Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance

by Lauren Landish

“Yet you did,” I said, amazed. “How?”

  “He came to me one night, and before he said anything, dropped down to his knees and dug into his pocket, pulling out a ring that he'd picked up the day before in Minnesota, asking me to marry him. He said that he didn't care where we went, what happened . . . he loved me, and that he never wanted to leave my side.”

  I smiled, wiping away the tears. A happy ending indeed. “So you two moved to London.”

  “We did,” Mom agreed. “We got married before we left Fort Frances, and then over the summer we moved to London. The funny part was, the day he came by, I had drafted a letter that I was going to turn into the school the very next day, resigning from the program and from teaching in order to stay with him. So I guess, if I was to give you any advice, it's to let love be your guide. Your parents will understand. If you love him, go with him.”

  “And my parents?”

  “Will love you no matter what. I hope some day my daughter grows up to be like you. I don't know you very well, but you seem like a very nice young woman, and you've listened to me ramble on for a while now. Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, getting up. I go over and give Mom a kiss on the temple, smoothing her hair. There's more gray in it now, and I wonder if her Alzheimer's is making her age faster now too. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too,” Mom says, her eyes clearing enough I think to know who she's talking to. She hugs me, and I hope she knows how much help she's been. “I love you too.”

  Chapter 21

  Tyler

  I’m nervous, for the first time since joining the Fighters, looking around the stadium. The stadium in Vancouver's bigger than any other field in Canada, and the extra twenty thousand people, almost all of whom don't like me. Toronto and Vancouver have a sort of semi-hostile relationship, as between the two of us and Montreal, we're kind of like the New York, Los Angeles and Boston of Canada. Vancouver always loves showing up Toronto, and vice-versa.

  When I'm introduced to the crowd, the boos are even worse, and I lose myself in the moment. Boo me all you want, I can take it. Hell, I've played in front of hostile crowds before. You should see what those crowds in Oregon or Arizona can sound like, when there's another twenty thousand on top of what you're raining down on me.

  “These guys fucking hate you!” DeAndre says as we wait on the sidelines for the starters from Vancouver to be introduced. “What the hell did you do to them?”

  “I don't know,” I say, the answer becoming clear as the hometown hero, a Vancouver native named Chris Liu who plays running back, is introduced. He must have been injured the last game, I didn't notice him before. “Oh, that's why.”

  “What did you do?”

  “If that's the same Chris Liu who played for Washington Poly way back, let’s just say we have a rivalry. He may have stirred something up.”

  “Well, don't worry about it . . . the only fan you need is here,” DeAndre says, pointing. I turn, and see that Francine the head cheerleader is waving and pointing, and in the stands I can see April, her Kelly green jersey standing out against the surrounding fans, with another woman who I assume is Gail next to her, also wearing Kelly green. “Feel better?”

  “Damn right,” I say, waving to April, who waves back. I try to call to her, but no dice. Instead, I call out again. “Hey, Francine! FRANCINE!”

  She hears me and crosses the track between the stands and the sidelines, Vancouver's stadium is one of those type. “Whatcha need, Tyler?”

  “Pass along to the security and to April . . . after the game, I don't care what happens, I want her on the field after they do the whole handshake and stuff. I need to tell her something important.”

  Francine gives me a grin and nods. “All right. Should I be excited or sad?”

  “You should go cheer your ass off, I'm planning on lighting up the scoreboard,” I tell her instead, pulling on my helmet.

  We go on offense first, and jogging out to the huddle, I can see the questions in everyone's eyes. “No worries guys, let's light this shit up.”

  I take the snap from Dave and drop back, looking left then right, reading the defense. The Vancouver guys are playing it cocky, a little soft in the zone, thinking that after losing to them last time, we'd be rattled. This is a different group of Fighters . . . this is a different me.

  Robbie's covered, but Paul has a step on his man, and I throw, hitting him just as he turns back on his hook route. He grabs the ball, but then does something even I didn't expect. He fights off the d-back and turns upfield, stiff arming another before getting taken down after a twenty yard gain.

  The next play is a run, and I hand off to Bobby, who slashes through the right side for a four yard gain, setting up second and six.

  It's the game of my life, and if I think that normal Canadian football is like a video game, we play that first half like kids in a park. Every off your rocker, brain addled play that we can come up with, we do. The Vancouver defense is looking at us like we're insane, they don't know how to react to this group of twelve psychopaths who seem to have taken over for the Toronto Fighters offense.

  Our defense is just as free, attacking with tricks and hard nosed hits that puts BC on its heels. Their quarterback, the League MVP just last year, is running for his life most of the half, harassed and even getting picked off twice, something that doesn't happen often for us.

  At the half, we're already up twenty-eight to nothing. Three touchdown passes and one TD reception in a single half. It's the sort of game that you dream about.

  In the locker room at half time, I go up to Coach Blanchard, who's smiling while he talks adjustments with the other coaches for the second half. “Hey, Coach?”

  “Tyler . . . hell of a good first half.”

  “I'm sure Trisha James and the other media's spewing over it now,” I reply with a laugh. “Can you send a message up to Mr. Larroquette, please? After the game, I'd like to have a quick meeting with him in the middle of the field. You, me, the GM . . . and April. We've got something to talk about.”

  Coach nods, and grows serious. “Tyler… you've been a pain in the ass with your off the field issues, but you're one hell of a quarterback. I'm going to miss coaching you.”

  Coach offers his hand and I shake, keeping my thoughts to myself as I head back to my locker. I can see the questions in the eyes of my teammates still, but I have put a plan in motion, and I'm not going to stop it no matter what.

  The second half is a turkey shoot, and by the end I match my career highs in yardage, touchdown passes, and best of all, the Fighters win seventy to twenty-one. I cross the field to shake hands with the BC players, even Chris Liu, who played hard but was contained in the loss. “Good game, Tyler.”

  “Chris. You played hard. We just had it today.”

  He nods, and we go our separate ways. The field is ours right now, although out of respect for the BC team, I avoid stepping on their logo for the next part of my plan. I see April and pull her into a hug, careful not to crush her with my pads. “I missed you.”

  “It was one night, and the way you lit it up today, I should leave you alone more often,” she teases, hugging me back. “Tyler . . . about that . . .”

  I shake my head and take her hand. “Hold off on what you've got to say for five minutes, okay? Trust me, just five minutes.”

  April's uncertain, but she nods slowly after looking in my eyes, and I give her a reassuring smile. “No matter what, I love you, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says with more heart than before, and I hold her hand while I look for the GM and Coach. Blanchard’s giving a quick interview to some television people while the GM is right behind him, his eyes flickering over to me while I come over with April.

  “Coach, great game,” I congratulate him. “I'll never forget this one.”

  “Tyler, like I said at halftime, it's been an honor.”

  The camera crew has turned the cameras to me now, and I couldn't set it up any more perfectly if I'd pla
nned it. “Actually Coach, the honor is mine. Mr. Larroquette, do you have a pen on you?”

  “Ah . . . sure,” the GM says. “What for?”

  “For this,” I say, reaching into my helmet. I'd gone back into the team offices Thursday before packing, grabbing the paper that I pulled out now, wrapped in the sandwich baggie that I'd used to keep it protected from the sweat that soaks my hair. “This is the paper you showed me the other day in your office.”

  I unwrap the paper, and spread it out on the side of my helmet. Uncapping the pen, I scribbled my signature on the line, and hand it to him. “I'm a Fighter for the next five years, Mr. Larroquette. Please inform Baltimore that I'm turning down their offer.”

  There's a stunned silence as I hold the paper out to him, but the first person to break it is April, who sort of squeals before wrapping me up in a hug. “Really?”

  I hug her back, not caring for the moment what anyone else is seeing or thinking. “Really. I love you, and I won't leave you even if they offered me ten million dollars a season. They could offer me ten million a game and I won't leave your side.”

  I lift her up, kissing her gently, losing myself in the sensation of her lips on mine. When I set her down, she's crying, and I think I might be too, although you can't tell with the sweat. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  April laughs and shakes her head. “Absolutely nothing at all . . . except that I love you, and I'll go anywhere with you.”

  “Then let's go home, because I want to celebrate.”

  “Go get a shower,” April says, smiling and patting my chest. “We'll discuss the details when the cameras aren't on.”

  I turn and see that the camera crew is still filming, and that I'm surrounded by teammates and other team personnel, and it's my turn to feel hot and turn bright red. “Okay, good point. Uh guys, I'm calling dibs on the shower.”

  “Like hell!” someone calls, and suddenly, there's a stampede toward the showers, and I'm left with just Coach, Mr. Larroquette, and April. Even the camera crew is making their way off, and I shake my head.

  “I guess I should have waited until I had a head start before saying anything.”

  Coach chuckles and shakes his head. “Wouldn't have mattered. After that little show, you know the press conference afterward is going to have at least a dozen questions for you.”

  “Oh yeah . . . the press conference.”

  April pats my chest lovingly and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “It doesn't matter, I'll wait for you.”

  I'm in the shower in fact when Coach comes in, his face concerned. “Tyler . . . forget the press conference.”

  I run my hand through my hair and shake the water out of my eyes, concerned. “What's wrong?”

  “April just got a phone call from the hospice . . . her father.”

  I rush out of the shower and run across the locker room, rubbing my towel over my body so fast and hard that I'm bright pink as I yank my underwear, team pants and t-shirt over my head. A few of the guys are still getting dressed, but I ignore them all as I leave the locker room to find April in the hallway, crying silently. “April . . . oh baby . . . I'm so sorry. Is he?”

  April nods, and I pull her in close, letting her collapse into my arms, no longer having to be strong for at least a little while. “He . . . just now,” she sobs, and I feel tears in my own eyes, even though I met him only once. “They said he never woke up.”

  “Then let's go talk to the GM. We're going straight to London from here, okay?”

  The team is great, and April and I are on a private jet to London by midnight, saving us the wait of a connecting flight in Calgary. Mr. L. even told me that the team would cover the cost of the flight, but I tell him that I want to pay at least half for it. “Take it out of the game checks for the rest of the season,” I tell him while April gets into the taxi. “I'm serious, you pay for the whole thing, and I throw four interceptions next week.”

  On the plane, April's preoccupied, and I go over, sitting next to her. The plane's a Lear, with supposedly plenty of legs to make the whole trip in one shot. One advantage is that we've got luxury accommodations, including a bed. Not what I'd planned, but considering that it was the only jet with range available, I'll take it.

  “I'm glad you were able to say goodbye,” I tell her, putting an arm around her shoulders. In the taxi, she'd tearfully told me about her trip to London Thursday, and how she'd kissed her father goodbye. Still, with the situation being what it is now, it hurts. “You said he smiled a little at that, right?”

  April nods, and takes my hand. She gets up and takes my hand, pulling me with her. “He did. But right now, I need to try to rest.”

  We go to the back of the plane, where a partition separates the bed area from the rest of the cabin. It's a small bed, some weird size bigger than a full but smaller than a queen, and I guess it's custom built for the plane, I have no idea. April and I lay down, and I pull her in tight, just letting her draw comfort from me.

  Slowly, with no intention other than trying to comfort her, I stroke her hair, running my hands up and down her back when she turns into me, wrapping her left arm around me. “I'm sorry.” she whispers. “I pressured you to stay here in Canada.”

  I shake my head and kiss her forehead. “No, you didn't. I made my decision for a lot of other reasons. The biggest one is you. I want to stay with you.”

  April looks up at me, and suddenly pulls me down into a softer, more intimate kiss than we'd exchanged all night. “Tyler… I need this.”

  I look into her eyes and nod slowly in understanding. Adam gave us his blessing, and I know that, regardless of anything else, April is my One, the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, the woman that, some day perhaps, I want to have children with. There are so many reasons to make love, and this time, we're reaffirming life.

  I kiss her gently, pulling her up on top of me, caressing her body through my old jersey and jeans, letting her set the pace. Her hair hangs over both of our faces, cutting off almost all the light and wrapping us in a dim private world. “I love you,” I whisper as she leans in and kisses me again.

  We strip each other slowly, kissing and tasting each exposed inch of skin that April presents before me. I hold back with every ounce of my patience, knowing that right now, what she needs is comfort, not raw passion.

  April pulls off her jersey and bra, and I bring her left breast to my mouth, kissing and nibbling on her silky, perfect skin. I can feel her heartbeat under my lips, and as she moans, she sobs at the same time, so I kiss my way up her throat to swallow those sobs and take them inside me.

  We hold each other closely, not letting any space between us until she slides off to the side and reaches for my cock inside my pants. She slips her hand inside the track pants and grasps me, her eyes dark and filled with emotion. I can't help it, I moan softly as she pulls me out, just enough that my cock points up into the air. “April . . . are you sure?”

  She looks up into my eyes and nods, her eyes glistening. “I’ve never been more sure.”

  With slow, meaningful measured movements, she unsnaps her jeans and pushes everything off, leaving her nude and beautiful in the dim orange yellow lights of the sleeping cabin, her face trembling with emotion. Without saying a word she climbs back on top of me, taking my cock and positioning it at her entrance. She's warm, and as I slide inside her, she holds her breath, her eyes slightly unfocused, in an inner spiritual place that gives her beautiful face a graveness I've never seen before.

  She blinks, and her eyes join with mine, and she reaches out, putting her right hand on my heart. I put mine on hers, and she starts riding me, lifting herself up and down slowly, each motion carrying deep meaning beyond the joining of our bodies. I can almost feel it in my mind, and I wonder if there really are things like telepathy. Or am I just reading her emotions in her eyes?

  We're moving faster, faster, our bodies building, and as my orgasm builds within me, her fingers dig into the muscle abov
e my heart, bruising me as my own hand does the same to her, and we peak.

  It's like no climax I've ever had before. There's the normal white light of coming, of feeling my balls tighten and my body explode, but the great joy isn't from just coming, but instead from feeling our souls join tightly, forever entwined. Is it some sort of First Nations magic? Hell, I don't know. I just know that as we cruise at twenty five thousand feet somewhere over Alberta or Manitoba, only two phrases echo in my mind.

  My husband.

  My wife.

  Chapter 22

  April

  “April, my condolences on your father's death,” Connor says as he comes into the apartment. He's never been here before, but after the stress of the funeral and driving back from London, neither Tyler or I feel like going anywhere. When Connor called just as Tyler was leaving a quick video session with Coach Blanchard while I made sure the Fighters' legal team had everything for Tyler's new contract, both of us agreed, he could come to us.

  So it's not surprising that he's still dressed for the office, wearing a thousand dollar suit and looking as much like a member of the American Secret Service as a legal assistant. I exchange hugs with him, while Tyler shakes hands. “Thank you, Connor. It was . . . expected.”

  “So I've heard. How is your mother handling it? I mean, if you want to talk.”

  I give my old friend a smile. He knows a lot about my family history, there's no secrets between us. “Of course. She . . . today she was there, and she was mostly the Mom I remember. I talked with the doctors, they're trying a new medication that might have some benefits on helping her stay focused. But still, it's going to be tough for her. When I talked to her afterward though, she said she wants to stay at the hospice. The only things she has left of Daddy are there, and she said that she feels closer to him that way. When we left, she was sleeping in his hospital bed, his blanket on top of her.”