Dirty Game: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 12

  “What the fuck are you saying over there?”

  “Nothing.”

  I dropped the ball and ran over to the guy. “If you have a problem with how I’m running practice today, maybe you don’t need to show up. Can’t really tell you’re here anyway.”

  The receiver stood. “I said it was nothing.”

  The other guys had huddled around us.

  “Then shut the fuck up and catch the ball when I throw it.”

  I turned, but my anger was still back where I’d left him. I didn’t need some new traded tight end, mouthing off. There was only one person who set the rules around here. And they were making a spectacle of my team. No wonder people were betting against us.

  “Wyatt, why don’t we take five?” Coach called. “Everyone’s looking worn out. It’s hot.”

  He had finally looked up from his clipboard long enough to realize there was a real problem out here. If we didn’t have things straight on the field who in the hell cared who his third defensive coach was.

  “After this play.” Sure I was hot. But we were inside. It wasn’t like we were out in the heat like some teams. It was the entire reason we had indoor training facilities.

  I ignored him and walked back to the huddle.

  “Let’s try this again,” I announced.

  I counted off the snap before stepping back to pass it.

  I searched the field for what I wanted to see, but no one was open. Our corner backs were doing a better job than our offense. I cursed under my breath.

  “Hell.” I let the ball soar through the air. Someone better catch that shit.

  It hit one of the guys in the chest. Not the receiver who was supposed to run the route. Just a lucky bastard who saw where I was headed with the pass.

  I threw my helmet to the ground and walked past the coaching staff.

  “Wyatt, come on.”

  I waved them off and headed for the locker rooms.

  It didn’t matter. There was no excuse for it. None. It was bullshit and they knew it.

  This wasn’t the summer season anymore. Didn’t they see that? Summer was fucking over. In more ways than I could explain to them.

  No more late night cruises. No more fishing with Cole. No boats that needed work. No dancing on the docks. No sex on the porch with a fucking sex siren. No. That was all over. It had been.

  Fall was here and the sooner we all accepted that, the sooner we could leave the summer behind us.

  30

  Sierra

  It had been a month since I drove off the island. An entire month had passed. I stared at the city below me in disbelief. Drinking coffee in a high-rise building didn’t feel the same as it had when I watching the boats from the porch at Aunt Lindy’s. I sighed, knowing that below me was chaos. Noise. Frenetic energy.

  I didn’t know how the eight years I had spent here suddenly seemed like a foreign memory. Something I almost didn’t recognize. It was supposed to be the other way around.

  I heard my phone vibrating from the kitchen counter. I hopped up to answer it. “Sierra Emory.”

  “Sierra, get your ass into the station. There were two hit and runs today in the same neighborhood. Dallas PD thinks it might be a serial case,” the anxious assignment editor barked on the other end.

  I looked down at my running shorts and the tank top that I was wearing.

  “Ray, it’s going to be at least an hour before I can make it in. Besides, why aren’t you sending out one of the beat reporters?”

  It didn’t make sense. I didn’t cover stories like this anymore. I had put in my time at the station so I didn’t have to do shitty work like this kind of assignment.

  “I’ve got two people who are sick, an anchor out early, and I don’t know if I can find enough videographers today. Do I really have to ask if you’re a team player today?”

  “No. No. I can be there in thirty minutes. It’s just today is my day off and—” I looked down at the phone, but the screen was blank. Ray had already hung up on me.

  Great. So much for my workout and my call with Emily. I peeled the tank top over my head and turned the shower on. I carefully stepped over the side of the tub and reached for the shampoo.

  Ray wasn’t the only one at the station who barked orders. It seemed like threats and insults were the only way people in the newsroom communicated with each other. A little professional competitiveness was important, but I had almost forgotten the cutthroat environment I had returned to.

  I dumped a handful of conditioner in my hand and lathered it into my hair. I really needed to talk to Emily this morning.

  We were planning a girls’ weekend in October. Emily had suggested we meet in New Orleans for a little Bourbon Street getaway. I didn’t want to tell her yet that the producers were going to cut my vacation time.

  I picked up my razor and shook the shaving cream can in my hand before squeezing the foam along my leg. My tan hadn’t completely faded. As I ran the razor along my leg a flash of Blake’s thumb rubbing that spot hit me.

  Shit! A trickle of blood streamed down my leg. I didn’t have time for this. I turned the water off and wrapped a towel around my leg, hoping the bleeding would stop.

  I tried to tell myself that it was completely normal for Blake to pop in my head from time to time. It was going to happen. The bleeding along my calf stopped. What I knew wasn’t normal was that those flashbacks weren’t just every now and then. They were all the time.

  A month hadn’t done anything to dull the vibrant colors in my dreams. His eyes. His hands. His hot-as-hell mouth.

  I fastened the last button on my suit jacket and slid my heels into black sling-back pumps. In the elevator ride to the basement parking lot, I let out a steady breath. The flashbacks had to fade eventually. It was taking longer than I thought it would, but I knew if I put my mind to it, the loneliness would subside.

  The gut reaction I felt every time I flipped past a football game on TV would fade.

  I pulled out my phone to call Emily on my way to the station. It was Tuesday, and Emily said we couldn’t talk until after work, but I wanted to let her know I had been called in for an assignment. I flipped the Bluetooth switch on the steering wheel and waited for my best friend to answer the phone.

  “Hey. I thought we were going to talk when I got off work?” Emily sounded distracted, but sweet as ever.

  “Can you believe this shit? I have to go into work on my only day off,” I seethed as I pulled onto the interstate.

  My high rise was one of the buildings along the downtown perimeter. It usually took at least twenty minutes to make it to the station.

  “Oh, that sucks. I can talk for a few minutes. My boss just went to lunch.”

  “Oh good. I kind of need to ask you something.” I was more nervous than I thought she should be.

  “Of course. What’s going on? You ok?” Emily asked.

  They were there, right on the brim of my eyelids—heavy, salty tears. Hearing Emily’s voice broke down the last resistance I had.

  “I. Can’t. Talk. About. It.” I steered the car toward the nearest exit. Even in my emotional state, I knew I had to get off the interstate or I would be one of the serial wrecks that Ray told me about.

  “Where are you? You sound terrible,” Emily pressed.

  I parked at the nearest gas station and dabbed at my eyes with a tissue. My eye makeup was completely ruined. “I just pulled over at a gas station. Oh my God, what’s wrong with me? I’m supposed to be headed in to cover a story.”

  “Can you take a few deep breaths?” Emily suggested.

  I clutched the steering wheel. “Ok. I can talk again.” I had steadied my breathing.

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  “No matter what I do, it doesn’t matter what it is. I mean I try, and I don’t talk about it, and I don’t think about it and then—boom—it’s everywhere.”

  Emily sounded confused. “Girl, I am not following.”

  I exhaled. “Blake. It’s Bla
ke. He’s everywhere. And he’s not supposed to be. I’m in Texas, damn it. I’m as far away from the freakin’ water and his songs, cruises, and sparkly eyes as I can get. He should not be here in my head.”

  My chest tightened. “I shouldn’t be feeling this, right? He was a complete ass. He has no patience.” The tears started again. “I mean, do you know how many white trucks there are in Texas? They are everywhere.”

  “Oh.” Emily grew quiet. “You haven’t mentioned Blake one time in the past month—not once. I don’t even know how you left things on your last day on the island.”

  “Why am I even talking about it now? See? He’s in my head. I’ve lost it. And he should not be in my head. No. I’ve got to get him out.”

  “I’m surprised it took you this long to figure it out.” She giggled.

  “What?”

  “And I think you have this all wrong; he’s not just in your head.”

  “This is not funny. I’m miserable,” I whined.

  “I’m sorry. Oh, my boss is coming back. I have to go. Can we talk later? I’m going into a meeting, and then we have a press conference. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

  “Right. Work. I understand.” I needed to do the same thing.

  “So, you, me, and a bottle of wine over the phone after my press conference, ok?”

  I smiled. “Absolutely. Thanks. Bye.”

  “No problem. Bye.”

  I ended the call from my steering wheel, and adjusted my rearview mirror to get a better look at the damage the crying had done to my mascara. Damn it.

  I still had ten minutes of road ahead of me before making it to the station. Plenty of time to pull myself together. It felt good to release the breath I had been holding for what seemed like a month.

  I slowed the car into the KXMA parking lot and pulled into the closest space to the back door. The satellite trucks were all gone. Must be a busy news day. I reached for my purse as the words of a country song belted out through the radio. Are you kidding me? Of all the country songs on all the country stations, the one I danced to with Blake has to play right now.

  I jabbed at the radio button, silencing the song. I’m not dealing with this right now. Pinching my cheeks a few times, and brushing the wrinkles from my suit, I charged into the newsroom.

  “Where have you been?” Ray roared over the rows of news desks. “If you don’t get to the scene of the accident now, there’s not going to be any B-roll for you to take and you might as well look like you’re doing any ole traffic story.”

  I glared at Ray. “I got here as fast as I could. You called me in on my day off.”

  “Whatever.” Ray waved me on. “Get down there before you miss the whole damn thing.”

  I didn’t bother to check my email or grab the stack of notes in my inbox. I turned toward the exit doors and ran back out into the Texas heat.

  I didn’t know what Ray was fussing about. There was plenty of evidence of the last hit and run on the side of the Texas service road. I pulled up behind the police car and put my car in park. I couldn’t see all of the vehicles from my vantage point, so I walked across the road to survey the damage. The tow trucks had just arrived.

  “You with the station?” The officer stepped from the accident and tipped his cowboy hat toward me.

  “Hi, yes, I’m Sierra Emory from KXMA”

  “Officer Blake.” He smiled. “You ok?”

  My ankle gave a little in my pumps. “Your name is Blake?” I straightened my stance.

  “I can spell it out for you, so your people get it right on the screen. It’s B-L-A-K-E. Bob Blake. You think it’d be an easy name to spell, but they sure do like to get creative with it.”

  I reached out to grab hold of the police car. I blamed it on the heat.

  “Do you need to sit down or something?” Officer Blake stepped closer.

  Embarrassed, I faked a smile. “No. No. I’m ok. Would you mind showing me the damage and the vehicles? I think my photographer is up ahead getting the footage.”

  “Sure. Let’s stay on this side of the road so you don’t have to worry about the glass.” Office Blake pointed at the debris. “It started five cars ahead with that trailer.”

  I looked around the side of the tow truck. Are you kidding me?

  “Seems like whoever the suspect is hit that boat up there first, which lead to this chain reaction.” He whistled.

  I looked at the wooden boat sitting on the back of the trailer. My stomach lurched into the back of my throat. All I could think about were the nights out on the sound with Blake. The way he steered us where he wanted to take me. How he showed me the beauty of the island again. That there was value in facing where you came from, even if it hurt.

  The truck. The boat. Seeing my summer flash in front of me like this. It was too much. I shouldn’t be here. I couldn’t.

  “Hey, where are you going?” the officer called as I ran toward my car.

  I didn’t see the people on either side of me, or the cars rolling past.

  I didn’t bother to answer the officer. Either the universe or my heart were talking to me. It didn’t matter which, because they both were saying the same thing.

  31

  Blake

  Two weeks later

  I stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac in DC. The crisp air filled my nostrils. It was the closest anything had felt like home in a long time. It was fall. This was what seasons meant. Change. Movement. Football.

  I didn’t get this in Florida. And for a quick second it reminded me of what I was missing on the island. Oyster roasts and hunting season. Bonfires in the backyard with my cousins drinking beer. Hauling wood inside the boat barn for the season to keep the stove going. All those things I did before I left for good. Before I traded my roots for a life in the AFA.

  I was being fucking nostalgic for no reason. I shook my head. What in the hell was I doing?

  Jones ran up behind me, slapping my back. “Ready to beat the Sharks?”

  “Hell yeah.” I nodded. No one thought we had a chance. The Sharks were having a killer season.

  Playing them at home wasn’t going to be easy. We were the warm-weather team invading their outdoor stadium like fish out of water. But I believed we could win. If the rest of the team got their heads out of their asses and played. We would win. We had every reason to believe it could happen.

  I climbed onto the bus the team chartered to take us to the hotel. We had a light practice tonight and I had press meetings afterward. I knew what the questions would be. They were always the same. I had standard answers about the season. A way to explain why we were underperforming with exceptional talent. Our public relations director sat down with me before every press conference. He had scheduled the same meeting tonight after practice.

  I sat back in the seat while the bus chugged forward with a puff of diesel. My legs were cramped in the small seat. I knew the one question that was coming tonight that I dreaded: where did I fit in that equation? Did I let the team down by not leading them to be something better? Was I responsible?

  I heard the guys laughing and talking behind me. They played music and showed each other their social media posts. To them it was a game. They reveled in their celebrity status. The money that rolled in because they were professional athletes. But what they hadn’t figured out was that it was going to be short-lived if they didn’t start winning games. Contracts didn’t mean shit when the numbers were low.

  I could let them learn the lesson the hard way, or I could tell them everything was on the line. We were nowhere near being in the lineup for the Super Bowl, but we had to eke out a winning season.

  I didn’t hear Coach until he cleared his throat. “You look like a man lost deep in thought.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s supposed to be my job.” He switched seats, landing into the open spot next to me.

  We hadn’t talked much this season. When the Thrashers first drafted me, Coach Benson took me under his wing. He include
d me in meetings. He asked me about the routes. We stayed late in the offices watching film together, ordering pizza and splitting a six-pack. And at some point, he handed over a majority of the offensive decisions to me. Most twenty-two-year-old men wouldn’t have been able to handle it, but he had faith in me. Faith I hadn’t known except from my own father.

  “Just thinking about the game tomorrow.”

  He nodded, chewing his gum with the side of his mouth. “Different season this year.”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  “Son, I’ve noticed something different about you.”

  “What’s that?” I stared straight ahead.

  “Usually you come back from your break a little different.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  He slapped his knee. “Hell, I’ll stop sugar coating it and just say it. We all see it. You’re angry, Blake. Mean as a damn snake.”

  “Warrior mentality.” I brushed off his comment. “This team is going to hell. They need someone to give them the reality shock to wake them up.”

  “That’s not it.” He shook his head. “I’ve known you going on five years now and you’ve never been a son of a bitch like this. Hard working sure. Tough as nails. But not a dick to your teammates.”

  My head cocked to the side. “Excuse me?”

  “What happened? Is it grief? The fans? What is getting under your skin?”

  “I’m good. What you see is determination to dig this team out of a losing season.”

  “We’re almost at the hotel. After we check in if you want to grab a drink and talk you know my room is always open. I’m here for you. I’m never too busy for what’s going on in your life. Whatever it is.” He eyed me.

  Maybe that was his problem. He was too worried about personal issues to look at the bigger scope of his team. It was falling apart.

  “Thanks, Coach. We’re going to win tomorrow. That’s what I’m focused on.”

  “Well, on the way to victory, maybe you could ease back a little on these guys. You’ve been riding them pretty hard the past couple of months. Just think about it.”