Rushed(63)

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, his voice soft and pained. “I know you’re going through a lot.”

I swallow, and take his hand. “I'm sorry too. I . . . I don't know why I feel this way Tyler. I'm scared because this is how Mom started. Maybe it's just the stress of today, maybe the fears that are always inside me came out . . . but I'm scared. I've been feeling off even before Baltimore's offer, and tonight . . . it was just too much.”

Tyler looks over at me and takes my hand. “I understand. Don't think I haven't thought about it too. Ever since you mentioned it in the car as we were going to visit them, it's popped up in my mind.”

“Yet you still turned Baltimore down, and tomorrow Ottawa's coming for your ass.”

Tyler laughs and nods. “A good way to put it. April, when I made my decision, that did flash through my mind. And you know what I decided?”

“What?”

“That a short time with you, even if you do end up like your mother . . . it's better than a lifetime with someone else.”

I lean into him, and he holds me closely, comforting. “Tyler . . . if it is?”

“We can't know until we get it checked out,” Tyler says, putting on a brave face. “In the meantime, I'm saying that it's stress, and some bad sausage. We're never going to that butcher's again.”

I can't help it, I laugh. “We didn't even have any of that sausage today. But okay. Monday, I'll make an appointment. I'm under the Fighters' supplementary health coverage, I can get an appointment quickly. In the meantime though . . . would you mind holding me tonight?”

Tyler nods, and kisses me on the temple. “Mind? I insist. How about we change into our sleep clothes and maybe a little ice cream? I've worked on my ice cream sundae skills since the first time, you know.”

“Yes, those butter fried bananas you did last time were divine,” I admit. “Okay . . . but tomorrow night, I'm paying you back.”

“Tomorrow night, huh?” Tyler says with a smirk. “Got something special planned?”

“We'll see.”



It feels strange, standing on the sidelines of the field. I'm wearing a Fighters warmup jacket, but underneath is Tyler's green Western jersey, same as always. I think next year I'll wear one of his Fighters jerseys, but so far, the old shirt's brought us luck and happiness. I can't argue against either of those. I'm still wearing the green lingerie, though. He loves taking it off after home games, and I admit, I feel pretty in the set.

Francine and the rest of the girls are in their own track suits, it's getting a bit cold for night games, and I'm glad the team provides lined suits. October right next to the lake can get cold, and I remind myself that next week, maybe after my doctor's appointment, to take Tyler shopping for winter clothes. That California beach body is going to freeze if he keeps dressing the way he does.

“Hey April, enjoying the view?” Francine asks as we wait for the kickoff. “I bet Tyler's butt looks a lot better up close like this than in the stands.”

I shake my head, laughing at my bubbly friend. “You have no idea. Is that why you do this . . . so many nice butts so close?”

Francine laughs and shakes her head. “Nope. I like teasing all the horndogs in the stands. You don't think I wear the skimpiest top I can get away with for no reason, do you?”

“Shake what your momma gave ya,” I tease, and she laughs. “Well, you've got a lot to shake.”

“Thanks. You know, I know you're not into the dancing and stuff, but you'd fill out a cheer outfit pretty well yourself. Maybe a little present for you and Tyler to play dress up with? Oh no, Mr. Big Time Quarterback, I'm just a poor innocent cheerleader . . . what, why am I not wearing panties? I don't know . . . oh, oh . . .”

I laugh, my breath steaming into the evening sky. “You talk about the fans, but you are such a horndog! Don't tell me, you do that on a weekly basis.”

She arches an eyebrow and smirks. “Ask me no questions, I tell you no lies. So do you know why Tyler asked that you be on the sidelines today?”

I shake my head. “Considering the bomb he dropped in Vancouver, I'm expecting anything from nothing to he's going to run for Prime Minister. Who knows, he might just feel nervous about this game and want his good luck jersey closer. He's already wearing his lucky underpants and t-shirt under his pads. Who knows?”

“He's superstitious?” Francine asks, and I nod.

“I think all athletes are to some degree or another. Or do you just wear the same hair pin every home game because you like the way it looks?”

She touches the little butterfly pin with black and white stones, then chuckles. “Point taken. Enjoy the game, I gotta get the girls going on our thing.”

The Fighters kick off, and the defense goes on the field. It's another strange thing, being on the field level. I can't see nearly as much of the game as when I'm in the stands, but there's a sort of visceral, emotional connection that even being in the second or third row on the center line doesn't give you. I can hear the players calling to each other, yelling at each other, and even some of the nearly constant smack-talking. How did I ever think games were somber events? I mean, I remember my days in high school basketball before Thomas, and even us girls were constantly digging on the other team, talking constantly. What was I thinking that football players are any different?