Being Zolt

by D. L. Raver

  I flashed back to that day. She had kept that jersey all these years, just as she had kept the memory of me. I almost couldn’t believe the turn my life had taken and how lucky I was to have her in it.

  “Hamil, is that you?” Coach Johnson called from the center of the field. “Get your ass over here. I can’t believe my eyes. Is that Stanley with you, too?”

  I glanced over at T-bone, and he smiled his dazzling, all-teeth smile at me. “You heard coach. Move your ass, Hamil. The team is waiting.”

  We walked to the center of the field; well, I limped and T-bone walked. For the first time ever, I didn’t despise my limp. It was my battle wound and my proof that I had survived.

  In the center of the field, players, both old and new, suddenly surrounded me. Most of the faces I didn’t recognize, but a few of them I did. I loved that, after all these years, some of the men I’d played with were still on the team.

  “This is a rare treat,” Coach Johnson said, hugging the life out of me. “Gather around boys, I want to introduce you to Zolt Hamil and T-bone Stanley. Some of you will remember Zolt, of course. He was the last QB to even come close to taking us to the Super Bowl until that awful day. I had the pleasure of being his coach.”

  A young kid came running up to me, holding his helmet. “Mr. Hamil, it’s an honor to meet you. Just last week, Coach Johnson had me watching your films. I’ve been working on my spirals, trying to emulate you.”

  “Connley reminds me a lot of you, Zolt,” Johnson leaned in and said. “We have great hopes for this season.”

  Somebody threw the QB a football, and he caught it and handed it to me.

  “Could you maybe throw one? I’d love to see your release in person,” Connley asked, his young eyes wide and hopeful.

  “I…” I cleared my voice from the lump that had formed in my throat and stared at the ball in my hands. It had been years since I’d last held one, let alone thrown one, and surprisingly enough, it felt like yesterday. Though, in reality, the day of the injury had been the last time.

  I rolled my shoulders and stretched my arm. When my gazed flicked over to where Irelyn and Brody sat, my brother held her hand, and she had the biggest, tear-stained smile.

  Hesitation and the fear that the ball would take a nose-dive into the ground kept me from throwing the ball.

  All eyes were on me, waiting for me to do something. Anything.

  I glanced over at T and he nodded at me.

  Fuck it! I can do this!

  I laid my middle fingers across the laces, holding the ball lightly with my fingertips. The weight of it in my hands, and the texture—hell, even the smell—were familiar. Natural.

  Coach waved a receiver downfield, and I dropped back a few steps, bouncing lightly on my toes. My leg screamed, but I ignored it.

  I turned and pivoted, my eyes locked on the receiver, my arm surging forward.

  The ball left my fingertips, traveling down the field in a perfect spiral. The receiver sped up, allowing the ball to fall over his shoulder and into his waiting hands for the catch.

  I stared downfield, dumbstruck that I could still deliver a throw like that. Then, I broke out in a stupid grin, happy as a fourth grader showing off for the girls. In the background, I heard Irelyn and Brody screaming and cheering.

  “Felt good, didn’t it?” T-bone asked and clapped me on the back.

  “Yeah,” I choked. “Fucking amazing.”

  “Happy Birthday, Z-man!” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said again, too overwhelmed to say anything different.

  I turned in Irelyn’s direction and smiled. “Thank you” I mouthed.

  “You’re welcome” she mouthed back, and then dried her tears with the back of her hand. Even Brody looked a little misty-eyed. Big pussy!

  Like that, football and I had kissed and made up. Instead of hating the sport I once loved, I decided to let her back into my life, because how could I not?

  Five Years Later

  Irelyn and I sat in the studio of the NFL channel’s Total Access, waiting for our interview to begin. Irelyn shifted a few times, trying to get comfortable.

  I placed my hand on her pregnant stomach and rubbed gently. “Is he kicking again?”

  “Yeah. He must be reacting to my nerves.” She sat up straighter in the chair and took in a deep breath.

  “You don’t have to do this. I can manage without you.” She hadn’t been sleeping well since my son liked to kick the shit out of her all night long.

  “Like hell you will, Hamil. Just because I’m a few weeks from delivering and look like a cow doesn’t mean I can’t hold up my end. We worked too hard to get the NFL to honor the Delaney Carmichael Foundation during opening Sunday of this year’s season. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” She gave me a sweet smile as she fussed with her hair, which, of course, didn’t need it; my wife was always beautiful.

  She straightened my purple tie and I smiled at her.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asked, quirking her own grin.

  “I like that we match. Purple becomes you.”

  “Yeah? Not like a big, pregnant grape?”

  “Not at all.” I leaned in and whispered in her ear. “You look very fuckable.”

  “Zolt!” Her cheeks stained cherry-red and she stared at her hands, toying with her wedding rings. I loved that I could still have that effect on her. And it wasn’t a lie. In some ways, I found her sexier in her pregnancy. This morning in the shower I’d shown her exactly how sexy I thought she was.

  I kissed her head so as not to mess with her makeup. A minute later, the female reporter who would be interviewing us joined us.

  She settled into her chair and the interview began.

  “We’re joined today by Zolt Hamil, the new NFL Commissioner, and his wife, Irelyn. Thank you for joining us, Mr. Commissioner, Mrs. Hamil. Congratulations on being appointed the youngest Commissioner in the history of the NFL.”

  “Thank you, and please, call us Zolt and Irelyn,” I said.

  She nodded and started the interview. “I have to say how amazing it is that you’re here with us after all this time. You all might remember Zolt from the bounty hit during the NFC Championships some eleven years ago that ended what promised to be a fine career. You left football after that.”

  “I did.” Instinctually, I rubbed my leg. I hadn’t thought about that day in a long time. Thankfully, the new drug I took for the nerve damage lessened my pain considerably, and I no longer had to smoke.

  “It’s thanks to my wife that football and I made up.” I kissed Irelyn’s hand, and she blushed.

  “I have to say that I love your story and how you and Irelyn came together. What some of you might not know is that they first met on that horrible day.”

  “We did,” I said and smiled at Irelyn, lacing our fingers together. “Though met isn’t exactly right.”

  “It was more of an encounter,” Irelyn added. “We didn’t actually meet until six years later at my father’s law firm.”

  We recounted our story, each filling in different details, playing off each other, finishing each other’s sentences the way we always did. When we were done, I thought the reporter might cry.

  “That has to be the most amazing and romantic story I’ve ever heard. And now you’re expecting your first child?”

  “Yes, in a few weeks,” Irelyn said, placing her hand on her stomach.

  I looked at my wife and beamed. How could I not? She was carrying my son, and I couldn’t be more excited and proud.

  “Which brings us to why you’re here, Irelyn. The rescue of the kidnapped girls in Nigeria made international headlines. Can you tell us a little about that?”

  Irelyn glanced at me and squeezed my hand and I squeezed back.

  About nine months ago, she and T-bone had personally gone to Lagos to secure the some twenty young girls that had been kidnapped by known sex traffickers. The trip had been harrowing, and at one point she found herself held captive for twelve hours.<
br />
  I’d nearly lost my shit and Crazy Zolt had made a reappearance; something that hadn’t happened in years. But thanks to T-bone and Sloan’s mercenary contacts, we found Irelyn and the girls. The rescue hadn’t been pretty, but all the girls had been returned to their families.

  That was the weekend we found out we were going to be parents.

  I held Irelyn’s hand as she told the story, leaving out the actual rescue went down.

  “I can’t imagine how scary that must have been for you.” She reached over and touched Irelyn’s arm. “Tell us about the Delaney Carmichael Foundation and how you’ve partnered with the NFL this year.”

  Irelyn explained the purpose of the foundation, and how the players would be wearing purple somewhere on their uniforms on opening Sunday, much like they do pink for breast cancer awareness. In the time since Marcus’s death, she had kept the horrors she’d experience at his hands to herself, not wanting the foundation to be about her. It was Delaney’s story and courage she wanted everyone to know about.

  The interview concluded just as the baby kicked Irelyn in the ribs, making her grunt.

  “Sorry,” she said and closed her eyes for a moment.

  “Don’t be. My son did the same thing to me. Hurts like hell,” the reporter said sympathetically.

  I stood up, helping Irelyn stand, as well.

  “That it does,” Irelyn agreed, arching her back.

  “Perhaps you have another football player in there,” the reporter said as she took off her microphone and handed it to the grip. We followed suit, handing over our microphones, as well.

  “Another Hamil playing football would be amazing,” she said.

  “It would indeed,” we both said together. I placed my hand on Irelyn’s stomach and smiled.

  Another Hamil football player would be perfect.

  Twenty-Five Years Later

  Irelyn, our son Ryker, and I stood in the family box at the Miami Dolphins’ Stadium watching our other son, Chris, play in his first Super Bowl as quarterback for the Arizona Cardinals against the Denver Broncos. The game had come down to the last minute with the Broncos up by five points.

  I thought I’d vomit; I was that nervous as I watched the team huddled up for what could be the last play of the game. It was third down, and Chris had his team on the five-yard line.

  Irelyn held mine and Ryker’s hands in a death grip, and she bit the side of her lip.

  I had to remind myself to breathe as we waited for the next play. I glanced to my left and caught T-bone’s excited gaze. His son, Junior, played on Chris’s offensive line, just as his father had played on mine.

  Funny how things really did come full circle, given enough time.

  With my eyes closed, I said a silent prayer, asking for my son’s namesake to watch over him.

  The crowd erupted, and I opened my eyes and held my breath, watching as Chris called several signals, some of which were real, some of which were meant to throw the defense off and draw them offside.

  The line went into a running formation, but instead, Chris executed a play-action pass, faking out the defense and hitting the open receiver in the end zone, ending the game.

  “Touchdown! The Arizona Cardinals win the Super Bowl!”

  I grabbed Irelyn and spun her around. “Thank you,” I said, and then kissed her hard.

  As Chris celebrated his team’s victory on the field, and everyone in our box went crazy, I held my wife, letting my tears of joy course down my face. She kissed me back through her own tears, and for a moment, we lost ourselves in each other until Ryker pulled us apart, reminding us where we were and what was happening. We brought him into our embrace and shared the moment.

  This had been my dream from the day it became apparent both my sons would pursue a career in the NFL. Hell, from the day Chris, then Ryker a few years later, picked up a football and threw it across the living room; I had known what I needed to do. Now they were both quarterbacks in the NFL with Ryker drafted this summer by the Indianapolis Colts.

  There was nothing I wouldn’t have done to give them the opportunity denied me. I even resigned my position as commissioner of the NFL so they could play, returning to the Hamil Sports Agency Brody and I founded years ago.

  But none of this would be possible without my beautiful Irelyn. Even after almost thirty years, I still couldn’t believe she belonged to me. Fate had brought this amazing woman into my life, and she had changed everything. Together, we had survived all the evil shit Marcus had thrown at us. And together, we had made an incredible life with two amazing sons.

  I wrapped my arms around her. “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you, too.” She leaned her head on my chest, and I sighed my contentment.

  Indulging in Irelyn had saved me from myself. Before her, I had lived an empty life as a shell of a man. I didn’t believe I had room in my life for love, and I didn’t think I deserved it.

  Thank God, my seraph, my angel; my Irelyn had proved me wrong and taught me how to be a man.

  The End!

  Acknowledgements

  As any writer will tell you, no book gets written alone, and this holds true for Being Zolt.

  First and foremost, I have to thank my husband Mitch, though he'd prefer I didn’t. His love and support never waivers. He gives me the freedom to do what I love, and for that, I'm truly thankful.

  Since publishing Indulging in Irelyn, I’ve met some truly amazing people. Heather Hand, Sky Tillary, Kyrstle Watts, Stephenie Wallace, Crissy Sutcliffe, Megan Christmas, and Melody Campbell Goeken—my awesome beta readers, I can’t thank you enough for your feedback. You’ve helped smooth out the rough edges of this story, making it so much better. And to Christine Stanley and Lea the Fiercefabbookdiva, thank you so much for not only your input but on helping me to get the word out about my writing. I couldn’t do any of this without you.

  I can’t forget about my fan club. You all are my tireless supporters and I love you all. Thanks for everything you do.

  To my editors at Hot Tree Edits who whip my writing into shape every time, and Laura Tepedino Hampton for proofreading.

  Finally, thank you to all my readers! I hope you enjoyed reading the conclusion of Zolt and Irelyn’s story as much as I did writing it. Stay tuned because I might just have one story from these two.

  Coming in October 2014

  Unrepentant

  I am a bad boy―the pretty boy of porn. As Billy Johnson, my dick and I have made plenty of money for plenty of people. I’m nothing but a piece of meat in a hedonistic, wanton world. I’ve seen the destruction this lifestyle can wreck. It’s already claimed someone very special to me, and if I don’t get out now, I’m afraid the next casualty will be me, Landon Kane.

  I am a good girl―the virginal princess of the Christian world. My mother considers me her bargaining chip; the last piece needed to solidify her billion dollar, Christian media empire. I’ve watched the lies and the hypocrisy of those claiming to be righteous destroy people I’ve loved. If I stay, I know I’m next.

  Darcy Rutledge and Landon Kane are living parallel lives in very different worlds; both feeling stuck in situations they can no longer stand. When they meet in a twist of fate, their attraction is undeniably strong and neither of them wants to walk away. But Landon isn’t sure he can be the man Darcy deserves. Combined with the powers that be in both their lives having other ideas about whom they should be with, their love seems almost impossible.

  When money and power are at stake, matters of the heart go unrecognized.

  Can Darcy and Landon come together despite all the odds, or will their polar opposite worlds rip them apart?

 

 

 
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