. She hadn't been back since and wouldn't be. She'd fucking abandoned him when he needed her most.
Sucking in a deep breath, he rallied his strength. Pushing with one hand on the arm of the wheelchair, his body shook from the effort. As his fingers touched the box, his hand slipped off the chair arm. The damn thing spun backward. He flew out, hitting his chin on the edge of the counter. Twisting his body at the last minute to protect his head, he slammed to the floor. His hip, elbow, and shoulder absorbed the brunt of the impact. The contents of the cereal box scattered around him. To add insult to injury, he peed his pants.
He was screwed. Major screwed.
Mortified, humiliated, and pissed, he lay on the floor, too spent to heave his body into a sitting position. He pounded his fist on the cracked linoleum and welcomed the pain. Tears welled up inside him. He jammed his fist in his mouth. He would not be a frigging baby. He wouldn't cry. Dammit. He wouldn't.
He did.
Sobs racked his body. He quaked from the sheer desperation of it all. Tears flowed down his cheeks and puddled on the floor. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the cool, wet flooring. Corn flakes stuck to his face. Blood trickled from the cut on his chin. His hip and elbow throbbed like hell, not that it mattered at this point. The smell of urine assaulted his nose. He breathed through his mouth and tried not to gag.
This was not supposed to happen to him.
As a junior, he'd been second-team all-state in football and baseball. PAC-10 coaches wooed him. His teammates respected him. Girls fell at his feet. Everything was on track and on time. College, then pros, big bucks, busty cheerleaders, and a one-way cruise out of this hell hole.
Then the bad news...
He hated this crap destroying him cell by cell and leaving his mind imprisoned in a dying body. He didn't want to die. He was scared shitless of dying. He didn't know if he believed in an afterlife or heaven or hell. Didn't know if he'd just disappear into dust. Had never given it a thought because he'd been young and invincible. He might have had a shit home life, but his talent gave him an out.
Not anymore.
He shut his eyes, slept for a while. When he woke, darkness engulfed him. Rain ran down the dirty kitchen window, leaving streaks. His weary body hurt everywhere. Despair swallowed him whole, but he refused to give in and give up.
With a groan, he rolled onto his good hip and fished his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, the one Coach had given him for emergencies. He tried Coach, but no one answered.
He tried a couple of friends. No answer.
His mother didn't have a cell, so that was out, not that she'd give a fuck or pick up when she saw it was him.
With a resigned sigh, he dialed one last cell phone number and waited.
Rachel's breath caressed Derek's skin like a warm breeze drifting across Puget Sound on a hot summer day. Her lips nuzzled his neck. Her nipples rubbed against his bare chest. It was enough to drive a man insane.
Tremors vibrated through Derek's body stronger than an earthquake in a fault zone. More than lust. He knew it, just didn't want to know it. Because if these tremors weren't lust, they were something else. Something he didn't do because being vulnerable was so not going to happen. Not in this lifetime. Not with any woman, and especially not this woman.
Yet he owed he
r some kind of explanation regarding this situation they'd fallen into. He avoided the word relationship even if this thing between them was beginning to feel like one. He didn't do relationships. They were too permanent, too confining, too emotionally dangerous.
Pulling her close, he both loved and hated how well she fit. “Where do you think this is heading?” He held his breath and waited. The only sound in the room came from Simon's snoring and the rain beating on the window.
Rachel opened her mouth to answer, but his cell jangled and startled them both. Derek groped in the dark for it. People didn't call this late unless something was wrong.
"Don't answer it if it's my brother.” Rachel sat up beside him and clutched his arm.
Derek checked the display and didn't recognize the number. “Hello?” He hoped like hell it wasn't some rabid fan. The more the Jacks won, the more the crazies crawled out from under the bleachers.
"Uh, Derek, hi, it's Ryan.” The kid's voice broke, and every nerve in Derek's body went on alert.
"Hey, bud. Everything okay?” Derek forced his tone to be nonchalant, while he strangled the life out of his cell phone. He glanced at the clock and frowned. It was late, really late—after two in the morning. Not good. Not good at all.
"I, uh, this is embarrassing, but I can't reach anyone else. You said I could call you if I needed something.” Ryan's ragged breathing alarmed him.
"Sure. Are you okay?"
"I fell out of my wheelchair. I can't get up.” Ryan's voice shook with emotion.
Derek's heart dropped on his big toe. “You okay?"
"Nothing's bruised but my pride."
Derek heard the weary humor in the kid's voice. He chuckled. God, he loved that kid. “I'm on my way. Hold tight."
"I'm not going anywhere."
He jumped out of bed and flicked on the nightstand light. Hopping on one leg, he yanked on his jeans, not bothering with the boxers. Taking care not to catch his package, he zipped them up.
"What's wrong?” Rachel blinked, bleary-eyed, and watched him from the warmth of the bed.
"Ryan fell out of his wheelchair and can't get up."
"Oh no. I'm going with you.” Rachel stumbled out of bed and tried to put both feet in one pant leg. He hoped to hell he didn't have two people to take care of tonight.
"I think he's embarrassed. When we get there, you'll need to wait in the truck.” Derek steadied her as she attempted to dress herself. A simple feat for most people, but for her an accident in the making.
"I don't mind.” She untangled her legs and finished the job without bodily injury to either of them.
Derek tore down his driveway and drove like a crazy man to get to Ryan's trailer. He made it in record time. A single light glowed inside the house; no car was parked in the gravel driveway. Where the hell was the kid's mother? He'd not had the privilege of meeting her. According to Mitch, she'd never attended Ryan's games, even when he'd been healthy and a star.
Derek rattled the doorknob, but it was locked. Shit. He debated on busting down the door but decided to test his other options first. Walking around the dump, he found an unlatched window. He lowered his big body through it, slipped, and landed on his ass between a chair and the wall.
"You okay?” He heard Ryan ask.
"Just bruised my butt. It's not the first time that's happened."
"Rachel's wearing off on you."
Derek chuckled, glad to hear Ryan's sense of humor hadn't deserted him. He pulled himself to his feet and hurried into the kitchen. Ryan, no more than a sack of bones and a shadow of his former athletic self, lay on the floor, peppered with cereal flakes. Derek caught a whiff of urine and feigned ignorance.
He knelt next to the kid, who smiled feebly up at him. “You sure nothing hurts? You didn't break anything?” He ran his hands down Ryan's body, checking for broken bones but not finding any. Grabbing a nearby towel, he wiped the blood from the kid's chin and face. The cut appeared superficial.
"Nope. I'm fine. I'm really sorry I bothered you."
"You are not bothering me. Hang on. Let me get you up.” Setting the brake on the wheelchair, Derek put his hands under Ryan's shoulders and lifted him. The kid's light weight alarmed him. Setting him in the wheelchair, he knelt and brushed the cereal off his clothes. His eyes met Ryan's. If he'd inherited one shred of acting ability from his mother, he called it forth. No way did he want Ryan to see how much the kid's rapid decline unnerved him.
"Where's your mom?” He ground his jaw so hard his head hurt.
"Um, uh, working?” Ryan ducked his head and wouldn't meet his eyes. Derek knew instantly. She wasn't coming back. He'd seen the same expression in his bathroom mirror as a little boy.
"Working? Are you sure?"
Ryan shrugged one bony shoulder.
"Ry, be straight with me. Where's your mom?"
"I haven't seen her in over a week. I think she skipped out. Some of her stuff is gone."
"Oh fuck. Are you serious? You've been all alone for a week?” Derek knew all about mothers who didn't give a shit. If he got his hands on the woman, he'd use her for a tackling dummy.
"She's done it before, but I was able to fend for myself until she came back. This morning I could put myself in the wheelchair, but tonight I couldn't.” Ryan bit back a sob, his positive attitude deteriorating with this recent humiliation. “This sucks."
Derek stroked his ruffled hair. “I know it does, buddy. I know.” He'd gladly trade places if he could.
"Even worse, I wet myself."
"Hey, no big deal. We'll get you cleaned up."
"Are the child services people gonna take me away and put me in a home to die?"
"Not a chance.” Derek gulped back the conflicting emotions boiling inside him: concern for Ryan's living arrangements, white-hot anger at the kid's mother, grief for a young life without a future.
"What's going to happen to me?"
"We'll figure something out. You're not alone, buddy. You've got me, your coach, Rachel, all your teammates. We'll be here."
"Do you mean that?” Ryan swiped at the tear sneaking down his cheek. Derek's throat tightened, but he pulled it together.
"Of course I mean that. I'm here now, aren't I?” Ryan looked up at him with such despair that a wave of pain jolted him. Derek swallowed. Shit. How could this happen to a kid like this? He had everything going for him, his whole life ahead of him.
It wasn't fair. It fucking wasn't fair.
He wanted to shake his fists or break something and shout to the heavens at the injustice of it all, but now wasn't the time. Ryan needed him to be strong.
Tears streamed down Ryan's cheeks and dribbled off his chin, leaving wet spots on his T-shirt. Kneeling, Derek wrapped his arms around the stricken teenager. They hugged each other tightly as sobs racked Ryan's body.
This once vibrant, active kid had been reduced to this. A lone tear left a wet track down his cheek. He held on tighter.
"I love you, buddy,” he whispered.
Minutes later, Rachel found them that way, hanging on to each other.
Rachel helped load Ryan's stuff in the back of Derek's truck; then they took him home. Derek cleaned him up and dressed him for bed while Rachel fixed him a sandwich.
An hour later, she peeked in the door of Derek's guest bedroom. Sprawled on his stomach and buried under a mound of blankets, Ryan slept soundly. His mouth lolled open. The thick down comforter concealed his thin body. Derek peered over her shoulder.
"He crashed."
"I bet that's the first good sleep he's had in a while. No kid should be shouldering the burdens he has in the shape he's in.” Rachel left the door slightly ajar.
"His mother should be thrown in jail for neglect and abandonment.” Derek's face hardened, lined with tension and frustration.
"She probably would be if we could find her."
"The bitch isn't worth the effort.” He shook his head in disgust and walked down the hall. Rachel followed.
"What are we
gonna do? You're not here enough to take care of him. Even if you were, you don't have the time. I could be here for him, but I'm not strong enough to lift him."
"You lifting Ryan conjures up a scary vision. You're challenged maintaining your own balance."
She glared at him but couldn't refute the facts.
"Let's worry about all this tomorrow. It's late.” Derek rubbed his eyes and yawned.
"Sure.” She followed Derek to the bedroom as a plan formed in her mind.
Ryan would spend his last days knowing he mattered and people cared. She'd see to it.
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Chapter Twenty-six
Big Play
Rachel threw open the door and hugged her father. Stepping back, she looked him up and down. “Dad, you look really good.” She sniffed the air but didn't smell any alcohol on his breath. He'd combed his hair, put on clean clothes, and shaved. No bloodshot eyes, plus his alert expression boded well for the day.
"Thanks, hon.” He smiled and almost reminded her of the father she remembered. Almost. She'd take almost any day compared to where he'd been a few months ago.
"How's your new job?” He'd taken a job at a gym about a month ago and worked with several college athletes. It wasn't coaching, but at least he felt involved in sports again.
"Keeps me busy and out of trouble."
"Good.” For the first time in months, a seed of hope took root inside her. Perhaps everything would be okay after all.
"And yours? Are you keeping those jocks in line?"
"Yes, Daddy, I am. I picked up some rookies too, along with Derek and Tyler."
"You'll do great. You're so organized.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “Dang, Rae, that smells good. You'll make someone a good wife yet.” He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes.
Fourth and Goal Page 23