Harley Brennan, Running Back Read online

  “With you, Coach.”

  The men nodded while hiding the occasional smile behind a hand. Coach launched into his talk, and the men settled down to listen.

  The Kings loved and respected their coach. They went out onto the gridiron with jaws set to win at all costs. After several, serious losses to the Kings, the Rams were intimidated. They tried not to show it, but the Kings circled, smelling blood and steamrollered them into a seven to twenty-eight loss to the Kings.

  Harley watched the coach after every score and could swear the man danced a little faster and smiled a little wider with each touchdown. After the game, the feeling in the locker room was celebratory. A case of champagne awaited the men, courtesy of Coach Pete Sebastian.

  The victory party was to continue at the Savage Beast. Harley was looking forward to strutting his beautiful fiancée in front of his team once more, hoping this time would be an improvement.

  After showering, dressing, and knocking off one glass of champagne, Harley went to the stands to look for Vanessa. She hadn’t been waiting at the locker room door, so he tried the parking lot. His car was gone. Bitch! She took my car! He approached Devon and Stormy. “Where’s Vanessa?”

  “She went shopping at halftime. Said you’d understand. I told her we’d be at The Beast after the game. She said she’d meet us there. I thought you knew.”

  Anger bubbled up inside him. He couldn’t speak.

  “Need a lift?” Devon offered.

  “I do.” Harley followed them. When they joined hands, jealousy invaded the running back’s heart. I’m engaged, and she isn’t even here. Maybe she’s a better actress than I gave her credit for. And maybe I’m just a stupid, jock, asshole. That’s more likely.

  At The Beast, Devon held the door for Stormy.

  There she was, Vanessa, all smiles. “They were having a sale at The Cottage. I couldn’t resist. And I saved a bundle of money. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  She had a Cosmo in her hand and a big grin pasted across her face. She’d been flirting with a couple of men at the bar who moved back when they saw Harley. The air was festive, laughter floated around the place, heavy perfume wafted to his nose, and Nessa had never looked sexier, dressed in a tight, red dress with a generous vee neckline.

  He should be happy. He was the man. He had it all. His ribs were healing, and he hadn’t received any new injuries. The man with the Maserati, the gorgeous fiancée, the stunning house, the successful career—he should be overjoyed. Sadness filled him instead. He slid onto a stool, ordered a beer, and closed his heart.

  * * * *

  Vanessa offered to relieve Harley again, but he declined. Said he was too tired. They retired early. The next morning, she packed up to return to L.A. Harley drove her to the airport. The farewell was easy, friendly, and affectionate. She kissed him goodbye like she meant it. He kissed her goodbye like it was the last time.

  As he drove home, his thoughts kept returning to Marriage Minded. He tried to pinpoint where and how she’d snookered him into believing she was on the show for the right reasons. Where and when had he become a chump? And now, he was a wimp. A pussy. A coward. What’s wrong with me? I’ve walked away from plenty of women before. Why not now? The public fallout, looming in the background, influenced him.

  He cringed to think of the questions he’d have to field—why did they break up, whose fault was it? Would Vanessa go crying to the media? Would she make him out to be a bad guy? Would he get grief from the guys on the team? Probably not, for that last one.

  Harley Brennan had always been a private person. The bad publicity would kill him. But a bad marriage would be worse. In his gut, he understood the true meaning of being between a rock and a hard place.

  He went to the gym and slowly got back into training, guided by a team trainer. His strength and stamina returned. The pain subsided, leaving relief instead. He had a lot to prepare for. The Kings were headed for a road trip. Two weeks out of town for games. Then, back to Monroe to face their old nemesis, the Columbus Bobcats.

  After a total wipeout of the Colorado Miners, they suffered a surprise loss to the Nebraska Huskers. Coach warned them of the risk of becoming overconfident. He trained them hard for the week before the Bobcats came to town.

  Sunday morning before the Bobcats’ game, Trunk, Bull, and Harley went for a run. The October air was cool and comfortable, good weather for football. They kidded each other when they stopped for a water break. Fortunately, Vanessa never came up in the conversation. Harley was grateful his friends didn’t needle him about her. He was still sorting things out and talking about it was the last thing on his agenda.

  “You ready for that asshole, Horse Jackson?” Harley asked Bull.

  “Yeah. Too bad Breaker can’t play. I think he’d like to have a go at that dickwad.”

  “Just keep him away from me,” Griff said. “I’ve got two kids. I can’t break any bones.”

  “We’ll take care of him,” Bull assured.

  The men headed for the showers. When Tuffer Demson entered the room, the players started in on him.

  “I heard Lexie Sebastian was dating someone else while you were away,” teased Buddy Carruthers, star wide receiver.

  “Really? How the hell would you know?”

  “Aw. Shit. Saw right through me.”

  “I’m not stupid, you know. I have a college degree.”

  “In what? Jerking off?

  The guys snickered.

  “Shut up, Buddy,”’ Tuffer said, grabbing a towel and heading for the showers.

  The banter cut through the tension that always existed before they played the Bobcats.

  Coach Bass stopped by for his talk. “No concussions. We’ve got to stop Horse Jackson. The man is a fucking T-Rex. We can’t afford to lose more players. I want you guys healthy.”

  A murmur of agreement sifted through the group. Nerves stepped up, sparking Harley to move. He hated waiting for anything. Standing still drove him nuts. While he hung around until his teammates were ready, he did jumping jacks.

  “You’re like a little kid. My son, Chip, has to move all the time too. The kid can’t stand still. Drive’s Lauren crazy. Sometimes, me too,” Griff said.

  “I’ve always been like this. My parents hated it too.”

  “We deal with it. But when I see you, I lose all hope of him outgrowing it.”

  “Maybe that means he’ll be a star running back?”

  Griff laughed, slapped Harley on the back, and the team ran out on the field. During the national anthem, Harley’s nerves wouldn’t settle down. He had a feeling that something wasn’t right. He didn’t know if it was Vanessa or Shyla, but something, somewhere, was misaligned. He shook his shoulders to rid himself of a feeling of dread.

  Griff won the toss and elected to kick off. Harley sat back, waiting his turn on the gridiron. His legs were ready to run, and his body hummed, bursting with energy. He’d show the Bobcats what fast was –nothing could hold him back.

  The Kings held the Bobcats to a field goal. Now, it was Harley’s turn. He loped out to line up with Griff, Bull, Buddy, and the rest of the offense. The ball was hiked. A faked pass to Buddy was handed off to Harley.

  Bull blocked a small hole, and the running back squeezed through. His legs screamed to run, and he took off. No one was near as he sprinted downfield, with only the wind as his companion. He scored. Coach danced, and the Kings slapped him on the back.

  Horse Jackson leaned over. “I’ll get you next time,” he whispered to Harley.

  “Yeah? Go fuck yourself, Caveman.” Harley trotted off the field, grinning. The big ape wasn’t going to scare him.

  The gauntlet was thrown down, and the Bobcats fought hard to get ahead. With the score ten to seven, the Kings received the kick. The touchback put them on the twenty yard line. Griff executed two pass and run plays, one to Marquel Johnson and one to Buddy Carruthers.

  In the huddle he made it clear that it was Harley’s turn again. “They’ll be dou
ble-teaming Buddy. It’s your chance, Brennan.”

  The running back nodded. “Got it.”

  Again, Griff went to his right while Buddy ran down the right field line. The quarterback kept his eyes on the wide receiver as the running back scooted behind him. Griff brought his arm back as if to pass, but dropped the pigskin into Harley’s waiting arms. The running back headed for the left field line.

  Griff was right. Bobcat defenders had double-teamed Buddy and Marquel. Harley was alone. He ramped up the pace, feeling as if he was traveling the speed of light. But one defender had dropped back, anticipating his move. The one player who was lying in wait for Harley, Horse Jackson, had shifted to the left.

  Harley saw the big man head for the goal line. The running back summoned every ounce of strength he had. The defender, six five and two fifty, was roaring toward him like a runaway locomotive. Sure he could outrun the gorilla, Harley pushed and pushed his body. Jackson leapt into the air, soaring toward the slim runner like a meteor from outer space bound for Earth.

  Harley heard the sound of the crash, direct helmet to helmet. He was launched into the air, hurtling toward the goalposts. Vague sounds in the background, a whistle, and shouting floated in his head. His body flew past the post, scraping it as he went, until his helmet came in contact. The second hit threw him sideways and everything went black.

  * * * *

  In Pine Grove, Shyla Hollings shoved popcorn in her mouth as she watched the game. Harley’s run was thrilling, until she saw Horse Jackson appear from the right. Shy began to scream at the television. Mindy and Drew, who were watching with her, were silent.

  “Look out! Harley! He’s coming!” She gasped, sucking in air when the monster defender collided with Harley. His limp body landed in a heap, like an overcooked pile of spaghetti.

  Play came to a halt. Whistles were blown and penalties assigned. Two trainers ran out onto the field, and the crowd quieted down. A couple of Kings players, Trunk Mahoney and Griff Montgomery, came near and took a knee. Then, a few others joined them, but Shyla couldn’t see their names or numbers.

  She held her breath, but Harley didn’t move.

  “This is it. The big one. The one he’s been worried about,” she muttered. She stuck her knuckle between her teeth as she stared at the television. “Get up, Harley. Get up.”

  But he didn’t move. The trainers signaled for the cart.

  “Come on. Move. Damn it. Move your foot. Something. Your thumb! Anything!” Her voice grew shrill, and tears gathered in her eyes. The cart arrived with a stretcher. Shyla paced in front of the screen, repeating, “Get up, Harley. Come on. Stop playing around. Get up.”

  Her friends sat quietly watching her. The trainers laid the stretcher out on the field and, with one on each end, picked up the lifeless running back and gently laid him on the canvas then carried him to the cart.

  Shyla’s breathing became heavy. Her pulse hummed in her ears, and her heart raced. She pushed panic down, but it kept resurfacing.

  “He’s out. He’s unconscious.”

  “That’s terrible,” Mindy replied.

  “I’m going.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going. I have to be there. This is serious. Very serious. Harley needs me.”

  “But what about his fiancée?”

  “She’s in Paris or L.A. or somewhere. He needs me, and he needs me now. I’m going.” Shy yanked a small valise down from a shelf, threw some clothes in, and fastened it.

  “You can’t drive down there now. You’re too upset,” Drew said, taking her suitcase.

  “I have to. I’ll go crazy if I stay here. I appreciate it, Drew, but I’ll be okay. I have to.”

  “But you don’t know his condition.”

  “I’ve been through this with him before. But this one is worse. He’s never not woken up on the field. He needs me. I’ve gotta go.” She yanked open the door, felt her pocket for her keys, and descended the long staircase.

  Drew toted her bag while Mindy closed the door behind them.

  With a hug, her friends wished her a safe trip. “Please text when you get there.”

  “I will.”

  “We’ll text you if there’s any news of Harley.”

  “Thanks.” She got behind the wheel, put the car in gear, and waved as she roared out of the driveway.

  At the stoplight, Shyla popped in a CD. It was all her favorite songs. Hers and Harley’s. He’d made it for her. The music reminded her of him and brought warmth to her heart and water to her eyes.

  “Stop crying. You can’t drive if you can’t see.”

  She eased onto the highway and sat back, ready for the three-hour journey to help her man. That’s right—my man. No matter what he may do, some part of Harley Brennan would always be hers.

  Traffic was light that Sunday afternoon. The glare of the sun forced her into sunglasses. She sat back, sang along, and didn’t think about how serious Harley’s injury could be. She refused. No way would she play out any worst-case scenarios in her head. Not Shyla Hollings—upbeat, positive thinking woman. She said a few prayers.

  “Just world’s worst concussion. Otherwise, he’s fine.”

  The idea that he might not remember her flashed through her mind, giving her chills. That’s not going to happen. She stopped to stretch her legs and arrived at the stadium two and a half hours after she’d left Pine Grove.

  Traffic snarled the streets. Panic seized Shyla. She threw her car in park, opened the door, and ran to the policeman who was directing traffic.

  “I’ve got to get inside. To see Harley Brennan,” she said.

  “Brennan? The guy who got taken down? Hell, lady, you’re too late.”

  “Too late?” Pulse drumming in her ears, her heart rate doubled.

  “Yeah. They took him to the hospital in an ambulance, at least two hours ago.”

  “Oh. God. Thank God. I thought maybe…”

  The uniformed officer patted her arm. “No way, lady. Probably just a bad concussion. Took him to Monroe General. Do you know the way?”

  Shyla shook her head, so he told her how to get there. A vehicle honked at him.

  “Keep your pants on, buster. No one’s going anywhere. Giving this little lady directions.”

  She jotted them down, thanked him, and jumped back in her car.

  When she reached the hospital, she went to the front desk. “Harley Brennan, please.”

  “And you are?” The administrator looked over her glasses with a cool stare.

  Shit! Who am I? I’m nobody. “His fiancée.”

  “I don’t see any ring.”

  “It’s being resized. I recently lost weight.”

  The woman nodded. “Room 210. Take the elevator on your right and turn left.”

  “Thank you very much.” The elevator took its time coming to the lobby, so Shyla chose the stairs. On the way, she wracked her brain to remember the name of Harley’s real fiancée. Fortunately, it came to her before she reached his room, because a nurse stopped her.

  “I’m his fiancée. I’m sure he’ll see me.”

  “Just a moment. Let me check.”

  Shy exerted maximum self-control to keep from pacing while the woman went to see the running back.

  “I’m sorry, but he says he’s not up to visitors right now.”

  “Did you tell him it’s Shy?”

  “Shy? I thought your name was something else?” The nurse cocked an eyebrow.

  “That’s what he calls me…in intimate moments. Because I am, you see. Shy, that is. I am shy. So, that’s what he calls me. Maybe he’s forgotten.”

  The woman disappeared again. When she returned, she nodded once. “Okay. Says he’ll see you. Wanted to know why you didn’t say that in the first place.”

  Shy chuckled. “That’s Harley. Not letting me get away with a thing.” She grinned at the nurse then pushed through the door.

  Harley was wearing a hospital gown, sitting up in bed. He was hooked up to a machine that
had all sorts of blinking lights on it. He smiled at her. “Shy! What are you doing here? They said it was my fiancée. We’re not engaged, are we?”

  “I had to say that to get in. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Thanks for coming,” he said.

  “I saw what that gorilla did to you.”

  “You did? What did he do?”

  “Oh, baby. Your short-term memory is gone.” She cupped his rough cheek.

  “At first, I thought you were her. Whatever the hell her name is.”

  “Vanessa?”

  “Right, right.” He shifted under the thin, white blanket.

  “She’s away somewhere, isn’t she?” She stared at his handsome face.

  “Hell, don’t ask me. I can’t even remember her name.”

  But you remembered mine.

  Shyla leaned over and kissed him. He raised a hand to her waist, easing her closer.

  “Now, now none of that. Concussion protocol. You know the drill, Mr. Brennan,” the nurse said, entering his room, brandishing a thermometer.

  “Vitals?” Shyla asked.

  The woman in white nodded. “Open.” She shoved the thermometer in this mouth, wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm and pumped it up. Shyla plopped onto a chair to watch.

  Harley’s eyes never left her. He tried to smile, but the glass rod recording his temperature prevented it. He looked fine, but Shy knew his brains had been scrambled. She reached out and took his hand. He squeezed hers and held it tight. Within a few minutes, the nurse retrieved her paraphernalia.

  “Everything looks good. Don’t stay too long, miss. He needs quiet.”

  “I won’t. Fifteen minutes?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “If you go, I’ll have to stare out the window. They won’t let me sleep here. When I fall asleep, they keep waking me up. I guess they want to make sure I’m not dead or in a coma. Why did you come?”

  “Because you need me. Where else would I be?”

  “On the coast of Spain? Rubbing elbows with the rich in Monaco?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, right. Nope. Stuck in scenic Pine Grove. I’m only about two hours away. I had to come. You can’t go home alone.”