Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5) (24 page)

Brett shifted his gaze to HughJack. The guy
looked as if he’d aged ten years in ten days. The playoffs did that
to a coach as well as a player. No time for rest and relaxation.
That could come after the season ended.

Brett waited HughJack out, knowing the coach
had something to say. They watched a few plays together, HughJack
making comments here and there.

“You know, Brett, you’ve outperformed my
expectations.”

Brett wasn’t sure how to take that.
“Okay.”

HughJack managed a half smile. “I knew you
were capable, and the guys believed in you, but I knew you had a
short window to establish a rhythm with your offense. You had to
figure it out, and you did.” High praise coming from HughJack.

“Thanks.”

“There are several teams looking for
quarterbacks this offseason.”

Brett nodded.

“With the injury-forced retirement of Carl
Werther, Miami doesn’t have an option. Sure, they could draft a
guy, but that team is designed to win next year, and in the NFL you
have to take advantage because those opportunities don’t stay
around long. They’ll want a guy they can win with now.”

“Yeah, but will they want me?”

“Brett, they’ve been sniffing around
already. Off the record, I can tell you they’re damn interested.
You couldn’t do any better than them, and they have the cap room to
pay you top dollar.”

“What about San Francisco?”

HughJack raised one eyebrow. “No cap room,
problems from the top down. Not a situation you want to get into.
Plus, they can’t pay what you’re worth on the free agent market.
Why would you even consider a situation like that one?”

Brett shrugged. He knew why. One word.
Estie.
The love of his life. She wanted to go to vet school,
and UC Davis was a little over an hour from SF. That seemed like a
good enough reason to him.

Sure, he could take the Miami job and live
elsewhere during the offseason, but he’d always been one to give
his all for his team, and that included living full-time in the
city he played in and becoming a part of the community.

HughJack stared at him so long and hard,
Brett started to fidget. “I’ve heard rumors about you and Ty’s
sister.”

Brett nodded and didn’t confirm or deny.

“Don’t give up the thing you’ve worked all
your life for just to accommodate a woman. Trust me, this is your
future, and you only get to play this game for a very short time.
Don’t throw away a sure thing for a fleeting chance at something as
tough to pin down as love.”

Brett guessed the bachelor coach must have
been burned a time or two.

HughJack stood and patted his shoulder.
“Brett, keep your mind on the game. It’s all about the game right
now. The rest comes later. Enjoy the ride and let everything else
wait.”

“Okay, Coach.”

“And get some sleep. You’re no good to me as
a zombie.” HughJack motioned toward the door and waited next to
it.

With a sigh, Brett heaved his weary body
from the chair, stretched and worked the kinks from his cramped
muscles. “I guess you’re right.” He switched off the screen and
followed the coach out the door into the parking lot. A cold,
almost freezing mist fell around them. “Good night, coach.”

“Night, Gun. Enjoy your evening. I don’t
want to see your ass back here before eight a.m., or I’ll kick it
all way into a frigid Lake Washington.”

“Yes, sir.”

Brett managed to keep his eyes open by
rolling down the window on his SUV and letting the now-freezing
rain pelt the side of his face. By the time he let himself into
Estie’s house, he was freezing his ass off and ready for bed. The
dogs glanced up at him from their locations around the bed.
Marilyn, of course, slept at the foot, while Dozer snored in the
corner and Risky lay close to Brett’s side. Poor lonely, Humphrey
lay across the room by himself. None of the dogs moved as Brett
stripped off his clothes. Neither did Estie. He didn’t blame them.
It was damn late.

He could see the shoulder of her flannel
pj’s. Damn, he loved her in flannel. She had to be just about the
sexiest women ever in flannel. Shrugging into a bathrobe, he
trundled back to the kitchen and drank a glass of milk,
accidentally bumping a stack of mail. As he bent to pick it up, a
letter with UC Davis letterhead caught his eye. He picked it up,
unable to stop himself, and read through the letter outlining the
requirements for a transfer of undergrad credits to the college.
Why hadn’t she said anything?

Brett swallowed. He suspected he knew why.
She didn’t want to influence his choice of teams. With a deep sigh,
he walked quietly back to the bed, tossed his robe on the floor,
and climbed naked between the covers. Estie immediately rolled over
and cuddled with him, never once waking.

He kissed the top of her head and pulled her
close. She burrowed her face into his chest and made this little
sound of contentment deep in her throat, like a purring cat.

Brett closed his eyes, but for the first
time since they’d been spending nights together, sleep wouldn’t
come. His tired brain kept re-running a vision of two trains
heading toward each other on the same set of tracks on a collision
course with destiny.

Why the fuck couldn’t life ever be
simple?

Chapter 14

Brett lay sprawled on the ground. Every
muscle in his body begged him not to move, but he didn’t listen.
Sitting up, he wiped off his mouth and spit out the sickening iron
taste of blood. He’d split his lip on that last play when his head
parted ways with his helmet.

His right guard reached out a hand and
pulled him to his feet.

“Sorry about that, Gun, I let that guy
through.” The huge man had a sheepish frown on his face. Arnie
“Bulldozer” Bullock prided himself on allowing fewer sacks than any
other guy at his position, and he’d just given up sack number one,
with the game well into the fourth quarter. Brett couldn’t fault
the guy for that. He’d been damn flawless most of the game, which
was more than Brett could say for his own performance.

The back-and-forth battle with the Cowboys
had featured little offense and a helluva lot of defense. Even so,
Dallas led twenty-one to seventeen. The clock was ticking, not just
on this game and their season, but on Brett’s career. Right now he
didn’t give a shit about that career. He wanted a win for his guys
who were playing their hearts out despite a ton of bad breaks,
questionable calls, and an opponent who apparently couldn’t do a
damn thing wrong.

He nodded briefly at Hoss and Arnie. He
didn’t want to suck the team’s morale down the fucking toilet. The
guys were floundering, and his dreams of a Super Bowl with him as
the starting quarterback were spinning down the drain.

Knowing they were all gauging him,
determining how much fight he had left, Brett strode to the huddle,
oozing confidence. Damn it, this was his time, his team, and they
would do what he willed them to do if he had to carry them on his
back. After all, he had broad shoulders and a pretty strong
back.

Leaning down, he called the play the coach
had sent in with their rookie tight end. Ten pairs of eyes focused
on him to the exclusion of all else. Like magic, he sensed them
become a like-minded unit. No one heard the noise of the crowd or
the taunts of the defense. They were finally a well-oiled machine
with a single-minded purpose—a purpose that would either be
achieved or dashed in the next four minutes and twenty-two
seconds.

To win the NFC championship and go to the
Super Bowl.

Brett should be amazed, shocked, in fucking
awe, but he didn’t have the time to think, he only had time to
do.

They broke out of the huddle, and Brett took
the ball from the shotgun position. He lobbed a short pass up the
middle to Lane. The hulking tight end sprinted to a first down,
amazingly fast for such a big guy. On the next play, Bruiser
carried it across the fifty, and they were on the move.

Bruiser pounded to the Cowboy’s forty-two,
carrying several defensive players with him. As he fought for extra
yardage, a linebacker punched the ball out, and it bounced across
the turf. Several guys dove for it, and a sea of big bodies writhed
on the ground fighting for the ball.

Brett bit the inside of his cheek as he
watched the pile of flailing arms and legs. His hopes were slammed
to the ground when the Cowboys defensive back emerged with the
ball.

Shaking his head, Brett jogged off the
field, immediately going over to the quarterback coach and Harris
to discuss the last set of plays. If the defense didn’t stop Brian
Mason, the Cowboys’ All-Pro quarterback, it’d all be over
anyway.

As Mason marched down the field, even Tyler
grew silent and stared with an empty expression at the field in
front of them, but the Jacks’ defense came through and held the
Cowboys to third and ten, forcing their quarterback to put it up
downfield. Out of nowhere, Zach streaked across the turf with the
speed of a twenty-year-old and snatched the ball right out of the
receiver’s hands. Brett leapt to his feet as Zach turned and ran
downfield, only to be brought down by their running back on the
Jacks’ forty-five.

Power surged through Brett, the power of
knowing he was right where he wanted to be, doing the one thing he
wanted to do most, with a team of men he’d come to think of as
brothers. They’d risen above adversity, been knocked down several
times, but when it mattered most, they shot to their feet still
fighting, scrabbling, battling for that elusive prize.

They could
do
this.

Grinning and energized, Brett strapped on
his helmet and sprinted onto the field, joining the group around
Zach. A few minutes later, the Jacks were on the twenty, thanks to
a couple pass plays to Derek and the hard running of Bruiser.

Then Brett got sacked. Again.

Third down and twenty-two on the forty. Five
seconds left. Only time for this one play. Brett’s gaze slipped to
Derek, and Derek stared right back, his brown eyes glinting with
pure determination.

Brett took the snap and backed up a few
steps. Derek raced up the field for the end zone, and Brett laid it
out there, praying like he’d never prayed before in his life.

The next few moments happened in slow
motion. The ball, a perfect spiral, sailed through the air,
straight as an arrow, almost as if it had a homing beacon. Derek
turned and looked over his shoulder just as the ball fell into his
hands as easy as a couple kids playing on an empty lot. The crowd
erupted, their cheers deafening.

And just like that, Brett Gunnels earned the
right to play in the big show as a starting quarterback. He
galloped down the field toward Derek with the rest of his
teammates, smothering the wide receiver amidst hugging and
back-slapping, every one of them with huge grins on their faces,
but none bigger than Brett’s.

Zach grabbed his jersey and pulled him
around, his smile wider than his home state of Texas and unshed
tears in his eyes. The linebacker wrapped him in a bear hug,
forcing the oxygen from his lungs. Reporters caught wind of their
emotional interaction and scurried to catch it on video, as the
field swarmed with reporters and family of the players.

Zach took a step back and swiped at his
eyes. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“Thank
you
. You intercepted the ball
that kept them from scoring.”

“It was a team effort.”

“That it was.” Brett didn’t think his feet
were touching the ground. Kelsie ran up to Zach. He threw his arms
around her lifted her in the air and spun her around, shouting the
entire time, “We did it. We did it. We won the NFC.”

Brett stood back and watched his teammates
with their wives and girlfriends, children, and parents, hugging
each other. In this sea of humanity, he stood alone, apart from
them all. Always different, always a loner. Even as a winner, that
hadn’t changed.

Where was Estie? Why wasn’t she here to
share this moment?

Reporters tugged on his shirt, juggled for
space in front of him. He ignored them and started walking, pushing
through the crowd until he saw her running through the throng of
people as if they weren’t there.

His smile came back full force as she threw
her arms around him and rained kisses on his face. The radiant grin
on her laughing face filled his vision as the magnitude of what
he’d accomplished slammed into him.

This was a Cinderella story, and he was
Cinderella. If he could only keep those glass slippers on both of
his big feet.

And Estie in his bed for their own happy
ending.

* * * * *

Estie catapulted into Brett’s arms, not
giving a shit who saw her and what they thought—namely her family
members. Brett must have been of the same mind as suddenly they
were kissing each other with a passion born of desperation and
explosive chemistry—until her brother grabbed her by the shoulders
and pulled them apart.

He glared at each one of them, hands on hips
and a formidable scowl on his face. Brett scowled right back, while
Estie smoothed her hair and managed an innocent smile. Flashbulbs
blinded them from every angle.

“Get a fucking room,” Tyler growled.

“Get a fucking life and quit worrying about
us.” Estie shot back. “Maybe you should attend to your own
relationship, instead of putting all this energy into ours.” Estie
looked over Tyler’s head at Lavender standing a few feet from them,
wringing her hands.

Somehow Estie doubted Lavender’s nervousness
had anything to do with her and Brett. More likely, it had to do
with Tyler, but she had enough of her own problems, and Tyler’s
marriage phobia was not one of them.

Brett elbowed his way between the two
battling siblings, as if fully aware the eyes of the nation were
focused on them. At that sobering thought, Estie backed off and
smiled sweetly at her still-scowling brother.