Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (10 page)

"Whether he was or not, it was uncalled for," I return, trying not to get heated again. "Maybe I shouldn't have reacted that way, but I didn’t even think. It just happened. I’m surprised he went down like that — the dude’s a monster.”

"You caught him just right, I'll be honest I didn't even see the punch and I was right next to both of you. I overheard what he said, and no, it doesn't excuse it, but come on, you're a football player. That ain't shit on the field. Haven’t you heard it all before?”

“Of course I have…”

"Well, there you go. You can’t let that shit get under your skin.”

I shake my head. “Look… never mind. Message received."

He lets it drop, and we keep walking up to Coach's office. Instead of leaving, he walks me inside before getting me a coffee. "One more word. I'm not trying to piss you off, just saying."

"Go ahead."

"Every year some rook comes up from the States, he's lonely, a bit homesick, rattled by living in Canada, and he finds a local girl for a quick hookup. Then he turns around and goes back to the States when the season's done or he gets a call from the League, and ditches the girl up here. Most girls, they're fine with it, they know it's just for fun . . . but some ain't. And well, April doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl to have some “fun” and then be done."

"What about you? You married a Canadian girl."

"Yeah, I did, but it doesn't mean I didn't play the seasonal game for a year or two myself."

DeAndre leaves, and I sit, considering what he said, until Coach Blanchard comes in in about a half hour. "Well, his nose is broke."

"Sorry about that, didn't mean to break his nose."

Coach takes a seat at his desk and crosses his arms. "Yeah well, you just made everyone's job a lot harder. In case you haven't noticed, Lance is the guy covering your ass, and I don't know how you did things at Western, but punching out your offensive linemen is not the usual way to foster that spirit that's going to have them protecting you."

I nod, and lean forward. “You’re right, I lost my cool. But he did disrespect April. I know it doesn’t make it all right, but still…”

“The guys filled me in on it. Which puts me in a bind. You see Tyler, on one hand I should suspend you, regardless of your contract. You may have been brought in to be our new franchise quarterback, but there are limits. On the other hand, you're right, Pollard shouldn't have said what he did, and here in Canada, we take that sort of thing seriously. Sexual harassment is not accepted on the Fighters, from anyone. So here's what I'm going to do. For violations of team rules, you're being fined five thousand dollars, to be taken out of your next game check. Now that may not sound like a lot, but that's a third of your game check for tomorrow."

I nod, accepting. That's fair, and while I could use the money, it's not crippling. "Fine. And Pollard?"

"He's getting a thousand dollar fine and he'll be out of tomorrow's game while that nose sets. Hopefully he'll be back to contact by the time we start the regular season. But Tyler, you pull another stunt like this, and you're going to see the bench for a while, if not just outright released. This is the pros, not college. Even if you might think we Canadians are bush league, we're still pros. Time to grow the fuck up — now get out of my office."

I nod and leave, going down to the locker room and changing clothes. Most of the guys are gone already, and those that are still there don't look at me too much while I pull on my jeans and t-shirt. I'm dressed simply today, just a white t-shirt with a small Western logo on the right sleeve. Grabbing my backpack, I head out to the parking lot, where I find April leaning against the hood of my car, her arms crossed. I take one look at her face, and sigh, unlocking my car and putting my bag inside. "I take it you heard?"

"Uh, yeah," April replies, a little sarcastically. "I actually saw it, in case you forget that I've been watching practices."

"He deserved it," I say with a shrug, closing my door.

April nods, then shakes her head. "You don't think I knew about that little bet among the players? Don't tell me that you didn't have similar stuff going on with your former teammates."

It's my turn to blush, and I called out, "You're right. We called it Bingo."

April comes closer. "I figured as much. You know, I keep telling myself to protect myself, but I can't help it, and now today. So I guess I need to be blunt. Am I a Canadian Cuddle bug for you? Some Nanookie of the North?"

"No!" I hiss, trying not to slap the roof of my car. Canadian Cuddle bug? Christ, have I just been blind to this all this time? "I . . . shit."

"Tell me the truth. I think I deserve that much," April says, her voice trembling with concern.

I take a deep breath, then nod. “Yes, two weeks ago, before our date, yeah, I thought about it. But since our first day together, I can't get you out of my mind. I don't know what the future holds for me, but I promise you this . . . you're no one-night-stand. I don't know what it can be . . . but I want to find out. Together."

April steps closer, and runs her fingers through my hair. She smiles softly, and stands up on her tiptoes, kissing me tenderly. "I want to find out too. You defended my honor, and you’re going to kick ass tomorrow. Now go get some sleep, and I'll still bring your laundry by tomorrow."

"You don't have to do that," I chuckle, and April surprises me by shaking her head. "What?"

"I do have to. First, you need something better for breakfast than cereal and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Secondly, I never gave you the address for the laundry, and you can't get your stuff otherwise. Unless you want the team to see those pink underpants you've got."

I laugh, thinking of the pair of stretch boxer briefs she's talking about, a joke gift from a coach who did a summer seminar with a university in Japan. "Hey, those look damn sexy on me! You behave, and I might let you see them."

"Yes, sir. I can be a very well behaved girl," April purrs, then stops, surprised. "Did I just say that?"

"You did, and it's great to see that side of you," I say, leaning down and kissing her again. "Remember, we've got a date on Sunday too."

"See you tomorrow, Tyler."

M
y heart is racing
in my chest as I get home, thinking about what Tyler told me just a half hour ago. I sensed so many things, but I couldn't be sure, never sure if what he was saying was the truth or just a bunch of lies to get back in my pants.

But in the parking lot, the look in his eyes, the honesty in his voice . . . besides, I knew what Lance Pollard told him. Thankfully, a couple of the guys were willing to share with me, and I found out the truth of what Lance said. Not that I'm surprised, Lance Pollard's always been a cocky asshole, and tried to hit on me soon after I joined the team. I didn't reject him too strongly then, but never said yes, so he dropped it when he found a girl who would say yes.

So when Tyler says that he wants to see where this can go, I let my heart loose a little bit more, and drive to the laundry, grabbing his now clean clothes, which are folded and repacked carefully in a bag for him.

I'm just getting off the elevator when my phone rings, and I see it's from Dad. "Hey Daddy!" I answer excitedly. It's been a few days, and he’s been struggling with being strong enough to answer the phone, the chemo's been hell on him. "How're you?"

"Not good, honey," Dad says, his typical blunt self. Stoic, blunt . . . my Dad's the stereotypical First Nations man, but he's only a half himself. He's the one I get my hair and skin tone from, although Mom's French Canadian is part of it.

"What's wrong?" I ask, opening my door and getting inside my place. I put my backpack on the counter that is both my dining room table and my kitchen preparation area, and sit down on the barstool chair. "You sound stronger."

"They stopped the chemo today," Dad says as an explanation, and the double meanings hit me like a punch to the gut. The doctors have told me, there's only two reasons that they'd stop the chemo. Either my his cancer has once again gone into remission . . .

"Daddy . . . no, no," I whisper, my eyes filling with tears.

"I'm sorry honey. The docs say there's no hope. The most they can do is keep me comfortable until . . . until it's my time."

I sob, not wanting to but unable to stop it. He doesn't need to hear weakness right now, he needs to hear strength. He's always taught me that, and now he needs that more than ever. I try, and find myself failing, until Tyler's face comes to my mind's eye, and I pull myself together. "So what now?"

Dad takes a deep breath, then chuckles. "We get to go to the hospice house. They'll let me and Marie spend as much time together as we can. I actually got to see her today . . . she remembered me."

“That's good. Dad, I don't want to be harsh about this, but what about the hospice care levels? I remember what you told me last time I visited, the hospice house doesn't have round the clock nurse care."

"No, it doesn't. Insurance provides for a visit every other day, except if there's an issue. I'll have one of those little call button things around my neck."

Every other day? With Mom having near late-stage early onset Alzheimer's, and Dad being a terminal cancer patient? "What if I contribute? How much would a daily visit from the nurses run?"

"I don't know, honey. But I can't ask you to do that. You're already doing so much, even if you never tell me about it. I asked the hospital admin folks. You should be using that money to make your life better, not paying for two people who are dying."

I shake my head, wiping the tears from my cheeks. "Daddy, you're not going to convince me to stop, so don't even try. I'm going to be calling the hospital admin anyway and try to set up what I can. Mom can't help take care of you, and you can't do much to help take care of her."

"I can and will take care of my wife as long as I can," my father rumbles, his First Nations pride adding strength to his voice. He may only be half, but he's been through a cancerous hell that'd kill most men twice over… and still he's strong. "You know my will in this."

"I know, but . . . please. Let me help you as best I can."

"Fine," he says finally, dropping the subject. He and I talk for another few minutes, normal things where I ask him about his day and he asks about mine, nothing new until his next to last question. "And the young man you’re seeing?"

"We're going to go on another date tomorrow. He wants to take me kayaking."

"That sounds good. If there is a chance . . . I think I'd like to meet him."

Whoa. My father has
never
wanted to meet someone I've been seeing, casually or not. If we lived in the States, I think he'd have spent most of my high school years with a shotgun ready behind the door, at least until the cancer started back again. "I . . . I'll try. He's on the team, and they won't have a bye week until week six of the regular season. Until then, he's working six days a week."

"I can hang on that long. Don't worry about that. I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy."

We hang up, and I have the cry that's been threatening to burst loose since the beginning of the phone call, and hearing Dad's words. The tears are hot, burning and bitter. It's just not fair!

"I want my parents back!" I scream up at the ceiling. It's not good enough, and I storm out to my tiny balcony, looking up to whatever God or gods are up there, repeating myself over and over until I grow hoarse.

I start crying again, until the tears wash away the hatred, putting out the flames at least for a little while. Instead, I feel hollow, and I know that I can't stay here tonight. I think about what to do, and know there's only one place that I can go, where I'll be safe and protected. I grab my backpack and keys, and head out the door.

* * *

"
A
pril
! How good to . . . what's wrong? Come in, come in," Tyler says when he opens his door, and a little part of me chuckles at the fact that he's back to wearing just a pair of exercise shorts and no t-shirt. I didn't know Californians were also mostly nudists.

"I brought your laundry," I say, trying to keep up a chirpy demeanor, but obviously there are already cracks in my facade, or maybe Tyler just knows me that well already. "I didn't want you wearing dirty socks tomorrow for the game. But the pink underwear I'd like to see."

"Very funny," he replies, taking the bag and tossing it behind him without caring where it lands. It ends up knocking over one of his dining table chairs, but he doesn't even care, instead he's studying my face, pulling me closer. He doesn't ask any questions, but instead just hugs me, his skin warm and comforting. Despite the fact that he's only half dressed, there's no sexiness in it, just comfort. Fresh tears flow, but they're healing, and I let him close the door and lead me to the couch, where I sit down while he goes and gets me a cup of tea. "Here. It's not fresh, I brewed it this morning, but I put milk and sugar in it too."

I sip, and it's not too hot, so I take another sip. It's sweet and good, and helps calm me. "Thanks. I didn't think you drank tea."

"Californians, we either suck down tea, or we have to go gourmet roasted hand-picked beans from the southern slopes of the Himalayas. Since I'd burn instant coffee, tea's easier."

I smile at his little joke while Tyler comes around and sits down next to me, patting my knee. "Okay . . . so what's wrong? And thanks for the laundry."

"You're welcome," I reply, drinking another bit of the tea. I set the mug on the side table and lean into Tyler, needing his comfort more than the sugar and caffeine. "I'm sorry I surprised you like this."

"It's okay," Tyler says quietly, reaching and arm around my shoulders. "Want to tell me about it?"

"My . . . my parents aren't in good health," I say quietly. "My mother was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's while I was still in school, and Dad . . . his cancer came back."

"Came back?" Tyler asks, and I nod.

"He was first diagnosed with liver cancer when I was in elementary school, but they thought they caught it. He was supposedly cancer free almost all the way until I graduated, but about six months after Mom's diagnosis, it came back."

"Damn," Tyler says softly. "So you got some bad news tonight."

I nod. “The doctors have given up hope. They're stopping the chemo so he can be comfortable the rest of his days. He and Mom . . . they're moving into the hospice house."

"How much time does he have?" Tyler asks quietly. "I mean, best guess."

"Best guess? If the team sucks this year, he might be able to see all of your first year in Canada," I whisper. "If you guys make the Cup, I doubt he's going to see that."

"So what do you want to do?" Tyler asks softly. "This has got to be a ton of stress on you."

Tyler . . . always helpful, always focused on finding a solution and listening to what I want. No wonder I came to him. "I want to send more money to help them. Dad can't take care of Mom, not the way he is, and the hospice home only has a nurse or an assistant coming by every other day, but I can't afford it. I'm already sending every dollar I can to help them."

Tyler nods, and holds me quietly for a few minutes. He shifts, and I think maybe I'm starting to get too heavy for him, but he clears his throat instead. "I don't think you'd take an offer to help out financially, but you know, there are ways you can get your hands on some money.”

"Like what?" I ask, comfortable against him. "In case you haven't noticed, my current job keeps me hopping a lot."

"Well, before you said you had a roommate. What about doing it again?"

I turn my head and look at him, and he's dead serious, yet nervous too. Why? "Tyler, that's great, but I doubt I can find one in time to really make a difference. Last time it took me five months to find a roomie."

He turns red, and he bites his lip. "What I meant was . . . what about you moving in here? I've got a spare bedroom, you know."

I feel stupid, his meaning finally hits me clearly, and I feel myself blush. "Tyler . . . that's generous, but don’t you think that’s a little early? I mean, I know we're seeing each other and we've been intimate, but that's a big step in any relationship."

He nods, and holds me closer. "I've only got two concerns. One, that you're going to worry about what other people say. Second, that you feel like this is pressuring you. I want you to be comfortable where you live."

I smile at his consideration. "Tyler, you're sweet, and I don't care what anyone else says about this. You're just trying to help me out, right?"

I see the conflict in his eyes, and I understand, I'm feeling the same way. What I want to say is that I want to move in with him, and not just as a roomie, but as something more. Regardless of if it's only been a few weeks or not, I don't want to take just the other bedroom. But it's just not time, and maybe . . . well, it's a first step.

"Right," Tyler says after a moment, grinning sheepishly. "Helping out a friend. Can you break your lease?"

"I'm on a month to month lease right now, I'm paid up through the end of the month. I just need to leave about four hundred bucks behind to close out the electricity and hydro bills. Speaking of bills, halfsies I guess on this place?"

Tyler shakes his head and laughs. "I'm going to make ten times the amount of money you are this year. Going halfsies on the rent would be a crime."

"Well, I have to pay something," I protest. "I mean, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I won’t just cadge off you. And you're right, I'm not going to accept charity, even if it's from you."

Tyler thinks for a bit, then nods. "Okay. Here's the rental agreement. You pay the water and electric bills, and you cook about four days out of the week. We both win, and I’ll finally eat better more regularly.”

I can't help but smile. "Make it five days, and you've got a deal. I don't trust your cooking.”

Tyler nods and smiles. "Deal. Welcome, roomie. Maybe after our date on Sunday, we can start moving your stuff over here? How much do you have to move, anyway?"

"Not a lot," I admit. "I rented the place furnished, except for my bed. I have to leave the frame behind though, but the mattress is mine."

"How about you leave it, and we can get a better one for here?" Tyler asks. "Then we can just move your clothes in your car and mine, and not have to bother with some truck.”

“I see your game. You just want to give me no option but to sleep in the same bed as you for a day or two."

"Well, maybe, but with only the purest of intentions.
Absolutely
the purest."

Tyler arches an eyebrow, totally lying but pretending to be as innocent as a choir boy, and I laugh. "Right. The absolute purest. I think I might be sleeping fully clothed and in double layers Sunday night."

"I could always take the couch," Tyler offers. "Being a gentleman, you know."

I snuggle against him, feeling at peace for at least a while. "I know."