Fourth and Goal
Page 31
Derek sprinted onto the field and took his place as a kick returner. He hadn't returned kicks since his college days, but HughJack wanted the fastest guy back to receive, so he'd practiced fielding kicks for the last two weeks.
The ball sailed end over end and backed him into the end zone. A glance upfield revealed holes. He caught the ball, tucked it safely against his body, turned on the speed. He powered himself to the Rebels’ forty before they brought him down with a bone-crushing gang tackle.
The Super Bowl had begun.
The intensity of the Super Bowl surpassed any game Derek had ever played in.
It was one of those nail-biters where neither team dominated. The defenses held and the offenses sputtered. At the two-minute warning, the scoreboard showed 10-14. The Jacks’ lone touchdown came in the third quarter, a seven-yard strike from Tyler to their rookie tight end, Josh Spinner.
The Rebels’ defense shut Derek down, at times double- and triple-teaming him. Frustrated, he couldn't shake Emil Lewis, the best defensive back in the league with speed to rival his own. Emil took every opportunity to slam him to the ground. Every chance the Rebels got, they piled on him. His body hurt in places he'd never hurt before. His knees protested, his back screamed, and one ankle felt like it was on fire after he twisted it late in the third quarter. The trainer wrapped it and sent him back out.
Tyler limped to the huddle, not in much better shape than Derek. Arnie, aka The Bulldozer, their left guard, sported a black eye. Spin, the tight end, wandered around with a dazed, deer-in-the-headlights expression. Their right tackle dislocated his thumb but played anyway. They were beat-up physically, but so was their opponent.
Everybody felt it—the building desperation—but nobody wanted to give it credence because that made it real. Too real. Once it became real and this shaky thread binding them together unraveled, the game would be lost.
The Rebels gained possession at the two-minute mark on their own twenty-seven. Derek closed his eyes and prayed—to God, to Ryan, to anyone who'd listen. They needed a miracle, a fumble, an interception, something.
Someone upstairs was listening. The Rebels fumbled. Jacks recovered.
The offense ran to the field. This was their last chance. Originally, getting here had been enough. Now Derek knew it wouldn't be enough. He wanted a ring.
Bruiser found a hole and ran to the nine before being buried under the defense. The clock ticked down to forty-five seconds.
Three plays later, their hopes fizzled like the end of a sparkler. Penalties set them back on their asses. Fourth and goal on the twenty-three, they huddled behind the line of scrimmage with three seconds and no time-outs left.
"Okay, assholes, this is it.” Tyler's steel blue eyes bored into each one of them, personally holding them accountable to him for what happened next. “Hold the fucking line. Give me some fucking time, and I'll make it happen."
Tyler's confidence instilled them with renewed hope. He was good at that. There was no quit in Tyler. As they broke the huddle, he grabbed Derek's arm. “Get in the fucking end zone, shake the fucking defense, and the fucking ball is yours."
Nodding, Derek moved to his spot at the end of the line. He rubbed the thirteen on his shoulder. Looking skyward, he mouthed, This one's for you, Ry. Help me out here, buddy.
The center snapped the ball. Derek sprinted downfield, cutting left to elude one DB. He pivoted to avoid another. Time. He was wasting too much time. It was a footrace to the end zone between Emil Lewis and him. Derek pulled away. His legs pumped furiously, his heart pounded, and his twisted ankle screamed in protest. The roar of the crowd spurred him on. He crossed the goal line and looked over his shoulder for the ball. Shit. It was underthrown.
He stretched out his long body, straining with every muscle he possessed, and dove for the ball. He wasn't going to make it. It hit his fingertips and glanced off them in the wrong direction. No chance of hauling it in. Then it took this weird bounce, almost as if someone tapped it back into his hands.
A microsecond later, he smacked into the ground, mindless of the pain. They'd fought so hard, only to come up short. Disoriented, he sat up. Something jabbed him in the ribs. He looked down. He clutched a football in his hands, jammed tight against his stomach.
Scrambling to his feet, he frowned and shook his head. No way had he caught the ball. He'd seen it bounce off his fingertips and felt the emptiness in his hands. Yet there it was—crazy as it sounded.
He looked to the heavens and raised the ball in the air.
Thank you, Ryan. We couldn't have done it without you.
Derek fought his way through the hordes of fans, players, and personnel swarming the field. Reporters shoved microphones in his face. Legions of security and police held back the fans in the stands. The cheering deafened him. Frantic, he looked for Rachel as he slogged through the surge of humanity to the railing near the fifty.
Where the hell was she?
Other players surrounded by wives and families celebrated on the field. He spotted his father first because of his height, followed by his stepmother and sister. Rachel stood with them, her family flanking her. Everyone had big smiles on their faces. The men slapped each other's backs; the women hugged and cried.
Derek bullied his way to them. A cadre of reporters stuck to him like fleas on a dog. He hugged his family, especially his stepmother and father, elbowing the microphones out of his face.
He shook hands with Mitch and hugged his old high school coach, then turned to Rachel. The cameras followed him, not allowing one moment of privacy. Fucking bastards.
She flew into his arms, squealing and laughing. He swung her around in a circle, taking out a few cameramen in the process. Served the assholes right for invading his space.
"I love you, Rachel,” he yelled above the din. “I'll wait for you, no matter how long it takes."
She opened her mouth. He couldn't hear her response, but he read her lips. It was all he needed to know.
She was hearing things, or he was saying things he didn't really mean in the heat of the moment. She had no time to think about it as Derek wrapped an arm around her waist. Facing down the rabid pack of dogs disguised as reporters, he answered their questions. His ability to form coherent sentences amid all this chaos impressed her. All the while, he pushed through the crowd to the podium. After all, the man had a date with destiny, and he dragged her along with him.
He pulled her through the crowd, not allowing them to be separated. She protested every step of the way but was no match for his strength and determination. No way was she going up on the podium with him. She dug in her heels but didn't slow him a bit. His teammates waved him up there. He towed her up the steps to stand among these hulking men. Derek glued her to his side. He smelled of sweat and dirt, but she didn't care.
Official speeches were made and the Lombardi trophy was presented. Tyler spoke and pumped his fist in the air, raising the trophy high for the fans to see, his beaming face transmitted to televisions all over the world.
"You're on, buddy.” Tyler tossed the microphone to Derek. As if rehearsed, his teammates stepped back, giving Derek space.
He gripped the mike and looked out at the sea of faces. Rachel followed his gaze. It didn't appear anyone had left the stadium. Derek let go of her hand and took something from Tyler. Seeing an opportunity to escape, Rachel started backing up. She hit something solid.
"Oh no, you don't.” Bruiser stood behind her, blocking the exit route. She looked to the side. Mountain Morris grinned down at her. She wasn't going anywhere.
Accepting her fate, she focused her attention on Derek. As soon as his victory speech was over, she was outta here.
Derek's speech was short and sweet. “This one is for the fans who stuck with us through all the lean times. And for Ryan. We love you, buddy."
Instead of passing the mike to another player, Derek turned to her. “Rachel, I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for you. In fact, I'm not sure any of us would be. I'm not
one to do things halfway, and you need to know how serious I am."
She swiped at the tears that fell down her cheeks. He handed Tyler the mike and took her hand. Her eyes grew big as he dropped to one knee in front of his entire team, a stadium full of fans, and the world. Her heart pounded in her chest. Somehow her knees held her upright. Derek's brown eyes met hers, full of love and the promise of a bright, happy future.
"I love you, Rachel Anne McCormick. Will you marry me? I'll wait for you, however long it takes.” He spoke into the microphone Tyler held near his lips.
Rachel's mouth dropped open. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She stared down at this man, her man. He looked so nervous and earnest gazing up at her like that. Did he really think she'd say anything but yes?
The crowd momentarily hushed, holding their breath for her answer.
"Rae? This is killing my knee. If I'm down here much longer, I won't be able to get up, and I'd like to walk out of here on my own."
That brought a cheer from the stadium. Rachel caught herself on the big screen, then looked back at him. “I love you, Derek Ramsey. Of course I will."
He opened his palm to reveal a diamond engagement ring. It wasn't overly large or gaudy. It was just perfect. He slid it on her finger.
She threw her arms around him, and the din faded as they became the only two people on earth.
"You don't have to wait for me, you know."
Derek chuckled and drew her close. They sat together in a booth in the back corner of the hotel bar. Several of his teammates were scattered around the room at the tables. Cass and Tyler had disappeared an hour ago after making out like teenagers in the booth opposite them.
"I think I do. That ring says as much."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You aren't? What about the job?"
"I turned it down. I'm working on a deal with a local college to do some volunteer scouting of high school players. I'm also going to expand my business. Your agent wants to contract me to organize several of his clients. This'll give me great ins, and eventually I'll work into a pro scout position. Actually I'm hiring Cass to help out."
"Cass? Organize?"
"I'll do the organizing; she'll do the charming."
He nodded. “Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to trap you."
"Honey, if this is a trap, throw away the key."
"I promise. You'll be handcuffed to my bed for the rest of your life."
"Oh, baby, make me hurt. I'm in for the long haul."
"So am I."
"Does your family know?"
"About the handcuffs?"
Derek chuckled. “About your decision?"
"They do. They're okay with it."
Derek grinned. “That's a start. We have the rest of our lives to straighten out those relationships."
Cupping his hand behind her head, he pulled her into a long, deep kiss and sealed the deal.
On fourth and goal with the clock ticking down to the last second, they'd pulled out a victory.
THE END
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Loose Id Titles by Jami Davenport
Fourth and Goal
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Jami Davenport
Jami Davenport has been writing since she was old enough to know the alphabet. An advocate of happy endings, Jami writes sexy romantic comedy, sports hero romances, and equestrian fiction. Jami lives on a small farm near Puget Sound with her husband, a former Green Beret turned plumber, a Newfoundland cross with a tennis ball fetish, a prince disguised as an orange tabby cat, and an opinionated Hanoverian mare.
She works in IT for her day job and is a former high school business teacher. In her spare time, Jami rides and shows her dressage horse and grows roses. An avid boater, Jami has spent countless hours in the San Juan Islands, the setting for her first two books. In her opinion, it is the most beautiful place on earth.
Links to reach Jami Davenport:
Main Web site: www.jamidavenport.com
Blogs: jamidavenport.blogspot.com and equestranink.blogspot.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/jamidavenport
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Visit www.loose-id.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Loose Id Titles by Jami Davenport
Jami Davenport
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