Fourth and Goal (31 page)

"Do you know where they went?"

Tyler spent quite a bit of time with Ryan. The entire team did. Ryan's problems made Tyler forget his own, not that Tyler admitted to having any issues. Only Derek caught the sadness in his eyes when he let down his guard.

Mitch shrugged and pushed on the door. Derek pushed back, and they wrestled for male dominance with a damn door.

"Did you coordinate all this?” Mitch gripped the door and put his weight into it. Derek suppressed a smile and shoved his shoulder into the door.

"All what?"

"The visits.” The muscles in Mitch's arms shook from the effort.

"Give it up, Mitch. I work out for a living; you don't. You sit on your ass in a schoolroom."

Mitch opened his mouth, but Derek cut him off by forcing the door open another six inches.

Mitch set his jaw. “Every night at least one of your players shows up to hang with Ryan, talk sports with him. Their wives arrange car pools to drive him to medical appointments and stay with him when he's too sick to go to school.” Mitch panted and sweat beaded on his forehead.

"They're not
my
players.” Tyler might make that claim, but not Derek. “The guys did it on their own, and your sister organized it."

For a second, Mitch's expression softened and both men reduced their pressure on the door. “I hadn't realized it was her. It's really taken the heat off me. I wasn't sure how I'd deal with Ry living here, me being single and so busy and all."

"The team loves him. It was the least we could do. He's turned into something of our mascot."

"Well, tell Rae thanks for me."

"Tell her yourself.” Having proved his point, Derek let go of the door. It stayed open.

"She's not happy with me right now."

"Maybe you should try treating her like an adult for once.” If Mitch expected an apology, he wasn't getting one. Derek hadn't created this mess.

"Maybe you should leave her the hell alone."

"Fuck you."

"I couldn't have said it any better.” Mitch slammed the door in his face.

Derek stared at the closed door, conflicting emotions warring with his conscience. Shaking his head, he turned for home, tired after a long day of practice and verbal sparring with Mitch. He'd crash in front of a mindless reality show and forget the Mitches of the world for a while.

Twenty minutes later, he walked into his den and flopped into the overstuffed leather armchair next to a roaring fire. Rachel looked up from the neat stack of papers on his desk, a laptop nearby. He liked her being there when he came home. Her presence transformed his cold, empty house into a home. “Working overtime?” The stress fled from his mind and body as fast as the crowd used to flee Lumberjacks Stadium during their losing seasons. His gaze locked onto the view her body provided. She insisted on dressing in business attire even in his home, but the suits appealed to his basically horny nature. Of course, Rachel in a grain sack with a paper bag over her head would hike his ball.

"Yeah, my boss is a taskmaster.” She dipped her head and gazed at him through lowered lashes. Her coy act did crazy stuff to him. His heart rate skyrocketed, and his dick prepared for liftoff. He considered a plan of attack that involved a desk, naked bodies, and lots of friction.

Something soft and fuzzy brushed across his face. “What the fu—” He whipped his head around, coming face-to-face with Charlie, crouched on the back of his chair. The cat gazed at him with a feline smirk. Derek spit out a mouthful of cat hair. Charlie reached out a paw and patted his cheek.
Fucking cat.

"What the hell is this cat doing in my house?"

"Lounging, it looks like."

"My furniture is covered in cat hair. Rachel, you know I don't like cats. Besides, he terrorizes poor Simon. No wonder he was cowering in the utility room when I got home."

"Simon holds his own."

Derek snorted. “He's scared shitless of that cat."

"He doesn't steal when Charlie's around."

"He's too busy shaking in his paws."

"Wuss. Perhaps he'd like it better back in dog prison."

"Some compassionate animal lover you are."

"Criminals like him shouldn't be out on parole. He's way beyond three strikes.” She snorted and switched topics. “How was practice?"

"Grueling.” He sighed as the cat crawled down his chest like a climber descending the Alps. Only this climber used sharp claws. “Damn! Ouch. You little shit.” Charlie, unaffected by Derek's ranting, turned a few circles and affixed himself to his shirt. He dug his claws in and out and purred with gusto. Derek winced.

Rachel's lips twitched.

Derek ignored the cat. “We're in the hunt, so close to a play-off berth Coach can smell it, and he's showing no mercy.” He pointed at the sports magazine on the coffee table. “Have you read that?"

"Uh, yeah."

"What the hell do we have to do to get any respect?"

"Make the play-offs?"

He raised one eyebrow.

"Win the Super Bowl?"

"Heck, I bet even that wouldn't be enough."

"Probably not. The Pacific Northwest might as well be a foreign country."

"No joke. And
me
?” He pointed at his chest. “They predict I'll crack under the pressure. I won't be able to catch the big one or make the plays when the Jacks really need me. Haven't I been making plays all season?"

"Yes, you have.” She poured a glass of wine from his bar.

"Are you drinking on the job?"

"I'm a lush."

He laughed. “Just be careful not to spill. Or worse.” She'd already broken half his wineglasses.

"This one's plastic. I put away your good crystal."

"What was left of it.” He held his breath when she bumped the glass with her hand. Wine sloshed around as the glass teetered but didn't tip.
Lucky
. “So do you believe I can do it? Think I can go the distance without screwing up?"

"It's not what I believe. It's what you believe.” Gingerly, she reached for the glass and almost tipped it over again.

"Yes, yes, I do.” He held his breath until she held the goblet firmly in her grasp. “Is there something wrong with your depth perception?"

"No, why?” She was all wide-eyed innocence. “I'm hypersensitive to gravity."

"That's one way to put it."

"Any word on Ryan's mother?"

"Nothing."

"Poor kid. His mother's a real nutcase."

"I'd call her a bitch.” Derek tensed. He avoided conversations about screwed-up, self-serving mothers. It hit too close to home.

"You ever met her?"

"Nope. Never set eyes on her. Don't have any interest in doing so."

"Mitch met her once."

"And?"

"She's just what you'd picture. Unfortunately."

"That sucks."

"Thanks so much for taking Ryan under your wing. You've really revived his spirits. Going to the Jacks’ home games are the highlights of his week."

"You're the halftime highlight of my week."

"Halftime's over, champ. It's time to put the ball in play.” She leaned forward. Unbuttoning a few buttons on her sweater, the little vixen tantalized him with a generous view of cleavage. He licked his lips. Lifting his eyes, his heat matched hers. She stood and skirted the desk, stubbing her toe and yelping. Derek reached out, grabbed her, and pulled her onto the arm of his chair. Charlie glared at both of them but didn't vacate his position on Derek's chest.

He touched a bruise on her arm. “This is new."

She glanced at it in surprise. “I don't know where that came from."

"Am I going to have to wrap you in Kevlar?"

"I'm fine."

"You scare me. I worry about you.” Derek frowned as the damn cat turned a few circles and made itself at home on his lap. He glared at the furry intruder yet made no move to put it on the floor.

"You're a little tense tonight.” Rachel's fingers massaged the back of his neck.

"I'm tired.” Derek absently stroked the cat, then stopped when he realized what he was doing. The finicky feline purred in response and rolled onto its back. Simon whined a jealous protest from the safety of the doorway.

"You
look
really tired."

"You've been keeping me up too late."

"You're insatiable."

"I didn't hear you bitching last night."

"And you won't."

"You're not clumsy in bed."

"No gravity to battle.” She smiled, warming his heart.

"So what do you hear from Cass? I see her cheering on the sidelines but never get a chance to talk to her."

"She's madly in lust. This is her last year as a pro cheerleader. She's making plans to move to Chicago with her new guy. How's Ty doing?"

"Instead of drinking and perfecting the art of being a man-slut, he's studying game film until all hours of the night and spending a lot of time with Ryan."

"What? He's building character?"

"You didn't hear that from me."

"Did the world stop and someone forgot to tell us?"

Derek laughed. “It seems that way. Have you eaten dinner?"

"Nope, I was waiting for you."

Fuck, they sounded like an old married couple, which couldn't be further from the truth. Married couples had a future. They had no future. Feeling out of his comfort zone, Derek backed off a little.

He'd seen the disastrous results of a long-distance relationship with his mother and father and how ambitions got in the way. He had no intention of going there.

The whole damn thing made his stomach ache.

Remote in hand, Ryan was sprawled on the couch. Tyler walked in. Grinning, he dropped next to him and propped his feet on the coffee table. He fixated on the college game on TV.

"Hey, you came.” Ryan offered a feeble smile.

"You asked.” Tyler bristled a little.

"Is Mitch gone?” Ryan craned his neck to see into the kitchen.

"He went out for some beer. Said he'd be right back."

"Good.” Ryan struggled to sit up, coughed, and took a drink of water. It trickled down his chin. He wiped it with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I need to talk to you. Alone."

"Shoot.” Tyler helped himself to the bowl of chips on the coffee table.

"I need a favor."

Tyler hesitated, popped several chips in his mouth, and chewed slowly.

"So can you do me a favor?” Ryan took another sip of water, and his scrawny arm shook.

Tyler avoided looking at him. Ryan knew why. A skeleton had more meat on its bones. Tyler shrugged. “I suppose.” The words slipped out, as if he was reluctant to commit.

"I need you to find my mother."

"Your mother?” Tyler choked and crammed more chips in his mouth.

"Yeah. Please, Ty. I need to know where she is. I want to see her before—before—well, you know.” Ryan fought to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"Why didn't you ask Derek?"

"Because I want the truth. Derek's too nice. He'd never tell me the truth if it was bad news."

"And I would?” Something flickered in Tyler's blue eyes.

"Yeah. You're a tough guy. A badass. You say what you think and to hell with everyone else. I don't want anyone worrying about my feelings. I need to know."

"You think you'll get that from me.” Tyler's words sounded constricted.

"Yeah, I will because you won't be concerned about hurting me. You'll just do the job. You take care of yourself; nobody else matters."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's me. I'm a selfish bastard."

Ryan punched his arm. “Then you'll do it?"

"Yeah, sure.” Tyler stared at the images on the TV, not looking at him.

Full of dread, Ryan dragged in a breath around the boulder crushing his chest.

Two-minute warning. Bulldogs in the lead, 24-20.

Hollywood couldn't have scripted it better.
Monday Night Football
. The last game of the regular season, with everything on the line for the Bulldogs and Jacks. Winners to the play-offs, losers to go home.

The Seattle Lumberjacks took the field and ran a couple of quick pass plays and a running play. Each was successful, but none stopped the clock. A field goal wouldn't win it. Only a touchdown would do. One more shot to make the play-offs for the first time in Seattle's dismal thirty-plus-year history as a pro-football team. Thirty-six yards to go with two seconds on the clock. One play left. One chance to redeem countless years of mediocrity. One opportunity to silence their East Coast critics. One incredible New Year's present for the fans.

Sixteen games in a long season came down to one single play.

HughJack called their last time-out. They gathered in a tight huddle, eleven men with one common purpose. The stadium rocked with the mental power of sixty-five thousand rabid fans emotionally charging their players. Derek chewed on his lower lip and checked the Velcro on his gloves. Bruiser bounced on the balls of his feet. Tyler gripped the ball, turning it in his hands, communing with the leather. Horse Price cracked his knuckles. Eleven pairs of eyes focused on the coach and strained to hear him above the din of the crowd.

"Okay, men, this is it,” HughJack shouted. “Time to prove the old Lumberjacks don't exist anymore. We're a team who rises to the occasion. We find a way to win and keep winning. This is a team of destiny. I have faith in every one of you.” He paused and made contact with each player. “Now go out there and prove it to the rest of the country."

HughJack put his hand in the middle of the huddle. The guys did the same. “Play-offs! Lumberjacks!"

Their final play came as no surprise to anyone. Tyler would throw it up for grabs, Derek being the mostly likely candidate. How he got to the end zone and with how many defensive backs hounding his every step would be up to his superior speed and maneuverability.

Tyler hesitated as they broke the huddle and gave him
the look.

Breathing deeply, Derek filled his lungs with the oxygen he'd need and took his position at the end of the line. Horse snapped the ball. Derek broke away from two DBs by faking one way and streaking past the other. He sprinted for the end zone. Glancing over his shoulder for the ball, he prayed that Tyler would put it on the money.

The ball rocketed toward him, a hard-ass spiral that'd sting like hell when he caught it. Two Bulldogs barreled toward him on a collision course with destiny. As a group, they leaped into the air. Three sets of arms strained for the ball.