Rushed(41)

I nod. “If I got these women pregnant, I’ll man up. But I want to know for damn sure that they're mine first. I mean, what are the odds?” It was what had been twisting and turning in my mind ever since I read the paper from the process server, or whatever the f*ck it is they're called in Canada. “Besides, I always follow the motto of ‘no glove, no love’.”

“Okay. Let me give my uncle a call. If you're mostly just looking for confirmation, that's a routine matter and won't be too difficult at all. We'll be in touch. Would it be okay if I routed everything through April? Just that you've got a busy job, and it'd be easier.”

“That’s fine. There won’t be any secrets between us from now on.”



“You're looking better.”

Vince and I are warming up, throwing light passes back and forth as we get ready for the hardest practice of the week, a day earlier than normal on Wednesday since Friday is a flying day for us. Coach is planning on doing a video session during the flight, but other than that Friday is travel and rest for us, with the game Saturday night, which is going to be tough with the time difference. Oh well, f*ck it.

“Feeling better, too. Your advice was right, and to top it off, I worked things out between me and April. That was the main thing on my mind, not the legal issues.”

Despite Mr. Larroquette stating that the news wouldn't get out, it has, but I'm not worried. The gossip rags were the ones to break the story first, and so far my teammates have been cool about it. Even Lance, the horndog prick, has been cool about it.

Vince though has really stepped up, both as a teammate and as a mentor. I have to keep reminding myself that this man has been playing professional football in Canada since the time I was sucking down formula and breast milk, and had seen it all in his time in the pros. “I'm glad. Because to be honest, my ass is too old to be trying to maneuver against that Calgary defense. Their linebackers are gazelles out there.”

“Then we'll run their asses over,” I reply. “I ran a lot of option in high school, I can lower the shoulder and put someone on their ass.”

“I'd prefer if you did it with your passing instead,” Vince says with a laugh. “Not that you haven't run well this year so far. But remember, those fast linebackers outnumber you three to one.”

“Not worried one bit,” I say, adding a little pep to my throw. “If I need to throw eight TDs, I'll throw eight. If I need to run for three, I'll run for three. I dropped the ball last week, that isn't happening again.”

“I like the way you talk, rook. Let's see how that works out come Saturday.”

Vince's words echo in my mind Saturday as I tug at my white away jersey. The Calgary Sabercats crowd is fierce, booing us loudly for a crowd of only just over thirty thousand. I can still see April in her green Western jersey though, right at the fifty-yard line and two rows up, and I smile. She's a little farther way than normal, this field has a weird setup that I haven't seen since high school. The field is ringed by a standard running track, which due to the curve of the track and the fact that Canadian end zones are twenty yards deep, actually cuts off the tips of each end zone by a few yards. No matter, it's fair for both teams and I don't need the depth to light this shit up.

“Phew, they hate you!” Paul says when I'm announced. “What the hell did you do, come here in college and take a shit in the city hall?”

“Probably just broke too many hearts,” Dave Hawk says. “Those surfer boy looks of his? These Brokeback Cowboys around here probably hate jerking off to his posters every night.”

“Brokeback Cowboys? Holy shit man, that's a new one for me,” I laugh, pulling my helmet on. “Can't you at least let me think it's the Calgary women who love me?”

“Not without April kicking my ass,” Dave replies. “She's come out of her shell, and the turtle was hiding a wildcat.”

I laugh, and slap Dave on the shoulder pads. “Just like I like it. Come on, I need you to cover my ass today, let's get some points on the board.”

We take the kickoff, returning it to the thirty, and I lead the offense onto the field.

I setup in shotgun and send Robbie in motion while DeAndre loops back and turns, sprinting dead set to the line, Dave snapping the ball just before DeAndre crosses and we're off. I look right to Paul, who's my primary target this play, but his d-back is on him tight as hell, so I check down to Bobby in the flat, but before I throw, I shift step to my left and see Robbie clear fifteen yards down field, already looking back for the pass. I plant and throw, putting it right in his hands without him even breaking stride, where he extends his gap on the defense, and he's off to the races.

Robbie “Lightning” Storm may not have the best jukes or cuts in the League, but if he's got a straight line to run, there's very few guys I know who can catch him. Not surprising since he was an alternate for the Junior Olympics in high school.

Regardless of the source of his speed, Robbie goes in untouched, a first play touchdown that puts us up with less than a minute elapsed on the game clock. That's the way it should be, and as I jog over to the sidelines, Coach gives me a little nod. “Glad to see which Tyler showed up today.”

“Still got fifty-nine minutes to go, Coach. Let’s make sure we leave no doubt.”