First Position (2 page)

She stopped wiping.  She knew that voice anywhere but hadn’t heard it in years.  She glanced up from her shirt and met familiar crystal blue eyes.  “Mason?”

“Oh my God, Em, it’s you!”  Mason flashed the most radiant smile.  He couldn’t believe he was looking into her beautiful blue eyes after so many years apart.

Emory stared in shock.  He looked better than she remembered, in an old t-shirt and jeans, his right arm hung in a sling.  His dark brown hair was slightly longer than before, but his eyes were just the same.  The guy who six years ago broke her heart and reduced her to puddles was again right in front of her. 
 
And I look like this.  Seriously, can this day get any worse?

“Let me help you.”  He grabbed some more napkins.  While Emory cleaned herself, he cleaned the sauce on the sack and the floor.

He started talking about something, but her brain was struggling to keep up.
 
What is he doing here
?

“So good to see you,” Mason said, leaning in for a hug.

Emory backed away.  “Oh, I don’t think you want to hug me right now.”

“You look great, Em, just the same.”  His eyes softened as he reached to push her hair back from the side of her face.  His touch, just as she remembered, ignited a familiar wave of heat through her body.

She deflected the compliment.  “What are you doing here?”

“I’m in town talking to the Panthers about playing here next season.”

“Really?”  Emory’s stomach clenched at the thought of Mason living in Charlotte.  She had spent the last several years trying, unsuccessfully, to forget about him.
 
Crap, now his face will be all over the place.

“Yeah, I met with them today.  Trying to catch on with a new team.  Do you live here?”

“I do.  For about three or four years now.”

“Crazy that we would meet here.”

“I know.”  Emory nodded and quickly glanced at his left hand.
 
No ring?  Keep it together; don’t come undone
.
  “What happened to your arm?”

“I guess you haven’t been watching Monday Night Football lately.”  They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in years, but Mason felt disappointed that she hadn’t kept up with his career.  Deep down, he always thought, or at least hoped, she was watching him.

“Not really.”

“I tore up my shoulder in the last game of the season in Miami.”  He could still remember the brutal tackle.  He prided himself on having good pocket awareness but never saw or even felt it coming.  He’d dropped back to pass, a routine five-step drop, and cocked his right arm to throw, his receiver sprinting down the field on a fly pattern.  He released the ball just before getting hammered by a ferocious pass rush off the edge, slamming him to the ground, as the pass fell incomplete.  He stayed facedown on the field, the trainers racing out to him.  They slowly rolled him over -- literally turning his world upside down -- and plucked grass from his face mask.  Mason couldn’t move his right shoulder and was cut three days later when the season ended.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.  How is it?” 

“It’s doing OK.  But let’s hope the Panthers think so.”

“Well, good luck,” Emory said, feeling a sudden urge to escape, wanting her embarrassing night to end.  She grabbed her sack from the bar.

Mason quickly glanced down at her ring finger.
 
She couldn’t possibly still be single
.
  He had more to say -- at least he thought he did -- and didn’t want this to be a fleeting moment between old friends.  For years he regretted how things had ended; he’d wanted to talk to her, but assumed she wanted nothing more to do with him.  “Would you like to catch up over dinner?”  He didn’t want her to go so quickly.  He wanted more, and she looked fantastic, even with the rain and sauce.

His question caught her off guard, wondering why he’d ask, and why she’d ever want to sit across from a guy who dumped her.  Emory held up the bag.  “I’ve already got dinner plans tonight.”

“Oh, right,” Mason said, unable to hide the hint of sadness in his voice.

“Yeah, and not just that.  I’m kind of a mess.  But good luck with the Panthers.”  She walked towards the exit, hoping he hadn’t noticed how affected, and conflicted, she was.

“Maybe tomorrow?” he called out.

“Maybe so.”  And she was gone.

CHAPTER TWO

Mason sat on the bed in his hotel suite, the room service tray beside him, his mind overwhelmed by seeing Emory again.  He’d gone in for a drink -- to unwind after meeting with the Panthers -- and literally stumbled back into his past.  His break-up with Emory was, without question, the biggest mistake of his life, and now he’d just seen her again.  He munched on a cookie.
 
Does everything happen for a reason
?
  He wasn’t sure.  All he was sure about was that his mistakes with Emory had led to other mistakes, and that his world once again had been turned upside-down.  He knew he had to see her again.

He pulled out his cell phone and stared at her number.  It wasn’t hard to find in the phonebook.  It was much harder to find the nerve to call.  Then suddenly his phone rang in his hand.
 
Could it be Em
?
  It was Steven, his older brother and agent, calling from his Texas law office, bombarding Mason with questions through his speaker phone.

“How was the meeting today?  Any doctors present?  Did they do a medical exam?”  Steven was tall like Mason but had a leaner physique.  He was the more sensible sibling who tried, often in vain, to steer his impulsive brother in a proper direction.  Steven usually accompanied him to all team workouts and meetings to make sure Mason didn’t screw things up.  But he’d just finished a week long jury trial, and his wife, Olivia, was expecting their first child, so he couldn’t make this trip, and re-scheduling was not an option.  It was too risky.  Given his injury, Mason needed to pursue any option available, at the convenience of any team, even if Mason had to do it on his own.  Steven knew that was risky, too.

Mason put his hand to his head, still consumed by the sight of Emory.  “Slow down, man.  One at a time.”

“Sorry,” Steven said, taking a breath.  “Just been an insane week in trial.  And Liv is driving me a little crazy with the baby coming.”

“Everything went fine.  Coach seems cool,” Mason said, taking another bite of his cookie.  “Went through a quick physical with the doctors.  They didn’t say anything to me.  Got a good vibe.”

“Good,” Steven said, relieved.  “We have that meeting with the Seahawks tomorrow afternoon, and then we’ll go from there.”

Mason shook his head.
 
Oh, shit!  I totally forgot about the Seahawks meeting
.
  “That’s not going to work.”  He wasn’t leaving Charlotte until he saw Emory again. 

Steven switched off speaker, and picked up the phone. “What the hell did you say?”

“I need you to push back the Seattle meeting.”

“What the fuck, Mason!  You better get your ass on that plane!”

“Just need a few days,” Mason said calmly.

“We don’t have a few days!  We are damn lucky we have two teams willing to look at your injured ass!  Have you lost your fucking mind?”  It was for times like this that Steven blamed Mason for his lack of hair.  He was in his early-thirties and slightly bald, an unfortunate product, he believed, of Mason’s emotional whims. 

Mason took a sip of water.  “Just fucking do it, OK!” 

“Not without a good reason.”

Mason wasn’t ready to tell Steven about Emory.  He wasn’t sure there was anything to tell, or how his brother would react.  He knew Steven had loved Emory like a little sister, and was furious with him for screwing things up.  But that didn’t mean Steven would understand his present situation -- that Emory, for some reason, had come back into his life.  At least Mason hoped she had.   “Well, I just want to tour the city.  Charlotte’s a great town, and I want to check out the neighborhoods.”  Mason took another bite of the cookie.  “Maybe catch a Bobcats game.”

Steven knew his brother was prone to crazy ideas but couldn’t believe he was acting this way now, with his career on the line.  “The Bobcats suck!  This is some bullshit.  Now tell me the fucking truth.” 

Mason put down the cookie.  “Look, bro, my shoulder’s sore.  I don’t want to travel cross-country tomorrow.  I need a few days.”

Steven knew his brother was lying, but there was nothing he could do.  “Fine. You rest, and I will handle Seattle.  By the way, there’s something else I need to discuss with you.”

* * *

Emory pulled up to her apartment, finding herself still shaken by seeing Mason, or perhaps it was her unexpected break-up with Eric, or maybe it was simply that she was soaking wet and covered in barbecue sauce.  She couldn’t decide which one it was, or if it was all of them.  It had been a two-hour whirlwind.  She walked towards the apartment.  It was nothing fancy on the outside -- or even the inside -- but it was Wesley’s baby.  His dance studio was below the small apartment they shared, and was where he spent most of his time, teaching little ballerinas to dance.  Emory helped him open it when his own dance career came to an end, and she helped out with his classes when she could, in between photography shoots. 

Emory drew a deep breath and walked inside, up the flight of stairs.  She found Wesley waiting for her.  He looked her up and down and doubled over laughing, his strawberry-blond hair falling in his eyes.  “Sweetheart, what the hell happened to you?”

She placed the dinner sack on the small dining room table.  “Glad I can still make you laugh, jerk.”

“It’s just you said you had a bad day when you called, but I didn’t expect you to look like such a hot mess.”  Emory stuck her tongue out at him.  “Is that my dinner on your shirt?”

She walked towards her bathroom, removing her wet, stained shirt.  “We’ll talk in a minute.”  She turned on the shower, and stepped in.  The smell of barbecue sauce washed away, as the water rained down on her.  She closed her eyes, and Mason’s blue eyes stared back at her.  She shook her head to try to erase the image, rubbing her skin with the soap lather, more and more intensely, as if to cleanse her mind of the past -- and now her present.  But it didn’t work.  It never worked.
 
Why am I thinking about him?  I should be focused on Eric.

* * *

Mason could always tell when Steven was concerned.  He rolled out his serious lawyer voice.  Whatever else Steven wanted to discuss, Mason knew it wasn’t good.  Steven cleared his throat.  “It’s your wife.”

“I told you to just make the divorce happen,” Mason barked.  “I don’t want to talk about Alexis.”  Alexis was a college debutante -- large breasts, sweeping hair, and perfect make-up -- always on the prowl for a husband.  Her type had never appealed to Mason until he no longer had Emory.  He often wondered why he ever married her. 

“She knows teams are looking at you and wants to get her claws back into you.  She and her lawyer are threatening to challenge the prenup, saying I coerced her into signing it.”

“Jesus Christ!”  Mason walked towards the hotel suite window, opened the curtains, and looked out over the Charlotte skyline.  He remembered turning to Alexis after his break-up with Emory in his senior year, just weeks prior to the NFL draft.  He was heartbroken and scared, and Alexis was ready and willing, and seemed the perfect match for a rookie quarterback.  Steven never liked her and never trusted her; Alexis was everything Emory wasn’t.  Steven insisted Mason have a prenup and drafted it himself and ensured Alexis signed it.  Far from any coercion, Alexis was thrilled she’d get $500,000 and certain other assets if they ever divorced.

“I know you want to make this quick and get her out of your life,” Steven said, “but divorce doesn’t work that way.  I can’t let her railroad you, just because you want to forget her.  I wouldn’t be a good brother or lawyer if I let her take everything you’ve worked so hard for.  We need to fight her.” 

“I’m through fighting with her.  Our whole marriage was a fight.  She got what she wanted when she married me.  Poisonous little social climber!”

Steven felt sorry for his brother, injured and alone in a Charlotte hotel.  “So much for ‘in sickness and in health.’”

Steven was with Mason when doctors told him weeks ago he may never play football again.  It was, at best, a 50-50 proposition.  There was no guarantee his shoulder would heal well enough for him to throw, let alone endure another sack.  So when his injury threatened his paycheck, Alexis made it clear she was done.  Steven had heard her say so -- if Mason couldn’t keep up his end of the marriage, she couldn’t keep up hers.
 
What exactly was her end?
 
Alexis married Mason to be in the spotlight, spend his money, and soak up his fame.  Over his five seasons in the NFL, she cheered in the stands on Sundays -- not so much for him, but for herself and the cameras.  Steven wouldn’t let his brother get hammered by her now.

“Do whatever it takes to get rid of her,” Mason ordered.