Hard & Deep: A Football Romance

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

"No, no." She shook her head and touched his arm. "The stack just fell over. I’m fine. It’s just that this headache is killing me."

After setting the bottle of wine down on an empty storage rack that was destined for cases of fresh vegetables, Mr. Hayes wrapped his arm around Tracy’s sunken shoulders.

"Still? Hasn’t it been a few days now? I thought you were going to go see the doctor."

"Yeah. I mean, I think so."

He tightened his grip and led her through the kitchen.

"You know, I can have someone come in and do all of this for you without all the stress."

They pushed through the swinging doors and into the dining room. Mr. Hayes carefully guided her to a seat.

"No," she said with a firm tone, and let herself sink into one of the few dining room chairs still on the floor. The rest had been flipped and placed on the table-tops to make sweeping and mopping easier. "You know that I don’t want the help. I want to do this myself. I need to do it myself."

Mr. Hayes held both hands up like he was trying to prove that he wasn’t armed. "Okay, okay," he said softly. "I take it that you won’t be wanting any wine, either?"

Tracy looked up to him and scrunched her eyebrows together to get a good look at him. The fog of pain had spread into her vision, making the periphery look like cloudy pools of water. Even when she spoke up again, her words were slow and careful.

"I don’t need any wine. Between this and not getting enough sleep, I already feel drunk."

"I see," he replied plainly, moving around her until he was standing behind her chair.

With both of his large hands, Mr. Hayes reached down and began to massage the throbbing cluster of muscles between Tracy’s neck and shoulder. With his thumbs, he made wide, sweeping movements over her shoulder blades.

Tracy groaned with approval, so he continued.

"When is your appointment with Gordon?"

"Tomorrow morning," she sighed.

"Are you nervous?"

She closed her eyes and let her head sink forward with a quiet, "Mmhmm."

By then, the hard rubbing had turned her into putty in his hands. With every powerful sweep that he made, Tracy’s head would bob up and down. As the massaging continued, she could feel some of the tension starting to melt away, though an overwhelming urge to sleep quickly took its place.

Even though the visions had stopped, her dreams, which were filled to the brim with fantastic nonsense and awful monsters that were seldom seen, made every night both fitful and restless.

After several minutes, Mr. Hayes leaned over and said softly into her ear, "I’m going to go get you some water."

Fortunately, the former owner of the building had left a few things behind as part of the deal, including a brand-new ice machine near the walk-in cooler. Mr. Hayes grabbed a couple of plastic cups and filled both with ice, adding water to just one.

Back in the dining room, Tracy hadn’t moved, still partially slumped over in her seat. Mr. Hayes held both cups carefully with one arm and used his free hand to snap off the light switches. Like a candle being blown out, the room dropped into an impressive darkness. The only light was from the kitchen, and the little slivers of window where the paper covering it didn’t quite reach. It wasn’t much, though, and cast little slashes of light all over.

"Here," he said, handing Tracy the water cup."Thanks."

"Sure."

He set the other cup on the table and pulled out a couple of disc-shaped ice cubes.

"Lean your head back."

A hint of a demanding tone crept into his voice.