Chasing Jillian: A Love and Football Novel

by Julie Brannagh

  He tiptoed past his little sister’s room. Lauren lived in her sorority house at UW most of the time, but when he’d bought his house, he made sure there was a room for her so she had somewhere else to go. She migrated back and forth between her sorority and his place. Something about family staying with him made him happy. He had to admit she livened up his too-quiet house most of the time—even if, at times, she bugged the crap out of him.

  A few stretches later, he let himself out of the house, locked the front door, and broke into an easy jog. The development he’d moved into was full of young families, but at this time of day, nobody else was out—well, nobody but a couple of his teammates. He’d asked around a little and found out that a bunch of them lived in his new neighborhood. He fell in beside them.

  “Morning, pussy,” Tom said. Tom was the Sharks’ quarterback, an All-American, All-Pro gunslinger. His personality was as outsized as his football skills.

  “Morning, dickweed,” Seth said. Tom laughed loudly.

  The other guy, a massive defensive tackle named Zach, grunted in Seth’s direction.

  “So, ladies, how about a little race this morning?” Zach said.

  “C’mon. Let’s get a little warm-up here before the games begin.” Tom glanced over at Seth. “We’ll get to the next block. A few of the other guys should be out too.”

  Seth gave him a nod. His teammates preferred the proximity to great schools and the practice facility, not to mention the fact the neighbors were fairly protective of their privacy. In exchange, there was an extra effort to take care of things—the kids in this neighborhood got autographed memorabilia, free game tickets, and sideline passes. According to Seth’s teammates, the neighbors invited the players to wintertime get-togethers and summertime barbecues.

  It was nice to find people who treated them like anybody else.

  The group ran in silence until they met up with two other guys from the team, who both had emerged from their houses as well.

  “Kids still asleep?” Tom asked Jeff, a wide receiver who’d been traded to Seattle the year before from Atlanta.

  “Hell yeah. My wife would be looking for me if I woke them up. It’s so nice to sneak down the hall of my own house.”

  “My kids can hear a pin drop. How did you manage to do that?” Tom asked.

  “No shoes, buddy. Works every time. Plus, our master’s on the first floor. I can get out the door before they know what happened.” Jeff’s stealth might also have something to do with the fact he could run a 4.3-second forty-yard dash.

  “I don’t have kids. My ex-girlfriend would’ve flipped out if she woke up and I was gone,” Seth said.

  Zach glanced around. “Good reason to get another girlfriend,” he said. “I spent a year and a half doing that. It sucks.”

  “We were done as of two weeks ago,” Seth told him.

  “So, the girlfriend in San Diego’s officially history?” Tom asked.

  “Yeah.” Seth didn’t expound.

  “Want us to fix you up?” Jeff asked. Jeff and Zach glanced at each other and let out a burst of laughter.

  “You assholes are so supportive,” Seth muttered.

  “We give you shit because we care,” Zach insisted. Seth had to grin. “Plus, if you aren’t getting laid, we have to deal with you, don’t we?”

  “Oh, go fuck yourselves.”

  By now, the entire group was laughing. They ran on.

  “So, I heard that Jasha was on the coach’s shit list this week,” Zach said. “I told him that mouthing off to the defensive coordinator about his game planning wasn’t the best use of his time.”

  “He’s such a diva. Shit,” Tom said, “you’d think he was a wide receiver or something.”

  Jeff let out a bark of laughter. “Name-call all you want, Reed. I’m all about that action.”

  “You blew up that DB from Tampa Bay, brah.”

  Zach made the “boom” hand signal. “He still remembers your name, doesn’t he?”

  The guys were making one last loop of the neighborhood, and Seth glanced over at Tom.

  “Hey. How’d you meet your wife?” Seth asked.

  “Are we having a conversation now?”

  “Yeah. Where’d you find her?”

  “I met her my rookie season. I didn’t know how to cook, so I went to the same restaurant every morning for breakfast. She was a waitress there.” A soft look moved over Tom’s face. “She had no idea who I was or what I did, and she didn’t care. I kept asking her out. She kept telling me no.”

  “How’d you get her to go out with you?”

  “I told her that if she went out with me once, I’d never ask her again if she didn’t have fun. We had a great time. We’ve been together ever since.”

  The other guys were starting to split off as the group passed their houses; Seth would see them at practice later. Tom raised a hand as he ran up his driveway, and Seth continued on to his house.

  Seth needed someone like her. Someone who cared for him, not for who he was or the money he earned with bone-jarring practices and a million injuries over the years. He needed someone he could fall in love with every day for the rest of his life.

  JILLIAN’S PHONE RANG as she pulled into a space in the Treehouse parking lot. She shut off the car’s ignition, grabbing for her phone, which (as always) was lurking at the bottom of her purse. She managed to grab it out just as the call went to voice mail.

  She didn’t recognize the number. “Oh, hell,” she muttered to herself. “Maybe they’ll leave a message.” She waited a few seconds. The little symbol denoting a brand-new message popped up on the screen. She hit it with a fingertip as she enabled the speaker function.

  “Hey, Jill, it’s me, Seth.” The air whooshed out of her lungs in surprise. She almost hugged the phone. “I was wondering if you had some time today. I need a walk.” He chuckled a little. “Or you can take me to your favorite place for lunch. My treat. Call me.” She heard the call end.

  She let out a squeal and waited for her heart rate to return to normal. The new group of volunteers she was working with would be here in ten minutes. She couldn’t blow off her volunteer shift, no matter how badly she wanted to do almost anything Seth suggested. He wanted to have lunch. He wanted to pay for lunch.

  Had he just asked her out on a date?

  Her finger hovered over the “Return Call” button on her phone. She took the deepest breath she could and told herself to act like this kind of thing happened to her every day. He answered on the first ring.

  “It’s Taylor.”

  “Hi, Seth, it’s Jillian. You called me.”

  “I sure did,” he said. “What are you up to today? Let’s get together.”

  “I would love to, but I can’t.”

  “Well, that’s no good. What’s happening?”

  “I have this volunteer thing that’s going to take up most of the day. I really wish I could hang out. It would be fun.” That was the understatement of the year. If he had any idea how much she really wanted to see him, he’d freak out.

  “Volunteer thing, huh? Tell me about it.”

  “I’m at Treehouse in Seattle. We’re sorting donations and stuff,” she said. “I’ll be done later, but don’t you have to be at the team hotel by then?”

  “Oh, hell yeah. There’s meetings and a chapel service before bed check.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Listen. Maybe we can try this lunch thing another time. How about it?”

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  “Good. We’ll make it happen, then,” he said. “I’ll see you Monday, Jill.”

  They said good-bye; she hung up the phone in a daze and stared at the side of the building as she told herself to breathe. She knew she hadn’t imagined it because his number was still in her phone. She impulsively hit “Save” and typed in Seth’s name. She dropped her phone back into her purse, grabbed her keys, and got out of the car.

  Twenty minutes later, Jillian took a sip of coffee as she regarded th
e huge pile of clothing that needed to be sorted and hung up for display. She was happy about the donations, but this was going to be some work. Luckily, it would also help take her mind off Seth for a little while as well. One of the new volunteers Jillian was training this weekend glanced at her.

  “My mama always said there’s no rest for the wicked,” she said in a softly accented voice.

  “And the good don’t need any,” a young man whose nametag read SHANNON said.

  Jillian put her paper coffee cup down on a nearby table. “Does anyone need something to drink or to visit the facilities before we start?” she asked. The six students fulfilling their school-mandated community-service hours shook their heads.

  “We’re fine,” another young man told her. “Let’s get started.”

  “We’re separating the items to make sure everything is clean, gently worn, and in one piece,” Jillian said. “We’ll get them on hangers or folded as we go. We can throw out stuff that’s junk.”

  “People donate junk?” Shannon asked.

  “Yeah. Sometimes.” Jillian passed out latex gloves to the group. “Put these on first, okay?”

  They plunged into the pile of plastic bags, grabbing a few and sorting through the contents. Some were new clothing or shoes with tags still on and were stacked on another table by type and gender for display. Foster children came to Treehouse to go “shopping” for needed clothing and toiletries. The contrast was jarring between well-dressed teenagers who came from upper-middle-class homes and were donating a few hours of their time, and the kids who worried about obtaining things like a warm winter coat or shoes that didn’t have holes. It must have made an impression on the teens, who filled the silence by talking to each other in hushed voices.

  “My brother has an almost-new pair of Nikes he grew out of. I wonder if someone here might want them.”

  “I got a brand-new winter coat. My mom bought me another one before I even cut the tags off it.”

  “My grandma gave me this heinous sweater that she knitted. She’d be really mad if I donated it, but I have some other stuff another kid might like.”

  The young woman with a soft Southern accent glanced over at Jillian again. “I have some things at home that I’ve never worn,” she said. “They still have tags on them. May I bring them in? Someone else might like them.”

  “Of course you can,” Jillian said. “Thank you.”

  They made surprising progress in a few hours. Jillian felt the alarm on the phone in her pocket go off. It was lunchtime, and the teens needed to eat.

  “I know everyone’s probably hungry, so let’s break for lunch. There’s a fast-food place across the street. If you want a sandwich or something, there’s a grocery store close by too.” She pulled in a breath. She hoped some of the kids would stay to get in a few more hours, but she knew they probably would prefer going to the movies or something on a Saturday afternoon. She made her voice casual. “If you’d like me to sign your community hours paperwork before you leave, I can do that. Thank you so much for all your help today. You did a great job.”

  The six teens glanced at each other. Jillian saw some foot shuffling and fidgeting. Shannon jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. He must have been nominated as the spokesman.

  “If you’d like some more help, we’ll come back after lunch,” he said.

  “Yeah,” one of the other teens said. “We’ll go through the rest of this stuff before we go home.”

  “Jillian, would you like to have lunch with us?” the young woman with the Southern accent asked. “Maybe some of the other kids at school would like to help out once in a while too.”

  “That would be great,” Jillian said. “Let me grab my purse. I’ll be right back.”

  Even though she’d wanted to have lunch with Seth and wished she hadn’t turned him down, she was touched that the teens asked her to join them. She liked chatting with the volunteers.

  She dashed around the corner to the desk where she kept her purse, forcing herself to take deep breaths. She realized people might think it was weird that she was so excited others wanted to help out an organization that meant so much to her. Some of the kids who showed up as volunteers weren’t a lot of help. They didn’t seem to understand why other kids couldn’t put a new wardrobe on a charge card, or why some kids couldn’t afford stuff like yearbooks or sports fees or ballet lessons. She knew what it was like to do without. She also knew why other people might not. Every volunteer who wanted to come back was one more enlisted in Jillian’s personal campaign to improve the lives of foster kids in her area.

  She had a great time at lunch with the teenagers, talking and laughing as they told her about starting school and what their plans were for the year. They walked back to the building and started in again. An hour or so later, one of Treehouse’s staff members walked into the room where Jillian and the volunteers were working.

  “Hey, Jillian. We just got a call from Seth Taylor of the Sharks. Do you know him?”

  “A little,” she said.

  The teenage guys in the room stopped working and stared at each other.

  “You know Taylor?” one asked.

  “He’s the best,” another added.

  “He’s really cute,” the girl with the Southern accent said.

  “He said he knew you,” the staff member said. “He also said he can’t sign up for the volunteer orientation until the season’s over, but he’s pretty interested. He also gave us a ten-thousand-dollar donation.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” Jillian said. She could feel the heat of a blush rising in her face, and she couldn’t quite look at anybody. She realized that ten thousand dollars wasn’t a fortune to someone like Seth, but it meant a lot to her that he would even consider making a donation to an organization she cared about so much.

  The staff member reached out to squeeze Jillian’s upper arm. “I thought you might want to know. Really nice of him, huh?”

  “Yeah. That’s great,” she said.

  The staff member left, and the teenagers went back to work. Well, they went back to work after asking Jillian how she knew Seth Taylor.

  “I met him recently. He’s a good guy.”

  “Are you dating him?” the young woman with the Southern accent asked.

  “No. He’s just a friend.”

  “Just a friend?” one of the teenage guys teased.

  “Just a friend.”

  A couple of hours later, Jillian threw herself into her car, grabbed her phone out of her bag, and hit “Redial” on Seth’s number. She felt a little weird about calling him, but this couldn’t wait. She knew he was probably already at the hotel. She wasn’t surprised when the call went to voice mail.

  “Hi, Seth, this is Jillian. Thank you so much for giving such a generous donation to Treehouse. It means a lot to me. And thanks again for the lunch invite. I’m looking forward to taking you up on it another time,” she said. “Have a great game tomorrow. Bye.”

  Jillian also pushed herself to go for a walk on both Saturday and Sunday. It wasn’t bad when she could come home and shower. Maybe she should walk in the mornings before she went to work. That would require getting out of bed, though, and she liked to sleep in a little. Every time she put on the cross-trainers and went outside, she had a better chance of meeting someone new. If she’d never pushed herself to try something different from her daily routine, she never would have gotten to know Seth.

  If she concentrated on walking a little farther each day and picking up the pace a bit, she could try hiking or even a 5K. She knew the Sharks’ PR department was planning a fund-raising 5K for season-ticket holders in a couple of months. The proceeds would benefit several local charities, including Treehouse. She’d told the PR group that she’d help with on-site registration on race day, but she could only imagine how it would feel to participate in the race and finish, instead of being behind the scenes, as always.

  Tomorrow, she’d get out of bed a little early, put her shoes on, and go f
or another walk.

  “No pain, no gain,” she muttered to CB, who gave her a quizzical look. Even the cat thought she was nuts. Jillian liked her job, but now, no matter how she tried to pretend it meant nothing to her, she was looking forward to Monday. She’d see Seth.

  Her heart beat a bit faster at the thought.

  JILLIAN’S DESK PHONE rang at the same time her in-box chimed on Monday morning, alerting her to multiple (urgent) incoming e-mails. She clicked to open the first message marked “911 Urgent” while she answered the ringing phone. Then, the cell phone in her pocket went off with a unique ring she’d given John’s calls. She needed a few more hands today.

  “Hello, Seattle Sharks. Would you hold, please?”

  “It’s me,” John said. “My nine o’clock appointment is dicking me around again. Would you call him back and tell him we’re rescheduling for the last time?”

  “Did you just call my cell phone as well?”

  “I sure did. Keep me updated, please.”

  She could hear laughter in John’s voice as he hung up.

  As she returned to reading the “911 Urgent” e-mail (consisting of John’s telling her to cancel his nine AM appointment), a shadow moved across her desk, indicating the arrival of someone tall enough to block out the carefully calibrated spotlights overhead.

  “Hey,” Seth said. “What’s up?” He also winked at her. Her heart skipped a beat in response. Her heart-monitor watch was probably shorting out or something right now.

  She glanced up at him. “Hi. Don’t you have practice or something?”

  “I’m here for the post-game health check.” He wasn’t going away. “What do you do in the mornings before you have to be in the office?”

  She was attempting to talk to Seth while dialing the nine o’clock appointment’s cell phone. Of course, he wasn’t answering. She grabbed her phone out of her pocket, typed in the guy’s e-mail address, and shot him an e-mail marked “Urgent,” canceling the meeting.

  Her desk phone was ringing again. She really needed to answer it, but she seemed to be frozen in place. “How come?”