His Tight End

“Brett, how are you liking the Alphas? Your early-in-the-season trade from the North Dakota Meadowlarks garnered a lot of press. Are you ready to talk about the reason for the trade?

“The Alphas have been amazing. A few bumps in the road in the early days, but the reasons for my trade are my own,” he answers tactfully.

“Brandon, as team captain, what can you tell us about Brett?”

“He’s a fantastic running back, and that’s all I need to know.” I will not give them whatever they are looking for, even if I knew the answer to what they wanted, which I don’t.

They must be getting bored with our answers because they turn to Sasha, and those questions are less about the game and more about her.

“Ms. Joiner, what can you tell us about your time with the Alphas?” Jane King, a reporter for Sports Central News, asks. There’s something weird in the way she asks too. She also looks at Jamal like he’s a prize at the county fair or something. Now that I think about it, she always pays special attention to him in her locker room interviews.

“I’ve had a great time. The team has been very welcoming, but I’m ready to finish the season,” Sasha answers with a huge grin.

“And what about the rumor that you’re married to your teammate Jamal Carter,” the same reporter asks, her voice snippy. Jamal, Sasha, and I share a look.

“I’m sorry. What?” Sasha asks.

“Rumor has it, you and Jamal got married several months ago. Care to comment on that?”

“I didn’t marry Jamal, not that any girl wouldn’t be lucky to have him,” she says pointedly to Jane. “I actually married Brandon in April.”

“And how’s that going?” Jane asks, looking mighty relieved.

“Very well,” I reply to a chorus of laughter.

“Any plans for the future?”

“Right now, we’ve got a game to play,” she says, effectively ending the questions.

Press junket done, under the spotlights of the K.P. Jones Stadium in Anaheim, we take the field. The Big Game after an undefeated season, we are more than ready to take home championship rings. We are neck in neck in the last few minutes of the game. We’ve got enough time for one more play. It’s our ball, so we set up the play. All season long, we’ve gotten Sasha the ball every chance we got. The strategy which should have been familiar to all of our opponents after a game or two still shocks them.

I throw the ball to Jamal with just thirty seconds left, but he’s tackled before he can catch it. Out of nowhere, Sasha catches the ball and turns to run toward the end zone. I watch in slow motion as she steps over the line.

“Touchdown,” the ref calls at the same time a hulking lineman crashes into Sasha. She goes down like a sack of potatoes, and I can’t get to her fast enough.

“Move,” I shout at the players who are surrounding her. Either the crowd goes silent, or I have gone deaf. Either is a possibility right now. I’m seriously freaking the fuck out. Logically, I know injuries are possible; I hoped and prayed that it would never happen to her.

“Sorry man, I couldn’t stop,” the lineman says, getting up off the ground, thankfully he didn’t land all of his considerable weight on top of her.

“Baby girl,” I shout, but she doesn’t move. “Where’s the doctor?” A flurry of people break through the huddle around us, and they begin to assess her, my eyes never leaving her.

Once she’s loaded onto the stretcher, time speeds up. Still, she’s not moving, and I feel everything slipping away from me. I rip my helmet off, toss it to the ground, and climb into the ambulance with her. I try to stay out of the EMT’s way, but I need her to wake up. I need her to be okay because I don’t know how to live without her.

Chapter Eight

Sasha

“Please wake up, baby girl,” I hear Brandon pleading and pop my eyes open. I look down and see that I am still in my uniform.

“Did we win?” I ask. It’s the first thing I can think of. I feel fine now. As soon as I dropped the ball, I felt dizzy, then I saw that linebacker coming right at me, and then I was out. I take an assessment of my body, and I don’t feel terrible. My wrist hurts a little bit, but it's not intolerable.

“We won,” he says, chuckling. I try to sit up, but he stops me placing his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I say, sitting up the rest of the way. “I just got a little winded. I’m starving too; maybe that’s why I passed out.”

“Ms. Joiner,” a doctor says, coming into the room.

“Mrs. Meyers,” Brandon and I say at the same time.