Fourth and Goal

by Jami Davenport

  Yeah, for a damn good reason. “My mother isn't a part of my life."

  "Do you miss her?"

  "I don't know her. Do I miss having a mother? Yeah, at times, but I miss having a mother like Tyler has, not like the mother I have. I'm lucky to have a great stepmother. She's essentially my mother."

  "Did you ever want to contact your real mom?"

  "I did once. When I was a teenager, I called her. I thought she'd invite me to visit or tell me how much she missed me and regretted her decision to leave me behind. Yeah, I had this stupid fantasy. The reality of it was something quite different."

  "What happened?” Ryan swiped at his face.

  "She told me to go to hell and never contact her again."

  "Oh. Wow. I'm sorry.” Ryan chewed on Derek's revelation for a moment.

  Derek shrugged. “It is what it is."

  "That sucks."

  "Yeah, it does, buddy. Sometimes it does."

  Great teams find a way to win even when they play like shit. Never had that been so true as it was Sunday.

  The Jacks won by a field goal in overtime with no help from their star wide receiver.

  For the first time all season, the other team got to Derek. They double- and triple-teamed him and disrupted his concentration. He didn't actually screw up, but he played a mediocre four quarters. He caught short passes, didn't make the big plays. His timing was nonexistent. His connection with Tyler severed. Nothing gelled. Nothing felt right.

  Their plane landed close to midnight after a rough cross-country flight capped by a frigging snowstorm over the Rockies. All Derek wanted to do was crawl into a warm bed and pass out. His entire body ached. He had bruises on top of bruises; his knees throbbed. His head hurt. At intervals knife-blade pain stabbed him in the back. Yet none of it compared to the pain in his heart.

  But the Jacks had won. They'd lived to play another day. He felt no joy in the victory, only numbness and relief, like he'd cheated fate one more time.

  Sleep showed Derek no mercy either. He'd give his left nut for some dreamless z's. Instead he lay awake and stared at the ceiling. Random, yet somehow connected thoughts bounced around in his head.

  He was so fucking confused.

  Sighing, his mind drifted to Rachel. If only she lay next to him right now. He missed her humor, her gentle teasing, her common sense, her ability to pull him from a funk, her football knowledge and insight. Hell, he missed everything about her.

  Stupid. Fucking stupid.

  They were through, and it was best left that way. He'd gotten too attached, and they had no future.

  Even though it hurt like hell, he didn't see another option.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Late Hit

  Tyler opened the door and rubbed his bleary eyes. “Aw crap. What the hell do you want?"

  Rachel pushed past him into the two-story foyer of his water-view condo. Professionally decorated, the cold, modern interior did nothing to reflect Tyler's personality or tastes.

  "Good to see you too, Ty."

  "Whatever,” he muttered. Why he'd become everyone's go-to guy, he hadn't a fucking clue. It had to stop. If talk got around, people would think he'd gone soft. He liked being an ass. It fit his lifestyle. Being a nice guy did not.

  "Did I wake you up?” She didn't look the least bit contrite.

  "Hell, yeah, I was up late partying."

  "It's noon.” Her skeptical expression conveyed she didn't buy his bullshit.

  "Wow, that early."

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “I need a favor."

  "Too bad. I'm fresh out. You'll have to find another sucker.” He took her arm to lead her back to the door. She dug in her heels and refused to move. Asshole or not, he didn't muscle women around, though the thought of throwing Rachel over his shoulder and tossing her out on her ass brought a smile to his lips.

  "Sorry, you're the only sucker up to this job."

  Just what he needed, another tough one. No thank you. “Can't do it.” Tyler released her and shuffled into the kitchen. She dogged his every step.

  "You don't know what I'm asking."

  "If it has to do with Derek and you, keep me out of it.” Tyler grabbed the milk and drank from the jug.

  "I need your help.” The annoying woman wasn't taking no for an answer.

  Tyler slumped onto one of the kitchen stools and propped his head up with his hands. A mother of a headache was coming on thanks to Rachel. “If I listen, will you go away and leave me alone?"

  "No."

  "I was afraid of that."

  Derek balked when he saw Rachel sitting in the backseat of Tyler's monstrous SUV. Next to her sat her brother. Mitch didn't say a word. He stared out the window, fingers wrapped around a newspaper as if he wished it were Derek's neck. Ignoring them all, he snapped open the paper and concealed his face.

  "Get in.” Tyler growled.

  "I think I'll pass. A road trip with the McCormicks doesn't appeal to me.” Derek turned to leave, but Tyler blocked his exit.

  "I said, get your ass in before I kick it from here to Sunday.” Tyler ground out. His determined expression didn't allow for any deviation from the plan, whatever the hell it was. Against his better judgment, Derek slid into the front passenger's seat. Tyler stalked to the driver's side, got in, and started the engine.

  "Hang on. Spending my day with the three of you is not my idea of a fun day off."

  Rachel smiled sweetly at him and patted his shoulder. “We appreciate you, Ty."

  "We? There's no we in this.” Derek fastened his seat belt as Tyler gunned the black gas-guzzler down the driveway. “Where are we going?"

  "You'll know when we get there.” Tyler fishtailed onto the county road and blasted down the blacktop. No one uttered a word, probably scared shitless. Derek gripped the armrest, leaned his head against the headrest, and prayed for a quick, painless death.

  The three-hour trip up Highway 101 and the Olympic Peninsula lasted a lifetime. Tyler cranked up some classic rock and sang along as his SUV careened around the curves hugging Hood Canal. Rachel, who couldn't carry a tune, joined in. Every once in a while, Derek heard Mitch's newspaper rustling, then a snap as he turned to a new page. Tyler took tailgating and road rage to a new level as he blew past every slow-moving vehicle.

  They rocketed through a small town near the Straits of Juan De Fuca. Tyler slammed on the brakes in front of a community church. Derek pressed his face against the window, not believing what he was seeing.

  "Church? You? Have you lost your frigging mind?” Derek stared at his cousin.

  "Just saving your sorry souls, buddy.” Tyler grinned and glanced in the rearview mirror.

  Derek looked around for a bar nearby, but there weren't any. Tyler got out and climbed the steps to the church's front door. He motioned to the rest of them to follow.

  "What the fuck?” Mitch emerged from behind his paper and wadded it into a tight ball.

  "Couldn't have said it better,” Derek added.

  "For once we agree on something,” Mitch shot back.

  Rachel sat in the front pew flanked by Derek and her brother. Tyler leaned against the far wall, not venturing too far into the sanctuary, almost as if he feared God would strike him dead.

  Jacob Lantz, former Fircrest High School third-string wide receiver, regarded the trio with a way-too-tranquil expression. Rachel hadn't seen him in years, had actually forgotten about him. A one-time party boy and all-around screwup, Lantz had dropped out of school and disappeared shortly after the ill-fated state championship. The man had aged, evidenced by the lines around his eyes, yet contentment replaced his once restless energy.

  "You came to talk to me about the game.” He dragged a piano bench in front of them and took a seat. “I'm surprised it took so long."

  "So long?” Tyler's voice echoed through the empty building from the back of the room.

  "For someone to ask me about it.” Pastor Jake, as he'd reques
ted they refer to him, motioned for Tyler to move closer. Tyler balked.

  "We're asking now.” Rachel smiled encouragement. She caught Derek's quick glance out of the corner of her eye. Avoiding his gaze, she fingered the zipper on her sweatshirt; no power suit today for reasons she understood but couldn't articulate.

  Not one person questioned which game. They all knew and nodded in unison.

  "We need to know the truth,” Derek spoke up.

  "Ah, the truth.” Pastor Jake rubbed his chin. “Truth is a relative term and sometimes overrated when it comes to the greater good."

  "We need the truth. What happened? Were points shaved?” Rachel met the man's kind gray eyes. His compassion struck fear in her. He knew the truth, and she wasn't going to like it, which implicated either her father or Derek. She wasn't sure which was worse.

  "Are you sure the past isn't best left buried?” Pastor Jake waited with the patience of the saint-in-training he'd become.

  Derek glanced at Rachel. “Are you sure you want to hear this?"

  Rachel nodded, numb with fear, and turned to check with Mitch.

  "Get on with it.” Mitch grimaced and shifted his weight. He'd gotten all stiff and defensive beside her.

  The pastor sighed, not enjoying his task. “Not points shaving exactly. Fircrest needed to lose, and you guys almost screwed it up."

  "Why did Fircrest need to lose?” Derek leaned forward.

  "Because Rizzoli, a local bookie at the time, had a son who quarterbacked the opposing team. He was willing to pay big bucks to assure his son of the state championship. Rizzoli had fixed games before. It wasn't any big deal to him."

  "So you took the money and attempted to fix the game."

  "No, I didn't take the money.” Jacob's steady gaze fell on Rachel, then Mitch. “Your father did."

  "Dad wouldn't.” Rachel shook her head, denial battling with her gut feeling Jacob told the truth.

  Jacob patted her hand. “I'm sorry. He took the money and asked me to help. I wasn't going to have enough credits for graduation, and I was developing an expensive drug habit. Your father caught me dealing in the locker room. Since I was eighteen, juvenile laws wouldn't protect me. I left town shortly afterward with your dad's promise he wouldn't turn me in for possession."

  "I was a senior on that team.” Mitch choked on the realization. “My own father cheated me out of a state championship."

  Rachel linked her arm through his. “Mitch. I'm sorry."

  "Why would Dad do such a thing? Cheating goes against everything he ever stood for. What could be so important he'd sell out his own son and disregard his values?"

  Jacob shrugged. “I don't know. I wasn't privy to his personal life."

  "What about you? How do you feel about this?” Derek spoke up, directing his question to Pastor Jake. “You've not breathed a word of this to anyone until now."

  "I've forgiven myself and him and moved on, while Coach McCormick is paying the price every day."

  "But—"

  "Derek, God has forgiven me. My congregation believes in me. God will judge him when the time comes."

  Derek shook his head in amazement. “You really mean what you're saying."

  "I have faith, because without faith we have nothing."

  Rachel felt Derek's eyes on her. She glanced at him. He raised one eyebrow.

  "Hear that, Rachel. Without faith we have nothing."

  A few days later, Rachel cornered Derek in the barn. He hadn't cut her any slack, still holding a grudge he couldn't seem to let go of. Maybe someday when the wounds were healed—if they ever healed.

  "Are you okay?” She walked down the aisle wearing jeans and a Jacks sweatshirt. His body didn't believe in holding grudges. It wanted her. His gaze flicked over her attire, but he made no comment.

  "I'm fine.” He picked up a broom and starting sweeping the aisle.

  "Derek, I'm sorry."

  "I know you are.” He swept a cloud of dirt her way, and she backed up.

  "Mitch and I confronted Dad."

  "What did he say?” Derek didn't look up, just kept sweeping.

  "He denies everything. Claims Jacob is lying."

  Derek shrugged. “I'm guessing you believe him."

  "No, I don't."

  The sadness in her voice caused him to pause and look up.

  "I really am sorry.” For once his sentiment was genuine. Being disappointed by a parent hurt like hell. They were supposed to be beyond reproach, infallible. He'd been struggling with his former mentor's fall from grace himself.

  "What about Mitch?"

  "He's dealing. Right now Ryan is his first priority."

  "Your other brother?"

  "We saw no reason to tell him."

  "Good idea."

  "Mitch tried to call you a few times to apologize."

  "He doesn't owe me an apology."

  "I told him he does.” Her movements stiff and mechanical, Rachel crossed the aisle to stroke Mac's big head. The old horse snorted and angled his head toward her.

  Derek shrugged and leaned on the broom. “Why do you think your father compromised his ethics and his future?"

  "We think Dad had a gambling problem, along with his drinking problem, which might explain why he needed the money."

  "Had?” Skepticism crept into his voice.

  "Yeah, so far he's doing better. He's in the running for an assistant coaching job at a local private college."

  "He's going to coach again?” Anger flashed across Derek's face. “I swear to you, Rachel, if there's even an inkling of anything shady, I'll expose him. You tell him I'll be watching him."

  "That's fair.” Rachel swallowed. “I shouldn't have doubted you.” She ignored Simon as he grabbed a glove from her pocket and raced down the aisle with it.

  "But you did."

  "Only at first. Even then, I'm not sure I ever really bought into you or Tyler shaving points. The alternative was just too painful to face."

  "Yeah, well, you did what you needed to do."

  "What about us?"

  Derek shrugged. “I need time to think."

  "Are we going to be okay?"

  "Hell if I know, Rachel. Hell if I know."

  A tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away. Head down, shoulders slumped, she shuffled out of the barn, only tripping once over an abandoned glove in the aisle.

  Derek watched her go and fought the urge to run after her, pull her into his arms, and forget the whole damn mess.

  But he stayed anchored to the spot and let her go. A piece of his heart dropped at his feet.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Threading the Needle

  Derek stood on the sidelines and waited for the kickoff. One more game remained between his team and the Super Bowl. The dream of every little boy who ever played football. The dream of every Jacks fan, new and old.

  Derek glanced into the stands of the raucous Dallas crowd and scanned them for a friendly face. He knew she wouldn't be there, but he missed Rachel. She was watching the game at her brother's house with Ryan.

  His father, stepmother, and sister sat a few rows up behind the bench.

  Besides the Jacks’ championship shot, the story dominating the local papers centered around Ryan and how the team had adopted him as their honorary little brother. Thinking of Ryan sobered him. He'd seen the kid before they flew out and had been shocked at how much he'd gone downhill in a few days. Yet his eyes had still sparkled in his gaunt face with a determination purely Ryan. Damn, he had guts, but guts didn't stop the deterioration of his body or the pain he lived with every day.

  It'd been a weird week, full of high expectations, joy, sadness, worry, and most of all heartbreak in the form of one clumsy, green-eyed beauty who'd stolen his heart despite his denial to the contrary.

  With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Derek turned back to the field. He was a professional. He would not let his personal life interfere like last week. Not today
of all days. He needed to focus. For the next three hours, the game was all that mattered.

  The undefeated Dallas Outlaws were formidable and a team they had yet to play this year. The oddsmakers predicted the Outlaws as the winner by a large margin. After all, the hard-luck Lumberjacks shouldn't even be here. They should've lost in the first round.

  Derek watched as the Jacks’ defense buried the Outlaws again and again. The guys had come to play. Jazzed up to the max, the defense slapped backs, pumped fists, and swaggered around the field after every play, getting their rocks off by taunting a hostile Outlaw crowd.

  It was the Seattle Lumberjacks against the world, just like it always had been. Despite the defense's enthusiasm, one of their DBs tripped on a pass play. Dallas, famous for taking advantage of every opportunity, scored.

  Shit, 0-7.

  Derek strapped on his helmet and went to work.

  Rachel chewed her fingernails to the quick as she sat in the living room with Ryan, Mitch, and several of Mitch's players, every one of them on pins and needles. Ryan lay in the recliner, hooked up to oxygen, not doing well at all. Despite the excitement of the game, he drifted in and out. His chest rose and fell in labored shudders. Pain shone in his eyes, but he'd refused any more painkillers. He didn't want to sleep through the whole game.

  The Jacks battled back with a long, grinding drive to the end zone, ending in a quick pass to the tight end. Derek didn't contribute much, but he threw a few good blocks. Tyler, determination etched in the set of his jaw, carried them on his back with pure strength of will.

  Tied 7-7.

  The tension in the room grew thicker than fog on Elliot Bay. At halftime the score hadn't changed, and it was largely a defensive battle. After halftime, Tyler threw an interception, and Dallas scored but missed the extra point: 7-13.

  One quarter left but no fingernails. Ryan rallied and found the strength to concentrate on the last quarter. Rachel alternated between keeping an eye on him and watching the game, especially number eighty-five.

  The man who held her heart in his hands.

  The Jacks answered with a time-consuming drive ending in a field goal. Watching from the sidelines, Derek prayed the defense held Dallas to a field goal. They did, but Dallas took the clock down to 1:54.