THE HARDEST YARDS (A BAD BOY FOOTBALL ROMANCE) Read online

  “Everything is still where you left it,” Gavin said, laughing. “You’re lucky to be alive…”

  “I’m tackled all season long by human bulldozers. Those skinny fuckers that jumped me couldn’t do shit.”

  “They did enough shit to you that you died in the ambulance for three minutes, ya fucking idiot!” Gavin replied. “Do you have any idea what this is going to cost me?”

  Ashcroft guided Gavin away from me. I rubbed my lip, unable to meet Gavin’s devil stare. The fact those fuckers shot and attacked me didn’t make any difference to Gavin— Every hour I spent out of play took money from his pockets. That’s all I was to him… A paycheck.

  “Who’s this shit from?” I asked at the blue and red junk filling half the room to give him something else to focus on.

  Gavin rolled his eyes and went through some of the cards.

  “Sponsors…teammates…stalker fans who got hold of your room number…”

  “About that,” I said to Dr. Ashcroft. “Can I get a new nurse and some security at the door, please? Had a fan incident earlier I’d rather not have happen again.”

  “We’ve got security at every door. Quit being paranoid,” Gavin said.

  As he said it, my tiny PA Chrissy walked in unchallenged. I gave Gavin a death glare.

  “They’re on lunch,” Gavin said and plucked a candy bar off a get-well card, tearing it open and taking a quick bite. “Get out of here Chrissy. Visitor policy says family only.”

  Dr. Ashcroft had nothing to say.

  “I’m not staying.” Chrissy said, dropping a gift on my lap and trotting back out the door.

  I took a quick glance into the king-sized box of Belgian Chocolate and saw the flask measure of Hennessy where the chocolate was supposed to be. Most mistook Chrissy’s quiet nature for disinterest but this girl knew her boss.

  “What’s it matter who this shit’s from anyway?” Gavin asked, shoving even more chocolate in his face.

  “Never said it mattered,” I replied. “Wanted to know who was pretending to care. Any word from home?”

  “Naw, kid,” Gavin said, attention in his phone. I swigged a sip of Chrissy’s liquid courage while the doctor was reading one of my charts and quickly hid it under the sheets.

  Not getting messages from those who mattered most, namely my father, is what I’d come to expect. He thought so little of me that even when I got beat to near death and shot, he still couldn’t find it in himself to get in touch.

  I shook my head.

  Gavin read through more empty sympathy cards from sponsor reps, texts from old hookups, emails from crazed fans about their fallen hero…

  “To help you get through your recovery faster, we’ve sent you a three month supply of Sabi Protein—”

  “Enough, Gav,” I said.

  Where the fuck were the people who mattered? The real people? I felt more alone now than ever.

  I could give up now, I thought, go off in a burning blaze of glory.

  But I’d made a choice at the barrel of a gun…The first time he tried to shoot me.

  I side-stepped death telling me somewhere deep inside, Tyler King had something left to live for.

  But what?

  The big game… That had to be it. What else would the most gifted football player of this century have to live for? I had a calling to play football and I needed to keep answering it until I retired. I needed to win it all.

  Gavin’s fist balled over his mouth. “So…”

  “So…” I echoed.

  “Can you hear it?”

  “What?”

  He presented me his phone inbox:

  325 Unread Messages.

  He went even pinker when the number jumped up by ten.

  “The deafening cacophony of press, bloggers and other shit-heads as they rip your image to shreds. How could you be so fucking near-sighted and blind! Who would put this much money, this much success, and this much goddamned potential on the line?

  Helpless in my bed, I couldn’t do much but absorb the attack and defend what was left of my character.

  “You’re talking about shit you don’t even understand. If Jacquie hadn’t sent me back inside—”

  “If Jacquie hadn’t sent you inside this wouldn’t’ve happened? That what you were gonna say? She was trying to help you, but seeing her client bleeding on a stoop outside a whorehouse gave her the same epiphany we all had years ago. Tyler King can’t be fucking helped.”

  “Jacquie set me up. She’s the one who set those assholes on me.”

  “You are fucking paranoid,” he said.

  I couldn’t prove it yet but I sensed something wrong with that woman ever since Gavin hired her.

  “Where is she?”

  “She gave a final statement to the press and quit. Congratulations on destroying yet another up-and-comer’s career.”

  Relief washed over me. I wouldn’t have to hear one more publicist bark orders at me. I could start fresh from this injury and live by my rules. Fuck what the public thought. I’d be there when they needed me, running the ball into the damn end-zone and bringing home the win.

  “I see that look in your eye Tyler. If you’re thinking the owner is going to let you back on that field after this, you’re even more ignorant than I give you credit for.”

  “This whole thing will blow over. They need me,” I replied.

  “And I suppose you’re the one who’s going to go out there and talk with the press? You’re going to make them love Tyler fucking King again?”

  “I don’t need your help Gavin. I’ll find my own damn publicist,” I said angrily. Gavin was getting on my nerves and I was about ready to throw him right out of this damn room.

  “You’re blacklisted by every fucking agency in this town,” Gavin said.

  “Good.”

  “But you’ve got the best manager in town, and I found you a publicist insane enough to take you on. Yuri Kissinger sent her to us. Be grateful that she owed me one hell of a favor.”

  “I’ll be sure to kiss your ass later,” I said, trying to avoid his gaze.

  “And you fucking should. You’re so focused on the field that you forget we’re playing a bigger game,” Gavin gestured at the muted TV to ESPN playing a grainy slideshow of my injuries. “This game keeps being played all day, every day. You knew that the day you signed your name on my dotted line. Football isn’t about touchdowns and quarterback percentages. You’re on that field to put asses in the stands. You’re out there to sell jerseys and make some rich assholes just a little bit richer, and they fucking pay you for the privilege. If your name becomes toxic, there isn’t a team out there who’s going to take you on. You’ll never play another game. People love a comeback story, but nobody loves an unrepentant prick. You’ll meet with this Maldova chick and you’ll fucking listen to her or consider your career dead. No more Lightning, no more football, no more chances. Done.”

  “Moldova?”

  “Have you even been listing to a word I said? Ariana Moldova is the publicist I found for you. The one you’re going to treat with respect and goddamned dignity as she saves your goddamned career.”

  Gavin turned to the doctor, catching his attention.

  “Can you excuse us for a moment? I need to have a private talk with my relative…”

  As soon as the doctor was out the door and out of earshot, Gavin launched his precious Blackberry at my face. A shatter of plastic and glass rang out behind me.

  “Am I not being clear enough? Ram Energy…” He sliced his finger along his throat “Out. Two-hundred thousand dollars gone because of your stupid ass. Brands are dropping you faster than a hot piece of shit.”

  “Get me home. I can recover faster there. Once I’m on the field I can win back the sponsors.”

  He shook his head with a frenzied smile. “Can’t believe the game’s even a thought in your head.”

  “It’s the only thought in my head.”

  Gavin rested on the windowsill.

 
“Don’t go silent on me.”

  “I don’t know what to say, kid.”

  “About?”

  “This season.”

  “This season? I need this. It’s all I’ve got. Why do you think I came back from dead?”

  The fat man paced back and forth at the edge of my bed. “Gavin.”

  “Those dreams are shelved for another year,” he said, cautious with his words. “You’re not getting back out on that field.”

  I snorted. “The fuck you talkin’ about?” A pit opened in my stomach.

  “You’re out for the season to heal up. After that, the Lightning will trade you away for a couple draft picks. Oakland is looking for somebody to shake things up and they’re willing to take a chance.”

  “Oakland? You think I want to go to fucking Oakland? We’ve put together a great team. I can take the Lightning all the way. This is my chance!”

  “Last year was your chance, and you blew it.”

  “I have a contract. They can’t do this to me.”

  “Chill, kid. You summoned this bullshit hurricane yourself. As your manager, I don’t give a fuck if you can’t finish up this last season with the team. What I care about is you figuring out all this messy shit ya got going on in your head so you have a career left to go back to. Saving face is our first priority. You think parents want their kids watching their hero stumbling out a goddamned brothel on the six o’clock news?”

  “It’s a classy place and I wasn’t there to fuck anyone.”

  “And I suppose you think I’m supposed to believe that?”

  “I don’t care what you believe. All I’ve ever wanted to do is play football. I didn’t ask to be a hero.”

  “And yet, here we are. We’re going to fix this. I’m planning ahead. Five, hell, even ten years from now you’ll have a winning record nobody can argue with. That’s where our bread and butter is at. That’s where your legacy lies. It’s out there beyond the headlines and beyond this fucked up year. And it all starts here…”

  His finger probed my forehead.

  My jaw flexed.

  Outside the window behind Gavin, the tops of trees were swaying wildly as a storm approached.

  The one victory I’d promised my boys was slipping away. I had a second chance to win it all… I’d been so close…

  Gavin took a step back as my mind ran over last season’s nightmare ending… My crucial fumble, the fallen faces of the crowd as the timer hit 00:00:00…

  …The booing…

  …The grating headlines for months that followed—

  You’re a hero until the second you’re not.

  “Wes’ll take me back,” I said.

  “I’ve already told him not to expect you back.”

  I scratched through my hair. I’d been living for this redemption, fighting through a hard season and we’d made it so far already. I had the hunger, the drive, the conditioning, the focus but, like last year, lost it thanks to a tiny fumble.

  “Tell him you were wrong. Give me one month.”

  “Cut the shit. It’s over this year.”

  ‘Destined to fall,’ my father’s voice rang in my head the night mom disappeared. ‘It’s the King curse and it’d do you good to prepare yourself early.’

  I punched the drip beside me. It hit the floor with a sharp crash.

  “Fuck!” The IV tugged out and my face twisted.

  “Grow up, kid.” Gavin sipped at his coffee as I squeezed my hand to stop the blood. “You’re not some flash in a pan. We’re playing the long game now. Forget the finals, forget the whole damn sport right now. Your focus is to shut up and listen to whatever Ariana Maldova tells you to do.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He popped a mint into his mouth. “If you don’t, kid, you’ll regret this moment on your real deathbed.”

  I rolled, pain coursing through me as I stood up from the bed. Gavin took a few steps back as I towered over him.

  “Tell her don’t bother,” I said, voice calm. “I’ve done too much for this damn team. I’m walking back on that field and the fans are going to love it. I’ve smashed league records and I’m going to make us champions. I don’t need another PR girl to help me get there.”

  I headed for the door.

  “Your father smashed records once,” he shouted, chasing after me. “And where is he now?”

  I spun around, my hand gripping Gavin’s collar. His breath mint flew from his stupid gaping mouth and skipped across the floor. “Tell this Arianna chick that I can take it from here.”

  I let him go and the door swung shut in his face.

  Fuck…

  My knees gave out, the pain buckling them beneath me as I landed on the red linoleum.

  Gavin hadn’t seen, thank God.

  Pain or no pain, I forced myself up off the floor and trudged on toward the elevators.

  4

  I bounded against Manhattan crowds towards Belgraves Hospital. Inside lay an injured Tyler King, and he was about to become the most important person in my whole damn life.

  I needed to hide my excitement. The man would detest a publicist who couldn’t keep her cool around him.

  Gavin Spiros warned me of his current mental state. The doc had him on strong medications and I was supposed to keep contact to the absolute minimum until he was up and walking around. That meant all I had to do was hold it together long enough to shake their hands, introduce myself, invite Tyler to next week’s meeting, and walk away.

  “You can do this,” I breathed.

  My cellphone began singing in my purse. ‘Working nine to five!/What a way to make a liv—’

  “This is Ariana Maldova.”

  “Miss Maldova…”

  “Mr. Spiros! I’m two minutes away.”

  I huffed and puffed, outreaching my arms to help me navigate cobbled paving in heels.

  “We have a small problem,” Gavin said.

  “Problem?”

  I rounded the last corner between me and the hospital…

  News vans, a small crowd in Lightning jerseys, and a handful of photographers hung by the main entrance to the lobby.

  “Tyler got away from me.”

  “Got away?”

  I jogged toward the lobby to see if I could see him through the glass. If he came out those doors, I’d have a far bigger job on my hands than I thought.

  “He can’t come outside. There’s too much press out here. They’ll eat him alive.”

  “Keeping the press off him is your job. He’s out of my hands now. Good luck.”

  “Mr. Spiros!”

  He hung-up.

  There was no sign of Tyler King, but I could hear a sudden commotion coming from the side of the building. I slipped off my heels and scooped them up before running as fast as I could toward the emergency room exit.

  5

  “Come on, come on.”

  I pressed the Ground Floor button ten times too many having noticed Gavin’s face leaning into the hallway with his phone to his ear.

  The elevator doors closed.

  Distant shouts from Gavin filtered through as I descended. “Wait, there are…!”

  He’d missed his chance. Freedom beckoned…

  ‘Ground floor: Reception, Ambulance and Emergency’, the sultry elevator voice spoke.

  I stormed out into the waiting room desperately seeking freedom.

  Fingers pointed, whispers spread, people craned to see what everyone found so interesting.

  “Tyler King, Mommy.” A little boy below me shouted, tugging at his mother’s jacket.

  “Hey, kid! Up top,” I said, crouching low enough to offer a high five to what I could only assume was the last fan I had on this Earth. His mother snatched his tiny hand into her grip and sneered.

  “How dare you?” she told me in a calm albeit slicing tone.

  The kid burst into tears and my hands raised in surrender.

  I didn’t need more trouble.

  I spent extra care holding the back
of my open hospital gown closed— On top of all the other bullshit, the last thing I needed was a story about how I’d flashed my bare ass in front of everybody. At this point the pain wracking my body was excruciating, but I wasn’t about to let anyone see me falter. I couldn’t give in to it, at least not until I’d poured a hard bourbon and my feet were kicked up in my own damn loft. Then, I could cry like a goddamned baby.

  The large sliding doors flew open as I approached. This was it. I swallowed the fresh air outside and collapsed against the wall in an ambulance service lane.

  “There!”

  I spun my head.

  A small crowd lingered beside the parking lot’s ticket booth…

  FLASH—!

  Click, click—!

  Flash, flash—!

  Blinding camera flashes and excited shouting threw me off balance as a herd of middle-aged men ran towards me. Of course those piece of shit tabloid paparazzi would be camping here until I showed.

  They would’ve waited weeks for me, but I’d made their job a whole lot easier.

  “Tyler over here! Tyler, when can we expect you back on the field?”

  I froze.

  “What do you think coach will say at the press conference?!”

  “Tyler, what do you have to say about the pregnancy?”

  Pregnancy? Press conference?

  “Tyler! Were you aware of Mistress Juniper’s prior arrests?”

  I’d fucked things up bigger than usual. Everyone around me was being sucked in my orbit. I could’ve done it right then and there— Fallen to my knees, admitted defeat and cried for mercy. They wanted to see Tyler King hit rock-bottom. It’d be easier to give the people what they want.

  Flash, flash, flash—!

  Blinded by photographers.

  Questions blended into one another in an incomprehensible shout of sound.

  The photos would be online in under an hour.

  I could already imagine the words they’d write about me.

  They’d talk about how I’d buckled under pressure “just like my father”.

  Something broke inside me.

  Even after Leroy and his boys beat me to a pulp and left me for dead, I’d never felt this cheap.

  I pleaded inwardly that the press would fuck off. I’d never let the words leave my mouth. If my life had taught me anything, it was never let your guard down, not even once.