Rachel Gibson - Not Another Bad Date

“You’re going to be just fine,” Zach promised even though he wasn’t at all certain. Don had torn two ligaments in his left knee, and some guys never recovered one hundred percent.

Zach dropped his hands to his side and made another promise he wasn’t sure about, but one he’d try like hell to keep. “No one’s going to take your place on the team.”

“I gotta make All-State.”

“You will. Next year. Shoot, Gerry Palteer tore up his knee in a game against the Gophers in ’89 and went on to make All-State the next year. He wasn’t near as fast as you.” Zach raised his gaze from Don’s eyes to the boy’s mother, standing on the other side of the bed. A green-and-gold purse in the shape of a football with the word “Cougars” sewn into the fake leather hung off one of Rose Tate’s shoulders. The purses had been sold by the boosters that past summer to raise money for new helmets. “How much is the surgery going to cost?” Rose stared at the clipboard in her hands as worry lines creased her dark forehead. “Not that it matters, I suppose. If Don needs it, he needs it, but we lost our insurance when Gorman closed.”

A lot of families had lost good jobs when the software company had closed the year before.

“Don’t worry about that, ma’am.” Zach held out one hand across the bed. “I’ll take care of the paperwork. The school has insurance that will pay for Don’s care.” Rose handed him the clipboard, and he stuck it under one arm. “You just see to your boy. I’ll fill those out for you.” He returned his gaze to his player. In a few hours, Don would be transferred to the surgery center in Lubbock. “I’ll see you when you get home,” he said, and headed toward the foot of the bed. At the part in the curtains, he looked back over his shoulder. “I know you want to get back into the game, but don’t you push yourself faster than your body can heal,” he added and walked out into the hall. He moved to the nurses’ station to fill out the rest of the paperwork.

“Good game tonight, Coach Z,” a nurse said to him as she walked behind the counter.

Zach glanced past a pair of pale blue eyes, flanked by a set of deep crow’s-feet, up to a pile of wispy blond hair. “Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.” The game hadn’t been pretty, but they’d won.

“My grandson played for the Cougars back in ’02. Defensive lineman.”

Zach hadn’t lived in Cedar Creek in ’02. He’d been playing ball in Denver and living a whole other life. Now, six years later, he was living a life that hadn’t been in the game plan.

“I understand Don Tate is heading to the orthopedic center in Lubbock.”

“That’s right.” Zach returned his gaze to the insurance forms. With a population somewhere around fifty thousand, Cedar Creek didn’t have the resources of a bigger city.

“What’s this mean for our rushing game?”

Zach smiled, but he wasn’t surprised by the woman’s question. “It means Tyler Smith is going to get his chance at playing varsity ball,” he answered, referring to the junior varsity running back.

He signed his name and handed the clipboard to the doctor as he approached.

The doctor looked it over. “I take it there is no school insurance.”

“None that’ll cover everything, but Miz Tate doesn’t need to know that.” He shook the doctor’s hand. “Thanks for takin’ care of Don.”

The black soles of Zach’s Pumas smudged the floor in a few places as he walked from the emergency room. The automatic doors opened and closed behind him, and he moved from the harsh light out into the Texas night lit by millions of stars all crammed together in an endless black sky. He zipped up his green jacket with the words Cedar Creek Cougars written in gold across the back. The lot had thinned since he’d arrived a few hours ago with a few circles of light illuminating patches of asphalt. He reached for the cell phone clipped to his belt and powered it up as he moved across the lot toward his silver Escalade. His choice in SUVs had nothing to do with Cadillac Pimpin’ and everything to do with room. At six-four and 220 pounds, Zach liked most things a little roomy. He’d owned a Porsche once, but he’d returned it after three weeks. Driving it had felt like being stuffed inside a soup can.

The cell phone beeped, and he looked down at the lighted screen. Using his thumb, he scrolled the missed calls list and paused on the last number. He hit the call button, and, after a few rings, his thirteen-year-old daughter’s voice filled his ear.

“Where are you?” she asked.

When he was late, Tiffany worried. “Exactly where I told you I’d be.” It was understandable, but it’d been three years since the death of her mother, Devon, and she still freaked out if she couldn’t get ahold of him. “What do you need?”

“We’re out of Coke cola. Can you pick some up?”

Zach glanced at the silver Rolex watch he’d been given the day he’d retired from the NFL. “Tiff, it’s after midnight.”

“We’re thirsty.”

Tiffany had a girlfriend spending the night. Normally, he would have been home long before now, but after the game, he’d driven straight to the hospital.

“And we need some chips,” she added.

He shoved his hands in his front pocket and pulled out his keys. “I’ll stop at the E-Z MART on my way.” He spoiled his daughter. He knew it, but guilt did that to a person. He hadn’t been around a lot for the first ten years of Tiffany’s life. Now, he was both mother and father, and he was fairly certain he was screwing it up. “What kind of chips do y’all want?”

“Lay’s barbecue.”

He glanced over the hood of his vehicle to the maroon Celica, with its front pointed toward his SUV, and his gaze stopped on the long legs and round behind of a woman standing at the open passenger’s side door. One of her hands held the door open as she spoke to someone inside the car. She wore jeans and a white sweater, and she stood just inside the pool of light that shined in her long curly hair.

“Daddy?”

Her thick blond hair reminded Zach of a girl he’d known once. A girl with big turquoise-colored eyes and soft pink lips. A girl whose soft gasps had driven him wild every time he’d kissed the sweet spot just below her ear.

“Daddy?”

One corner of Zach’s mouth lifted into a smile. He hadn’t thought about that girl in a while.

“Daddy, are you there?”

He tore his gaze from the woman and looked down at the keys in his hand. “I’m here. What else do you need?” He unlocked the Escalade and slid inside.

“Nothin’. Just hurry.”

“I’m on my way, baby girl.” He started the SUV and glanced at the woman one last time. She bent forward to help someone out of the car, her sweater slid up her back, and her hair fell over the side of her face. Zach pulled out of the hospital parking lot and flipped on his headlights. As he drove toward the E-Z MART, his mind turned to the game against the Panthers, and he replayed it in his head. With Don out for the rest of the season, the team was going to have to rely more on its passing, which had some problems. The biggest was that the quarterback, Sean McGuire, needed to work on passing quickly against the rush. Sean was shorter than most quarterbacks and had a tendency to hold on to the ball a few seconds too long looking for a lane. Sean’s height disadvantage could be overcome with drills, and there was no doubt in Zach’s mind that the kid would work hard. What the young quarterback lacked in height he made up for in self-discipline, a tough competitive streak, and natural leadership. Those were things that could not be taught. Zach had known a lot of players who’d had talent but lacked discipline. Talent usually got those players into the NFL, but most of them didn’t last long before fame and excess took their toll.