Rushed(37)

“Sorry . . . I just missed the play,” I mumble, shaking my head. Coach grows concerned, and calls the trainer over, who checks me out. “No, I don't have a concussion.”

“Yeah well, you're playing like shit today,” Coach says, concerned. “What’s going on?”

“After the game, we'll talk,” I say. “I . . . I might need the team's help on this one.”

Coach nods, serious. “Okay. But whatever it is, put it out of your mind for the next seventeen minutes, can you? I need a quarterback out there, not a zombie.”

“I'll do what I can.”

I take a seat on the bench, shaking my head and waving off any of the other players who come over, concerned. I turn around and see April in the stands, wearing my old Western jersey just like she'd asked to do when we officially became boyfriend and girlfriend. Underneath, I know she's wearing her lucky lingerie, something she'd shown off for me the first night she got it, but right now sex is just about the furthest thing from my mind.

Shaking my head, I try to wrap my head around the clusterf*ck that I'm in now. The best girlfriend of my life, the first one I can say that I've had real feelings for since Catrina, that's for sure . . . and I go and f*ck it up. Literally, f*ck it up. I mean, how can I tell her that our first night out, when I treated her like an inconsiderate shit, I end up not only hooking up with two bar sluts, but somehow get them both pregnant? At least, that’s where I’m assuming these chicks are from.

But the problem is, I remember nothing. Hell, I barely remember names at this point. I've spent the past eighteen hours since that envelope was handed to me racking my brain, and my memory keeps fading just after the two girls come up and offer to pay for my drink . . .

“Tyler, you here man?”

I look up and see Vince taking the seat next to me. I hazard from the look his face that Coach has been asking him to warm up, in case my head isn't screwed on right. “Yeah, I'm here.”

“Coach wants my opinion if you should go back in the game. What's going on?”

I shrug. “Legal problems. Got a lawsuit dropped on my ass last night, having problems getting it out of my head.”

“So you're not sick or anything? Just mental?” Vince asks, and I nod. He hums and nods himself. “I won't ask the details, not my job. I'm just a backup QB who wants to become a coach next year. But if you want my advice, just separate yourself from the event. Nothing you do in the next quarter and two minutes is going to affect that lawsuit, but it will affect this team and your job. So put it aside. It'll still be there after the game, that's for sure.”

“You ever been sued?” I asked, and Vince nods.

“Yeah, my second year, had some ambulance chaser come after me when I had a car accident up in Saskatchewan. Total bullshit, but it f*cked with me for a game or two. Try not to let this one do the same to you. Hey, how's the domestic life?”

“Domestic, huh? I guess it's an open secret.”

“Five games, and April's been wearing Western U colors every single one of them. Even the dumbest of us can see what's going on there,” Vince says. “It didn't mean you had to punch out Lance a month ago, but I can understand it. He's always been an *.”

I laugh, and give Vince a grin. “Nice distraction technique. All right, tell Coach I'm good to go. Maybe I can turn this shit into gold if we've got enough time.”

There's a groan from the crowd and Vince and I look. Our defense, which has been fighting tooth and nail all game, just got smacked, and now we're down two touchdowns. Vince sighs and gives me a look. “Hope you've got enough.”





Chapter 14





April





It's a little strange, sitting in the team offices in my Western jersey after the first loss of the season. It's the first time I've seen Tyler lose, and while his play in the fourth quarter was like I'd come to expect, the debacle that was the first three quarters was too much to overcome, and we ended up losing by ten points, trading touchdowns until BC iced it with a field goal with a minute and some change left. Tyler's last ditch attempts at heroics fell short, and the Fighters lose for the first time all season.

Now I'm in the offices, trying to look like I'm not concerned or that things are normal, while wearing Tyler's jersey — it even still has his name on the back — and typing away at my laptop. Mr. Larroquette asked me to verify the team's hotel accommodations for the trip next week to Calgary, and this is as good a time as ever to fire off those emails.

Tyler comes into the office along with Coach B, and I get more worried. Having a bad game is one thing, but obviously something's up with Tyler. I suspected it last night when I got home from the stadium, and he was distracted during dinner and after. He tried to hide it, but there was something on his mind. I didn't push the issue since I wanted him to have enough rest for today's game, but obviously this is more serious.

“Mr. Larroquette?” Coach says, knocking on the GM's office door. “I've got an issue that might need your attention.”

They go in, and maybe it's an accident, maybe nobody remembered that I'm sitting in a desk on the other side of the room, but Coach leaves the door open, and I get half a view of the room as Mr. Larroquette has them take a seat. “Tough game today, Coach. I was hoping we'd pull it out in the fourth quarter, but we couldn't make those stops.”