Hard & Deep: A Football Romance

Tracy froze, the acrid sting of vomit rising inside of her. She knew that chin. She knew that profile. Her heart froze and her stomach threatened to empty right there.

"Fuck," she mouthed silently.

It’s him.

The periphery of Tracy’s vision faded to black as she locked eyes on her supernatural stalker. She couldn’t hear Mr. Hayes’ voice any more. All that came through was a fast, powerful pounding as the blood coursed through the vessels in her head at breakneck speeds. Her heart felt like it was going to bore a hole right through her chest and her knees went weak, forcing her to put both hands onto the cooling unit to keep from falling.

The man crunched his way toward the building. He would cast a wary glance over his shoulder every once in a while, but otherwise seemed relatively calm. Tracy, on the other hand, was experiencing a whole new level of fear. Her skin tingled and her mouth went dry. She knew damn well what he was there for.

He was going to kill Mr. Hayes. The dreams said as much.

He walked past Tracy's hiding place and beyond the edge of the building. Tracy closed her eyes and swallowed before forcing herself to follow. She crept along the wall, being careful to step of patches of gravel that already looked worn down into the ground. Those would be the quietest.

When she reached the end of the wall, she carefully peeked around the corner. The man was only a few steps away from the front door, and his left hand was no longer in his pocket. Instead, his stubby fingers gripped a pistol close to his side.

Tracy started to panic. She didn’t have a plan.

The faintest shadow of a whimper escaped through the bile in her throat, but it was just enough to change everything.

The man turned on his heels, prompting Tracy to double back a few feet and press herself against the building’s rough stucco exterior, which scraped her back as she pressed hard against it. There was nowhere to run, nowhere that she could get to in time. It was only a matter of seconds.

In the blink of an eye, Tracy’s need for flight gave way to the resolve to fight. There was no more time left to consider how or why.

It had to be done. He had her cornered.

The tip of the man’s shoe was the first thing that crossed into Tracy’s sights. Then she closed her eyes, screamed at the top of her lungs and charged.

What happened next was a blur. She lunged toward him, aiming low and colliding with his knees, sending him down onto the ground with her. The man was visibly surprised, but quickly began to fight back against a barrage of thrashing limbs. Tracy couldn’t see the gun during any of it. All that she saw was white – blinding white.

The weapon’s cold metal grazed her thigh for a moment and everything slowed down to a crawl. Her vision snapped back on in time for her to look down and see the blood-red handle waiting to greet her. It was so much like her dreams that she nearly fainted.

Tracy looked back up to find the man scrambling to his feet. He already had his finger curled around the trigger. By the time that she opened her mouth to scream, he was raising the gun to meet her horrified stare.

Behind him, Paul Hayes appeared, grabbing the shoulder of the man’s leather jacket with both hands and yanking him backward.

BANG!

The gun went off. Tracy saw the brief flash at the end of the muzzle, and the bullet rocketed through the edge of her upper arm. She immediately cried out and fell to the ground, her blood spattering onto the gravel below. Red pain flowed down her arm.

Mr. Hayes, whether through his prowess or pure luck, wrestled the man to the ground and climbed on top of him. By the time Tracy was able to clamp a hand onto her wound and stand up onto her shaking legs, Mr. Hayes had beaten the assassin into unconsciousness and was still going.

"Mr. Hayes," she screamed. He kept hitting the man, pummeling him into a red pulp. He was going to kill him if he didn't stop.

He didn’t answer, but she still wasn’t close enough to reach him.

"Paul!" she cried out, desperate to keep him from making a mistake he would never forgive himself for.

Hearing her call him that name made him snap out of his blood-hungry trance. He grabbed the gun from where it had fallen and climbed off of the man, never once taking his eyes off him.

"Tracy,” he whispered as she hurried over to him. He kept the gun pointed at the man, but his eyes went to her. "Please tell me you’re okay."

She looked down at the man as a steady pattering of her blood dripped onto his jacket. Mr. Hayes had done a number on his face, but there was no doubting who it was. It was the man from her dream.

“I'll survive,” she replied, putting her hand on the wound and applying pressure. It hurt like hell, which she supposed was a good thing. If it didn't hurt she'd be far more worried. “You saved me.”

“I heard you scream,” Mr. Hayes said quietly, returning his gaze to their attacker. “You shouldn't have come, Tracy. He could have killed you.”

“He was coming for you,” Tracy replied defensively. “I just distracted him.”