Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (13 page)

* * *

T
hird quarter
, and I'm flat out stinking up the joint. Overthrown passes, underthrown passes, bad reads, it doesn't matter, if I can fuck it up, I've done it so far this game. Through two and a half quarters I'm ten out of twenty-four passes, zero touchdowns with an interception. At least the defense has found their balls a little bit, and we got a lucky punt return that has kept us in the game. We're down by seven, seventeen to ten.

The problem is, I can't get that envelope out of my head. Two women, both claiming I had unprotected sex with them two months ago, both claiming they're now pregnant. I mean, first, what are the fucking odds? And to have it happen just before April and I started seeing each other . . . what are the fucking odds?

“Tyler? HEY, TYLER!”

Something smacks me in the head, and I look up to see Dave Hawk looking me in the eye. “Call the play, man.”

Play? Oh yeah, the play.

I call the play, break the huddle, and everyone gets into position. I settle into shotgun, and read the defense. Well, there's twelve guys out there, I can count still at least.

Dave snaps the ball, and chaos erupts. Bobby comes across like he's expecting a hand-off, but it's not there, while Paul and Robbie are running crossing wiggle routes that end up getting both of them into what is essentially double coverage. DeAndre’s getting jammed, and oh shit, here comes the linebacker . . .

I take off, running like a scared rabbit for the nearest hole I can find. There's a hint of daylight up ahead, and maybe I can squeeze through for some gain . . .

I don't even feel the hit, it's so fast and violent. I just know suddenly I'm flying sideways, knocked totally off my feet with something wrapped around my waist. The grass comes up hard, jarring me, and my helmet bounces off the ground, stunning me. I somehow held onto the ball at least, but it takes me a moment to get up.

It's third down, and Coach sends out the punt team. I get over to the sidelines, where he's giving me the hairy eyeball. “What the fuck was that?” he asks while the punt goes on and our defense takes over. “I called for triple slants, not that Keystone Kops Cluster Fuck.”

“Sorry . . . I just missed the play,” I mumble, shaking my head. Coach grows concerned, and calls the trainer over, who checks me out. “No, I don't have a concussion.”

“Yeah well, you're playing like shit today,” Coach says, concerned. “What’s going on?”

“After the game, we'll talk,” I say. “I . . . I might need the team's help on this one.”

Coach nods, serious. “Okay. But whatever it is, put it out of your mind for the next seventeen minutes, can you? I need a quarterback out there, not a zombie.”

“I'll do what I can.”

I take a seat on the bench, shaking my head and waving off any of the other players who come over, concerned. I turn around and see April in the stands, wearing my old Western jersey just like she'd asked to do when we officially became boyfriend and girlfriend. Underneath, I know she's wearing her lucky lingerie, something she'd shown off for me the first night she got it, but right now sex is just about the furthest thing from my mind.

Shaking my head, I try to wrap my head around the clusterfuck that I'm in now. The best girlfriend of my life, the first one I can say that I've had real feelings for since Catrina, that's for sure . . . and I go and fuck it up. Literally,
fuck
it up. I mean, how can I tell her that our first night out, when I treated her like an inconsiderate shit, I end up not only hooking up with two bar sluts, but somehow get them both pregnant? At least, that’s where I’m assuming these chicks are from.

But the problem is, I remember nothing. Hell, I barely remember names at this point. I've spent the past eighteen hours since that envelope was handed to me racking my brain, and my memory keeps fading just after the two girls come up and offer to pay for my drink . . .

“Tyler, you here man?”

I look up and see Vince taking the seat next to me. I hazard from the look his face that Coach has been asking him to warm up, in case my head isn't screwed on right. “Yeah, I'm here.”

“Coach wants my opinion if you should go back in the game. What's going on?”

I shrug. “Legal problems. Got a lawsuit dropped on my ass last night, having problems getting it out of my head.”

“So you're not sick or anything? Just mental?” Vince asks, and I nod. He hums and nods himself. “I won't ask the details, not my job. I'm just a backup QB who wants to become a coach next year. But if you want my advice, just separate yourself from the event. Nothing you do in the next quarter and two minutes is going to affect that lawsuit, but it will affect this team and your job. So put it aside. It'll still be there after the game, that's for sure.”

“You ever been sued?” I asked, and Vince nods.

“Yeah, my second year, had some ambulance chaser come after me when I had a car accident up in Saskatchewan. Total bullshit, but it fucked with me for a game or two. Try not to let this one do the same to you. Hey, how's the domestic life?”

“Domestic, huh? I guess it's an open secret.”

“Five games, and April's been wearing Western U colors every single one of them. Even the dumbest of us can see what's going on there,” Vince says. “It didn't mean you had to punch out Lance a month ago, but I can understand it. He's always been an asshole.”

I laugh, and give Vince a grin. “Nice distraction technique. All right, tell Coach I'm good to go. Maybe I can turn this shit into gold if we've got enough time.”

There's a groan from the crowd and Vince and I look. Our defense, which has been fighting tooth and nail all game, just got smacked, and now we're down two touchdowns. Vince sighs and gives me a look. “Hope you've got enough.”

I
t's a little strange
, sitting in the team offices in my Western jersey after the first loss of the season. It's the first time I've seen Tyler lose, and while his play in the fourth quarter was like I'd come to expect, the debacle that was the first three quarters was too much to overcome, and we ended up losing by ten points, trading touchdowns until BC iced it with a field goal with a minute and some change left. Tyler's last ditch attempts at heroics fell short, and the Fighters lose for the first time all season.

Now I'm in the offices, trying to look like I'm not concerned or that things are normal, while wearing Tyler's jersey — it even still has his name on the back — and typing away at my laptop. Mr. Larroquette asked me to verify the team's hotel accommodations for the trip next week to Calgary, and this is as good a time as ever to fire off those emails.

Tyler comes into the office along with Coach B, and I get more worried. Having a bad game is one thing, but obviously something's up with Tyler. I suspected it last night when I got home from the stadium, and he was distracted during dinner and after. He tried to hide it, but there was something on his mind. I didn't push the issue since I wanted him to have enough rest for today's game, but obviously this is more serious.

“Mr. Larroquette?” Coach says, knocking on the GM's office door. “I've got an issue that might need your attention.”

They go in, and maybe it's an accident, maybe nobody remembered that I'm sitting in a desk on the other side of the room, but Coach leaves the door open, and I get half a view of the room as Mr. Larroquette has them take a seat. “Tough game today, Coach. I was hoping we'd pull it out in the fourth quarter, but we couldn't make those stops.”

“They improved, which I think is going to help us when we take it back to Vancouver for the return game,” Coach says, just loud enough that I can hear it. “We just had too big a hole to get out of.”

“Speaking of which, what happened today, Tyler? Three quarters, your play wasn’t at the level of the richest rookie contract in Canadian history, then you go out and have a bang up fourth. You were like two different players out there.”

“It's tied in to what we came to see you about,” Coach B says. “Tyler got served with a lawsuit after the interview yesterday.”

“What? Oh hell, Tyler, what did you get yourself into?” Mr. Larroquette asks, and I go pale. A lawsuit? Jesus, no wonder Tyler was distracted. But why didn't he say anything to me?

“A paternity . . . excuse me,” Coach says, realizing now that he left the door to the office open. He comes over and closes the door, not before noticing that I'm sitting at my desk, doing a horrible job of pretending I hadn't heard his last sentence. I sit at my desk, my fingers numb as the word runs around and around in my head. A paternity suit…?

I do somehow manage to get off that email to the hotel in Calgary without stumbling too much, but I re-read the note three times just to make sure I didn't screw it up too much. My mind and ear though are straining toward the GM's office, and so I'm able to hear it when Mr. Larroquette explodes. “TWO? How the fuck can you get two girls pregnant in one night? My wife and I tried for three years before she got pregnant the first time!”

Two. Holy shit. It must have been those girls at the club, so soon after Tyler moved to Toronto. It explains why he'd be served the way he was too, as lawyers from the States would have normally approached the team first, while something produced in a local court might have skipped that step. Two girls, one night, two babies . . .

The conversation goes on for another few minutes, and when the door opens again, he's at least somewhat in control of his temper. “All right, well, keep me up to date on this. Tyler, I understand about today, but Vince's advice was dead on. Don’t let this affect your game play.”

Coach and Tyler leave, and he sees me for the first time since coming in. His face goes slack and pale, and he can see the truth in my eyes, I overheard enough to know the deal. Coach notices too, and gives the two of us a look. “Okay . . . well Tyler, I'll see you Monday for the video session.”

He leaves, and Mr. Larroquette closes his door, giving us at least a little bit of privacy. Tyler's face is going red with shame, and I can't help but feel pissed off. “So were you going to tell me?”

“I . . . I had to get my head wrapped around it all first,” he says, dropping into one of the other chairs in the office. “The asshole just dropped it on me out of the blue. How the hell did he even know where I'd be?”

“Probably because the show's been advertising that you were going to be on for three days prior to your interview,” I say, my anger rising. “Tyler . . . two girls?”

Tyler looks at me, his eyes pained, and nods. “That's what they're claiming. The two girls from . . .”

“I know where from!” I nearly spit, then take a deep breath. Okay, I admit it, it hurts that on the night that I get burned at the club, Tyler not only apparently fucked the hell out of these two girls, but was so stupid as to get them both pregnant. “Don't think I haven't figured that out about four minutes ago.”

“I . . . I'm sorry,” Tyler says, shaking his head. “I didn't mean to hide it from you, but I didn't know how to tell you.”

“Tyler . . . I need to think about this a bit,” I finally say. “Let’s talk later”

Tyler nods. “How much longer do you have to be here?”

“Just a few minutes. But . . . I think I'll walk home. I need the time to think some, and to calm down. I shouldn't be too angry, but I am. I need to not be angry if we're going to have the conversation we need to have about this.”

Tyler nods again and gets up, pausing at the door of the outer office, to give me one last look.

He leaves, and I sit at my desk, looking down at the green jersey I'm wearing, trying to figure out what is going on inside my head, and more importantly, inside my heart. I knew I was dating a star when I got started in with Tyler, and I hate to be stereotypical, but why is this news so surprising to me?

Mr. Larroquette's door opens, and he calls my name. “April? May I see you in my office?”

“Yes sir,” I reply, closing my laptop and going over. I take a seat and try to put on my best professional face. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?”

“No, I just wanted to check how you're doing. I know you may deserve to know, but you overhearing that was a big mistake on my part.”

“Sir, I assure you, nothing that you three said will get out to the rest of the team from me,” I quickly answer, putting my feelings aside.

“April, if I had doubts about your professionalism, I'd have fired you as soon as it became apparent that you and Tyler are dating,” he says, laying it out in public for the first time. “You’ve conducted yourself well around the office, and wearing his jersey during games . . . well, I'll tell you my wife's opinion, she thinks it's cute. I'm a bit too much of a fogey to think a jersey is cute, but I can understand. If I were in Tyler's place I'd be moved by the gesture. As for Tyler himself, well, most of the time he's been a pro.”

“He's stepped in it a few times,” I admit, and Mr. Larroquette shrugs. “I know, most of the players do at some level.”

“Most professional athletes do. Before I joined the Fighters, I was an assistant GM in hockey, and I can tell you that Tyler Paulson is a model athlete compared to what some of the hockey players got up to. That's beside the point though, since you're caught up in this now. So I guess I need to just ask . . . are you okay?”

“I'm pissed,” I reply heatedly, then take a deep breath. “But I'm going to see it through and get all the details. Besides, if it was just that night, he's been a good man since then, and a great boyfriend.”

“As long as it doesn’t affect your work. I told Tyler, the team can't do much to help him, maybe some moral support. This isn't like America, as you know. We don't have legal teams on call for our players. We've got a few folks who can review contracts and that's about it.”

“That's okay, I've been thinking, and I know someone who might help us out,” I say, before stopping at my choice of pronoun. Us? Yeah, I guess so. Tyler and I . . . it's us.

The GM also notices and smirks. “I see. Well, best of luck, Miss Gray. Oh, and I’m sorry, but your request for travel reimbursement for that trip to London to get sausage has been denied. Please tell Tyler that if he really needs stuff from London, he'll need to pay for the gas out of his own pocket.”

I nod, and can't help but smile a little. He's cut me a lot of slack, and I appreciate it. “Thanks, Mr. Larroquette. If you don't mind, I'll take off. I already emailed the hotel in Calgary. I'll check tomorrow, but I think everything should be in place for the team's trip on Friday morning.”

“That's just fine, April. I'm sure it will be, we use those guys every time we go to Calgary. I'll see you Monday.”

I think more on the way home, coming up with my plan, and instead of the long, slow walk to calm down, I find that I'm picking up the pace, making the walk in only about five minutes and actually skipping the elevator, instead running up the stairs to our floor and opening the front door to find Tyler sitting on the couch, still worried. “You're home quick.”

“I didn't want to delay our talk any more than I had to,” I say, coming over and sitting next to him. “Tyler, I just want to say . . .”

“Wait,” Tyler says quietly, holding up his hand. “I need to say something first. You're perfectly right to be pissed off at me for not telling you last night. I was wrong to not do that, and even more wrong to have done what I did. I just . . . I freaked out. Everything was just going so good, and then this. What hurt me the most about this lawsuit isn't that it happened. I'm upset and angry because I wanted the first time I had a child to be with a woman I love.”

I stop, then give him a smile. “Are you saying you love me?”

Tyler looks me in the eyes, and I can see the fear and pain he's been torturing himself with. “I'm crazy about you. Yes, I love you.”

“Good,” I say, leaning in and kissing him on the nose. “Because I love you too. And I'm not in the mood for a one way love. I guess I should have said it to you earlier, but we both seemed to be going along so well, it didn't need to be said. Now it does. Tyler, I love you. I'm in love with you, and that scares and thrills me at the same time.”

He takes my hands and we kiss, not with passion, but instead with tenderness and commitment. “Thank you,” he whispers when we part. “I promise, no matter what happens with this, I'll be honest with you.”

“Good, because you can tell that little voice in your head that I'm not going anywhere,” I reassure him. “Actually, that's part of why I got home so quickly. I think I know someone who can help us out.”

“Who?” Tyler asks, his face clearing and the Tyler I know coming back to life. “Are you friends with Perry Mason or something?”

“Who?”

Tyler shakes his head. “A really old TV show, my grandmother was nuts about it, and I was forced to sit through enough of it that it’s engrained into my brain.”

I laugh. “No, but I do have a university classmate who got a job as a paralegal,” I tell him as I pull out my phone, the number's got to be in here somewhere, “and happens to specialize in family law. He and I owe each other a few favors, and I bet he can talk with us tomorrow if you want.”

“He, huh? Should I be jealous?” Tyler teases, and I laugh.

“Hardly. In fact, you should be the one watching your back. Connor's into men, and I bet you’re just his type.”

Tyler laughs, then leans forward and kisses me, his lips soft and tender. “I think dinner can wait. The lawsuit can wait, it all can wait. There's something more important right now.”

“What's that?”

“I want to make love with the first woman I've ever truly loved,” Tyler says. “I want to celebrate, not mourn or worry . . . at least for a night.”

I nod, and kiss him back. “Then take me to bed.”