Fourth and Goal (34 page)

"In that case, why are you doing so well?"

"Obviously because I thrive on pain and chaos. We're not made the same. Admit defeat about Rachel and get on with your perfect little life together."

"There is no future for Rachel and I. Get it? We don't have a future. Just a right now. I don't want one and neither does she.” Just saying the words crushed his chest, like being buried under four of the league's biggest linemen.

"You're dumber than I gave you credit for if you buy that bullshit. The only person you're bullshitting is yourself."

"That's enough, Ty."

Tyler ignored the threatening tone of his cousin's voice. “She's in love with you, and you're going to break her fucking heart again because you're a chickenshit coward."

"Enough.” Derek gritted his teeth, barely able to force the words out.

"You're in love with her, you idiot."

"I said shut up.” His head spun and denial raged inside him even as the truth of the words settled in his heart.

"You don't deserve her."

Derek slammed his fist on the table so loud others turned to stare at him. “Rachel is off-limits in any conversation with you from now on. Got it?"

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead, be a lonely dumb shit. Enjoy yourself.” Tyler tossed a few bills on the table and stomped out of the bar.

Ryan lifted his head when he heard the rap on his bedroom door. “Come in."

"Hey, bud. Slummin’ it?” Tyler Harris slipped through the door. His gaze flicked to Ryan's deteriorating body, then to his face. Tyler's eyes reflected the same story he'd seen on every other person who'd walked into this room the past few days. Ryan had quit looking in a mirror months ago. What he'd seen there scared the crap out of him. He didn't recognize his own face. His body resembled a skeleton with a layer of paper-thin skin spread over it.

"I'm doin’ okay. You should be doing great."

"Oh yeah. Definitely.” Tyler faked a smile, but it didn't work. Ryan had become an expert at reading people in the past year. The quarterback was uncomfortable around him.

"You've been avoiding me, and I know why."

"No, I haven't. I've been busy. You know how that is."

"Actually, I don't. At least not anymore.” Ryan fiddled with the edge of his blanket. He gathered the courage to force the next words out of his mouth. “Have you found out anything?"

"Uh, no. Still looking.” Tyler refused to meet his eyes.

"Liar. You know something.” Ryan's stomach twisted in a tight knot. He waited for the bomb to drop.

"Ryan, let's just leave it alone."

"I have to know. I asked you to find my mother, and you said you would. You're keeping something from me."

"Hell no. I'd tell you straight if I knew anything."

"Bullshit. You found her.” Ryan reached for Tyler's hand and gripped it hard considering his weakened state. “I have to know. Where is she?"

Tyler held on to his hand and sat on the edge of the bed. Their eyes met. The pain in Tyler's eyes didn't surprise him as much as it should have. “In Vegas."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? What's she doing?” Ryan stared at the picture on the dresser of his mother and him in his football uniform taken last year at the only game she'd ever attended. She'd left by the second quarter.

"Working in an exotic dance club."

"She's a stripper?” Ryan shook his head.

"Uh, some people call them that.” Tyler picked at lint on the comforter with his free hand.

"Give it to me straight. She's been one before.” Hope snuck in and ambushed him as he said his next words. “Did you tell her about me?"

"Yeah.” Tyler avoided his eyes, a bad sign, really bad.

"What did she say?"

Tyler bit his lower lip and stared at a point on the wall. He shrugged, and a muscle jerked in his rigid jaw.

"Is she coming home?"

"Uh, not for a while."

"I don't have a while.” Her abandonment sucked the remaining warmth out of his body. With one hand, he tugged the blankets up to his chin, but the bone-deep cold settled in his core. He should've known she wasn't coming back. Wasn't going to stay with him during his last days. She really didn't love him. His head sank back against the pillow.

"You have us. All of us. We love you, man. We're your family now. We'll be there every step of the way."

Their eyes met. Ryan's throat constricted. The truth behind Tyler's words penetrated his pain. He squeezed the quarterback's hand and pointed at the picture. “Would you take that away for me? I don't want it in here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah.” He choked on a sob. “Thanks for dropping by, but I'm really tired.” He shut his eyes and faked falling asleep.

A few minutes later, Tyler squeezed, then released his hand and crept from the room.

Once the door shut, Ryan opened his eyes. The picture was gone. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and sobs racked his body. She hadn't been much of a mother, but she'd been the only mother he had. He missed her.

He needed her.

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"
You don't deserve her
.” Tyler's words infiltrated Derek's brain until he couldn't think of anything else. Tyler spoke the truth, and Derek knew it. Maybe he hadn't deserved her in the past, but he was playing on an entirely different field now. He'd fooled himself all along, and so had she. They'd mired themselves in an emotional relationship they'd sworn wouldn't happen, yet they knew it would play out just like it had.

He'd been an idiot to think he could have a strictly physical affair with Rachel of all women. Hell, she'd always been the one he couldn't forget. What a stupid dumb-ass he'd been.

By some cruel twist of fate and a boot in the butt by two interfering friends, they'd been forced together, and he didn't regret one moment.

Sex with Rachel had never been a quick screw. It went so much deeper. Deep enough that he'd fallen for her all over again, only worse this time. This time he didn't want to let go.
Ever
.

His heart dug in its heels and fought for all it was worth. Even while denial fought to dominate the line of scrimmage, the reality of their situation smacked him up against the goalposts. Like a well-orchestrated game plan, things between them clicked along until all the pieces fell into place and left him with one undeniable truth.

He
loved
her.

Weird. Crazy weird.

He always thought love would be a trap, claustrophobic and unwelcome. He didn't feel trapped or smothered; he felt freed and content. In fact, he felt damn good.

Rachel filled every empty part of him. Gave him new life and a new outlook. When she had his back, he believed he could do anything. She'd given him back his game, his desire, his confidence. He'd grown to trust her with his innermost secrets and, more importantly, with his heart.

Which led him to an unlikely spot—her father's doorstep.

Derek rapped on the door and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. His hands shook, and he jammed them in his pockets, mortified that anyone, especially Rachel's male relatives, might see him as such a nervous wreck.

Mitch opened the door and glowered at him, the disgust on his face clearer than the headlines on Monday's sports page. Without a word, Rachel's surly brother stood back, allowing Derek past him into the dark, dreary spaces of the mobile home.

Derek hesitated and waited for Mitch to lead the way into the cramped dining room. Coach sat at the Formica table, an unreadable expression on his face. Derek's once formidable high school coach didn't look so formidable now. He'd aged decades in a few short years. His hair had grayed, and his eyes were devoid of their usual intensity and energy.

Mitch dropped into the chair next to his father, leaving Derek the only empty space across the table. Derek sat, keeping his hands anchored to his thighs and out of sight. He shifted in his chair and stared at the table, gathering his thoughts. Lifting his head, he faced a tough crowd.

"I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to meet with me today.” His voice sounded clear and calm in direct contrast to the turbulence buffeting his insides.

Both men stared at him. Not a word, their faces etched in stone and giving nothing away.

"I wanted both your sons here, but I guess Riley couldn't make it.” Derek addressed his old coach. The man just nodded and munched on a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the table.

Mitch snarled something unintelligible.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Derek dived into enemy territory. “I want to marry your daughter."

"What the hell?” Mitch tried to rise to his feet, but his father clamped a restraining hand on his son's shoulder. Mitch sat back down. His gaze shot daggers at Derek from across the table.

"Is she pregnant?” Dave McCormick spoke for the first time. Their eyes met momentarily before Coach focused his attention on finding the best kernel of popcorn in the bowl.

"No, sir, she's not.” Derek swiped a hand across his sweaty forehead.

Mitch started to open his mouth, but Coach shut him up with a withering look.

"Let me handle this, Mitch.” Dave McCormick sat back in his chair and assessed Derek with shrewd eyes. Derek fought to keep from squirming in his chair. For a moment, he was transported back to his high school days when his coach approached him on the sidelines and evaluated his performance with a few effective words. Always spot-on. He hadn't a clue if he passed muster this time around.

"Why do you want to marry my daughter?” Coach put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, abandoning his interest in the popcorn bowl.

"I love her.” There, it was out. Just saying it liberated him.

"Bullshit.” Mitch snorted and rolled his eyes.

Coach glared at Mitch, then turned back to Derek. “I don't find that so far-fetched. Rachel is a catch for any man.” Spoken like a true devoted father.

Derek almost grinned. “I'd prefer to have your blessing. I know I have a lot to prove to you and your family. Give me a chance. I promise I'll make her happy."

Coach rubbed his chin and considered Derek's words. “It takes a lot of guts coming here. I respect that."

Mitch shot to his feet and leaned over the table. This time he ignored his father's protests. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve coming here with your bullshit. You don't love Rachel. You're here to buy her silence and ours."

Confused, Derek stared up at Mitch. “Silence? For what?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Ramsey. You sold Dad out. You ruined his career, his future, and took Rachel and me down with him."

"What the hell are you talking about?” Derek glanced at Coach. The man wasn't looking at either of them; instead he'd become absorbed in that damn bowl of popcorn once again.

"You helped Tyler shave points. Admit it.” Mitch glared down at him.

"What?” Derek stood to his full height and angled his body into Mitch's personal space. Eye to eye, nose to nose, they stared each other down.

"You two shaved points in the championship game, did too good of a job, and lost the state championship."

"You're fucking crazy. I never did any such thing.” Derek gripped the edge of the table to prevent slamming his fists into Mitch's smug face.

"Maybe you weren't directly involved, but covering for Tyler is as good as doing the deed yourself."

"I never covered for Tyler. Ty didn't shave points any more than I did. What the hell would we have to gain?"

"Money. Everyone knows Tyler's a greedy bastard, and you always have his back."

"Ty didn't need money growing up. His family had plenty."

"If neither of you did it, then you're insinuating my father did it.” Mitch slammed a fist into the table.

"No, I'm not. I haven't a clue what happened. All I know is I went up for a Hail Mary in the end zone and ended up fighting my own teammate for the ball. Why don't you ask Jacob Lantz who shaved points? The guy was in my face all night, tripping me up every chance he got.” Odd, he'd never even thought about Jacob until now. Everyone knew Jacob was accident-prone. Derek had never considered the possibility his teammate had intentionally gotten in his way that night. Until now.

Derek rubbed his face and dropped back into his chair. Weariness settled over him. He looked to his one-time mentor. “Tell him, Coach. Ty and I didn't have anything to do with it. You know us better than that."

Coach shrugged, avoiding Derek's gaze. “I don't know what to think. Jacob didn't play enough to influence the game. Even though he got excited on the last play and fought the wrong guy for the ball, stuff happened to get us to that point, stuff he didn't participate in."

Derek stared from father to son, speechless and shocked. He struggled to find the right words. “Coach, you can't think I—or Tyler?"

Coach shrugged and avoided his gaze.

Mitch sat down and leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs. “Know what, Ramsey? Rachel thinks you were involved too. Do you think her being on your farm was fate? Hell, yeah, it was deliberate fate. She set it up so she could get close enough to you to find out the truth, to clear her father. To help
her
career. Did you really think she loved you? That she cared? Hell, she cared about herself and Dad. Not you.” The front legs of Mitch's chair slammed to the floor with a bang.

Derek flinched. His stomach churned. The bottom dropped out of his world. He'd sworn he'd never hurt Rachel again. Now she was the one doing the hurting. Life changed its game plan and left him warming the bench.

His mind drifted to an image of his father standing in the bay window, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Bone-deep pain etched in his father's strong features, forever a symbol burned into Derek's mind of what loving someone did to a person.

And he'd almost made the same damn mistake.

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Rachel muted the sound on the game DVD they'd been watching. “Are you okay? You're acting strange."

"I'm fine.” Derek's tight voice said he was anything but. He slid a little farther away from her on the couch, his body stiff and unyielding and sheltered by an emotional brick wall. She itched to put her arms around him, to pull him close, to wipe the misery from his face. Yet she held back and postponed the inevitable bad news.