Fourth and Goal

by Jami Davenport

  Score: 10-16.

  A herd of buffalo stampeded in his stomach as he fastened his helmet and took his place on the end of the line. He made a diving catch for eight yards. Bruiser pounded it ahead for a first down. Derek served as a decoy, drawing two DBs, and The Bruise ground out three more first downs, taking it to the nine. First and goal. The next three plays went nowhere. A penalty set them back on the fifteen on the fourth down. For the second game in a row, the entire season came down to one last play.

  Fourth and goal.

  In fact, the press had recently dubbed them the Fourth and Goalers.

  Tyler didn't like the defensive formation and called an audible. HughJack raged from the sidelines, clearly not happy with Tyler's call. He couldn't do a damn thing about it with no time-outs and five seconds on the clock.

  Derek sprinted toward the end zone, hounded by three defensive backs. He executed a sharp turn and lost two of them. Pivoting, he looked for the ball. He'd drawn all the defenders to his side, not giving Tyler a clear path. Faking a throw Derek's way, Tyler sent the ball rocketing toward the rookie, Josh Spinner. But Pro-Bowler “Mad Max” Brown saw it coming and stuck to the kid like glue. Together they hurtled into the air. The ball sailed into Max's outstretched arms. Spin strained to reach over Max's shoulders. His fingers touched the ball. They crashed to the ground, wrestling for possession as they came down.

  But Spin wanted it more.

  The final whistle sounded. The crowd was hushed as the referees sorted out the mess in the end zone. Fighting his way out of the pileup, Spin emerged, clutching the ball. He sought out the referee. The zebra raised his hands over his head and signaled a touchdown. Next thing Spin knew, his teammates attacked and drove him to the ground, burying him in a frenzy of ecstatic blue and gold.

  The kicker split the uprights for the extra point.

  The Jacks were going to the big game of all big games.

  The crowd in Mitch's house erupted, yelling, backslapping, high fives all around. Mitch held up his hand to high-five Ryan. The kid, a smile on his face, raised his arm in a feeble attempt to slap his hand. Then Ryan's hand fell to his lap. His eyes lolled back in his head.

  "Shit!” Mitch shook him. Hard. “Ry? Ry? Can you hear me, buddy? Ryan! Oh fuck, call 911!"

  Mitch grabbed Ryan, dragged him out of the chair, and started administering CPR.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Final Play

  The team landed late evening at Sea-Tac. Half the city turned out to welcome them back. Security attempted to hustle them through the crowds to a private lounge area, but the team hung back and enjoyed the party. By the time they got to their cars, it was hours later.

  Derek settled into the passenger seat of Tyler's sports car. He switched on his cell phone and checked messages. “Damn, Rachel's left six messages on my phone."

  Tyler glanced over his shoulder. “She's hot for you, cuz. Better call her before she comes to her senses."

  Ignoring Tyler, he listened to the messages, a sinking feeling in his gut. Something wasn't right. He listened as her voice sounded more and more frantic with each message.

  "Oh shit. It's Ryan.” Derek blinked, trying to see through a thick haze.

  Tyler's face drained of all color. “What about Ryan?"

  "It's time.” Derek clenched his jaw.

  "Is he—” Tyler shot a questioning look in his direction.

  "Not yet. We have to get to the hospital. He's asking for us."

  Tyler gunned the car. It screamed down Seattle streets slicked with rain. He ran two red lights and floored the gas pedal as they rocketed onto I-5, the engine whining. Good thing it was late at night with very little traffic.

  Derek crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the windshield. He swallowed. His throat constricted, and he choked up. The road swam in front of him like he was underwater.

  He put his head back against the headrest and said a verbal prayer. “Hang in there, buddy. We're on our way."

  Tyler glanced at his cousin. “He's not going to make the big game, is he?"

  "No. Fuck the championship. We need to get there in time tonight.” Derek took a deep breath and let it out. Tyler gripped the steering wheel tighter, but Derek saw his hands shaking.

  Tyler hit the off-ramp to the hospital at Mach one. The car skidded to a California stop and rounded the corner, tires screeching. Derek pounded his fist on the dashboard in frustration.

  They had to make it in time.

  Derek stood outside Ryan's ICU room. He pressed his head against the wall for a moment and shut his eyes, summoning every ounce of strength he possessed. Stone-faced, Tyler went in ahead of him.

  Straightening, Derek entered the kid's room. The lights were dimmed. Mitch looked up, frowning. Without a word, he slid past Derek and hissed in his ear. “About time you made it."

  Derek cringed as Mitch slipped out of the room. Forcing a smile he didn't feel, he sat in the recently vacated chair. The place smelled of antiseptic and something worse. If death had a smell, it hung in the room, permeated every corner, and sat heavy on Derek's chest.

  "Hey.” Ryan smiled weakly at him and held out a shaky hand, frail and thin. Derek took it, shocked by how cold and bony it was.

  "Hey, yourself."

  Tyler rose from his perch on the windowsill across the room, his face pale, his eyes haunted. He squeezed Ryan's thin arm. “Ry-man...” His voice broke. Derek looked away and swallowed. He'd never in all their years together seen Tyler lose it. He didn't want to watch him now.

  Ryan managed a lopsided smile. “Love ya."

  "I love you too, champ.” Bending down, Tyler hugged Ryan's fragile body. He turned to walk out as tears gathered in his blue eyes.

  "Ty?” Ryan called after him.

  "Yeah?” Tyler hesitated in the doorway.

  "I was wrong.” Ryan paused, his chest heaving as he fought to fill his failing lungs with oxygen. “You do care. About people."

  Tyler nodded. His face a grim mask, he shuffled out the door.

  "You're here.” Ryan turned his head with great effort and smiled. His voice came out as a croaked whisper. Derek leaned closer to hear.

  "Of course. You're the little brother I never had.” He swallowed a huge lump of grief and blinked back his own tears.

  "Brother. I like that.” Ryan smiled, a strange, content, other-world smile. It unnerved Derek.

  "Me too, buddy.” The plastic chair creaked under his weight.

  "You won. You're going to the Super Bowl."

  "Yeah.” It seemed hollow, a bittersweet victory. He'd trade a hundred trips to the Super Bowl for a miracle tonight.

  "I'm dying.” Ryan sought his eyes. Derek stared right back.

  "I know.” He saw no reason to sugarcoat the obvious. He squeezed Ryan's hand.

  "Tonight. I saw an angel. He looked like—Tyler.” One corner of his mouth quirked, and a weak chuckle escaped his dry lips.

  "An angel like Tyler? Now that's scary.” Derek forced a smile, but he wasn't fooling the kid.

  "Yeah, minus the F bomb every other word."

  "That makes me feel a little better. You doin’ okay?"

  "I saw the other side.” A series of hacking coughs racked Ryan's sick body. He struggled for oxygen and gasped from the effort. When the coughing subsided, he closed his eyes for a few moments. Derek waited and watched the shallow rise and fall of the kid's chest. When Ryan spoke again, Derek put his ear next to his mouth in order to catch the words.

  "Going to a better place."

  Derek nodded, words lodged in his throat.

  "Derek?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Don't fuck it up with Rachel."

  "I'll try to do the right thing,” Derek rasped.

  A long pause. Ryan licked his lips. Derek gave him a sip of water.

  "Win the Super Bowl for me."

  "I'll give it everything I've got. We all will. The whole team's outside the door." />
  "It's foggy in here. And cold. So cold. But there's a warm light. Do you see it?"

  "Yeah, I see it.” Derek wiped the sweat from his brow. The room was so hot it was stifling. He held Ryan's cold hand tighter. “I love you, buddy."

  Another long pause. Derek thought he was gone, but his mouth moved. “Love you, Derek. Remember me."

  "I could never forget you."

  Ryan closed his eyes for the last time. His body managed a few shuddering breaths. Then the monitor near the bed showed a flat line. The room grew quiet. Ryan's hand went limp. A slight smile curved his chapped lips.

  Derek pressed his forehead against Ryan's shoulder and swallowed the sobs building in his chest.

  No way would he ever forget Ryan. None of them would.

  Derek stumbled out of the hospital room. He felt numb, and his feet didn't want to work.

  He took in each person, one at a time, seeing the intense pain reflected in their glum expressions. The silence was louder than the fans at a Jacks game.

  Ryan's mother was a no-show. No one mentioned it, but everyone noticed. The waiting area was filled with teenagers, friends, and fellow teammates. Hulking Jacks players, alone or with their wives, flowed out into the hospital corridor.

  Exhaling, Derek did the hardest thing he'd ever done. “He's gone."

  More silence.

  Every person knew it was inevitable, but it didn't make it any easier. A teenage girl wearing a letterman's jacket broke the quiet with wailing, so soft and subdued it sent chills down Derek's spine. The dam broke after that. Big linemen, who played through pain every week, sobbed quietly, paying silent homage to the teenager who had fought so long and hard and never lost his positive attitude. They were his family, the only one he had in the end.

  And this was the place they chose to be rather than celebrate their victory.

  Mitch sat with an assistant coach, two single men comforting each other by saying nothing, just staring straight ahead.

  A normally self-absorbed Tyler pressed his forehead against the opposite wall and softly pounded his fist on it, lost in grief. He chanted, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” over and over. Derek didn't have the energy to tell him to shut up. Hell, these teenagers heard worse and said worse every day. Maybe tonight fuck said it all when it came to the unfairness of a young man with the world at his feet dying before his time.

  Maybe only the good did die young.

  Cass appeared from nowhere and stood behind Tyler, wrapping her arms around his waist. He turned in her arms, held her to him, and buried his face in her hair.

  A black hole of emptiness overwhelmed Derek. He turned away from Tyler and sought out Rachel. She only looked at the floor. He couldn't blame her, even though he wished she'd hold him like Cass held Tyler, and fill this gaping hole in his heart.

  He looked out the window at the stars. Was Ryan up there already, grinning down at them? Wishing he could tell them he was in a better place? Was he standing on a perfect green field with all the football greats, having the game of his life? The thought warmed Derek a little. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  An eerie stillness permeated the room. It didn't seem right because it wasn't the way Ryan would have wanted it. Even the wailer had gone silent. Pushing his own grief aside, Derek cleared his throat. It was like dropping a bowling ball in the midst of a library. Tear-stained faces gazed up at him from around the room.

  "Ryan would want us to celebrate his life, not mourn his death. Let's get pizza, sing, and remember our buddy and teammate the way he'd want to be remembered.” He glanced at Rachel. She stood near her brother, rubbing his shoulder.

  Mitch rose to his feet. “Derek's right. Let's go, guys."

  Pushing away from the wall and plastering a smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes, Tyler nodded. “Pizza on me."

  "What, that cheap-assed bastard is paying? Holy turd on the asphalt, has the world ended? Good thing you got a big bankbook, buddy, ‘cause I got a big gut.” Ernie, a huge lineman, patted his stomach. A small spatter of laughter spread across the room and broke some of the tension.

  Together they shuffled out of the hospital and into the windy, rainy night. Derek paused and waited near the doorway. He caught Rachel's eye as she stood several feet away as if waiting for him. “Rae?"

  She hesitated, then crossed to stand in front of him. Her green eyes mirrored the genuine concern and compassion in her soul. “Are you okay?"

  "I'll survive. We all will.” He cupped her elbow and shielded her from the rest of the group with his big body. “I owe you an apology."

  "Not tonight.” She attempted to skirt around him, but he blocked her escape.

  "Okay. Not tonight.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. She didn't pull away but squeezed back. Then, true to her forgiving nature, she put her arms around him. He held tight, like she was the only real thing in his crazy chaotic world, because she was. She laid her head on his chest. He inhaled the scent of lavender so uniquely her. Rachel healed that emptiness in his soul, filled in the cracks and broken places.

  Maybe there was a chance, a way to make it work.

  They filed out of the pizza place, sad, tired, but somehow feeling better than when they'd walked in. As everyone went their separate ways, Derek hung back. He waited for Rachel and volunteered to drive her home.

  "I don't mind driving you, sis.” Mitch intervened and tossed a threatening look in Derek's direction, though it lacked conviction. Damned if the guy wasn't softening.

  "It's out of your way, Mitch. I'll catch a ride with Derek."

  "You're sure?"

  "I'm sure. Will you be okay?” She directed that last question to her brother.

  "As good as I can be.” He pointed at his friend and assistant coach. “Mike is coming home with me. We're probably going to get shit-faced and pass out."

  Rachel almost smiled. She hugged him and followed Derek to his truck, which one of his teammates had driven there for him. They rode in silence until he turned in the driveway.

  "Rae. I know I have no right asking this, but would you stay with me tonight?” Holding his breath, he waited for her answer.

  She opened her mouth. Then shut it. Tamping down his disappointment, he slowed down in front of her house and turned to look at her.

  "Keep driving.” She touched his arm.

  "Okay.” Grateful for her company, he took her home.

  They stripped their clothes and stripped their defenses. He stared into her eyes and saw the truth written there. A truth that should've scared the hell out of him, yet it doused the loneliness, connected him to another soul, gave him hope for the future, even in the face of such devastating loss.

  He entered her body as if in slow motion. The rawness of his emotions thickened his responses, slowed time, and made him savor every second, drawing out the act until it formed an eternity of memories. She clung to him as if he was her lifeline, even though he was certain she was his.

  He made love to her like he'd never made love before. Slow, tender, and deep, feelings exposed, no longer buried beneath protective layers. She held his face in her hands and gazed into his eyes, past all his carefully erected barricades. His resistance to her particular brand of sexual magic shattered at her feet. An easy desire swept over him like a warm wind on the Palouse hills and banished the numbness of grief.

  He closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel. No thinking. No analyzing. No pretending. Just feeling. Her softness hugged his hardness and surrounded him, sheathing him, giving him a place to call home. He slid out of her and back in, grasping for the tender thread between them, unwilling to shatter it by hurrying the process. In. Out. Easy. Gentle. Achingly tender.

  His heart filled with compassion while his cock filled her physically. His measured thrusts, so agonizing and heartfelt, affected his body as much as wild, out-of-control passion. Rachel shifted underneath him and maximized his ability to go deeper. Her mouth sought his. Her lips nibbled on his lower lip. Her tongue stol
e into his mouth and mated with his tongue, as slow and easy as she mated with his body.

  The passion, the need built inside him. Not the frenzy of fevered lust or the raging of hungry desire, but a craving for something undefined, something almost within his grasp, something so much more important than winning Super Bowls or making money.

  He thrust deep with an unexpected fierceness. She was his. No one else's. She needed to know that. He needed to sear it on her body, write it across her emotions. His mouth sealed the deal with a deep, aching kiss at the same time her body took him to heaven. Better than anything they'd ever had. With one final thrust, he emptied his essence into her and joined her body and soul. Derek clung to her and cried out her name.

  He held her afterward in a possessive embrace. A sense of peace enveloped him. His bones melted into the mattress. They lay together, just being for a long time until Rachel broke the silence. “Congratulations. You're going to the Super Bowl."

  His brain took a moment to slog through the events of the past twenty-four hours. “Yeah. Thanks. It seems surreal right now. I'm sure it'll sink in later this week."

  "I have news too."

  He stiffened. “Really?” A sense of foreboding filled him.

  "I've been offered a job as an executive assistant to Miami's head coach. It's not a scouting job, but it's a foot in the door."

  "Well, congratulations to you too.” He forced false cheer into his voice. “When do you leave?” Miami? She was leaving Seattle for Miami. It might as well have been the moon.

  "I start the first of March.” She ran her fingers over his abs.

  "Wow. That's soon.” He bit back the words on the tip of his tongue, words that would beg her to stay here with him.

  "Yeah, it is.” She didn't sound any more excited than he felt. Even though Ryan's death put a damper on things, he sensed it was more than that.

  "Rae?” He stroked her hair back from her beautiful face.

  "Yes?"

  He hesitated and blundered on. “Are you sure leaving Seattle is the right choice for you?"

  "No, I'm not sure about anything anymore."