Love at the 20-Yard Line (20 page)

“My goodness, Haven, this is such fun,” Rachel said, patting her daughter’s leg as they watched the players leave the field for the halftime entertainment to begin.

“Why’s that boy playing arena football?” John asked, leaning around Rachel. “He’s good enough to play with the pros. How did he end up here?”

“He said something about being cut from a practice squad and trying to work his way back,” Haven said, not sure what a practice squad was, why he’d been cut, or how he planned to work his way back. Brody hadn’t been inclined to elaborate on the details, even though she didn’t understand what they meant.

“Practice squad, huh? Well, I guess that makes a little sense. Who’d he play for?” John asked.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. A practice squad is for a specific team?” Haven realized she really knew very little about professional football.

“Yes,” Hale said, entering the conversation. “And I don’t know why he was on a practice squad instead of playing. He’s really got the talent.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” John again leaned around his wife and daughter so he could see Hale. The two of them talked football stats for a moment, leaving Rachel and Haven to stare helplessly at each other before a group of dancing girls entered the arena.

Dressed in jean shorts and boots, the girls began a routine to a lively country tune. Haven had seen them do the dance before, but her parents’ eyes widened in shock when several of the die-hard male fans whipped off their shirts and swung them over their heads, whooping and cheering as the girls danced.

Haven laughed and pointed to two little boys who stood on their seats, waving their Tshirts over their heads, dancing along to the tune.

“That’s quite something,” Rachel said, trying not to look at a portly man nearby swinging his shirt and hips to the music.

“Quite,” Haven agreed, turning her head away. She much preferred to watch the drum line to this over-enthusiastic display.

The teams returned to the field and the third quarter began with Brody’s team making a fast touchdown.

By the middle of the fourth quarter, they were far ahead of their opponents. Haven watched as Brody jumped high in the air and caught a ball tossed his direction with such ease and grace, it made her hold her breath.

When he came down, his knee buckled beneath him as some huge oaf from the other team sailed into him, knocking him on his back.

“Something’s wrong with Brody.” Haven jumped to her feet.

Hale pulled her back down. “He’s fine. You know he gets tackled all the time.”

“I know, but I’m telling you something is wrong.” Haven felt near hysteria as she watched Brody lie motionless on the arena floor.

Finally, he got to his feet and leaned on the shoulder of a medic as he limped off the field.

“Let’s hear it for Brody ‘Jump It Up’ Jackson. His old knee injury looks like it just may have made an unwelcome reappearance,” the announcer boomed to the crowd.

“Knee injury? What knee injury?” Haven asked to no one in particular.

“He didn’t mention that before?” Hale glanced with concern at his sister. He knew she was in love with Brody and he was sure the football player felt the same about her. What the two of them were going to do when Brody left at the end of the season was anyone’s guess. Even he could tell there were deep feelings between the two.

Although Hale had talked about football with Brody on any number of occasions, he realized the man generally avoided discussing what happened between playing college ball and ending up in an arena league. Obviously, there was an injury he didn’t like to discuss.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Rachel said, squeezing Haven’s hand as the game continued.

“I hope so.” Haven wanted to run down to the locker room and see for herself if Brody was okay. Even if it was possible, she stayed in her seat, knowing he’d hate the intrusion.

Haven couldn’t have been more correct about Brody not wanting her to see him hurting.

As he sat with ice on his knee, Brody wished Haven and her family hadn’t even been at the game, watching him limp off like some decrepit old man.

“You should be fine with a day or two of rest,” the doctor said, probing Brody’s knee again. “Has it been bothering you?”

“No more than usual.” Frustrated that he had the old injury and angry that it had held him back from his dreams, Brody refused to let it get in the way now. Not when he was so close to getting back into the NFL.

“Just take it easy, keep it elevated and iced tomorrow. You’ll be ready for next week’s game.”

“Thanks, sir.” Brody heard the cheers of the crowd. The game had to be close to over. He wondered if Haven and her family would leave immediately or if she’d hang around, wanting to see him.

In no mood to be friendly or keep his longings for Haven in check, the best thing he could do was beg off seeing her for a few days.

The sounds of hurried footsteps along with the loud rumble of excited voices drew near as the team arrived in the locker room, pumped up from winning another game.

“Man, you missed out on a great final play,” one of his teammates said, thumping him on the back.

“Yeah, we were awesome, even without Jump It Up Jackson,’” Marcus teased. He knew Brody was mad and in pain. The combination of the two would make him short-tempered and anxious to be away from everyone. “Hang on a minute and I’ll help you get out of here.”

“Thanks, man, but I can take care of myself.” Brody stood and removed his uniform. Not bothering to shower, he dressed and limped out to his pickup before anyone could say anything further to infuriate him. He drove home, dragged himself up to his apartment, and collapsed on the couch.

He sent Haven a brief text, telling her he went home and he’d talk to her in a day or two.

He took a shower then dressed in a pair of shorts and shuffled to his kitchen, digging around in the freezer for an ice pack. Finally locating one, he limped to the couch and attempted to prop up his knee and place the ice pack on it. It slid off and Brody muttered darkly.

A knock at the door made his frown turn into a growl. Ignoring whoever was at the door, he put the ice back on his knee. When it again slid off to the floor again, he bit back a string of words his mother would slap him silly for thinking, let alone saying.

The knocking resumed.

“I’m not home. Go away,” he yelled, flopping back against the cushions with the ice pack still in his hand. If the pounding started on his door again, he might just throw the ice pack at it.

“If you’re not home, maybe you should lock your door.” Haven stuck her head around the edge of the door. She stared at Brody on the couch with the ice pack in his hand and his knee propped up. Resigned to help him, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

After setting a bag on the kitchen counter, she rearranged the pillows beneath Brody’s leg then retrieved a dishtowel from the kitchen and wrapped the ice pack in it before placing it on his knee.

“Better?” she asked, sinking down on the floor beside him.

Brody answered with a grunt, not quite ready to be civil, even to Haven. As much as it galled him to admit, his knee was more comfortable.

“So you’re going to do the whole mad and pouting thing, is that it?” She stood and went to the kitchen and came back with two glasses of water, setting them down on the side table by his head.

Haven returned to the kitchen and opened the bag she’d set on the counter. She divided the contents onto two plates and carried them to the living room. After sitting on the floor in front of the couch, she handed Brody one of the plates.

He stared at the sandwich, made just the way he liked from one of his favorite restaurants, and admitted he was hungry.

Haven watched him struggle to sit up. She went into what she assumed was his bedroom and returned with her arms full of pillows. She propped them behind Brody, allowing him to sit up while keeping his knee elevated.

“Thanks,” he said, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite.

“You’re welcome.” Haven was glad she’d braved the lion’s den.

Marcus caught her after the game while she waited for Brody to appear, letting her know he went home in a foul mood. When she asked Marcus what happened, he told her she needed to get the story from Brody, then wished her luck if she planned to go see him anytime soon.

She told Hale and her parents to have a good night, then drove to Brody’s favorite restaurant and ordered two sandwiches to go, making sure his was just the way he liked.

With a fortifying breath, she’d climbed the stairs to his apartment, hoping she did the right thing. When she heard him yell to go away, she almost turned around and left, but something in his voice, something that sounded wounded, made her stay.

She knew he needed help the moment she opened the door and saw him on the couch, attempting to ice his knee with it bent in an awkward position.

Making him more comfortable was simple enough. She just hoped he wasn’t in too much pain. Quietly eating her sandwich, she wondered what else she could do to help Brody.

“Are you going to be okay?” she finally asked then took his empty plate and hers to the kitchen. He drained the glass of water she’d set by him earlier. When he finished, she took the empty glass from him then ran her hand across his forehead, brushing back his hair. He grabbed her wrist in a firm yet gentle grip and stopped her.

“I’m fine,” he growled, letting her wrist go, settling into the pillows behind him.

“I’m pretty sure you aren’t fine. Even if your knee was fine, which it obviously isn’t, your attitude is definitely not fine. Or nice. Or even okay.” Haven placed her hands on her hips and gave him a long glare. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing you need to be concerned about.” Brody glared back at her. “I appreciate you coming over, but I can take care of myself. Why don’t you go home?”

“Is that what you really want? For me to go home?” Haven asked, fighting to keep her own temper in check.

“Yes,” Brody lied. What he wanted was for her to run her cool hands over his warm forehead again. He wanted to rest in the comfort of her tender embrace. He wanted to know that anytime he had a problem she would be there to help him through it.

However, what he wanted and what he could have were two completely different things, as far as he was concerned. “I know you’re trying to help, but I don’t need it and I don’t need you. Go home.”

Shock and anger blended with raw pain at his words. Haven hoped he would say he needed her, wanted her to stay, and appreciated her concern.

Instead, he’d made it clear he didn’t want her there. Didn’t want her at all.

As his eyes took on a cold gleam, she knew it was past time to go. Losing her bravado and unable to conceal her dejected feelings, she picked up her car keys and purse, taking a step toward the door.

“Sorry I bothered you,” she said, opening the door and closing it quietly behind her.

Brody felt like the world’s biggest jerk, but he knew he needed to let her go. He wasn’t fit company for her at that moment and having her there with him just felt too comfortable, too good, and way too right.