Blue Forty-Two: A Quick Snap Novella

by Rayvn Salvador

  BLUE FORTY-TWO

  Rayvn Salvador

  Contents

  BLUE FORTY-TWO

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  The Quick Snap Novella Collection

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Rayvn Salvador

  Praise for Rayvn Salvador

  About Rayvn Salvador

  BLUE FORTY-TWO

  A Quick Snap Novella

  By Rayvn Salvador

  BLUE FORTY-TWO

  A Quick Snap Novella

  Part of the With Me in Seattle Universe by Kristen Proby

  Written by: Rayvn Salvador

  Copyright © 2020 by Rayvn Salvador

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect are appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design: Kari March Designs

  Edited by: Read Head Editing

  Published by: Lady Boss Press, Inc.

  This book is for all the pigskin fans out there that miss the sport as much as I do right now as I write this during the pandemic.

  And for the plethora of people in my life that foster, support, appreciate, and accept my ridiculous love of the game. It’s not always easy to be tied to someone who puts game days and fantasy teams above almost everything else each Thursday night, Monday night, and every Sunday from September to February. But being a diehard fan is a full-time job. ☺

  Knowing that these folks understand—and agree—that life after football sucks (not really, but you get my drift), is a balm to my soul.

  You are my people!

  Chapter 1

  Holden

  Third and fifteen. That holding penalty had royally screwed us, but we had this. This was it. One more play would determine whether we moved on to the divisional playoffs or went home. It would solidify if I would realize my dream of ending my career on a high note in the championship. There was no time for a huddle, and that was fine. We ran our hurry-up offense more than any other, and the guys knew my cadence and were familiar with my calls.

  Sweat dripped down my back, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I approached the line, saw my guys in their stances, rock-steady, and ready to protect me. We were going with the ten personnel package: four receivers—spread wide—one running back, and no tight ends. Unfortunately, we’d lose their epic blocking, yet, hopefully, it’d throw off the defense and confuse them about who should be double covered. Especially since my hope was to have Jameson, my running back, run a draw when I dropped back into shotgun.

  I crowded the center, started the call. Motioning for my slot receiver to shift, I glanced at Jameson to move back a step, and then took up my position in the pistol formation.

  “Blue, forty-two! Blue, forty-two!” I checked the defense to make sure nobody had shifted or was eyeing where we hoped to go with this. I saw that my skill players were right where they needed to be, my offensive lineman loose, yet coiled with anticipation. My heart raced with both excitement and exertion. We had this. It was ours for the taking. After nearly twenty years in the league, I could be headed to the big dance once more.

  I clapped twice to signal the snap, called “Hut,” and caught the ball as it came sailing toward me. I shifted and gripped it, laces kissing my knuckles. I did my two-step drop and looked at my wideouts, knowing I wouldn’t be going there. As expected, coverage was great, and the rush was coming, way too many three-hundred-plus-pound bruisers wanting a piece of me. I had a second—my line was holding their own—and I saw Jameson juke his cover guy and come my way.

  Excellent.

  Faking the pass, I pitched to Jameson just as a linebacker broke free of his cover man and barreled my way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jameson execute a perfect spin move and head down the sideline, just as number fifty nailed me with the full weight of his massive form and the power of a locomotive.

  I went down hard, the air whooshing out of my lungs as I absorbed the full force of the behemoth on top of me.

  And then…

  The snap, or pop—maybe both. I couldn’t even tell where it came from exactly, but the entire right side of my body felt like a ball of agony.

  The excruciating pain brought bile to my throat and spots to my eyes.

  Before I had a chance to fully register what had happened, Quiddich got off me with an extra shove, making me want to vomit, and I heard the roar of the crowd.

  Apparently, we’d scored. It was a game-changer for the team, a season-changer, and I tried to feel the euphoria. Unfortunately, I had a sinking suspicion that my football life as I knew it was over. This play was literally life-changing for me.

  And that was the last thing I thought before everything went black.

  Chapter 2

  Holden

  I came to a moment later, at least I thought it was only a moment. The stadium was nearly silent, and a ring of my friends and brothers surrounded me. Medical personnel bustled around, asking me questions, telling me not to move.

  “Holden, can you hear me? Welcome back, man,” Tate, our emergency care lead doctor said as he passed what I assumed were smelling salts off to somebody nearby.

  I blinked slowly and breathed out heavily through my nose, the scent of ammonia still strong in my nostrils. Jesus God, I hurt. “What happened?” At least, I hoped that’s what I said. The rush of blood through my head made it hard to think. And holy fucking hell, the pain. What the fuck did I get hit by, a Mack truck?

  “No, man. Quiddich. Dude’s a beast,” Tate answered.

  Apparently, I’d said that last bit out loud.

  Two other medical staff members flanked me, and I saw that one was our young, gorgeous female doctor—one of the best in the league. Sadly, I didn’t know her very well outside of what I’d witnessed, but the team spoke highly of her, and she’d always intrigued me. Though intrigued was probably too tame a word.

  Once Tate had determined that there was nothing wrong with my head and that I was only groggy because I’d blacked out from the pain, they eased my helmet off. I gulped a better breath, attempting to work through the agony.

  Tate leaned over me, and I took in his wispy, platinum-blond hair. I had the insane and ridiculous thought that with the sun behind him, he kind of looked like an angel. I was about to laugh when a wave of torment hit me again.

  “Goddamn, sonofabitch, motherfucking cocksucker. Holy fucking hell.”

  Tate laughed but then schooled his features. “So, what’s making you swear like a sailor?”

  “The shoulder, man. The ankle. Both. More? I dunno. I heard a crack. Felt a pop. A tearing sensation. Something. It’s not good. Hard to…breathe.” Tate nodded as if he already knew that and then moved down my body. He maneuvered his way around my equipment to check the spots in question. The minute he got close to the injured areas and barely touched them, I about flew off the turf. I cried out but tried to smother
it before I made too much of a scene. Unfortunately, I only accomplished stifling the reaction and morphing it into a loud groan and a choking sound. It felt like lightning-struck broken glass being churned between my bones and muscles, while my ligaments were set on fire after being doused in acid. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad, but… No wait, yes. Yes, it was. Some big, bad football player I was turning out to be.

  When I finally got out of my head and glanced up, Tate flashed me a look that I couldn’t call anything but grave before looking at our injury management specialist. I knew that expression; had stood praying around my brothers writhing on the turf enough times. I had watched while the team doctor gave that same look to men at the pinnacle of their careers, making them realize that it was the end.

  This was end game for me.

  Despair wracked my body, and I threw my uninjured arm over my eyes and gave in to the desolation.

  “Fuck.” I couldn’t have held back the sobs if I tried. As I regulated my breathing and tried to calm myself, I heard Tate calling to someone.

  It sounded like it was coming from far away, but I heard what was said.

  “Tamryn, as I’m sure you surmised, our boy has a bunch of issues. None of them good. Ankle for sure. Throwing shoulder. We won’t know until we get scans if they’re broken or just dislocated, or if there’s even more damage beyond the obvious. But it doesn’t look good. Can I count on you?”

  “Of course, but—” I heard her start before Tate cut her off.

  “I know this probably won’t be easy on you given what you went through as a kid, but Holden needs you.”

  “I’m on it,” she agreed.

  For some reason, I needed to see her. I needed to look in her eyes.

  I swiped my hand over my face, dropped my arm above my head, and met her gaze.

  The solemnity I saw in her expression was tempered only by the trepidation I also noticed there. But what I didn’t see was pity. And for that, I was grateful.

  I tried to sit up, but a gentle hand immediately pushed me back down.

  “Holden, you need to keep still,” Tamryn urged.

  “I’m fine,” I argued.

  She laughed ruefully. “Sure, fine. You’re fine. God save me from stubborn men.” She shook her head and moved in closer to me. “Holden, you’re anything but fine. We’re not just talking about football anymore. We’re talking about you being able to walk and having the use of your right arm. We’re talking about quality of life. This isn’t just about the game; this is about way more.”

  “Football is life. But you wouldn’t know that.”

  “Oh, for the love of Christ. You’re right. I’m only a woman,” she whisper-shouted. “Just forget that I’m the youngest injury management doctor in the league. One with the best track record of recoveries, by the way. But how would I know what the hell I’m talking about?” She threw up her hands and backed away a few steps.

  “Tate, take care of your boy.” She shot an exasperated look at my friend and then glared at me. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  As she stormed off, I heard her mumbling something, but I couldn’t quite catch what it was. From the tone of her voice, though, it wasn’t anything good.

  The rest was a bit of a blur. They brought out the cart and got me strapped in. I answered questions thrown rapid-fire at me by a bunch of medical personnel and accepted well-wishes from my teammates. The next thing I knew, I was blissfully drugged and on my way to the hospital.

  Chapter 3

  Holden

  I could not believe this was happening. After a long-ass career, and losing my job in Seattle to a ridiculously talented quarterback who I wasn’t ashamed to admit outplayed me in the system, here I was. I’d finally made a name for myself in Baltimore and was living up to the lofty nickname the fans and media had given me—the greatest of all time. The G.O.A.T. However, now I was relegated to moral support captain as I sat listening in on the team meeting through a single headphone and watching video on my laptop from the comfort of my not-so-comfortable hospital room. Granted, it was better than most since the team had a private mini wing at this establishment, but it wasn’t home. And it wasn’t that funky-smelling, dingy-painted, cement block room I should be in right now, going over strategy with my brothers.

  Nothing about this was okay. All of it fucking sucked.

  We had indeed won. Jameson had executed the play perfectly and waltzed in for the score just as my life changed forever. When they finally carted me off the field, our backup quarterback, Mackey, came in and took victory formation. Now, here we were, on our way to the divisional playoffs and then, most likely, the big game with a third-year backup under center.

  Fucking toddler got to do what I should be doing.

  I knew I shouldn’t be so harsh. And I shouldn’t discount his talent. The guy was good. The general manager and coaching staff wouldn’t have brought him on to be my heir apparent if he wasn’t. But I was also a big enough man to admit that I was bitter that it wasn’t me.

  “…what do you think, Holden?”

  I realized that someone had asked me a question and tried to focus on the task at hand. While I may not be there with my team, and may even be required to watch both games from my couch like the rest of America if I didn’t get clearance to travel with the group, this was still my responsibility. I was a captain, I would remain as such, and I had a damn job to do.

  “I’m sorry, what? I didn’t quite catch that whole thing.” I tried to cover, but I could see the look pass over Coach Williams’ face as he turned back to the projector.

  “I asked what you thought of this as an answer to our opponent’s direct-snap play. Do you need me to run the tape again?”

  I didn’t want to admit it, but I did. He could rewind and play it, and I could see it from the picture-in-picture we had going in the meeting software.

  “If you wouldn’t mind. Let me wrap my head around it a bit.”

  When he did as I asked, I paid attention this time, and saw the exact answer we needed. It played out like technicolor 3D in my head, and I could almost taste the excitement my defensive line would feel when they swallowed the guy whole. I relayed my thoughts, and the defense went wild in the room, cheering and giving each other high fives, knowing that we might be able to stop the other team’s most potent maneuver. I may not be on that side of the ball, but I could read defenses like very few in the league could. And that wasn’t just me tooting my own horn. It wasn’t bragging if you could back it up.

  The meeting continued in much the same fashion. We got shit done, but I couldn’t stop the pits from growing in my stomach and my throat, or the anger from rising. I even caught myself rubbing my chest at one point to unconsciously alleviate the tension there.

  Thoughts of everything currently wrong with my body kept cycling in my head. I had two compound breaks—one in my ankle and the other in my foot—a fracture in my tibia, and a tear in the muscle of my throwing shoulder. Nerves, muscles, and tendons all screwed. Not to mention two surgeries that I had to heal from, and who knew what else to come. I was fucked.

  Just as the meeting wrapped up and the guys headed off to the on-field portion of practice—thank God because I could not focus anymore—I heard a light knock on the door.

  When I glanced up, the first thing I registered was hair like the sun. Tamryn Miller, my personal fantasy and nightmare all rolled into one. Damn, the woman was beautiful.

  That is not something you need to be thinking about right now.

  Tamryn flashed a smile. “How are you feeling?” she asked as she made her way into the suite, giving me a better view of her tight jeans, molded tank, and fitted flannel. She had her quilted leather jacket draped over an arm.

  Despite the fantastic view that should have been exactly what I needed as a cheer-me-up, I couldn’t stop the bitterness that crept in as I answered. “How the fuck do you think I am?” I shook my head when I saw her flinch a bit. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that, doc. I j
ust got off a video call with the team and I think I’m a little raw. I should be there.”

  She rounded the bed and put a gentle hand on my sheet-covered ankle, the left one, not the useless one. I couldn’t look at her. I peered out the window instead. “I know, Holden. This has to be hard for you on many fronts. But I’m here for you. So is the rest of the medical staff. We’re going to get you back up on your feet. We’ll get you walking again. We’ll—”

  “You’ll get me doing everything but what I want to be doing. I want to play ball, doc. Football’s my life. And I no longer have that. So, where does that leave me? With all of you telling me that I’ll never play again. I need to play again.”

  I glanced at her then and saw the one thing that I never wanted to see: pity. I was sure she didn’t mean it, but it was there nonetheless, and it made me even angrier than I already was. She cleared the expression quickly and flashed me a genuine smile. I noticed she had a dimple in her left cheek. I wasn’t sure I had ever seen that before.

  “Holden, listen to me. And listen carefully.” She took a seat in the chair near the bed, clasping her hands on top of her jacket on her lap. “You are so much more than football. While I know it feels like all hope is lost right now, that is most certainly not the case. We’re going to get through this. And while your playing days are over, none of us know for sure what the future holds.”

  “I don’t need your sunshine and rainbows Polyanna bullshit right now, doc. So, if that’s what you’ve got for me, you can just leave.”