Line of Scrimmage (3 page)

Deep down, when the memories slammed into him, he was still convinced they had the start of something good. Obviously she didn’t think so. Okay. The hell with her. He could take a hint, especially one that obvious. Good thing he hadn’t decided to share his deepest, most intimate secrets with her.

Thank God training camp had started the following Monday and then they were into a full routine. He was more than ready to throw himself into this season and make it his entire focal point. Football defined him. Gave him respect and acknowledgment. Who would he be without that? No damn woman was going to mess that up.

“All set, Jake?”

He turned to see the running backs coach had come up beside him. “You bet. The Austin Mustangs are gonna take it all this year.”

“Good, good.” He looked at Jake. “We all think this is going to be your best year, Russell. The biggest yet.”

“Hope so. I guess I don’t have too many left in me.”

And wasn’t that just the pits. Aging out of a game that was brutal in its physical demands was not an easy thing to do. What would he do when that happened?

“Let’s get through this one before we worry about the next.” The coach tapped his arm. “I know you’ll do it for us out there today, facing our longtime rivals.”

“You can count on me,” he assured the man.

The announcer caught his attention, introducing the color guard. Four abreast in full military uniform, they marched to the center of the field and came to a precise measured stop. Next came the local celebrity vocalist and the singing of the “Star Spangled Banner.” Jake never failed to be impressed and moved by the thrill of the moment with every fan standing tall, every player and coach doing the same on the sidelines. The song ended and sixty thousand fans roared in expectation as the referees handled the coin toss.

Jake fastened his helmet and jogged out onto the field with his teammates. All around him fans chanted, “Jake! Jake! Jake!” He knew they all wanted their so-called golden boy with the magic legs to pull off another long running play.

Austin had the ball first. The teams took their places at the line of scrimmage, the center snapped the ball, and the game was on. Jake was hyped and in the zone. On the third play from scrimmage the quarterback handed off to him, the offensive line opened a hole, and the crowd got the long touchdown run it was screaming for. He scored and everyone went wild.

One minute before half time, with the score tied at twenty-one, the quarterback took the snap from center, dropped back, and handed off to Jake again. The crowd was on its feet, yelling and screaming, as he avoided tackles and let the fullbacks and tight ends block for him.

“Jake! Jake! Jake!” The chant filled the air.

He was nearly past the entire defense, digging for those extra few yards to a clear stretch of field in front of him, when one of the defensive backs came flying at him and tackled him. Hard. And he was flat on his back, his leg twisted sideways and pinned beneath him, the enormous tackle still on top of him. The crack was so loud he was sure everyone in the stadium heard it.

For a moment, he was numb, the way he often was when he was tackled, before the sensation of bruising hit. He had no sensation anywhere in his body, as if every nerve from his neck on down had been severed. He didn’t even feel his chest move as he tried to draw a breath.

I’m fine. Fine, fine, fine. Just had the breath knocked out of me. In a minute I’ll get up, and we’ll line up for the next play. I just hope I didn’t miss the fucking ball.

Then, in the next second, the numbness fled and that was when it all turned to shit. The most excruciating pain he’d ever experienced slammed through him. He felt as if someone had shoved a hot poker into his leg, the burn racing like wildfire through his body. The nerves that a moment ago might have been frozen now flared hot, like a million fire ants crawling all over him.

And Jake was suddenly aware that the entire stadium had fallen silent.

He sensed someone beside him and forced his eyes open to see the left guard who had tackled him. The man had concern and fear etched into his face, an expression that sent fear ratcheting through Jake. He tried to get up and was swamped with such intense nausea he nearly vomited all over himself.

“Don’t move, Jake,” the guy said.

But I have to get up.

Panic gripped him like an icy claw.

Get up, get up, get up. Don’t be a pussy.

He struggled to rise, to push himself up from the ground, but pain screamed in every cell and he nearly passed out. Why was someone telling him not to move? Of course he had to move. He had to get up for the next play. But he couldn’t make his body obey.

He tried to move again, but now the quarterback had come to crouch down beside him and he put his hand on Jake’s shoulder.

“Don’t move, buddy. They’re on their way out to you.”

With the fresh wave of pain, Jake knew he couldn’t move if his life depended on it. He knew it was bad. Really bad. He was afraid to look or ask. The first thing he thought of, even in his pain, was Joe Theismann. A severely broken leg had ended Joe’s career when he was at his peak and he never played again. The thought made Jake even sicker. Without football, who was he?

Football is who I am. Without it I’m just nobody. Worthless. Even less than that.
It was a lesson he’d learned in his childhood and he’d never forgotten it.

Then Coach Raymond was kneeling beside him, the trainer was there, the team doctor, and Jake didn’t know who else. All he knew was now the pain was so bad he thought he might pass out from it. He saw one of the assistants speaking into a radio.

“We’ll get you fixed right up, Jake,” Coach Raymond said in a calm voice. “We’ll take real good care of you.”

An ambulance rolled out of the tunnel, and two paramedics nudged everyone else aside. “It’s gonna hurt when we move you,” one of them told him, “so we’ll give you something for the pain. Okay?”

Okay? Yes. Please, God. And do it now.

He felt the stick of the needle in his arm, but the medication had barely begun to hit his system before they were doing something with his leg. He clenched his jaw so tightly he thought he might break it, as fierce agony scorched every nerve ending.

“It’s okay, Jake,” Coach Raymond said. “They’ve got it in an inflated cast so they can move you. In a second, they’ll be putting you into the ambulance. Dr. Moline will meet you at the hospital.”

Jake could only nod. He hurt so badly he had lost the ability to speak.

He felt the bumping of the wheels on the concrete of the tunnel as the ambulance rolled out of the stadium. Every jolt sent a fresh wave of pain through him. Then, finally, the pain became too much, and he blissfully, thankfully, passed out.

* * * *

“H-How is he?” Ivy’s voice was barely a whisper. She was sure her heart stopped when she saw Jake lying on the field, the rush of people to assist him, and the ambulance roll out.

“He’s awake,” the Mustang’s General Manager, Jim DiMarco, told her, “which is always a good sign, although he’s in a lot of pain. The damage is to his leg and we don’t know yet how bad it is.”

“Is-is it a Joe Theismann injury?” she asked in a hesitant voice. Every football fan knew the disaster Theismann’s broken leg was. If that happened to Jake it would completely destroy him.

“We don’t know yet. Come on with me.” He waved her into the elevator, killed the Stop button, and pushed the one marked Lobby. “I’ve got a ride waiting. Give me your keys and I’ll have someone bring your car to the hospital.”

Ivy felt sick to her stomach. Football was Jake’s life. Since the two of them had moved to Granite Falls with their mom to get a fresh start, it was the only thing that had mattered to him. The thing he used to validate himself. No one knew their dreadful family history or how her brother had set himself up as the protector of her and their mother. No matter how many times she told him what an incredible person he was, how he’d been her rock and protector from the time she was a little girl, he never believed her. Nothing mattered to him except football. It gave him the first sense of self-worth he’d ever known, and he clung to it like a life preserver.

What would happen to him if he lost all that?

She hadn’t been much for praying for a very long time. As a child, it hadn’t helped, and she’d long ago gotten out of the habit. But now, as they rode silently through the streets of Austin, she prayed hard, afraid to even think about the worst-case scenario.

She was so lost in thought she didn’t realize they’d reached the hospital until the car came to a stop. DiMarco was speaking softly on his cell phone but he disconnected when she climbed out.

“I’ll take you right up to where he is,” he told her. “They’ve already x-rayed him, and the orthopedic surgeon will meet us in emergency.”

Ivy wasn’t sure if she was impressed by the number of Mustangs people at the hospital or worried about what it might mean. Jake was a valuable commodity to them, so of course they’d pull out all the stops. That’s all it was, right?

Two men in Mustangs polo shirts and khakis stood outside one of the rooms in Emergency. Ivy tried not to read anything into their solemn expressions, but the fear she’d been swallowing back surged through her again.

Jake lay on a hospital bed, his face nearly as white as the sheets draped over his lower body. One leg was exposed, wrapped in an inflatable cast. His left arm extended out from his body, strapped to a board with an IV shunt in his vein. His eyes were closed and lines of pain etched his face.

“Miss Russell?” A tall, thin man in scrubs and a white jacket stepped toward her. “Dr. Moline. I’m the orthopedist called in for your brother.”

“Hello.” She shook his hand. “How is Jake?”

Moline’s face gave nothing away as he answered her. “He’s okay for now. I gave him something for the pain so he’s not in a lot of discomfort.”

She gripped her hands together so tightly she nearly shut off the blood supply. “How bad is it?”

“I won’t lie to you. It’s not good. We need to get him up to surgery right away.”

“I don’t know what on earth Jake will do if he can’t play again,” Ivy said. “Football is his life.” Much more so than any of these people knew.

He had spent so much of his life taking care of her. Now she had to be strong for him. If he was done with football, he’d need someone to pick up the pieces and help him rebuild his life.

“Let’s not buy trouble until we have to,” DiMarco said.

“You don’t understand.” She twisted her hands together again.
No
one
understood and she couldn’t tell them. Jake would die if she told anyone their family history.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly. By nine o’clock that night, Jake was in his hospital room, and Ivy had spoken to the surgeon again. Nothing had changed. The news was still bad. Severe complicated break, exactly like the one Joe Theismann suffered, but each person healed differently, they held out great hope here, yada yada yada.

By the time she walked in the door of her condo she felt as if she’d been awake for a year. She couldn’t erase from her mind the picture of Jake lying in the examining room. Right now, she wanted a good stiff drink to settle her nerves. She’d get what sleep she could because tomorrow he’d need her. When he was awake enough to understand what happened, he’d go off the rails.

* * * *

Jake tried to open his eyes, but it seemed someone had placed lead weights on his eyelids. It took herculean strength just to raise them an infinitesimal amount. When he did, nausea surged through him, and he was afraid he’d vomit all over himself. He tried to sit up but something seemed to be holding him down. Maybe some
things.
He didn’t seem to be able to lift his left wrist too well, but worse than that, his right leg was immobilized.

He tried to draw a full breath and was smacked with the odor of antiseptic. From somewhere next to him he heard the steady
beep, beep, beep,
of some kind of machine.

What the fuck?

With superhuman effort he forced his eyes open a little more and looked around. He was in a hospital room, in a bed, his leg in a cast and hooked up to some contraption. Pain covered him like a second skin.

So it hadn’t been a dream. The scene on the football field was real. Too fucking real. He knew all about the danger of injuries in football and the sometimes devastating results. But… Maybe this wasn’t as bad as he thought. Maybe they were just being extra cautious with whatever they were doing so he could get back on his feet quicker.

Okay, hospital room. Nurses. Call button. He fumbled with his right hand and discovered the unit clipped to the bed. He pressed his thumb hard on the red button. In what seemed like minutes, but was probably only seconds, a nurse in baby blue scrubs appeared beside him.

“You’re awake.” She smiled at him. “Good.”

“Not so good,” he said thickly. “I have to—” He slapped his hand over his mouth.

“I’ve got it covered,” the nurse said in a calm voice.

The next thing he knew she had propped his head with one hand and with the other held a small metal barf tray. He was glad she was that observant and that fast, because in the next minute he was heaving his guts. It was both embarrassing and debilitating. When his stomach was empty, the nurse helped him rinse his mouth before she gently wiped his face and eased his head back to the pillow.

Jake squinted at her, trying harder to focus.

“I’m Regina,” she told him in her soothing voice. “I’ll be one of your nurses.” She gave him a tiny smile. “We had to flip to see who got to take care of Jake Russell.”

“Not much left of Jake Russell at the moment,” he said wearily. And how much was left he still had no idea.

“There’s a gentleman waiting to see you,” she told him. “Let me just take your vitals and I’ll let him in.”

“Wait.” He held up his uninjured hand. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see anyone at this particular moment. “Who is it?”

“He said his name is Scott. He said he’s a good friend.”

Scott Manchin was more than just a friend. He was Jake’s agent who had overseen his career from the day of the NFL draft. If he was here, things couldn’t be too good. Scott had clients playing today all over the country; he wasn’t scheduled for a Mustangs game and a sit-down with Jake for a couple of weeks yet.