Playing for Keeps (37 page)

So she held her breath and watched. The whistle blew, the ball was hiked, and Decker began his confident approach. Then he kicked with the awesome exactness that made him a machine.

And the rest was history. Or at least, almost.

Erica’s throat was so raw from shrieking like a banshee, it took a second to realize that even though the Lancers were ahead by one point, the game wasn’t actually over.

Or as the announcer explained, “There’s still twenty seconds on the clock. For the Surgeon, that’s a lifetime.”

Oh, no!

She watched helplessly as the Lancers kicked off, sending the ball so deep into the end zone the receiver didn’t even try to return it. That was good, wasn’t it?

Then Wyatt Bourne took the field, striding into place like the warrior he was. He intended to win.

No. He intended to
crush
.

It was up to the Lancers defense now, and they came through like the champions they were, sacking the Surgeon for the very first time in his postseason foray.

“Whoo-hoo!”
Erica screamed. “Take that, you phony.”

Bourne dusted himself off and got back to work. Second and fifteen. No big deal to a surgeon. As he scrambled out of the pocket, Erica couldn’t resist zooming in on his ankle and saw that it was heavily wrapped.

It didn’t prove anything. At least, not decisively. But what if he really was injured?

Then he’s even more determined than Johnny thought
.

A speeding bullet of a pass spiraled through the air. And thanks to Bourne’s surgical precision, it headed straight for the hands of his favorite wideout.

But the Lancers cornerback did his job, not only breaking up the pass but snatching it out of the air, cradling it against his chest, and dashing for the end zone. He might have scored for his team—for his QB and all the others—but Wyatt Bourne couldn’t stomach it.

So he bolted across the field and tackled the Lancer himself. And it wasn’t just a show of defiance. It was another clinic as he stripped the ball from the corner’s arms, then propelled himself onto it while signaling a time-out.

It was the single most awesome display of the game, rivaling Decker’s field goal and Johnny’s hottest moves. The Jets had the ball back. Thanks to the Surgeon. And while there were only five seconds left now, there was no doubt.

Wyatt Bourne could still win it.

“He’s limping,” the announcer said in a hushed voice. “I mean,
really
limping.”

Shocked, Erica zoomed in and verified that it was true. This tall, dark hunk of a man could barely put his weight on his left ankle. But his face contradicted that reality, boasting a confident expression as his team lined up.

Then he hopped back, still in the pocket, and sent the ball sailing again. His wideout should have caught it this time. That was clear even to Erica. He should have caught it, then he should have dashed for the end zone.

No one was in his way.

No one but the frisky Lancers cornerback, who was visibly feeling his oats and made another shockingly perfect interception. He could have run with it, trying one last time to be a superstar. But he had learned his lesson. No way would he let the Surgeon, or any other Jet, strip it from him again. So he just stood there, rooted to the spot, while a horde of Jets landed on him with a combined weight of at least a thousand pounds.

Erica stared at the screen, totally awed. In her mind she knew her team had won, but she had no words. Not even Johnny’s name, although it echoed through her imagination like the colorful strokes of an Aurora masterpiece.

And even after she muted the sound on her tablet, she still heard screaming. And laughing. And since there was no one else in the plane’s cabin, she knew with a dazed grin that it had to be coming from her.

• • •

After that, there was no stopping her. She bolted from the plane as soon as the attendant would allow it, racing for the limo that Helmut had supplied. If the driver hadn’t seemed so formidable she would have taken the wheel herself and pushed the pedal to the max, but the guy didn’t have a death wish, so he insisted she sit in the back. Then he gunned it for her, probably because she had scared him to death with her manic euphoria.

When they reached the stadium, fans were streaming from every exit, laughing and joking and offering up prayers of thanks. But Erica needed to go
in
. To get to Johnny. So she rummaged in her purse for the phony credentials Murf had given her via Johnny, then pushed her way through the crowds. She had no idea how to get to the field—to the celebration—but her instinct had brought her this far, so she didn’t miss a stride.

Then she saw something in the distance that made her slow down. A tall man lurching toward a dark corner as though ill. He looked familiar, and it took less than a second to realize why. It was Johnny’s father.

Johnny’s Pop.

Running to him, she exclaimed, “Coach Spurling! Are you okay?”

He turned, still slightly bent at the waist, and gave her a weak smile. “I’m fine.”

“You are not.” She dropped her purse and briefcase to the ground, then took him by the arm and guided him to a low concrete ledge. “Try to breathe normally. I’ll call 911.”

“It’s indigestion,” he assured her, his blue eyes twinkling so exactly like his son’s that she had to smile.

“Wow,” she said. “Just sit there. Don’t move.” Retrieving her belongings, she hurried back to him, then pulled out her thermos and served him some hot chocolate. “Drink this. It’s good.”

He took a tentative sip followed by a gulp. “It
is
good. Did you put orange juice in it?”

“Orange peel.” She captured his chin in her palm. “Let me look at you.”

His eyes seemed as clear as his son’s had ever been. And the laughter that rumbled deep in his chest seemed familiar too as he asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m nobody,” she promised. “Why are you out here? You should be with your son.”

“He’s a star,” Coach Spurling agreed. “He doesn’t need his old man hanging around. Let him have his moment.”

“Be serious. He wants you there.”

A raucous sound came from her briefcase and she realized she hadn’t turned off the Aurora, so she pulled it out, then smiled. “Look, they’re interviewing him. Let’s watch.”

All cameras were trained on the hero of the day, who held up his hands, warding off praise. “This was the ultimate team effort. So let’s talk about that.”

“Weren’t you worried?” one reporter shouted. “Decker could have kicked Bannerman again.”

“That was a freak accident. Let’s focus on the present. Deck’s the best the league has ever seen. And the Bam Man’s a beast. Without them, we’re nothing.” Then he grinned and added a heartfelt tribute to the cornerback who had intercepted Wyatt Bourne’s passes, not once but twice. “Talk about a stud,” Johnny insisted.

“The Surgeon choked,” another reporter accused gleefully.

“Don’t kid yourself.” Johnny’s advice sounded more like a rebuke. “That guy might be the best ever. Except not today,” he added, his tone lightening.

“Oh, my God, don’t you love him?” Erica asked Aaron Spurling in a hushed voice.

“He’s one of my favorites,” the coach agreed with a laugh.

She giggled then turned back to the screen, where a savvy female reporter was asking, “What’s next for you, Johnny? How do you top this?”

“Easy. I’m getting married. Hopefully by the end of the month.”

Erica stared at the screen, dumbfounded.

Married? So fast?

To
her
? To Beth’s friend?

What the heck?

She almost forgot about Aaron Spurling until he murmured, “I feel terrible.”

“What?” She set the Aurora down and gripped his hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been too hard on that boy. He’s done everything I asked, but I asked for more. Now he’s marrying a stranger for me, when he should be carousing with a dozen pretty girls.” He blinked, then seemed to focus on Erica again. “It sounds like babble, I suppose. But it’s true. He’s marrying a schoolteacher because I shamed him into it. She’s a sweetie. And beautiful. But he should pick his own. Right?”

“Yes,” she admitted carefully.

“You know what he said to me last night?”

She bit her lip. “What?”

“He said, ‘I’m gonna follow that advice you gave me in the ER, Pop. So you’d better be right.’”

She stared in shock.

“I see now I went too far,” the coach added mournfully.

“I agree,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. “You shouldn’t pressure him so much.”

“You’re a smart girl.” He exhaled loudly. “At least he defied me on one thing. Made a beer commercial, or so I’m told. Just because I always said Spurlings don’t do promo. But on this marriage thing, he gave in. Now he’s gonna spend the rest of his life with a stranger.”

“You haven’t seen the commercial yet?” She sighed and pulled it up on the Aurora, then watched along with him.

Aaron Spurling was seeing it for the first time. And in a way, so was Erica. She had been so focused on the details, and of course on Johnny, she hadn’t really seen the beauty. The grace. The art. But there it was in all its splendor, just as she had first envisioned it. A handsome man with chiseled cheekbones and chiseled integrity. Putting on a clinic for the douche bags of the world. And around him? Not Hollywood glitz, but real people. Healthy, glowing, well-meaning men and women, looking for fun, craving love.

She choked back a sob, proud beyond words, and hurt beyond belief.

Then Aaron Spurling drove the final stake through her heart, saying, “Now that’s a real man. Respecting women. That’s the true test.”

“Oh, God, you need to tell him that. Just like that,” she blubbered, grabbing his face between her palms for emphasis. “Promise me you’ll say it. Just like that.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But I need to go. Can you make it to the field on your own?”

“Come with me. Meet my family. I need a date for the parties anyway.”

She shook her head. “I’m late for my own party. Just take care of yourself. And tell your sons you’re proud of them.”

When the coach gave her a solemn nod, she nodded back, then grabbed her belongings and raced for the parking lot, praying Helmut’s jet was still on the ground.

Chapter 18

Johnny had never partied so hard in his life but he actually had no choice. Between the pumped-up victory cries of his teammates and his own swaggering ego, the Lancers couldn’t be contained. He tried to sober up for interviews and for the trophy ceremony, but even then he had trouble controlling his Bannerman-grade grin.

He would have to get it together by the time his father arrived, but for now, why not revel in it? They had crushed the Super Bowl. By one point, but still—

We crushed it. All of us. But Deck and Bam? Man, they really sealed the deal
.

The Jets had been good sports, but he imagined how they must feel. Especially Bourne. The guy had done the decent thing after the game, hobbling over to Johnny to shake his hand and assure him the Lancers had earned the victory.

“You were the better quarterback today, Spurling,” he had told him bluntly.

“I had help,” Johnny had replied.

That made the Surgeon smile. “I’d give a kidney to have Sean Decker on my team. I’m glad he’s back on track.”

“So am I,” Johnny had murmured, honestly surprised. He had never fallen for the anti-Bourne hype, but knew he hadn’t imagined the ego, bordering on ice, he’d seen with his own eyes in past games. He had never doubted that this guy could be a brawler. A real football player. He had, however, doubted he could ever be a
team
player, much less show respect for the guys on the other team.

Was defeat having a humbling effect?

The answer had come quickly when a reporter approached with a question for Bourne. The Jets quarterback waved the guy away like a pesky fly while telling Johnny, “Enjoy the victory, Spurling. While you can.”

Johnny had responded with a chuckle. “Yeah. See you next year, bud.”

The press corps had descended en masse at that point, and as before, Bourne had waved them off, limping away.

Johnny thought about it again as he scanned the revelers for a sign of his father. Or of his brother for that matter, since Jayce had been tasked with locating their missing parent.

First you lose Pop, now Jayce. It’s Deck and Erica all over again,
he told himself with a chuckle, remembering how frustrated he’d felt when he couldn’t get hold of either of them. And then Bannerman had disappeared too. And had spent the night with her.

Not to mention breakfast the next morning.

Laughing, he pulled out his phone. He had left several messages already, and hoped it was just bad weather in the mountains, not another mix-up, that was the problem this time. Whatever it was, she still hadn’t called back.

He was about to try again when he spotted his father at the edge of the crowd, heading for a buffet table.

“Hey, Pop!” he yelled, striding over to intercept him.

His father grasped him by the hand, shook it firmly, then pulled him into an unexpected bear hug. “I’m so proud of you, son.”

“Thanks, Pop.”

“I mean it. This is the proudest day of my life. Bar none.”

Johnny’s chest tightened. Such high praise, especially from this guy. “Where’ve you been? Everyone’s been asking.”

“I was having drinks with a beautiful woman.”

“Right.” Johnny grinned. “You and the ladies. But meanwhile, the press is bored with me. They want
you
. Guess they figured out who taught me everything I know.”

“This is
your
day. I’m all talked out anyway.”

“Thanks to your lady friend?” Johnny teased him. “Let’s get out of here then. I’ll find Jayce and Beth and the guys and we’ll have some dinner.”

“Grab me one of those oranges, will you, son?” his father asked, motioning toward the buffet.

“Since when do
you
eat fruit?”