Stadium of Lights: A Second Chance Sports Romance (11 page)

I
waited
for him outside the hospital, unable to understand the two sides of him to make sense in my head. Was he the cocky asshole or the caring, sweet person I’d always seen inside him?

It made me think of when we were young when we’d sit together on my front porch late at night. Dad wouldn’t let him come in after eight o’clock, which I’d thought was ridiculous. Like anything was going to happen between us except talking.

But Max had always respected Dad’s rules. We would sit and talk for hours, usually about Max and his life and the things that worried him. He didn’t like being one of the popular kids—at the time I’d never understood what the problem was. All I’d ever wanted was for the popular crew to like me, to let me be part of their lives. He used to insist that he wasn’t as great as it looked from the outside. One wrong move, he’d tell me, and it was all over. He was always being watched, never able to make a mistake. And never, ever allowed to do anything but dominate on the football field.

I saw the depth of his soul back then, though I’d told myself over the years that I’d tricked myself into thinking there was more to him. It was always easy to see the people we loved as being special, better than everybody else. I’d convinced myself that he was actually as shallow as he’d appeared, that he’d used me because I had adored him. Was that entirely true? Maybe there had been more, after all.

It had taken another half hour before he exited through the lobby doors, and I could tell from the way he looked around that he expected me to be waiting for him. He knew I wouldn’t leave without knowing more. I got out of my car, walking the short distance to where he waited for me.

“That was nice to see,” I murmured, smiling.

“How did you find me?”

“I followed you.” It wasn’t easy to admit. “I wanted to talk to you after practice.”

“About what?”

“I noticed you were favoring your throwing arm a little. You looked tentative. I knew you wouldn’t come to me with any concerns, so I decided to go to you.”

“Oh. I’m fine, just a little tight today. No big deal.”

“How long have you been doing this?” I asked, nodding toward the hospital lobby. “Does anybody else do it, too?”

He shook his head. “We started an outreach thing last season for PR. You know how it goes. Photo ops. But I kinda liked it. The kids obviously looked forward to it, and they would be so happy when we’d show up. Once the program ended, nobody else cared. So I kept coming back to read to the kids. No big deal.”

“No big deal,” I repeated, shaking my head. “Maybe not to you. But you know it’s a big deal to them. It’s really sweet of you.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. Why couldn’t he just show what was in his heart, just once? If he did, if he had the courage to be the man I knew he was …

We fell silent. There was so much between us, I could almost touch it. That tension was back, but it was more than that. A whole ocean worth of unspoken words, things we were both afraid to say. I couldn’t blame him for hiding what was inside him since I’d made a career of hiding was what inside me.

“Can I ask you a favor?” My voice was weak with nerves. If he said no, I wouldn’t be able to face myself.

“Okay.” He sounded tentative. Of course, he was—I’d hardly spoken a word to him in weeks.

“Come back to my apartment with me. Now. Please.” I needed him. Just standing that close to him, having an innocent conversation, was almost too much. I wanted to attack him then and there, especially after seeing him with those kids. The way his face lit up when he laughed at something silly they said. The way he hugged them with a broad smile. The way he made them so happy.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” He shook his head with a sad smile. I couldn’t breathe—it felt like something was sitting on my chest, harder and harder. Maybe even jumping up and down. I’d humiliated myself.

Then, he continued. “Not your place. My place.” He reached out, the backs of his fingers gently stroking my cheek where a tear had escaped my eye and rolled down as I watched him with the kids. It felt like the sun breaking through thick, dark clouds after a storm. Everything was flooded with light, happiness. I could only nod in reply before we went to our cars. I knew the way to his house. I knew it by heart.

* * *

“
Y
ou know
what I was thinking about earlier?” I asked, sitting on his bed. We’d only just arrived, and he opened the windows to let the fresh sea air into the room. I watched the thin curtains billow as the breeze came in.

“What?” He joined me on the bed, stretching out on his back. I rolled onto my side, facing him.

“My dad and you. How he wouldn’t let you come in after eight o’clock, since he was always reading in his room by that time. He didn’t trust us alone.” I snorted.

He grinned. “Yeah. He was strict. How is he?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Okay, I guess. We don’t talk much anymore. It’s always been too awkward. He never knew how to tell me he loved me, so he always held me at arm’s length. Remember?”

“Yeah. He looked like his arms would break when he tried to hug you. He was military. They don’t teach you to let your feelings out,” Max reasoned. He stroked my back. “It didn’t mean he didn’t love you.”

“I know. But after enough years of not knowing what to say to each other, it gets easier not to try.” I shrugged, having gotten over it a long time before that. Then I giggled. “I always thought you were afraid of him.”

“I was,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Probably the only man in the world I’ve ever been afraid of. He’s a tough guy.” Max rolled over until he was nearly on top of me and I was on my back. We got down to the business of why we were there, slowly undressing each other. There was no discussion over whether we would do it or not, or whether it was right. It felt good, and that was all that mattered.

“He did one thing right,” Max murmured, kissing my throat as he unbuttoned my blouse.

“What?” And why were we still talking about my father?

“He raised you. He did a good job.” He lifted his head, looking at me. “A very good job.”

“You think so?” I chuckled, running my fingers through his hair.

“Yeah. He raised a special person.” I frowned, and he noticed. “Don’t you think you’re special?”

“I can’t say I ever thought about it,” I admitted. No, there was nothing special about me. Just another person who worked her ass off to get where she was, and always felt that she came up short.

“Believe me. You are.” He went back to work without telling me what made me so special, but it was all right. He didn’t need to. He showed me what he thought with the way he kissed me, the way he touched me with so much gentleness. The rough urgency of our last time together wasn’t there. It was more like we explored each other, taking our time, even having fun.

It was almost a dream come true, a man like him on top of me, telling me I was special. Because I believed him—other men had tried to tell me the same thing, especially the players on the teams I’d worked for. The ones who had tried to bed me, the way they bedded so many other women. I couldn’t believe it because I didn’t trust them. I trusted him. I believed he meant it.

When he kissed me, something special happened. I couldn’t name it if I tried—I only knew that it wasn’t just hot, or sexual. There was a deep sensuality to it, and I sighed as I kissed him back. He had what I’d been missing. I could trust him. I could hold him close to me and touch him and let him touch me and taste me, and I didn’t have to hold back. We could take our time. I could laugh one second and cry out in ecstasy the next.

We had fun, rolling back and forth, wrapped up in each other, kissing and touching. Exploring. He liked it when I stroked the area just over his tailbone, gasping and gritting his teeth when I did. I loved when he licked the back of my neck, which I had never known I enjoyed. We even wrestled a little, with him pinning me down and daring me to get up. I couldn’t move for laughing so hard, and soon he was laughing, too. Our laughter evolved into kisses, and more kisses, and his well endowed cock pressing against my inner thigh.

Even then there was no urgency. He took his time building me up, kissing every inch of me. I watched him, the great care he took in being gentle and sensual. His tongue swept over my inner ankle, the insides of my knees. I couldn’t believe how such simple touches could set me on fire the way they did.

When he finally entered me, making me feel complete like only he could, it was the sweetest sensation. So good, so powerful. Power moving back and forth from him to me and me to him as he moved and I moved, and we created something beyond the two of us.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, holding him closer, wanting to feel all of him at once. I kissed his neck, his shoulder. His warm breath on my skin, his tongue licking me until I shivered as he plunged inside my pussy over and over. I raked my nails over his shoulders, his back, crying out softly as the pressure built. I couldn’t stand it. I had to release the tension inside, and when I did, I convulsed around him, pulsing, trembling. He sighed, grunting with each deep thrust that seemed to fill more than just my body.

He pushed himself up until we were face to face, brushing his lips over mine. I tasted saltiness there—our mingled sweat. I licked it off, and he trembled.

My hands found his, and I linked our fingers as his thrusts sped up, grew sharper and deeper. We built together, slowly climbing. I watched his face changing as the pleasure overtook him, and we came together. Something happened then, too. I felt closer to him than I ever had. Than I ever had to anybody, really.

He fell on top of me, knocking the wind from me for just a second before I settled into bearing his weight. I stroked his back as his breath slowed. Our hearts shared a rapid rhythm, our chests pressed together. It was all so perfect, right down to the salty sea breeze coming in through the open windows.

My heart swelled and throbbed with joy. I could never pretend I didn’t love him, not ever. I only wished it could always be like that—just the two of us and nothing else, no one else.

T
he following Sunday
was a home game, and I stood on the sidelines watching the team warm up. It was unusual for me to stand out there, watching, but I was concerned about Max.

I watched him toss the ball to Trey, who was looking better than he had all season. He’d been a good boy and followed my orders, exercising his knee when I wanted him to and staying off it when I advised. Patrice had made sure he listened, giving me updates almost every day. Between the two of us, there had been no choice. He grinned after completing a quick run, waving at me. I gave him a thumbs up.

I couldn’t grin, though, because I was too busy worrying about the grimace on Max’s face after completing that throw to Trey. He looked in pain.

I searched for Coach Cramer, finding him deep in conversation with Hawkins, the team’s offensive line coach. I tapped him on the shoulder. He didn’t look thrilled to be interrupted, and I got my courage together before speaking. He was a nice enough guy off-field, but on-field was a different story.

“I don’t like the way Max looks right now, Mr. Cramer,” I confided.

“What do you mean?” He smirked a little like I was overreacting.

“He just completed a pass to Trey at maybe half power and grimaced. He told me earlier this week that he felt sore and tight. Haven’t you noticed that he looks tentative out there?”

Both he and the other coach, who was listening in, seemed skeptical. “Max knows himself. He knows what he can handle. He can handle playing today.” That was it, as far as he was concerned. He turned back to his conversation.

I cleared my throat. “With all due respect, Coach, I disagree. You know how stubborn he is. He doesn’t want Mo taking over for him in even one game—worries what will happen if it looks like he’s replaceable. His arm could be hanging off, and he’d swear he was ready to play.”

Coach Hawkins laughed a little, nodding. “That’s true,” he conceded. “He’s a stubborn bastard.”

“My say goes, and I want him in the game. End of story.” Coach Cramer turned his back to me, even going so far as to take a step or two away from me. I couldn’t believe how callous he was acting—toward his biggest player, too. His star. Wasn’t Max’s health important to anybody?

If he wouldn’t listen, maybe Max would. I waited until the warm-up was finished, poking my head into the locker room to look for Max. I caught his eye, waving him out of the room in what I hoped was a discreet manner. I didn’t want the rest of the team knowing what I thought. If Max didn’t agree, I didn’t want them second-guessing him on the field.

I waited until we were in the therapy room to ask about it. “What’s happening with that shoulder?”

“What about it?” He avoided my eyes. God, he was so obvious.

“The tightness. It’s still there, and it’s worse. From the look on your face out there, it hurts when you use it. Right?”

“It’s fine, okay?” He tried to leave, but I stepped in front of him with my hands on my hips.

“It’s not fine. If you care about yourself in the long-term, you’d better sit it out this week and give it a rest.”

“Excuse me? Did you talk to Coach Cramer about this?”

I hated to admit it, but there was no point in lying. He could just as easily go to the coach to find out the truth. “Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“And the last time I checked, he was the head coach, not you. Where do you get off thinking you can make a roster change before the game?”

I couldn’t believe he was so blind, so determined to hurt himself. “A roster change? Get your head out of your ass for a second, Max. You’re in pain when you throw. Playing today would be irresponsible. You could do serious long-term injury!”

“Stop being so fucking dramatic. I'm all right.”

“It’s my job to keep the team healthy, and you’re not healthy right now,” I insisted.

His eyes narrowed. “Do you think you own me, just because we’re sleeping together?”

He might as well have punched me in the stomach. I gasped, unable to believe him. “Did you really just say that?”

“Sorry, but when you come to me with something like this and admit nobody but you thinks it’s a big deal, I have to wonder where this is coming from.”

“Get over yourself.”

“Maybe it’s you who needs to get over yourself, Abby. You can’t tell me what to do. If I wanna play, I’m gonna play.”

“Fine. Don’t come crying to me when you end your career because you’re too fucking childish to sit out a single game. Because you’re afraid the coaches will find out there’s somebody better than you.”

I hated myself the moment it was out of my mouth. It was unfair, and definitely the last thing I should have said if I wanted him to listen to me. His eyes went wide for a second, his face slack. But only for a second. His expression had hardened before he brushed past me on his way back to the locker room. I threw my clipboard across the room, wishing I could scream the whole place down.

* * *

A
win
, but we only made it through by the skin of our teeth and the skill of our defense. Two of our touchdowns were the result of turnovers, one an interception run back for a touchdown. Good thing, too, since Max’s passing game was a joke. I wanted so badly to run out to the field and scream “I told you so!” The obnoxious prick.

Those team members who weren’t too proud to come to me were treated after the game. A few sore ribs, which I taped up. A weak ankle, which I checked out and diagnosed as overuse. Nothing a week off couldn’t help. Luckily, we had a bye week coming up and wouldn’t play again until two weeks out, in Pittsburgh.

I was glad for Max’s sake, too, even though I would have rather walked on my own tongue than have told him so. If he was going to be a prick, that was all right by me. I only hoped he would be smart and exercise gently during the week off. It couldn’t have come at a better time for him—the commentators had observed throughout the game how unsure of himself Max had looked out there. What would it take for him to wise up?

I was late at the arena, putting things in order after the team left. I was glad for the week off, too, since the team was putting me through the ringer as the season went on. More bumps and bruises, more sprains and strains. I loved it, though, deep down inside. I loved feeling like my work helped keep the team healthy, and contributed to keeping them on the field so they and the rest of the city could be happy and proud. Until women played in the NFL, that was as close as I’d ever get to feeling like a part of the action.

I shut off the lights in the therapy room, then went to my office to get my things together. I was the last person there—no big surprise. That was normally the way things went. It wasn’t like I had anything to go home to. The thought wasn’t a pleasant one, but that didn’t make it any less true. I’d make settlement on my house in a few weeks, so I’d at least have something to do once it came time to move in. I thought about throwing a housewarming party, inviting the team and their girls. I knew Skylar would want to help me plan, and smiled at the thought of how she would likely take over.

A noise in the locker room stopped me in my tracks as I walked down the hall, toward the parking lot. I looked around, suddenly breathless with fear. I wasn’t alone, after all. It was probably a maintenance worker or somebody like that. The team had left ages earlier. There was no reason for anybody else to be in there.

Still, I couldn’t leave without knowing. I told myself to keep walking that it was none of my business, but curiosity killed the car, after all. I tiptoed to the open doorway, a soft moan hitting my ears as I did. It wasn’t a man moaning, either.

Mind your own business. Get out of here.
I couldn’t. No way. I needed to know who it was, what they were doing. They probably wouldn’t see me. I was even quieter as I approached the open door.

The room was almost completely dark, the only light coming from a few small windows at the opposite end. I searched the darkness, looking for the cause of the noises I’d heard. Then I saw it—or, rather, them.

A man stretched out on his back, across a bench. A woman riding him. She faced me, her eyes closed, head was thrown back in ecstasy. My face flushed, my instincts screaming at me to run away.

Only I couldn’t. Because she was wearing Max’s jersey. I saw the top of his dark head pointed in my direction, but that was all I could see of him. She opened her eyes, swinging her head back and forth as she rode him. Her long, black hair swung as she moved.

“Fuck, yes … it’s been so long, baby …” She moaned and writhed, whispering all sorts of things as she rode faster and harder.

Her eyes found me. I gasped, stepping back toward the hall. That cheerleader. Layla. The one who had kissed Max on TV.

She didn’t stop what she was doing. If anything, she rode him harder. With a smile on her face.

I ran, unable to believe what I’d seen. My heart felt closer to breaking than it ever had. How could he do that to me?