Page 47 of Playing for Love

“No.” I was lying to myself more than her. “You know it’s football.”

She sighed. “Not forever, hon. Someday, some lucky lady will pry you loose from that dried-up piece of leather you’re so faithful to.”

I laughed. She was back to her sassy self. “You have a way with words.”

She laughed, more relief than humor in it.

“I’ll send a card and flowers to your mom. Please let her know I care.”

“I will.” Ending the call, I couldn’t say more. The tightness in my chest stopped me from talking. I could barely breathe, so I took the stairs and went outside when I reached the first floor.

It was a hell of a way to end a four-and-a-half-year relationship. And I knew that was the end. I waited for the sadness, for the bottled-up emotions I had inside me to pour out. But most of the tension I felt right now was about my mother.

I refused to think or feel anything about Mia.

And Denise, her sex appeal aside, had become more of a friend than anything. I had a feeling she still would be a friend after some distance between us, time for any residual resentment on her part to fall away. I would work at it, wanted her friendship. I’d started out on my way to this big life with her at my side, relied on her cool common sense as much as anyone’s when signing my first deal with the NFL, setting up my life. We’d been good for each other for a while. Not anymore, not side-by-side. We’d be good, see-you-once-in-a-while friends.

An empty ache settled in my chest, like the kind of hollow feeling you got from hunger, when your stomach was empty. Only this was in my heart. My mom was hurting. My girl was gone.

But I still had football. The team was playing well. I was playing well. Funny how this pep talk to myself wasn’t cheering me, wasn’t loosening the grip of tension my emotions had on my chest, still made it hard for me to breathe. I forced the cool air in and out, started the self-examination.

It was unnatural for me, not something I was prone to do. Not a soul-searching introspective kind of guy, the discomfort, like I was wearing new cleats in the wrong size, had me in knots worse than before. My life was fine. I had everything I wanted or needed. Mom would get back on her feet. I’d call Denise now and then. Everything would be cool.

What about Mia?

She would go her own way. She had no reason to stick around me without Denise’s insistence, did she? Without Tate to keep her around.

Without me asking her to stick around.

I wouldn’t do that. I needed to maintain the football focus. It was who I was, what I did, the single-track mind that made me the best—or on my way to being the best. But I’d never get there if I got distracted, if I put Mia ahead of football in the pecking order of my life.

And I knew once I let her weasel her way inside me, I wouldn’t be able to stop it. I knew. She would win. I would betray football for her. But I couldn’t let that happen.

Was it too late?

Hell no. We had nothing. We’d kissed. We’d never made love. I was crazy to think we were anywhere, had anything. For all I knew we would make terrible lovers.

Those were fighting words, words of challenge, like a slap in the face of my resolve to prove . . . what? To prove she couldn’t distract me? That I was concerned about nothing? Or to tempt me, seduce me into going too far, so far, so deep that I couldn’t back out.

Pushing both hands through my hair, I laughed, a bitter unhappy laugh. I never remembered being so unhappy, not since the day I’d picked up a football. And I didn’t think much about the days before football, if ever.

Football had changed everything in my life as soon as I’d started playing. I’d been vulnerable then. I was thirteen, late to the game compared to most, and crushed by a girl. Laura. I’d fallen for a girl older than me, a cheerleader, beautiful and smart, and she meant the world to me. But when football season had started, the high school team’s quarterback had stolen her away. Derek. He was older than me. I had an instant dislike for the guy, an intense confusing hate. I didn’t know how or why.

A case of puppy love gone wrong. Small potatoes, sure, but I had a broken heart all the same. And in my life, cocooned by a loving family, I’d never suffered like that before, never been so lost, so down—or so angry and full of jealousy. There was a hole in my heart and there’d been nothing I could do about it but simmer. My father, being the sage that he was, asked me, “Why don’t you play football, son?”

So I walked into the coach’s office first day of school to sign up, told him I wanted to be quarterback. When he asked me what sports I’d played before that, I told him soccer. He suggested I try out for kicker. I flat-out refused. He asked my name and I told him. He showed nothing in his expression, or tried not to, but I saw the flicker of recognition, the tension of anticipation. He knew who I was. In addition to soccer, I had also played shortstop on the Little League team that had made it to the national finals the year before. But I wasn’t one for bragging so I didn’t make the claim.

I knew he’d figure out I had the chops, the talent, sooner or later.

He told me to report to practice first thing after school. I did. At first I was playing football, playing quarterback in particular, to impress Laura, to take Derek’s place. But when I got into that first season, got into hanging with the team, playing team leader, I forgot all about what had got me there. Football was like no other team sport I had played. And though I hadn’t mentioned it to Coach, I’d played lacrosse, basketball, and even hockey in my youth. My parents had been big believers in making sure we had all the experiences life had to offer growing up. I took guitar lessons too. Still played on occasion.

But football was different than everything. The team was enormous compared to other sports teams, twice the size. It was complicated and challenging and, as quarterback, I had to know everything. All about offense, everything about defense, how to recognize and read plays, and I had to manage it all. I had to know and understand each player’s role, know their strengths and who they were, how they were motivated. This was like heaven to me, tapping into all my strengths as a person, giving me one place to exercise all I had to offer, everything I was good at. Football had become my life by the time I was fifteen and I had taken over the role of starting quarterback, never looking back.

That girl didn’t matter anymore because I had everything I needed back then, with a supportive family. Football had become my passion. My lover. The game made romantic relationships extras in life, not necessary. Romance was only nice if it didn’t distract me from football.

Now?I had no idea where I was, why I felt so miserable when I still had football, should still be thriving same as I always had. Mom would be okay. Everything would fall into place.

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