The Blueprint, page 26
Everyone was a little rowdy, and he was done cajoling a bunch of grown men for their attention. He handed out fines like candy. That was pretty much the only way to punish a bunch of millionaires with too much testosterone and money.
Coach stalked in front of the screen, and the game played briefly on his face. “You’re going to have to be aggressive and assertive. The Highlanders play a very physical game.” He slapped his palm for emphasis. “So you either hit or you get hit. It’s just that simple.”
That wouldn’t have been a problem in my current mood… if I were fucking playing. Neither my doctor nor my therapist had cleared me for play on Sunday. I stared at my knee as though my own body had betrayed me. I was about to miss our seventh game, and what had started out as a promising season was seriously fucked.
No doubt about it, our offensive unit had seen better days. Williams was sidelined with a fractured foot, Welby had been suspended for six games for popping positive for some performance enhancers, which was, quite frankly, some shit he really needed to get under control. And then there was me, their starting tight end, laid up on injured reserve.
I’d never felt guiltier.
I slumped down lower in my seat. My absence left a hole in our offensive line, and it showed. I felt a disgusting mix of pleased and guilty about that—guilty because they were my team, my football fam, and I wanted them to do well. But then there was that other side of me that was relieved they weren’t doing as well without me as they did with me. I tried not to feel too bad about it. It was a normal reaction, I thought. No one wants to be replaced seamlessly, right? Or be deemed superfluous?
Superfluous. I snorted quietly. I really had to stop playing Scrabble with Kelly.
That said, I had bigger problems than football. That was certainly something I never thought I’d say. I snorted again, and Ivanovich, two seats over, sent me an irritated look.
It had been a few weeks since Kelly gave me his ultimatum, and I was still thinking about what to do. Actually I knew what I wanted to do. I just wasn’t sure I had the courage to do it. Because I knew if I ever let myself acknowledge Kelly as mine, he’d be mine, and that would be that. No coming back.
Would it really be all that bad? So what if people knew I was bisexual and in a committed relationship with a man? So what if…. Okay. That first one freaked me out so badly that I couldn’t even finish the rest of the “so what ifs.”
Coach’s voice filtered in. “Play after play, their offensive tight end veers toward the left, drawing the attention of our linemen, while Number 91 skirts to the opposite side of the line where he’s uncovered.”
If he’d had a ruler, he probably would’ve slapped the flat screen. Instead he directed his laser pointer as aggressively as possible. “He’s relatively small for a tight end—maybe two hundred, two hundred fifteen pounds, so he’s got speed. He’s already gone coast-to-coast this season. Let’s not let him do it again. Not on our watch.”
I nodded to let him know I heard him, but I couldn’t have cared less. I was too busy thinking about my own predicament to bother with something as trivial as… well, everything I needed to know ever about game day on Sunday. Shit. I sat up a little from my slouch, and just in time, as he went over one of the plays again.
“Montgomery.”
“Yeah, Coach?”
“We want both defensive ends covered, so I’m going to have you bookend the front line. See what they do when they’re faced with immediate contact at the snap of the ball.”
“I thought I wasn’t playing,” I said cautiously.
“Medical is too fucking cautious. We need you in on Sunday, but I guess the final choice is up to you. Are you a winner? Or do you want to sit this one out?”
I gritted my teeth. Vintage. I wasn’t falling for his dumbass reverse psychology, but I wanted to play. That’s all I’d ever wanted. “I’m in.”
“I want you to be all over Whitfield, Blue.” He scowled at me. “I see his face, I wanna see your face right behind him. We’re gonna wear his ass out. You got me?”
“Got it, Coach.” I tried not to blush at the terminology. Wearing someone’s ass out had taken on a bit of a new meaning for me.
Guess that meant that, despite my shaky performance in practice, I was in, and McAdams was out. He didn’t seem to be too bothered by that as he played with his phone, held as low as possible in his lap. Personally I didn’t think it was worth Coach’s wrath to play a round of Angry Birds, but whatever.
McAdams shifted a little, and I could see he wasn’t playing a game. He was texting. From the slight smile on his face, it was probably something that made him pretty happy—maybe something funny or romantic. Guess he’d found someone to plague other than Kelly… unless he was talking to Kelly.
My blood boiled at the thought, and only the knowledge that the entire room would think I was stone fucking crazy stopped me from grabbing his phone, maybe even jacking him up by his Under Armor shirt and demanding to know who he was texting with that stupid little smile on his face. And that answer better not be Kelly. Better not be. I would rip McAdams’s fucking arms—
I felt a shoe pressing on mine, and I looked up with a snarl. Ivanovich gave me a narrowed eye, and I narrowed mine right back. He glanced around, and then, satisfied no one was watching, belted me in the stomach.
I nearly bit through my tongue trying not to make a noise. “What the fuck was that for?” I hissed.
“What did I say?” Coach’s face was a little purple. I worried briefly that he’d heard me, but he wasn’t looking in my direction. “No texting, McAdams. You guys are like a bunch of fucking kids. That’s a two-thousand-dollar fine for you.”
“Yes, sir.” He didn’t seem to be worried as he pocketed the phone.
Ivanovich looked around and then said out of the corner of his mouth, “We’ll have lunch later. We can talk then.”
“I have PT after this.” My physical therapist didn’t fuck around. If I didn’t show up, I wasn’t going to play in the game. No exceptions.
“Then we’ll talk after PT,” he said testily.
“What the fuck do we have to talk ab—”
“Montgomery! Ivanovich! What part of no talking do you not understand?”
I sighed and leaned back in my seat. The man was going to have a stroke before he was fifty. “Sorry, Coach,” I said.
“Two-thousand-dollar fine for both of you,” Coach screamed.
“Yes sir,” we chorused as we gave each other the stink eye.
I sat up straight and did my best to look engaged and interested—on the outside. On the inside, all I wanted was to know what the hell Ivanovich wanted to talk about. And it’d better be worth two thousand fucking bucks.
I WARMED up with some stretches—some on the floor, some standing—and used some of the new moves Kai had taught me until my muscles burned nicely. By the time I finished, my usual trainer, Billie, was pacing around me impatiently. She was a rare bird in the NFL—one of the few female athletic trainers—and she was the best at what she did.
Kai’s insistent but gentle rehab was markedly different from Billie’s intensity. I’d forgotten what a lovable asshole Billie could be, but she refreshed my memory over and over again as the morning wore on and the HIIT training resumed. Just when I thought we might be finished, she had me do running drills, wait for the snap, and then run for ten yards while her assistant threw balls for me to dodge.
“You’ve gotta explode from the line, Blue. Again.”
“Knees up, knees up! Again.”
“Show me that you want it. Again!”
Fucking Billie. Richard Simmons could teach her a thing or two about inspiring people to exercise.
I was sweating by the time Billie tied the belt to me and had me get up on the treadmill. She watched me like a hawk as I practiced my take off with the weight tying me down from behind. It wasn’t easy work, but I could feel the difference in my performance pre- and post-physical therapy. My body was quicker to respond and more agile than usual. Guess Kai knew what he was talking about after all. That made me wonder just what the hell I thought I was doing, ignoring his advice about coming back too early.
I made a frustrated noise on the treadmill as Billie eyed me. Then I centered and refocused my energy. In a way, I was almost grateful to McAdams for being such a fucking talented rookie. His very presence pushed me and kept me from becoming complacent. And as long as he kept his fucking hands off Kelly, I wouldn’t have to give that speech at his funeral.
After my workout I felt calmer. No matter what other turmoil was going on in my life, football always made sense. It almost grounded me. It made me afraid of what would happen when I didn’t have it. Would I spiral out of control?
I showered, threw on some team sweats and a tank, and jogged downstairs to meet Ivanovich in the Outlaws’ cafeteria. It looked nothing like a real cafeteria, which was to be expected in a state-of-the-art facility.
There were wooden tables with our logo burned into them, comfortable seats, and nice lighting. They had banquet-style eating but also stir-fry, omelet, and waffle stations. I loved eating there because it was like a restaurant with chefs who knew my dietary needs. I could ask for a five-egg-white omelet with chicken sausage, and it wouldn’t be a problem. And bonus—everything was deliciously prepared.
I grabbed a couple of slices of cauliflower-crust cheese pizza, a huge kale salad, and a vitaminwater and headed for a seat near the window. The glass wall of windows looked onto the outdoor practice field, and it was my habit to find a table with a view. I waved as Ivanovich came in, his hair still damp from the shower, and he gestured to acknowledge me.
He joined me a couple of minutes later with a tray full of whole-wheat alfredo—his favorite—and some dessert-looking thing. Maybe Jell-O parfait. His huge water bottle was tucked under his arm.
“I saw you on the treadmill before I hit the weight room. You looked good up there.”
I grunted my thanks, still too busy shoveling kale into my pie hole to be civilized.
“You got full range of motion back yet?” he asked.
I finished chewing and swallowed my greens. “Pretty much. I don’t know if I’ll ever be where I was preinjury, but still good enough to beat Ryan Thomas this Sunday.”
“Good. Because back in the film room, it looked like you didn’t have your head in the game.”
“That all you worried about?”
“Yeah. That and it looked like you were about to coldcock McAdams. I thought you guys buried the hatchet.”
I was back to grunting as I started in on my pizza. I had no desire to talk about any of it.
“You want to tell me what’s got you so riled up about him? Again?”
“Not really.”
He nodded and twirled his fork around in his pasta as though that made perfect sense. “He wasn’t talking to Kelly. So you can stop being jealous.”
A little pizza went down the wrong pipe, and I choked a little. Always willing to lend a hand, Ivanovich pounded me on the back in a way that almost sent me sprawling on the table. Before he could make me one with the embossed wood, I waved him off, and he sank back down in his seat with an amused expression and watched me cough.
My eyes watered as I uncapped my drink and took a long swig. “You want to run that by me again?” I finally asked, my throat a little scratchy.
“McAdams.” He raised a brow. “He’s dating some dude who’s in the academy.”
“Oh. Well. Good for him?” I briefly wondered which one of us was having a stroke and why we were talking about one of our team players being gay as though it were just commonplace. I finally had to ask. “I’m sorry, what’s going on here?”
“I have to pick up my kids in an hour,” he said helpfully. “I thought I’d move us on along a little.”
I stared at him. “How do you know about McAdams being gay? And dating Kelly?”
“He told me. The day after you guys got into it at practice.”
“He just… up and told you?”
“Well, I asked. I wanted to know what was really going on between you two and if it was going to affect the team. That’s when he told me about Eli.”
“Eli,” I repeated, wondering if that was what it felt like to have an out-of-body experience.
“Eli,” he confirmed. “The dude in the police academy. Then McAdams wanted to know if I have a problem with it because clearly you did. He wanted to know before he got invested in this team if this was going to be a stumbling block.”
“So he just out and told you he’s bisexual.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you knew that.”
“But… how many people know?”
“Well, it’s not like I took a poll. Couple of the guys, I guess. Coach. Our GM. McAdams doesn’t advertise, but he’s not hiding it either.” He finished his gargantuan portion of pasta and pushed the bowl back. “I told him you didn’t have a problem with him being gay. That your problem was probably with the fact that he’d dated Kelly. You know. Because you’re in love with him and all.”
That sent me into another coughing fit. The fucker was clearly determined to watch me choke to death. “I’m not…,” I wheezed.
He picked up my vitaminwater and offered it to me solicitously.
I glared, grabbed it, and almost downed the whole thing. When I could speak again, I seared him with a look. “I am not in love with Kelly.” Despite the fact that when anyone looks at him, I nearly have a nuclear meltdown.
“Then what is it?”
“I like him a whole lot. Love him like, like….” I could not say brother. Not after all the stuff we’d done. And the stuff I still wanted to do. “Like my best friend.”
“So you love him like a best friend, and you have sex together. Sounds like a relationship to me.”
I was determined not to blush. And yet I could feel my ears going hot. “I’m not even asking how you know that.”
“The way you act together.” He leaned forward and eyed me speculatively. “Sex any good?”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “Unbelievable. Just like this conversation.”
“Hey, don’t look at me like I’m weird. A lot of the guys have noticed, not just me. In fact, if he’d been a woman, they probably would’ve noticed sooner. Sometimes you’re so busy saying it can’t be that you miss what it really is.”
“People… know?” I almost put my hands in my hair out of habit, but I didn’t want to chance ripping it clean out by the roots. I didn’t want to be shunned and bald. I flattened my hands on the table instead. “Who?”
“Does it matter?” He gave me a pitying look. “Would it change anything about how you feel about him?”
I didn’t have to think about it. I let out a breath. “No.”
“I warned him, you know. About you two being so obvious.” He shrugged.
“You warned Kelly?” I furrowed my brow as I thought about him towering over Kelly, trying to intimidate him into leaving me alone.
Why didn’t Kelly tell me? Did he think I’d freak out? Or worse, that I’d side with Ivanovich over him? I liked E like a brother, but I wouldn’t hesitate to knock him flat on his ass for talking bad to Kelly. No questions asked.
Some of what I was thinking must’ve showed on my face, because he held up his hands. “It wasn’t like that.”
“You had no fucking right. Who do you think you are talking to him about me behind my back?”
“Your friend and your teammate. I wanted to make sure he knew what he’d be doing to you and your career if you kept this up.”
“What he’d be doing?” I was surprised I was able to keep my voice so calm and flat. I was this close to flipping the fucking table. “Out of the two of us, I was the one who always pushed for more. He was the one looking for the brakes.”
“All right. Fuck, will you take a breath? I just had a little talk with him. You’re like a dog with a bone when it comes to that man.”
“Well, maybe you should keep that in mind the next time you decide to warn him.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t even fucking come near him.”
“Fine.”
He looked at me calmly and forked Jell-O into his mouth as though everything were right with the world. I eyed him right back until I saw the little smile pulling at his mouth. Like he’d proved his point. Fucker.
I’d been contemplating how much trouble I’d get in if I fucked up Ivanovich in the cafeteria, and I hadn’t been worried that anyone would know Kelly was the reason. Guess when it came to Kelly, nothing else mattered.
I was so screwed.
Another group of guys clattered in, making enough noise for a herd of buffalo. They fell on the buffet like they hadn’t seen food in months. One of them tossed a wave our way, and Ivanovich grinned in reply. I stared at their backs as they went through the line.
Dane. Williams. Green. McKinley. Which of them knew? Did all of them? Any of them? What would they think if they did? Did I really care?
I looked back at Ivanovich, who was silently watching me process. “What should I do?” I asked quietly.
“That’s up to you. But I can say that someone who looks like Kelly isn’t going to be alone forever.”
I looked at him in surprise, and he shrugged. “I have eyes.”
“Married, straight eyes.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
I made a go-on gesture.
“You keep stringing him along because of what other people think, and he’ll know he’s a free agent.” He gathered his tray and stood. “And then McAdams won’t be your only problem.”
In silence I watched him take his tray to the trash. My appetite was gone as surely as if it’d never been. Because I knew I was going to do some strength training that afternoon, I forced myself to finish the pizza. And like most of my best ideas, I realized the truth of it midbite.
Ivanovich was right. When the heart was involved, sometimes you didn’t get second chances. And if I had to watch Kelly love someone else, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
