Fourth and Goal

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Fourth and Goal Page 24

by Jami Davenport


  "Dad, you know I'll never be anyone's wife. I'm too much of a tomboy for that."

  "I guess I'm to blame."

  "I guess you are.” She tucked her hand around his arm and escorted him into the small living area where Mitch, their oldest brother Riley, Riley's family, and Ryan watched football. The noisy, raucous group brought back fond memories of Thanksgivings when her mother was alive and life had been so different.

  She stood there for a moment and watched her father take a seat between two of her brothers. Immediately the men launched into a spirited discussion regarding the Thanksgiving Day game between the Jacks and the Buccaneers.

  Hustling to the kitchen, she hurried to finish the meal before the game started. She didn't want to miss a second of it.

  Several hours later, she stood on the porch and waved good-bye to the last carload of McCormicks. Thanksgiving had gone off without a hitch. The food was cooked just right, the men fat and happy. Her father stayed sober. And Ryan had one of his good days, soaking up the novelty of what was most likely his first “family” Thanksgiving.

  Derek, Tyler, and teammates treated them to a nail-biter, but they pulled out a victory in the last minutes.

  The next few weeks sped by. She spent her days scheduling activities for various players. Her father was right. She did have a knack for it and managed to sock away a little money.

  Derek and Tyler were in high demand. They couldn't possibly meet all the requests, so she funneled several appearances to her other clients, offering two rookies in place of one of them. Most organizations were glad to get a Jack at all. The team was a hot commodity in the Northwest and getting hotter with every win.

  Through the players, she met their wives and significant others. Their generosity made it possible for her brother to offer Ryan a home. Rachel worked out a schedule so someone was always with him. The poor kid deteriorated a little every day, but he hung in there like a true competitor.

  Her brother's team won the state championship, and the Jacks, well, they kept winning—the hottest team in the league at nine and four with three games to go before the play-offs. They were fighting for the division championship and a bye for the first play-off game. They weren't blowing their opponents out, but finding ways to win. When one guy had an off day, another stepped in to take up the slack.

  Rachel worked with Derek and Tyler one or two nights a week, though their tight schedules didn't allow for more than that.

  Football fever consumed the city like nothing it'd seen since the Sonics won the World Championship back in the seventies.

  Through it all, she refused to look to the future, kept putting off a confrontation, convincing herself she needed more time.

  The wild ride just got wilder. Rachel held on tight and kept Derek sane.

  "Rachel, you're having second thoughts. Going soft on me, aren't you?” Mitch's angry whisper barely carried to her ears. He threw himself back in his chair in a dramatic display of exasperation. Lacing his hands behind his head, he glared at her.

  Rachel glanced toward Ryan's open door and lowered her voice too. “No, it's not that. I find it hard to believe the Derek I know would do such a thing."

  Mitch snorted. “Oh really? And what would the Derek you don't know do?"

  "Mitch, don't be a jerk.” Rachel grabbed his arm. He allowed her to pull him out of the chair and lead him outside. She shut the door behind them.

  "Me? Be a jerk? What about you? You're backing out, just like I knew you would."

  "I'm not backing out—exactly. I think we need to talk to Dad again. Get more information. I think we jumped to conclusions."

  "Dad's done all the talking he wants to do. How about I talk to Derek and get more information?"

  "No, Mitch, please don't.” Panic welled up inside her. If Derek suspected what she'd been up to all these months, he'd never forgive her, let alone trust her. He already had trust issues with women anyway. “I know him. He's not the type of person to shave points."

  "You're saying our father is? Our father. Yours and mine. The man who lived and breathed football, loved the game like no one else. The man who taught us both everything we know."

  "No, not Dad. Never.” Rachel's mind rebelled at the thought.

  "Then who?"

  "Tyler?” Even as she said it, she struggled with picturing Tyler as the guilty party.

  "If Tyler did it, his cousin sure as hell knows. Do you think knowing but not doing absolves him of guilt?"

  "I don't know what to think.” She looked away, as confused as ever. “There has to be an answer to all this."

  "You'll never find it unless you ask the right questions."

  "I will. I promise."

  "I want to be there."

  Rachel shook her head and spoke through gritted teeth. “Mitch, I said I'll handle it."

  "He's using you, Rachel, and you're in denial. You've built a fantasy relationship around a fantasy man.” Mitch squared his jaw and lifted his chin, the epitome of stubbornness.

  "If he's going to come clean, it'll be to me alone. I can't have you there.” Anger and fear battled for dominance inside her.

  Mitch considered her words, not looking the least bit happy. “When are you going to talk to him?"

  "Give me two weeks."

  "You've got one. The deeper you get into this, the more your objectivity is compromised."

  Rachel glared at him. “Fine. I will handle it."

  Mitch snorted in disbelief.

  Derek knocked on Mitch's door and waited. Derek ignored Rachel's brother at the best of times and plotted his imaginary demise at the worst of times. Hard to believe they'd once been good buddies.

  Mitch opened the door. His smile fell from his face. One side of his lip lifted in a snarl. The man wore his displeasure with as much pride as a soldier wore his medals. Derek beat down the urge to growl in response. What the hell were they—a couple of cavemen battling for prehistoric supremacy? Well, this Neanderthal refused to be baited into a fight.

  "Where's Ry?” Derek kept his expression blank as he drummed his fingers on the doorjamb. Tension ricocheted off their bodies like a barrage of bullets hitting steel.

  "Tyler's treating him and his buddies to pizza.” Mitch started to shut the door. Derek stuck his big foot in it.

  "Do you know where they went?"

  Tyler spent quite a bit of time with Ryan. The entire team did. Ryan's problems made Tyler forget his own, not that Tyler admitted to having any issues. Only Derek caught the sadness in his eyes when he let down his guard.

  Mitch shrugged and pushed on the door. Derek pushed back, and they wrestled for male dominance with a damn door.

  "Did you coordinate all this?” Mitch gripped the door and put his weight into it. Derek suppressed a smile and shoved his shoulder into the door.

  "All what?"

  "The visits.” The muscles in Mitch's arms shook from the effort.

  "Give it up, Mitch. I work out for a living; you don't. You sit on your ass in a schoolroom."

  Mitch opened his mouth, but Derek cut him off by forcing the door open another six inches.

  Mitch set his jaw. “Every night at least one of your players shows up to hang with Ryan, talk sports with him. Their wives arrange car pools to drive him to medical appointments and stay with him when he's too sick to go to school.” Mitch panted and sweat beaded on his forehead.

  "They're not my players.” Tyler might make that claim, but not Derek. “The guys did it on their own, and your sister organized it."

  For a second, Mitch's expression softened and both men reduced their pressure on the door. “I hadn't realized it was her. It's really taken the heat off me. I wasn't sure how I'd deal with Ry living here, me being single and so busy and all."

  "The team loves him. It was the least we could do. He's turned into something of our mascot."

  "Well, tell Rae thanks for me."

  "Tell her yourself.” Having proved his point, Derek let go of the door. It stayed open.


  "She's not happy with me right now."

  "Maybe you should try treating her like an adult for once.” If Mitch expected an apology, he wasn't getting one. Derek hadn't created this mess.

  "Maybe you should leave her the hell alone."

  "Fuck you."

  "I couldn't have said it any better.” Mitch slammed the door in his face.

  Derek stared at the closed door, conflicting emotions warring with his conscience. Shaking his head, he turned for home, tired after a long day of practice and verbal sparring with Mitch. He'd crash in front of a mindless reality show and forget the Mitches of the world for a while.

  Twenty minutes later, he walked into his den and flopped into the overstuffed leather armchair next to a roaring fire. Rachel looked up from the neat stack of papers on his desk, a laptop nearby. He liked her being there when he came home. Her presence transformed his cold, empty house into a home. “Working overtime?” The stress fled from his mind and body as fast as the crowd used to flee Lumberjacks Stadium during their losing seasons. His gaze locked onto the view her body provided. She insisted on dressing in business attire even in his home, but the suits appealed to his basically horny nature. Of course, Rachel in a grain sack with a paper bag over her head would hike his ball.

  "Yeah, my boss is a taskmaster.” She dipped her head and gazed at him through lowered lashes. Her coy act did crazy stuff to him. His heart rate skyrocketed, and his dick prepared for liftoff. He considered a plan of attack that involved a desk, naked bodies, and lots of friction.

  Something soft and fuzzy brushed across his face. “What the fu—” He whipped his head around, coming face-to-face with Charlie, crouched on the back of his chair. The cat gazed at him with a feline smirk. Derek spit out a mouthful of cat hair. Charlie reached out a paw and patted his cheek. Fucking cat.

  "What the hell is this cat doing in my house?"

  "Lounging, it looks like."

  "My furniture is covered in cat hair. Rachel, you know I don't like cats. Besides, he terrorizes poor Simon. No wonder he was cowering in the utility room when I got home."

  "Simon holds his own."

  Derek snorted. “He's scared shitless of that cat."

  "He doesn't steal when Charlie's around."

  "He's too busy shaking in his paws."

  "Wuss. Perhaps he'd like it better back in dog prison."

  "Some compassionate animal lover you are."

  "Criminals like him shouldn't be out on parole. He's way beyond three strikes.” She snorted and switched topics. “How was practice?"

  "Grueling.” He sighed as the cat crawled down his chest like a climber descending the Alps. Only this climber used sharp claws. “Damn! Ouch. You little shit.” Charlie, unaffected by Derek's ranting, turned a few circles and affixed himself to his shirt. He dug his claws in and out and purred with gusto. Derek winced.

  Rachel's lips twitched.

  Derek ignored the cat. “We're in the hunt, so close to a play-off berth Coach can smell it, and he's showing no mercy.” He pointed at the sports magazine on the coffee table. “Have you read that?"

  "Uh, yeah."

  "What the hell do we have to do to get any respect?"

  "Make the play-offs?"

  He raised one eyebrow.

  "Win the Super Bowl?"

  "Heck, I bet even that wouldn't be enough."

  "Probably not. The Pacific Northwest might as well be a foreign country."

  "No joke. And me?” He pointed at his chest. “They predict I'll crack under the pressure. I won't be able to catch the big one or make the plays when the Jacks really need me. Haven't I been making plays all season?"

  "Yes, you have.” She poured a glass of wine from his bar.

  "Are you drinking on the job?"

  "I'm a lush."

  He laughed. “Just be careful not to spill. Or worse.” She'd already broken half his wineglasses.

  "This one's plastic. I put away your good crystal."

  "What was left of it.” He held his breath when she bumped the glass with her hand. Wine sloshed around as the glass teetered but didn't tip. Lucky. “So do you believe I can do it? Think I can go the distance without screwing up?"

  "It's not what I believe. It's what you believe.” Gingerly, she reached for the glass and almost tipped it over again.

  "Yes, yes, I do.” He held his breath until she held the goblet firmly in her grasp. “Is there something wrong with your depth perception?"

  "No, why?” She was all wide-eyed innocence. “I'm hypersensitive to gravity."

  "That's one way to put it."

  "Any word on Ryan's mother?"

  "Nothing."

  "Poor kid. His mother's a real nutcase."

  "I'd call her a bitch.” Derek tensed. He avoided conversations about screwed-up, self-serving mothers. It hit too close to home.

  "You ever met her?"

  "Nope. Never set eyes on her. Don't have any interest in doing so."

  "Mitch met her once."

  "And?"

  "She's just what you'd picture. Unfortunately."

  "That sucks."

  "Thanks so much for taking Ryan under your wing. You've really revived his spirits. Going to the Jacks’ home games are the highlights of his week."

  "You're the halftime highlight of my week."

  "Halftime's over, champ. It's time to put the ball in play.” She leaned forward. Unbuttoning a few buttons on her sweater, the little vixen tantalized him with a generous view of cleavage. He licked his lips. Lifting his eyes, his heat matched hers. She stood and skirted the desk, stubbing her toe and yelping. Derek reached out, grabbed her, and pulled her onto the arm of his chair. Charlie glared at both of them but didn't vacate his position on Derek's chest.

  He touched a bruise on her arm. “This is new."

  She glanced at it in surprise. “I don't know where that came from."

  "Am I going to have to wrap you in Kevlar?"

  "I'm fine."

  "You scare me. I worry about you.” Derek frowned as the damn cat turned a few circles and made itself at home on his lap. He glared at the furry intruder yet made no move to put it on the floor.

  "You're a little tense tonight.” Rachel's fingers massaged the back of his neck.

  "I'm tired.” Derek absently stroked the cat, then stopped when he realized what he was doing. The finicky feline purred in response and rolled onto its back. Simon whined a jealous protest from the safety of the doorway.

  "You look really tired."

  "You've been keeping me up too late."

  "You're insatiable."

  "I didn't hear you bitching last night."

  "And you won't."

  "You're not clumsy in bed."

  "No gravity to battle.” She smiled, warming his heart.

  "So what do you hear from Cass? I see her cheering on the sidelines but never get a chance to talk to her."

  "She's madly in lust. This is her last year as a pro cheerleader. She's making plans to move to Chicago with her new guy. How's Ty doing?"

  "Instead of drinking and perfecting the art of being a man-slut, he's studying game film until all hours of the night and spending a lot of time with Ryan."

  "What? He's building character?"

  "You didn't hear that from me."

  "Did the world stop and someone forgot to tell us?"

  Derek laughed. “It seems that way. Have you eaten dinner?"

  "Nope, I was waiting for you."

  Fuck, they sounded like an old married couple, which couldn't be further from the truth. Married couples had a future. They had no future. Feeling out of his comfort zone, Derek backed off a little.

  He'd seen the disastrous results of a long-distance relationship with his mother and father and how ambitions got in the way. He had no intention of going there.

  The whole damn thing made his stomach ache.

  Remote in hand, Ryan was sprawled on the couch. Tyler walked in. Grinning, he dropped next to him and pro
pped his feet on the coffee table. He fixated on the college game on TV.

  "Hey, you came.” Ryan offered a feeble smile.

  "You asked.” Tyler bristled a little.

  "Is Mitch gone?” Ryan craned his neck to see into the kitchen.

  "He went out for some beer. Said he'd be right back."

  "Good.” Ryan struggled to sit up, coughed, and took a drink of water. It trickled down his chin. He wiped it with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I need to talk to you. Alone."

  "Shoot.” Tyler helped himself to the bowl of chips on the coffee table.

  "I need a favor."

  Tyler hesitated, popped several chips in his mouth, and chewed slowly.

  "So can you do me a favor?” Ryan took another sip of water, and his scrawny arm shook.

  Tyler avoided looking at him. Ryan knew why. A skeleton had more meat on its bones. Tyler shrugged. “I suppose.” The words slipped out, as if he was reluctant to commit.

  "I need you to find my mother."

  "Your mother?” Tyler choked and crammed more chips in his mouth.

  "Yeah. Please, Ty. I need to know where she is. I want to see her before—before—well, you know.” Ryan fought to keep the desperation out of his voice.

  "Why didn't you ask Derek?"

  "Because I want the truth. Derek's too nice. He'd never tell me the truth if it was bad news."

  "And I would?” Something flickered in Tyler's blue eyes.

  "Yeah. You're a tough guy. A badass. You say what you think and to hell with everyone else. I don't want anyone worrying about my feelings. I need to know."

  "You think you'll get that from me.” Tyler's words sounded constricted.

  "Yeah, I will because you won't be concerned about hurting me. You'll just do the job. You take care of yourself; nobody else matters."

  "Yeah. Yeah, that's me. I'm a selfish bastard."

  Ryan punched his arm. “Then you'll do it?"

  "Yeah, sure.” Tyler stared at the images on the TV, not looking at him.

  Full of dread, Ryan dragged in a breath around the boulder crushing his chest.

  Two-minute warning. Bulldogs in the lead, 24-20.

  Hollywood couldn't have scripted it better. Monday Night Football. The last game of the regular season, with everything on the line for the Bulldogs and Jacks. Winners to the play-offs, losers to go home.

 

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