"Fast work. And she found herself a billionaire."
"She did, but Andrea isn't about the money. She's one of those reporters who just have to tell the truth, expose injustice in the world. I think that's what Alex liked about her. She's down to earth and she really cares about people. I'm super happy for her."
"Looks like you're going to have a chance to catch another bouquet."
She groaned. "I am definitely going to pick a better place to stand this time. Thanks for the water. I'm feeling a lot better."
"Good."
She looked around them, taking a few moments to just soak in the happy atmosphere of the park. Every person within her gaze seemed to be having a good time. "I wonder how Ed and Christa are doing," she mused.
"I'm sure they've ditched each other by now."
"Probably. So I think I'm done with the park. It's time to go home and start coming up with some brilliant ideas for Thursday's meeting."
"Do you know your angle yet?"
"I have some ideas, but I need to let it all sink in, or at least let get my stomach back from the roller coaster."
"So you might take a break tonight, not jump right into work?"
She tilted her head, giving him a curious look. "Why do you ask?"
"I have an idea."
"Am I going to like it?"
"I'm not sure I like it."
His words puzzled her. "What are you talking about, Michael?"
"I told you that my old coach wants me to meet him before the game tonight. I was thinking you could go with me. Have you ever been to a pro game?"
"No, never. My dad used to have tickets with my grandfather, but my brothers were usually first in line to go."
"I can get you down on the field."
She thought about his invitation and saw the strain in his eyes. "You don't really want to go, do you?"
"It sounds strange to say no. My whole life, all I wanted to do was play on a pro team. Now, I don't even know if I want to go to a game."
"Then why are you going?"
"Because Hank keeps calling me."
"That's not the reason."
He tipped his head. "Because I can't stop thinking about his offer and whether I made the right decision to cut football out of my life." He paused. "I have to say that yesterday kind of broke the ice for me. Watching games with your family forced me back into it. And your dad asked me so many questions, I never really had time to think about the fact that I wasn't playing anymore."
"You were a good sport," she said.
"So is it your turn to be a good sport?" he asked hopefully. "I could use a friend."
"Everyone on that team is your friend."
"They'll be playing. I need someone standing by my side."
She blew out a breath, knowing that she should spend the night working on her pitch. On the other hand, she owed Michael. He'd not only made her dad's weekend, he'd also helped her take on the roller coaster.
"All right. I'll go," she said. "As long as we can get those garlic fries. I love those."
"Cotton candy and garlic fries, my kind of woman."
"Well, I wouldn't eat them at the same time," she protested.
He laughed. "I might. And maybe add in a beer chaser."
"Now, you've gone too far," she teased.
"Let's go back to the hotel and check out."
She stood up, relieved that her legs didn't feel like rubber anymore. "I think I can actually walk again. I don't really remember how I got from the roller coaster to here."
"I practically carried you."
"Really? I thought I was still flying."
He smiled. "You're a gamer, Liz."
"Just what every girl wants to hear."
"It's a compliment. And if I told you how I really see you, you wouldn't believe me anyway."
She wasn't sure what to make of that comment. "I'm not going to ask."
"Well, maybe someday I'll tell you anyway—when you're ready to hear me."
Chapter Ten
Liz was still thinking about Michael's cryptic words when she drove back to San Francisco. After checking out of the hotel, they'd each gotten in their cars and were currently tailgating their way back to the bay. Michael had let her lead, and she couldn't help thinking how happy she felt every time she looked in the rearview mirror and saw him. It felt good to have him so close.
Actually, being with Michael just felt good in general. It was a dangerous, heady, somewhat out of control feeling, kind of like riding that roller coaster, only a lot better. She tried to remind herself that once the competition was over, Michael would be out of her life, but that didn't change the way she felt right now. For once, she was going to let the future take care of itself and live in the moment.
She hit a fair amount of traffic going into the city and it was almost four by the time she reached her apartment building in North Beach. She pulled into the underground parking lot, hoping Michael could find a nearby spot. She wanted to drop off her bag and grab a jacket before going to the stadium.
When she got into the lobby from the garage, she saw Michael waiting outside the front door with his suitcase. He didn't want to leave it in his truck while they were at the game, but having his suitcase in her apartment meant he was going to have to come up after the game to get it. She'd worry about that later.
"This is a nice neighborhood," Michael said as she let him in.
"I love the area. I have a couple of friends who live nearby and there are great restaurants, bars and it's short walk to the pier."
"Sounds perfect," he said, following her up the stairs to her second floor apartment.
"Don't expect much," she warned as she opened the door and ushered him inside. "It's just a big studio."
"But you have a lot of room," he commented, glancing around.
She did have some space. The large room was divided into three areas, one for sleeping, one for sitting and one for cooking. Her double bed was hidden behind an ornamental screen. She had a couch and an armchair by the window, and her kitchenette offered seating at a counter with two stools. A small bathroom was just behind the kitchen and walk-in closet. She was happy she'd done her laundry a few days earlier. And since she hadn't been home much the past few days, the place was pretty neat.
"I like the light," he said. "But where's your art? Your walls are pretty bare."
"It's back at my parents' house."
"You really don't feel the urge to paint anymore?"
"I've done some sketches, but nothing good enough to hang on a wall."
"I doubt that."
"Well, I just haven't gotten around to decorating. I've been busy. Maybe I should see your place, because I have a feeling it's not going to look like it came out of the pages of a design magazine." She paused, frowning. "Actually, I'm probably wrong. It would make sense if you had your home professionally decorated. You must have made a lot of money in football. Where do you live exactly?"
"I have a small house in the Berkeley hills. My sister's friend Carmen helped me decorate it. She's not a professional, and I paid her in tickets for last year's playoff game. You'll have to come over and check it out."
"Why Berkeley? Why not San Francisco?"
"I enjoy having a little more space than I'd have here in the city. Plus, I have a great view of the bay from my deck. I've seen some amazing sunsets. As an artist, you'd love the colors."
She would love the colors. His words had already created an image in her mind. It was funny that Michael was making her think about painting again. He hadn't just taken her back in time to high school, but to a place in her life where she'd been filled with a lot of passion for art. She still had passion; she was just more practical now. She was an adult. Being practical came with age, didn't it?
Shaking her head, she walked across the room, grabbed a jacket out of her closet and said, "Let's go to the game."
After leaving her apartment, they got into Michael's truck and drove south of the city to a beautiful new
football stadium that had been built three years earlier. It sat on land right next to the bay and as they got out of the truck, a gust of wind lifted Liz's hair off of her neck and she quickly zipped up her jacket.
They'd gotten a spot in preferred parking, but as they walked toward the stadium entrance, Liz could see dozens of cars already in the main lot. Small barbecues were smoking with delicious smells of barbecue.
"People come really early," she said. "The game doesn't start for another hour and a half."
"Sometimes they come in the morning. It's part of the experience."
"I think I prefer the experience of sitting in my parents' family room with my mom making a lot of great food."
"That was good, I must admit."
As they neared the private entrance designated for players and coaches, Michael's body tensed. He blew out a breath. "I don't know if I'm ready for this," he muttered.
She had a feeling he was talking more to himself than to her, but she couldn't help responding. "You're going to be fine, Michael. As you told me earlier—right before the roller coaster took off—you're not going to die."
"That was quite a pep talk I gave you, wasn't it?" he said dryly.
"You were right." She paused. "I don't know what you're going through, how difficult this might be for you, but I do know that, like me, you never back down from a challenge."
"I just don't know what I'm doing here, Liz. I'm done with football."
"Then this should be easy. Say hello and goodbye and you'll have closure."
"I thought I had closed this chapter in my life. It's Hank who's trying to open it all up again."
"You're not going to be able to move forward until you deal with this offer. You said that yourself earlier. That's why we're here, so there's no backing out now."
He let out a frustrated sigh. "Why do you have to be so smart, Lizzie?"
"Apparently, so I can annoy you."
He smiled. "You do get under my skin."
"Likewise. But you brought me here for a reason and I think that reason had something to do with making sure you walked through the door."
"I had other reasons, too."
"Well, let's stick with that one for now." She opened the door and waved him through it.
After giving their name to the security guard, they were handed credentials and tickets for a sky box and then cleared to walk through the tunnel to the field. Liz had been in stadiums before, but never on the field of a professional football game. Despite how early they were, there was quite a crowd of people on the field and also in the stands. Music blared and videos of past highlight plays were featured on the big screens around the stadium. The atmosphere was filled with energy and excitement. She could see the anticipation on the faces of the players who were running through their warm-up drills.
They paused at the edge of the track.
"So this was you a year ago," she said, thinking that this was her first real glimpse into Michael's old life.
He nodded, his jaw so stiff she thought it might break. "I always loved game day. I couldn't wait to get out here. And if it was a night game like this, I had even more hours to get amped up for the battle ahead."
"My dad said you were a great quarterback."
"I wasn't bad," he admitted.
"Humble? That isn't usually the Michael Stafford style."
His grim expression eased as he looked at her. "Okay, you're right. I was good and I could have been great if I'd had more years to play. But that wasn't in the cards."
"The players are bigger in person. How did you handle getting hit by some 300 pound linebacker?"
"Most of the time, I was able to escape. I had a good offensive line. They protected me."
"What happened the day you got hurt?"
"It was a very close game. We were down to the last minute. I was scrambling. I got hit hard, but it wasn't the first hit that took me out, it was the second one by an overly aggressive player. I fell badly and my knee was torn up."
"Isn't that called roughing the quarterback?"
"Yeah, it was a penalty. The team took yardage for the play, but that wasn't much consolation when I was headed to the hospital."
"Have you ever talked to the guy who hit you?" she asked curiously. "Did you know him?"
"I did know him. He came to see me after my surgery. He wanted to apologize. He said he was caught up in the moment."
She could see shadows of emotion in his eyes, but she couldn't quite read what those emotions were. "How did you react? Were you angry? Did you let him have it?"
"No, I told him I understood what it meant to get caught up in the game."
"That was generous. You let him off the hook for an illegal play that ended your career."
Michael frowned. "He wasn't trying to hurt me. He just wanted to win."
"The end justifies the means?" she queried.
"You're twisting my words, Lizzie."
"I don't think I am. Winning at any cost isn't really winning, not when cheating is involved."
"It's not that simple." Michael paused as a man in a red windbreaker made his way over to them.
The older man had to be Hank, Liz thought. He had gray hair and a wrinkled face weathered by sun, but he moved with the agility of someone who had once been an athlete himself.
Hank threw his arms around Michael, giving him a bear hug. Then he stepped back, a pleased smile on his face. "Thanks for coming."
"You didn't give me much choice. You've been putting the heat on hard."
"Had to. Season is halfway done. We need to change things around now. I want you to take a look at the offense with me. You know these guys. You played with them. And you know the strengths and weaknesses of our rookie quarterback. I want you to give me your thoughts. And then we'll talk about how we can make you a permanent part of the team."
"I'll watch some of the game," Michael said. "That's as far as my commitment goes."
"You'll stay as long as you need to," Hank said somewhat cryptically. His gaze moved to Liz. "Want to introduce me, Michael?"
"Liz Palmer, Hank Grandietti, one of the best coaches in the business."
"Pleasure," Hank said, shaking her hand. "Michael was one of the best players I ever had the privilege to coach. Did you ever see him play?"
"I saw him play in high school."
"So you two go way back?" Hank said, curiosity in his eyes.
"We do," she said.
"I've got you set up in a sky box," Hank added. "But you're welcome to stay on the field."
"I think I'm going to go find something to eat," Liz said. "And then I'll go to the box. Take your time, Michael. If you need to stay on the field, stay on the field, I'll be fine."
"I'll be up before the game starts."
"Whatever works. Just point me in the right direction."
Hank waved his hand toward the entrance. As she left she heard Hank jump into what problems they were having with their offense. She had a feeling this game was going to make it much more difficult for Michael to shut the door on football, no matter how much he wanted to do that. Well, she'd gotten him through the door. The rest was up to him.
* * *
Michael's gaze followed Liz across the field.
"Girlfriend?" Hank asked, pausing for a moment from his football talk.
"Not really sure what we are," he said, turning back to Hank. "But she's important."
Hank grinned. "Don't screw it up then."
"Always great to get your advice."
"Your turn for advice. Come with me."
Michael followed Hank onto the field, exchanging greetings and hugs with the men who had been his friends and teammates the last couple of years. He realized how long it had been since he'd seen some of them. And that was mostly his fault. He'd ignored the calls, texts and emails after his surgery and long rehab. A few of the guys he had eventually called back, but by then there didn't seem to be much to say. He didn't want to talk about football, and he wasn't sure what else t
here was to talk about.
But now he realized that along with football, he'd shut a lot of people out of his life just because they were associated with the game he couldn't play anymore. Fortunately, no one seemed to hold that against him.
As the players ran through their warm-up drills, he felt a deep, aching yearning in his soul for the game that had driven his life since he was six years old.
This was why he hadn't wanted to see anyone, hadn't wanted to go to a game. It had been a little easier at Liz's house. Then the game had been on TV, and he could look at it like a show, but here on the sidelines, all the sounds, smells and sights were very familiar.
"Jim has a good arm, we all know that," Hank said, referring to the young quarterback. "But he's jittery when he gets out of the pocket. He doesn't move like you did and the rest of the team senses his nerves. Some of them are overplaying to compensate. It's not working."
He watched Jim throw, his experienced eyes noting the little details, the balance, the arm strength and the situational awareness. Everything looked good, but these were just drills. The actual game would challenge all of Jim's skills.
For the next forty minutes, he and Hank talked their way through the offensive line and the list of plays. Michael made a few suggestions. He couldn't help himself. He hadn't come here to get involved, but it was hard to walk away from his training and his desire to help the team. Before he knew it, they were two minutes away from kickoff.
"Let's talk after the game," Hank said, slapping him on the back.
"Tomorrow," he replied. "I'll put together some thoughts for you."
"Good," Hank said.
"But you know what you're doing out there, Hank. You're one of the best. You don't need me. You're just second-guessing yourself."
"I don't think so. You were the captain of these guys. You know them better than anyone. You had a gift for bringing out the best in them. And I really want you to consider making your involvement a more permanent thing. Just think about it. You can't play anymore, but you can make a difference in the game that you love."
Michael didn't reply, mostly because he didn't have an answer. He'd really thought he'd turned the corner…until now.
Steal My Heart (Bachelors & Bridesmaids) Page 9