Grid Iron Bad Boy: A Football Romance

“
Q
uack
, quack!”

“Um, what?” I hold the door open for my sister and she squeezes past me into my new place.

“Well, I figure if I’m stuck waddling around like a duck, I might as well sound like one, right?” She smirks at me. “Besides, I’m not sure what kind of sound a beached whale makes,” she kicks off her shoes and I follow her down the hall to the kitchen.

“Oh give me a break,” I laugh, “you’re gorgeous and you know it! You have that perfect little basketball belly!” Walking behind her, it’s easy to see that she does have a lot more sway in her step than she did last time we hung out. I wouldn’t call it waddling, though.

Well, not to her face anyway.

“Yeah, well, I feel like I swallowed a basketball or something,” she waddles, I mean, she walks over to my fridge and yanks the door open. “I’ve got a bit of heartburn again. Do you have any ginger ale?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer and leaning her head inside, she starts rummaging through my shelves.

“It’s in the door,” I wait for Lauren to grab a can. She pops the tab and lets the fridge door slowly swing closed as she takes a huge gulp.

“Just think, you’ve only got a month and a half until my little niece stops giving you heartburn in there and gives you chronic sleep deprivation instead,” I smile and gently place my hand on her bump.

“Only a month and a half? You might as well say a year and a half. That feels like a lifetime from now,” she takes another long swig of her soda.

“I can imagine,” I try my best to sympathize, but I don’t even have a fur baby of my own. “I can’t wait to meet her though. You’re so lucky to have one of each.” I force a smile across my lips, but it feels tight and unnatural on my face. It’s hard not to be jealous of my little sister. I always wanted a baby girl.

“Hey, are you OK?” Concern clouds Lauren’s eyes and she grasps the hand I didn’t realize I still had pressed against her tummy.

“No, yeah, I mean yes. I’m fine,” I pull my hand back and step back, jerking my head toward the living room. “So, what do you think of the place?” I clumsily change the conversation and hope she’ll let it go.

Lauren sweeps her eyes across the open concept and gives me a pointed look. Just let it go, I silently beg her. “I’ve been here, like, five times already.” Her head tilts to the side and she purses her lips together, “Are you sure you’re OK? We’ve never really talked about the pregnancy thing…”

“I’m fine!” I don’t mean to say it so loudly or for it to come out so sharp. Damn it. Great start to girl’s night. My throat feels hot and I swallow, taking a deep breath. “Seriously, I really am. And I really am happy for you. I can’t wait to meet your little girl.” My words come out like hot air hissing out of a deflating balloon.

Lauren takes another sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving my face. “OK,” she finally responds.

Thank God. We can move on. “Anyway,” I clear my throat, “I was asking what you think of the place now that I’ve decorated. See?” I sweep my hand across the space like one of the girls on the Price is Right. Except instead of revealing a brand new car, I’m showing off the scattering of pottery and one painting that I could afford on my teacher’s salary.

“Oh,” Lauren’s eyes follow my hand, “it’s really beautiful. You’ve done a great job,” she smiles.

When our mother first let me in on her plans to put the house I shared with her on the market, I admit, I felt a little betrayed. I mean, I’d spent my entire adult life in that house, trying to help her out. At least that’s what I told myself. Turns out, she didn’t need my help. Instead, she wants to move into a senior complex and play card games with people her own age.

The real slap in the face was realizing that my mother never needed me at all. She was just waiting for me to stop needing her. I think she’s been waiting for me to find Mr. Right and get married. I guess she figured she’d only get to play card games with her friends in Heaven if she kept waiting for that.

At first, it stung to get my marching orders. However, it made me realize that all these years, I’ve been saving all my money. For what? I don’t really travel. I don’t really party. So, why was I just collecting a big pile of money, Scrooge McDuck style? Getting this townhouse has been the best thing for me. It’s like it forced me to take that last reluctant step into adulthood.

“All right!” I snap myself out of my thoughts and focus on girl’s night. “Are you ready for some sexy Top Gun action? I haven’t watched it in forever,” I laugh.

“What? How can you not watch it? It’s a classic!” Lauren defends her pick for the night. “I’d watch it all the time if Mack didn’t have such a thing against pilots,” she laughs.

“Seriously? Even movie pilots?” I giggle. I’m well versed in Mack’s rants about the Air Force elite.

“Yep, all of them. His favorite joke is: What’s the difference between a pilot and God?” She looks over at me and I blink back, waiting for the punchline. “God doesn’t think he’s a pilot,” she fills in the blank, her voice deadpan.

A smile spreads across my face, a real one this time and I shake my head. “That’s kinda funny actually.”

“Not when you’ve heard it a million times,” she answers.

“Alright, well, why don’t you get the movie started and I’ll cook up a batch of popcorn. I’m doing it on the stove like mom used to.” I walk across the kitchen to grab my supplies as Lauren makes her way toward the couch.

“Sounds good, ugh!” She doubles over, clutching her knees and drops her can on the floor. A tiny river of exploding bubbles trails across the hardwood as Lauren struggles to take a deep breath.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I rush to her side, wrapping my arms around her. “Are you OK?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so. Damn it. Sorry I spilled soda all over the place,” she stands back up straight.

“Don’t worry about that! What’s going on?”

“I just need to use the washroom. I think the baby is moving up under my ribs or something. Can you just grab me a cloth so I can clean this up?”

“Get outta here! I’ve got this,” I wave my hand at her, shooing her away. “I said don’t worry about it.”

She doesn’t argue, quickly disappearing up the stairs to the washroom.

Lauren’s right. These last six weeks are going to crawl by if this is how she’s been feeling. I go grab a cloth from my sink and clean up the mess before it has a chance to get sticky. Back by the stove, I find all the supplies I need to make a huge bowl of buttery popcorn like mom used to make us.

“Chelsea!” My sister’s cries are muffled from the floor above, but I can hear her screaming my name. I take the stairs two at a time and rush up to the bathroom.

“What’s wrong?” I yell from outside the door.

“I need you, shit. Chelsea, I need you to come in here.” Her voice is higher, grittier.

I fling open the door and try not to scream at the pool of red spreading across my tile floor. “My water broke. Damn it, it’s too early for this.” She looks up at me from the toilet, her bloody underwear around her ankles.

“Uh, don’t panic. That’s not a big deal. I mean, of course it’s a big deal, but this is OK. We got this.” I can hear my brain screaming to stay calm as fear grips my heart.

“I don’t know what’s going on. There’s something down here. Oh my God, Chelsea! What is it? I need you to look,” she nods her head to her blood soaked hand pressed against her vagina.

“There’s something there?” My head is spinning. What the hell is happening? Lauren doubles over and moans a deep sound that any animal would know is the guttural music of pain.

“Shit, I’m gonna call the ambulance. I just need to grab my phone,” I turn to leave.

“No!”

“Lauren, you’re in labor! We need to get you to the hospital now!”

“I know, but you have to tell me. What is it?” She pulls her crimson fingers away from her vagina and leans back, forcing her legs open. I peer down and gasp, clutching my sister’s shoulder for support.

Between Lauren’s legs, among the blood and mess, is a tiny dangling foot. My niece’s foot.

God, help us.

T
he crowd roars
in the stadium so loudly that it makes me deaf to even my own thoughts. My blood is pumping hard; I feel the same shot of adrenaline I get during my own games. Getting my ass to a Broncos game now that my own season has started was no small feat. However, it’s exactly what my soul needed.

There’s no speech you could give me that would inspire me more than I am right now. Being in the stands for the real deal makes me want to get my gear on and destroy my junior year of my college football career. I want to shred down every field and scorch the earth as I take my team to victory at the Rose Bowl. I can see it so clearly in my mind. I’ve never wanted anything so badly.

“This is awesome!” I clap Chris’s shoulder. He looks like a wide-eyed kid that just woke up on his birthday to a brand new bike. On the other side of him, Mack is pumping his fist in the air, screaming. I look down at the game and see what has him so worked up. The Bronco’s running back is flying down the field. He’s juking and jiving around the defense like a ballerina twirling around a stage. My jaw hangs open as my eyes are glued to #29 diving into the end zone and tying up the game.

“Holy shit! That was crazy!” I put my hands up like I’m surrendering to the amazing play I just witnessed.

As the players jog off to the bench and the cheerleaders bounce perkily onto the field, the game is tied up 7-7. We slump down in our seats, I’m dripping with sweat and feel like I just ran a bunch of wind sprints. Man, there is just nothing better than watching the pros show us all how it’s done.

The hotdog guy is making his way down the stadium stairs and my belly growls fiercely at me. “Hey man, I’m gonna grab a couple tube steaks. Do you guys want some?” I look over at Mack and Chris.

“Nah man, I don’t eat that shit. Body is a temple and all that,” Mack fires back.

“Hey bro, I hate to break it to ya, but your temple is crumbling,” I nod down to his prosthetic leg and he laughs.

We’re always chucking shit at each other; between us nothing is off-limits. After serving with Mack in Afghanistan as my platoon’s Captain, he and I are closer than brothers. And I should know since I have a brother of my own.

I hold up my bill and two fingers as the man with the food makes his way down toward me. He reaches into his heated, foil bag and hands me the hotdogs as I hand over the cash. Damn, they smell good. My stomach roars at me again for good measure, just in case I somehow forgot about him in the last ten seconds.

Sitting back down in my seat I dig into my supper for the day. My coach would give me shit if he saw me filling up on this junk. Luckily, he’s not here.

“I’m surprised half this stadium isn’t roaming around the field looking for Pokémons,” Mack gives Chris a nudge with his elbow, making him tear his eyes away from his screen for a second.

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,” Chris mumbles as his face is quickly pulled back to the light shining from his phone, engulfing him.

I look around the stands and Mack is right. Half-time just started and forty percent of the people around us are lost in their virtual worlds. Pokémon, texting, Facebook…all of it is obviously more important than the here and now.

My eyes trail down to the enthusiastic line of Denver Broncos’ cheerleaders putting on a show. How can any red-blooded man give a shit about some imaginary monster on his phone with all the tits and ass bouncing around in next to nothing down there?

No wonder football is the best sport on earth. Not only do we have the most exciting game, but our cheerleaders are just icing on the tastiest cake. Maybe more people would give a shit about hockey if they had girls in skimpy outfits skating around between periods. Or, you know, if the Stanley Cup was even half as exciting as the Super bowl.

Fuck hockey.

Although, sitting in the bleachers in mid-November is probably just as cold as watching any game in a rink. My eyes follow the beauties hopping around below. Makes the dedication of those cheerleaders even more impressive. Bless them. Every perky, gorgeous one of ‘em.

“You thinking about how this is gonna be your life in a couple years?” Mack drags my attention back from the show.

“Hmmm, um, yeah. I guess. I mean, that’s the dream right? If I don’t get drafted next year, I’m not sure what the plan is.” My stomach twists up tight.

I don’t have a plan B. Sure, I’m also getting my degree and that’s got to be good for something, right? But, getting a job that requires a degree isn’t good enough for me. If I’m not drafted next year, I will fail.

Fail at the only dream I’ve ever had.

“You won’t need another plan, man. You kidding me? You got this,” Mack’s warm hand claps my shoulder. “Soak it in, Cameron, ‘cause your days of watching the big boys play from the stands are gonna be short-lived.”

My eyes sweep across the stadium; every seat is packed with a body, even if the person occupying it is attached to their phone. Still, every single seat is full. This place makes our Buffaloes games look amateur. I mean, we are, but still, it’s amazing to think that this could be my life in the not-too-distant future. That I could be soaking in this sight from the middle of the field instead of as a spectator in a faceless sea of people.

“Thanks, man. Well, you know that if I get picked up, you guys will always have tickets with your names on them.” I nod over at Chris and glance back at Mack’s broad smile.

An obnoxious ringtone interrupts our conversation and everyone around us pauses as they wait for their phone to declare that someone wants to talk to them. Chris is tonight’s winner of the human interaction lottery though. He swipes his thumb across the screen and rests the phone against his ear.

“Hello?”

“I swear, he’s eleven-teen. Do you remember getting calls from chicks in grade six? ‘Cause I didn’t,” Mack jerks his head toward his son and rolls his eyes. He pretends that he’s complaining right now, but I know a humble brag when I hear one.

“Grade six? Nah, I think I was still playing with GI Joes back then,” I smile back.

“Hey Chelsea, how’s my favorite aunt? Woah, hey! Calm down! What’s happening?

Chelsea.

My mind sharpens into a pinpoint. Everything around me narrows. I can only see her face. I shake my head and try not to listen in. I try not to worry about what could have her so worked up. I make myself focus back on the cheerleaders making their way off the field, but they look like cookie cutter Barbies compared to Chelsea. I wonder how she’s doing?

“Alright! OK, just a sec,” Chris thrusts the phone into Mack’s face. “She’s, like, freaking out. I don’t understand her,” he hands the phone off to his Dad.

“Hello?” Mack answers.

Why haven’t I ever called her? I let my thoughts swirl, but in my heart, I know the reason.

She means more to me than the usual fuck and chuck girls I pick up. I could never just have one night or one week or even one month with Chelsea. The thought is equally mesmerizing and terrifying.

“Really? Is she OK? Alright! We’ll meet you there!” Mack yells into the cellphone and jumps up abruptly. “We gotta go. We need to get out of here,” he starts pushing past my knees and making his way to the stairs.

“Dude, what’s going on? Is it an emergency? We’ve still got half the game?” I stare at him in disbelief.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Chris hops to his feet and follows Mack.

“Cameron! I need you to take us to Saint Joseph’s. Now!” He snaps the command and from muscle memory, I scramble to my feet to fulfill my old Captain’s orders. “Lauren is having the baby!” Mack barks.

I’m instantly on my feet and pushing past the crowd. Shit! Isn’t this early? I didn’t think she was due yet. I don’t have time to ask questions though; Mack is already making his way to the exit.

I hope everything is going to be OK.