Fair Play (21 page)

I drag my eyes back to the screen, and Adam looks into the camera to thank his fans for supporting him. His sparkly blues are dull today and his words insincere. I wonder if anyone else picks up on that or if it’s only me. My heart clenches in my chest, and I bite the tip of my tongue to keep from crying.

Brea’s right, I do love him. I always will, but she’s wrong too. I hate him. We grew up together and spent every day together in elementary school. I sat in the stands for every one of his games in high school and college. He taught me how to ride a bike, play football, and how to properly spit. He took me to every dance, party, and pep rally. We went on spontaneous weekend getaways, kissed in the rain, made love in the woods, and planned our future in a field under a blanket of stars.

I cried an ocean of tears and slept for a week straight when I found his apartment empty. That was a terrible summer; if he had left during the school year, I would have flunked out of college.

My mind was everywhere and nowhere. I couldn’t fathom a reason for his disappearance.  His mom claimed she didn’t know where he went, and his coach was tight-lipped as well.

It was bizarre until ESPN started covering the NFA draft. Adam was a first draft pick for the Washington Redkings. He packed up his life and left St. Louis for D.C., and that was that. I tried to contact him, but his phone had been disconnected. Even his agent refused to speak to me. It was like he had died, but I was allowed a glimpse of him in heaven on TV.

Adam discarded me and left me broken without ever having to answer for his actions.

             
Chapter Two

Adam

The pain in my leg is excruciating; the only thing keeping me from trying to cut it off at the hip is the knowledge that Amethyst is coming.

After all these years, I can’t believe I’m going to see her again. There were times when I thought I would die without her. She was my core, the center of my world which I built my life on, my heart and my soul.

And I walked away.

I couldn’t tell her why. I still can’t. Without her, I made a mess of my personal life. I involved myself in anything and everything that numbed my senses and helped me forget everything that I had given up. I became a man my family was ashamed of; I became a man I was embarrassed to be.

I wonder if they know I can hear them talking about me? Someone mentions a torn ACL, and another voice says something about surgery, but the most concerning comment comes from Coach when he asks if I’ll ever play again.

Of course I’ll play again. Is he crazy? I know it’s more than a torn ACL; the crunch after being sacked by my own teammates was grisly, but I’m a machine. I can power through anything. I got this.

I’m all too familiar with knee and leg injuries. My teammates have suffered through dozens of them, but they aren’t necessarily the end of the world, not usually anyway.

This accident couldn’t have worse timing though. We are only three weeks away from the America Bowl, and the Redkings will undoubtedly lose without me. I’m not conceited. It’s just a fact. They need their best quarterback to win, and that’s me.

My head hasn’t been in the game for over a month, which was when I started getting photos in the mail of Ame with some guy in the bar next to her house. The two of them were walking down the sidewalk, and he was accompanying her into her apartment. That was the moment I knew something had to change. She needed to be somewhere safe, somewhere close to me; she needed to be in Virginia.

They say be careful what you wish for. In a twist of fate, I am lying here with a broken leg and a torn ACL going into surgery, praying that I will still have a career when I wake up. Amethyst is on her way and like it or not, this is the only way she would have come.

I’ve become a firm believer in positive thinking, and I’m positive that having Amethyst here in Virginia is the only way to save us both.

I’ve known since the first day of my career with the NFA that my career could be over as easily as it began with any number of injuries. That’s why I insisted on including her in my contract with the Redkings. Even though I wrecked her heart, there is no one I trust more with my body or my career.

If I wake up and Amethyst isn’t here, that’s it. The Silver Snake is history. I can’t make a comeback from this with anybody else. I have the best doctors, surgeons, and physical therapists, but it’s the day-to-day help of a sports medicine specialist that can make or break a professional athlete’s recovery. And Ame’s the best.

Not to mention I fucking love her, and no one can heal the raw wound in my heart that’s been festering there for six years like her. I don’t know how, but I’m going to win her back. If I have to kneel down and beg on my torn ACL, that’s what I’ll do. She didn’t ask for any of this, but neither did I. At least I had the advantage of knowing what was going on. Ame was left alone, twisting in the wind with no explanation.

It killed me to do it, but I couldn’t risk anything happening to her or my family. It’s amazing how the domino effect of one person’s bad choices can lead to such a catastrophe. Amethyst and I aren’t the only ones who have suffered. I haven’t seen my mother or any of my five brothers and sisters for six years.

I’m sure they think I’m a dickhead who ran out on his family for fame and fortune, but they couldn’t be more wrong. I didn’t want to move to the East Coast, and I wasn’t even sure which team I wanted to play for. But when bookies come knocking at your mother’s door demanding the kind of money my dad lost gambling, you do whatever it takes to keep the ones you love safe.

Chapter Three

Amethyst

With bags packed and ready for sunny hot days and humid warm nights, I stand waiting for my Uber to take me to the airport when I get the text.

Change in assignment, going to Virginia for a few weeks before Florida.
Flight has been changed. Ticket is waiting at the airport. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Oh my God, I’m packed for six weeks of tropical weather—not winter on the East Coast. Sorry for the inconvenience? I dial the MSB office just as my Uber pulls up to the curb outside.

“Greg, what’s this about going to Virginia? I’m packed for Florida; I don’t have time to repack if my flight is at the same time. Is my flight at the same time?”

“I’m so sorry, Ame; the whole thing is last minute. I got a frantic text from Hampton about a player who was injured in practice this morning, and you’re the best. I need you.”

Coach Hampton?

Virginia?

The Redkings?

Shit.

“Who’s the player?” I ask, wishing I hadn’t as soon as the words leave my lips.

“He didn’t say, but it must be someone important for him to text from the hospital. Don’t worry about your stuff. Replace it, and I’ll reimburse you. Take your things for Florida though. I’ll probably have you go straight from one job to the next. You’ll be gone longer, but you don’t mind, do you, Champ?”

Greg only calls me Champ when he’s really laying it on thick, and he called me
the best
. It’s hard to agree without knowing who the athlete is, but I do.

“Okay, so I can buy whatever I want?”

“Well, don’t go crazy, but yeah, get whatever you’ll need while you’re there. Can’t have you traipsing around in the snow in a bikini.”

“Agreed. I still get the Florida job though, right?”

“Yes, it’s yours unless Jones makes some kind of miracle recovery in the next two weeks.”

Matt Jones, a wide receiver for the Miami Dolphins, tore his ACL in a game two weeks ago. I’m supposed to be spending the next six weeks living in his home, helping him with his recovery. Greg’s right though. He’ll still be there in a couple weeks. In fact, he’s probably out for the season.

“Okay, Uber is honking, gotta go.”

“Later Champ, thanks for being flexible.”

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t gotten the bill for my clothes.”

He snorts, and I disconnect the call. I head out to the car with a belly full of butterflies and a suitcase full of bikinis. Even if it’s not Adam who’s been injured, I’m sure I’ll be running into him at some point. The prospect of coming face-to-face with him even for a moment after all this time with absolutely no contact is nerve-racking.

When I’m snug in my seat on flight 685, I take out my phone to check the news. If Adam is injured, it will be on ESPN and all over the headlines. I can only imagine how it would read. Maybe something like: “Kings Lost Their America Bowl Crown Jewel
.”

My screen lights up at the same time the pilot makes the announcement that all electronic devices should be turned off until the plane reaches ten thousand feet. So much for that. I slide my phone back into my carry on and lean back to listen to the rest of the announcements. I don’t like flying, but it’s a big part of my job, so I’ve learned to relax and think about other things. The only problem with that coping mechanism today is that all of those other things have to do with Adam.

He hasn’t changed a bit over the years—in fact, he’s gotten more attractive with age. The tiny wrinkles around his eyes make him appealing to all women, old and young. I, however, have changed a lot, for the better fortunately. The few pounds I put on in college have fallen away, leaving me curvy in all the right places. It would also shock Adam to know I wear next to no makeup now, and I’m completely comfortable with that. When we were in high school, I refused to leave the house without it. It drove him nuts when he would pop by to take me out for an impromptu date or ice cream, and I would make him wait until I looked perfect. He said it was a waste of time and money, because I was beautiful without it.  It turns out he was right.

Adam has never been more than a button’s push away, but as far as I know, he hasn’t set eyes on me since his graduation day at the University of Iowa. He’s constantly in the public eye, and I am the opposite, shying away from the media. When I’m working with superstar athletes, I use back or side doors and go at odd hours to dodge the paparazzi.

God, please don’t let the injured player be Adam. I don’t want him to be seriously injured. I’m still a compassionate human being, after all. But I know my heart can’t survive the kind of pain he caused me six years ago. Simply seeing him in person could be tragic. He might not recognize me, which would be grim after spending over half of my life with him. Or he could do a lot more than recognize me, and I could be the Silver Snake’s next victim.

The
Silver Snake
. I love the nickname he was given after his first year with the Redkings, but not for the same reason his fans do. They adore his gracefulness and the way he moves fluidly around the field without being touched. I think he’s a shameless snake.

I wake up in a fog two hours later as we are about to land. I was more tired than I thought, I guess. I never sleep well before a new assignment. I put on a good front for Brea. Secretly, I’m a little apprehensive about change too, but only initially. After a day or two, I settle into a routine and focus on my patient. A week later, I start to venture out to discover local attractions and make friends. By the time I leave, I’m as familiar with the area as any native.

I’ve been sleeping on the shoulder of a teenaged boy in the center seat, and I’m actively drooling on his shirt.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep and …” I sit up and wipe at the wet spot on his shirt, “and I didn’t know I was drooling.”

The skinny man/boy holds up a hand to stop my babbling.

“It’s cool, everybody thought I had a hot girlfriend for two hours. The stewardess even asked me how long we’ve been dating.”

His shy smile reminds me of being a teenager with self-esteem problems. I am so glad I grew out of that; come to think of it, I was more confident than I had ever been a year after Adam left. After I sorted out my heart and decided what kind of nurse I wanted to be, things began to look up.

In high school, I was always in Adam’s shadow as the star quarterback’s girlfriend. I didn’t think any of my friends would like me if I hadn’t been dating Adam. Add that to being one of the few black kids and the only half black-half Peruvian kid and you’ve got the potential to be an outcast.

Adam never let that happen though; he was my first friend at McGovern Elementary. Without him, I would have been the new girl, with long gangly legs and slightly crooked teeth, who loved sports. I wasn’t quite a tomboy, but you couldn’t call me a girly-girl either. I never fit perfectly into any of their tidy cliques, but I was Adam’s girl, so it didn’t matter.

“What’s your name?” I ask the man/boy.

“Josh. What’s yours?”

“My real name is Amethyst, but everyone calls me Ame.”

“Cool. You won’t rat me out to the stewardess, will you, Ame?”

“Nah, I got your back,” I say and slide my hand under his on the armrest between us, lacing our fingers together. The look he gives me is priceless. All smiles with his head held high; we exited the plane hand-in-hand, like any couple traveling together would. In the terminal, he releases me, and I hug him.

“Thanks, that was really decent of you,” he says.

“Hey, it’s the least I could do after drooling all over your shirt and using you as a pillow. Besides, you’re really cute. If I were twelve or thirteen years younger, then I’d be getting your number.”

He lifts his eyebrows high, and his mouth falls open. “I’ll give it to you now, and you can call me in five years.”

“Aw thanks, Josh, but I think the age gap will still be there.”

He sighs, and someone behind me catches his attention.

“Hey Ma, I’ll be right there. It’s my mom. I gotta go. Thanks for being my pretend girlfriend—even if it was only for two hours.”

“No problem. Go and find yourself a nice girl your own age.” I reach up and tap him on the nose. “You’re kind and adorable, Josh. Don’t ever forget that.”

A Christmas red blush crawls up his neck, exploding on his cheeks as he turns to go, and I find myself missing his company right away. He was a nice distraction, but now I have to find my bag—and a bar. Not that I need a drink, but every airport bar has at least one TV tuned into ESPN.  I need to find out what member of the Redkings I’m going to be living with for the next few weeks.

I say a silent prayer that it’s not Adam. It can’t be him. He wouldn’t want me as his nurse; he wouldn’t request me after all these years. Hell, I don’t even know if he knows I’m a specialist in sports injuries. Guys talk though, and I’ve cared for at least one player on every team in the NFA, so maybe he does.

I spot a bar near the turnstile and make my way through the crowds of people trying to leave the airport like trout swimming upstream. When I make it inside, I plop down on a bar stool and drop my carry on between my feet.

“A Blue Moon please, and can you turn it up?” I say, pointing to the television hanging over the bartender’s head.

“Sure thing, lady. Did you watch the news about Adam Silver?”

My hand freezes on its way to the bowl of pretzels on the bar. I shift my gaze to the middle-aged bartender wearing rainbow suspenders. He reminds me of Robin Williams, and that makes me sad for a moment. I blink twice, dazed, before answering his casual attempt at chitchat.

“No, what happened?”

I inhale deeply and hold my breath while he fills a large glass from the Blue Moon tap.

“Messed up his leg in practice this morning. Might be out for the season. It’s a damn shame with the America Bowl coming up in a month. The Redkings don’t have a chance in hell without him.”

Oh my God, this Robin Williams look-alike has given me the worst news imaginable. I’m going to need more than one beer. 

“You okay there?” he asks, sliding the glass across the bar into my sweaty hands. I nod and release the breath I was holding. I raise the glass to my lips and my eyes to the TV. Chris Berman is talking about Adam’s injury when a video clip fills the screen. I watch in anguish as his team members, in a play that could end his six-year long career, tackle the previous love of my life.

The bartender watches as I cringe and turn away. I can’t watch the replay. It’s nauseating. I’ve seen footage of many horrific football injuries in my career, but I’ve never known the injured player personally. It’s different when you know every scar and freckle on the leg of the man lying on the field writhing in pain. Or when you’ve watched him play football since the fourth grade. Or when you’ve listened to him talk endlessly about his dream of playing in the NFA.

It’s like watching someone jump from the top of a building, the apprehension when they step to the edge, the panic when they step off and the dread of the impact.

The bar suddenly feels too small; I need to get out of here. Without a word, I slip a twenty onto the bar next to my full beer and leave. Everything is happening in slow motion, like I’m walking through water. I exit the airport and climb into a waiting cab, give him the address of the hospital that Greg texted to me during my flight, and slump down in the seat of the dirty car.

I notice the strangest smells when I’m stressed. In the plane before takeoff it was men’s cologne and coffee. Now that I think about it, I’ll bet the cologne was probably Josh’s. In the airport bar, it was a combination of beer and cinnamon rolls. Now, in this Virginia cab, I smell curry and Pine Sol. Why do I do this? What makes my brain zero in on smells when I can’t think straight?

I stare at a big stain on the ceiling that’s the shape of a penis and wonder how the hell so much of whatever that is got up there. I slouch down even further to get as far away from the ceiling of the car as possible and stare at the back of the passenger seat. More splatters, yuck. I wonder what I’m sitting in and decide I don’t want to know.

My phone dings with a text, and I slip it out, expecting Brea to be telling me about Adam, but it’s not her. It’s Vinnie. We met last week. He’s a nice enough guy, Italian and extremely good-looking, but there is something about him that sets me on edge.

Have a safe trip to Florida, thinking of you, Vinnie <3

Even his benign text messages make me feel funny, and this one has a heart at the end. What’s that supposed to mean? We hung out a few times. He hasn’t even kissed me, and he sends a heart emoji with his text?

Thanks. See you in a few weeks
.
I message back, keeping it simple. I don’t need the added stress of a new boyfriend right now, even if he is the first guy I’ve seen more than once in years. I’ll have to call him and let him know what’s going on later.

When we arrive outside the Plainview Hospital, I look out the window. This is it. I’m going inside to begin an impossible assignment. It’s difficult to watch any player go through the stages of grief at the sudden end of a career, but I know Adam. He’s not a quitter. He refuses to be anything but the best. He strives for perfection, and he despises depending on others.