Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (20 page)

M
y mind is still spinning
when I get to the hospital, and hasn't stopped since Mr. Larroquette told me I could take the rest of the day off. It wasn't until I was already past Hamilton that I realized I'd taken his Mustang, and sent him a quick text. I guess it isn't a problem, I mean he's going to be on a plane in a few hours, but still, that's not the sort of mistakes I make often.

I'm thankful when Tyler replies to my text.
No problem, probably better anyway. Drive safe, and I'll see you in Vancouver. I love you.

His last three words spin in my head as I park in the parking lot and check in with the hospital staff. The hospice is still part of the hospital property, and as I make my way through the normal area toward the long term hospice care, I can't help my fingers from trembling. I didn't call ahead, Mom and Dad don't know I'm coming, and with what Tyler has in front of him, I need them more than ever to be able to help me out. I only hope that Mom and Dad are feeling good today, I haven't heard from Dad since I visited with Tyler.

“You're sure of the way?” the nurse who checks me in asks. She's new, or at least I haven't seen her before, so I can understand.

“Yes, I've been here before. Thanks.”

The hospice area has plenty of staff around, but I have to admit it's somewhat idyllic of a setting for someone living out their final days. Each small unit is a one-bedroom place, with low door jambs, wide halls and doors for wheelchairs, and all sorts of other little adjustments to allow people to feel somewhat at peace in their difficult times. There's even a little tree outside the door to Mom and Dad's place, a block of connected houses that look kinda like a wing of a motel on the outside.

I knock on the door, but there's no answer, so I open it carefully and immediately pull back at the musty odor. It smells like piss, and I'm pretty sure that someone has wet sheets. “Shit,” I mutter to myself, hitting the nurse chime button inside the front door. They'll have someone down here soon enough. “Mom? Dad?”

“April? Is that you dear?” Mom calls back, coming into view from the bedroom area. She's barely here today, and my heart sinks. “Where have you been young lady? I've been worried sick that you crashed your bike on the way home from school!”

Bike? I haven't ridden a bike for school since . . . well, ever. I've never ridden a bike to school, I always lived so close to school that until high school, I walked almost every day, even in the winter. Where is Mom's head today? “Mom, I can really use your help right now. What's that smell?”

“Oh, your father got a little bit of firewater in him, and you know how he is when that happens,” Mom says, and I have to suppress the wince that I feel at her words. As her Alzheimer's has progressed, Mom's use of language sometimes goes crude, something that I've heard isn't all that uncommon. I still don't like it though. It makes her seem . . . ugly. And she is anything but ugly.

“Where is he, Mom?”

“He's sleeping in that strange daybed of his,” Mom says, pointing toward the back.

“Mom . . . can't you smell it?” I add, heading toward the bedroom. “It reeks in here.”

“You must have stepped in something outside, honey. Because there's nothing wrong in here.”

Mom wanders off to the kitchen area, and I go into the bedroom, where I find Dad in his bed, the smell coming from him. I open the window and try to get some fresh air in here before really looking at him. He's wasting away, so thin and skeletal I think I could pick him up in my arms if I wanted to, and the reek of the cancer and the wet sheets underneath him makes me tear up. “Daddy . . .”

He stirs, but his eyes don't open. I swallow my tears and my gorge and lift his body up one half at a time, working the sheets out from underneath him. I have about half of it all out when the called nurse arrives. He takes a deep breath, then exhales. “Oh hell.”

“Yeah, oh hell. I thought I was paying for better care than this.”

“Miss Gray,” the nurse says, obviously figuring out who I am, “apologies. We were just here an hour ago, bringing the afternoon meal for your mother. It's in the fridge, I did it myself. At the time, your father was . . . clean.”

I exhale sharply and nod. They may be checking on a regular basis, but with the way he is . . . “I understand. Can you set up round-the-clock monitoring?”

The nurse nods as he unsnaps the underpants that Dad is wearing and slips them out from under him. “Of course. The doctors had thought that it might be time to talk to you about that anyway, they were going to call you this evening, I think.”

“Well, later on I'd like to talk to them personally,” I tell him. “Something has to be better than this.”

We finish cleaning up Dad, and before leaving, the nurse checks on Mom, who's having a conversation with the television it sounds like, thinking that Kelly Ripa is her high school classmate.

I look at Dad in his fresh underpants, continence pants now I see, and his robe that hangs like a shroud on his frame. “Daddy?” I whisper, laying my hand on his forehead. It's cold and dry, the skin flaky under my fingers, but I keep it there. “It's me. April.
Ziigwan.
I . . . Daddy, I need your help.”

He stirs somewhat, but his eyes never open, and his mouth tightens, the pain must be so much even with the drugs they have him on. I watch, knowing that perhaps this is it, this is the end, and if it is I will not shirk my duty. His chest catches once, and I wonder if it’s the end, but he breathes again, exhaling the dark, black smell of his cancer into the air, dropping deeper into his sleep which I guess is more a coma than anything else. There's no answers here. Instead I kiss his forehead before leaning my head against his. “It's okay. Rest, and I'll make it. I love you.”

Dad smiles slightly in his sleep, and I stroke his hair, brushing the few strands that come off onto my hands away onto the carpet. Turning for now, I go out into the living room, where Mom's daze is even deeper, but at least she's talking coherently. “Oh, hello.”

“Hello,” I reply, just going with it. I can see it in her eyes, she doesn't recognize me at all. “How are you today, Marie?”

“I hope my daughter gets here soon, she's late. Do you know April?”

I nod and take the one of the other chairs. “I'm sure she'll be here soon. In the meantime, can I ask you for some advice?”

“I don't know . . . some days I feel like I can barely think straight, but I'll try,” Mom says. I can tell in her voice that somewhere inside her, she knows what is happening, even if it's only peripherally. “What's going on?”

“My boyfriend got a new job offer,” I say, leaving out names. Mom doesn't need to be confused. “It's far away from here though, and while the money's great, I don't know if I can go with him. My . . . my parents aren't in good health.”

Mom rocks back in her chair, and I notice that she's using a chair that is actually meant for rocking. I hadn't noticed that before. “This boyfriend. Do you love him?”

I nod, wiping at my eyes. “I do. But I love my parents too. How can I choose?”

Mom thinks about it a bit, then hums. “Do you know that Adam and I almost never got married?”

I blink, surprised. I'd never heard about this before. “Really? How?”

“We met when I was just out of college, having accepted a job with the provincial government to teach at a rural school near Fort Frances. It was just a stone's throw away from Minnesota, and is close to part of the First Nations band land Adam belongs to.”

I knew that Dad and I are part First Nations, and that our band lands are spread out through various points in Ontario mostly, but there are some in Manitoba. I've never made a big deal about it, just a little about what Dad has taught me spiritually. Then again, Mom took me to church too, so I guess that's a little mixed up as well. “I didn't know. How was it?”

“Amazing . . . beautiful, and meeting Adam was . . . well, he's a great man. Strong, a bit stoic I'll admit, but not when it comes to me or our daughter. We met when I went shopping downtown in Fort Frances, and it was so quickly evident we were deeply in love. We met in September, and by January we were a couple that had people wondering how long it would be before we got married. It was fast, so fast. But then the provincial government called.”

“What happened?” I ask, caught up. I knew Mom had been a teacher for a while when they first met, but this is all so new.

“The provincial government wanted to reassign me. The Fort Frances high school was losing a teacher, the enrollment was going down. Since I was the only teacher without any roots in the area, they decided to reassign me to London. Adam and I . . . we discussed it a lot. He had roots in Fort Frances, a job, a good life. I could have quit teaching, but I loved teaching at the time, and I was part of a provincial program that paid for my university training by me agreeing to teach for five years afterward. We debated, and in the end, we fought about it. We loved each other, but we didn't see how we'd be able to stay together.”

“Yet you did,” I said, amazed. “How?”

“He came to me one night, and before he said anything, dropped down to his knees and dug into his pocket, pulling out a ring that he'd picked up the day before in Minnesota, asking me to marry him. He said that he didn't care where we went, what happened . . . he loved me, and that he never wanted to leave my side.”

I smiled, wiping away the tears. A happy ending indeed. “So you two moved to London.”

“We did,” Mom agreed. “We got married before we left Fort Frances, and then over the summer we moved to London. The funny part was, the day he came by, I had drafted a letter that I was going to turn into the school the very next day, resigning from the program and from teaching in order to stay with him. So I guess, if I was to give you any advice, it's to let love be your guide. Your parents will understand. If you love him, go with him.”

“And my parents?”

“Will love you no matter what. I hope some day my daughter grows up to be like you. I don't know you very well, but you seem like a very nice young woman, and you've listened to me ramble on for a while now. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” I reply, getting up. I go over and give Mom a kiss on the temple, smoothing her hair. There's more gray in it now, and I wonder if her Alzheimer's is making her age faster now too. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too,” Mom says, her eyes clearing enough I think to know who she's talking to. She hugs me, and I hope she knows how much help she's been. “I love you too.”

I
’m nervous
, for the first time since joining the Fighters, looking around the stadium. The stadium in Vancouver's bigger than any other field in Canada, and the extra twenty thousand people, almost all of whom don't like me. Toronto and Vancouver have a sort of semi-hostile relationship, as between the two of us and Montreal, we're kind of like the New York, Los Angeles and Boston of Canada. Vancouver always loves showing up Toronto, and vice-versa.

When I'm introduced to the crowd, the boos are even worse, and I lose myself in the moment. Boo me all you want, I can take it. Hell, I've played in front of hostile crowds before. You should see what those crowds in Oregon or Arizona can sound like, when there's another twenty thousand on top of what you're raining down on me.

“These guys fucking hate you!” DeAndre says as we wait on the sidelines for the starters from Vancouver to be introduced. “What the hell did you do to them?”

“I don't know,” I say, the answer becoming clear as the hometown hero, a Vancouver native named Chris Liu who plays running back, is introduced. He must have been injured the last game, I didn't notice him before. “Oh, that's why.”

“What did you do?”

“If that's the same Chris Liu who played for Washington Poly way back, let’s just say we have a rivalry. He may have stirred something up.”

“Well, don't worry about it . . . the only fan you need is here,” DeAndre says, pointing. I turn, and see that Francine the head cheerleader is waving and pointing, and in the stands I can see April, her Kelly green jersey standing out against the surrounding fans, with another woman who I assume is Gail next to her, also wearing Kelly green. “Feel better?”

“Damn right,” I say, waving to April, who waves back. I try to call to her, but no dice. Instead, I call out again. “Hey, Francine! FRANCINE!”

She hears me and crosses the track between the stands and the sidelines, Vancouver's stadium is one of those type. “Whatcha need, Tyler?”

“Pass along to the security and to April . . . after the game, I don't care what happens, I want her on the field after they do the whole handshake and stuff. I need to tell her something important.”

Francine gives me a grin and nods. “All right. Should I be excited or sad?”

“You should go cheer your ass off, I'm planning on lighting up the scoreboard,” I tell her instead, pulling on my helmet.

We go on offense first, and jogging out to the huddle, I can see the questions in everyone's eyes. “No worries guys, let's light this shit up.”

I take the snap from Dave and drop back, looking left then right, reading the defense. The Vancouver guys are playing it cocky, a little soft in the zone, thinking that after losing to them last time, we'd be rattled. This is a different group of Fighters . . . this is a different me.

Robbie's covered, but Paul has a step on his man, and I throw, hitting him just as he turns back on his hook route. He grabs the ball, but then does something even I didn't expect. He fights off the d-back and turns upfield, stiff arming another before getting taken down after a twenty yard gain.

The next play is a run, and I hand off to Bobby, who slashes through the right side for a four yard gain, setting up second and six.

It's the game of my life, and if I think that normal Canadian football is like a video game, we play that first half like kids in a park. Every off your rocker, brain addled play that we can come up with, we do. The Vancouver defense is looking at us like we're insane, they don't know how to react to this group of twelve psychopaths who seem to have taken over for the Toronto Fighters offense.

Our defense is just as free, attacking with tricks and hard nosed hits that puts BC on its heels. Their quarterback, the League MVP just last year, is running for his life most of the half, harassed and even getting picked off twice, something that doesn't happen often for us.

At the half, we're already up twenty-eight to nothing. Three touchdown passes and one TD reception in a single half. It's the sort of game that you dream about.

In the locker room at half time, I go up to Coach Blanchard, who's smiling while he talks adjustments with the other coaches for the second half. “Hey, Coach?”

“Tyler . . . hell of a good first half.”

“I'm sure Trisha James and the other media's spewing over it now,” I reply with a laugh. “Can you send a message up to Mr. Larroquette, please? After the game, I'd like to have a quick meeting with him in the middle of the field. You, me, the GM . . . and April. We've got something to talk about.”

Coach nods, and grows serious. “Tyler… you've been a pain in the ass with your off the field issues, but you're one hell of a quarterback. I'm going to miss coaching you.”

Coach offers his hand and I shake, keeping my thoughts to myself as I head back to my locker. I can see the questions in the eyes of my teammates still, but I have put a plan in motion, and I'm not going to stop it no matter what.

The second half is a turkey shoot, and by the end I match my career highs in yardage, touchdown passes, and best of all, the Fighters win seventy to twenty-one. I cross the field to shake hands with the BC players, even Chris Liu, who played hard but was contained in the loss. “Good game, Tyler.”

“Chris. You played hard. We just had it today.”

He nods, and we go our separate ways. The field is ours right now, although out of respect for the BC team, I avoid stepping on their logo for the next part of my plan. I see April and pull her into a hug, careful not to crush her with my pads. “I missed you.”

“It was one night, and the way you lit it up today, I should leave you alone more often,” she teases, hugging me back. “Tyler . . . about that . . .”

I shake my head and take her hand. “Hold off on what you've got to say for five minutes, okay? Trust me, just five minutes.”

April's uncertain, but she nods slowly after looking in my eyes, and I give her a reassuring smile. “No matter what, I love you, okay?”

“Okay,” she says with more heart than before, and I hold her hand while I look for the GM and Coach. Blanchard’s giving a quick interview to some television people while the GM is right behind him, his eyes flickering over to me while I come over with April.

“Coach, great game,” I congratulate him. “I'll never forget this one.”

“Tyler, like I said at halftime, it's been an honor.”

The camera crew has turned the cameras to me now, and I couldn't set it up any more perfectly if I'd planned it. “Actually Coach, the honor is mine. Mr. Larroquette, do you have a pen on you?”

“Ah . . . sure,” the GM says. “What for?”

“For this,” I say, reaching into my helmet. I'd gone back into the team offices Thursday before packing, grabbing the paper that I pulled out now, wrapped in the sandwich baggie that I'd used to keep it protected from the sweat that soaks my hair. “This is the paper you showed me the other day in your office.”

I unwrap the paper, and spread it out on the side of my helmet. Uncapping the pen, I scribbled my signature on the line, and hand it to him. “I'm a Fighter for the next five years, Mr. Larroquette. Please inform Baltimore that I'm turning down their offer.”

There's a stunned silence as I hold the paper out to him, but the first person to break it is April, who sort of squeals before wrapping me up in a hug. “Really?”

I hug her back, not caring for the moment what anyone else is seeing or thinking. “Really. I love you, and I won't leave you even if they offered me ten million dollars a season. They could offer me ten million a
game
and I won't leave your side.”

I lift her up, kissing her gently, losing myself in the sensation of her lips on mine. When I set her down, she's crying, and I think I might be too, although you can't tell with the sweat. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

April laughs and shakes her head. “Absolutely nothing at all . . . except that I love you, and I'll go anywhere with you.”

“Then let's go home, because I want to celebrate.”

“Go get a shower,” April says, smiling and patting my chest. “We'll discuss the details when the cameras aren't on.”

I turn and see that the camera crew is still filming, and that I'm surrounded by teammates and other team personnel, and it's my turn to feel hot and turn bright red. “Okay, good point. Uh guys, I'm calling dibs on the shower.”

“Like hell!” someone calls, and suddenly, there's a stampede toward the showers, and I'm left with just Coach, Mr. Larroquette, and April. Even the camera crew is making their way off, and I shake my head.

“I guess I should have waited until I had a head start before saying anything.”

Coach chuckles and shakes his head. “Wouldn't have mattered. After that little show, you know the press conference afterward is going to have at least a dozen questions for you.”

“Oh yeah . . . the press conference.”

April pats my chest lovingly and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “It doesn't matter, I'll wait for you.”

I'm in the shower in fact when Coach comes in, his face concerned. “Tyler . . . forget the press conference.”

I run my hand through my hair and shake the water out of my eyes, concerned. “What's wrong?”

“April just got a phone call from the hospice . . . her father.”

I rush out of the shower and run across the locker room, rubbing my towel over my body so fast and hard that I'm bright pink as I yank my underwear, team pants and t-shirt over my head. A few of the guys are still getting dressed, but I ignore them all as I leave the locker room to find April in the hallway, crying silently. “April . . . oh baby . . . I'm so sorry. Is he?”

April nods, and I pull her in close, letting her collapse into my arms, no longer having to be strong for at least a little while. “He . . . just now,” she sobs, and I feel tears in my own eyes, even though I met him only once. “They said he never woke up.”

“Then let's go talk to the GM. We're going straight to London from here, okay?”

* * *

T
he team is great
, and April and I are on a private jet to London by midnight, saving us the wait of a connecting flight in Calgary. Mr. L. even told me that the team would cover the cost of the flight, but I tell him that I want to pay at least half for it. “Take it out of the game checks for the rest of the season,” I tell him while April gets into the taxi. “I'm serious, you pay for the whole thing, and I throw four interceptions next week.”

On the plane, April's preoccupied, and I go over, sitting next to her. The plane's a Lear, with supposedly plenty of legs to make the whole trip in one shot. One advantage is that we've got luxury accommodations, including a bed. Not what I'd planned, but considering that it was the only jet with range available, I'll take it.

“I'm glad you were able to say goodbye,” I tell her, putting an arm around her shoulders. In the taxi, she'd tearfully told me about her trip to London Thursday, and how she'd kissed her father goodbye. Still, with the situation being what it is now, it hurts. “You said he smiled a little at that, right?”

April nods, and takes my hand. She gets up and takes my hand, pulling me with her. “He did. But right now, I need to try to rest.”

We go to the back of the plane, where a partition separates the bed area from the rest of the cabin. It's a small bed, some weird size bigger than a full but smaller than a queen, and I guess it's custom built for the plane, I have no idea. April and I lay down, and I pull her in tight, just letting her draw comfort from me.

Slowly, with no intention other than trying to comfort her, I stroke her hair, running my hands up and down her back when she turns into me, wrapping her left arm around me. “I'm sorry.” she whispers. “I pressured you to stay here in Canada.”

I shake my head and kiss her forehead. “No, you didn't. I made my decision for a lot of other reasons. The biggest one is you. I want to stay with you.”

April looks up at me, and suddenly pulls me down into a softer, more intimate kiss than we'd exchanged all night. “Tyler… I need this.”

I look into her eyes and nod slowly in understanding. Adam gave us his blessing, and I know that, regardless of anything else, April is my
One
, the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, the woman that, some day perhaps, I want to have children with. There are so many reasons to make love, and this time, we're reaffirming life.

I kiss her gently, pulling her up on top of me, caressing her body through my old jersey and jeans, letting her set the pace. Her hair hangs over both of our faces, cutting off almost all the light and wrapping us in a dim private world. “I love you,” I whisper as she leans in and kisses me again.

We strip each other slowly, kissing and tasting each exposed inch of skin that April presents before me. I hold back with every ounce of my patience, knowing that right now, what she needs is comfort, not raw passion.

April pulls off her jersey and bra, and I bring her left breast to my mouth, kissing and nibbling on her silky, perfect skin. I can feel her heartbeat under my lips, and as she moans, she sobs at the same time, so I kiss my way up her throat to swallow those sobs and take them inside me.