Touchdown Page 2

  “Hey,” she said as she opened her eyes and held his gaze. “I’ve got a cell phone and I’m prepared to use it.”

  The man looked puzzled. “Excuse me?”

  “Look, Mr. I-don’t-know-what-your-problem-is, but if I have to call the police, I will.”

  “You must be mistaking me for someone else,” he said.

  “No. I’m never wrong. So how about you tell me who you are and why you’ve been following me?”

  Her cell phone rang, and Goldie took her eyes off the man for a second to dig it out of her purse. When she looked up, he was gone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Clayton Harper ran his fingers through his hair then straightened his tie in the locker room mirror as he tried to tune out the loud chants emanating from the stadium. It was yell night for the Emmett University Georgia Bullfrogs, and thousands of people were waiting for Clay, the star quarterback. He was expected to throw the first football to start the season—before their first game the following Thursday night—a tradition his town took seriously.

  How would he place in this year’s NFL draft? Or would he make it at all? Clay swallowed. He was good. He knew he was—he’d led the team to victory last season! But was he good enough? He smoothed his hands over his suit, then noticed a piece of paper flutter to the ground from his gym bag which he’d dumped on a counter by the mirror.

  He picked up the note and smiled, recognizing the handwriting. Leigh! Wouldn’t miss this for anything—I’ll be there. You’ve got the talent.

  Clay exhaled. Wouldn’t miss this. His best friend rarely got to see him on the field since she usually had to work, but tonight was different. It was close to midnight and she could make it.

  Go Bullfrogs!The sounds of the students chanting in unison from the bleachers was deafening, but Clay was used to it—he’d chanted like that when his brother Russ was the star quarterback. But that was before Russ’s injury.

  You’ve got the talent, Leigh had written. Clay shut his eyes tight, knowing it was true. His family had always teased, “Clay’s got the talent and Russ’s got the drive.” And Russ’s drive had propelled him ahead. He was a born leader.

  And he should be here now, instead of me . . .

  Clay shook his head. He couldn’t go there. If he had one ounce of doubt about his gift, or if he questioned his place even for a moment, then he couldn’t lead. Because a weak quarterback meant a weakened team which translated into loss . . . and injuries . . .

  Go Bullfrogs!

  Clay glanced at his watch. It was nearly midnight—at which point he had to throw the ball before all the students who’d gathered together to practice their cheers for the season. Only . . . Why am I here when it should be my brother? Russ was his older twin (by four minutes) and growing up, they’d done everything together. Russ would come up with an idea and Clay would follow his lead. Their neighbor Leigh would usually hang out with them too, though she’d wisely point out when they were spiraling out of control. That’s just how they rolled, and how it had always been. Russ was the one with the fire in his belly, the big dreams, and—because of me—a busted knee.

  “Stop it,” he said aloud as he stared into the mirror. He couldn’t go there. It had been Russ’s choice to play that night, even though he’d pulled a muscle earlier in the day during a fight with Clay. Hadn’t it?

  Clay swallowed and pushed his doubts into his belly as he tried to see himself as others did: tall and fair, with light blue eyes, and a strong arm. A quarterback. A leader. But he didn’t feel like one. He was the middle child in a struggling family who’d worked real hard to get through school. (When she’d tutored him in high school, Leigh had told Clay that he was smart, that dyslexia just meant it took longer to read, and he shouldn’t believe his dad when he called him stupid.)

  But really, what was he doing here? He’d never thought that it would happen for him, that he’d be standing here, leading all these talented and driven men toward victory. He loved to cook and hang out with Leigh—he’d only gone out for football because that’s what guys did. And because Russ had told him to. Football had always been Russ’s dream—Clay had been happy for his brother when Russ had made first string quarterback and then later, when Clay was recruited to Russ’s school and placed as third stringer.

  Until that night.

  It had been a crazy fluke that Russ’s career-ending injury occurred at the end of the last season just as the second stringer, Thomas Booth, was in rehab and Coach was trying to smooth over Booth’s DUI. So Clay went out as quarterback and brought a mediocre team to victory. But he couldn’t stop the voices of doubt in head: Do I belong here? Can I do this? Do I want to?

  Stop! He knew he had to quell his doubts—and fast. But they constantly pounded inside his head. His opponents were giants—they could kill him. Or worse. They could maim him and leave him incapacitated like they’d done to Russ.

  He didn’t want to be here. He felt like he was going crazy. But he couldn’t think about his fear or his doubts. He couldn’t let himself feel anything because if he did, he might hesitate and if anyone got a whiff, then he’d lose.

  And football was his chance. His only chance to make something of himself. He wasn’t the best student, and his dad’s bookstore business was failing. (How could he forget? Dad reminded him harshly every chance he could in that tight voice of his, hoarse after too many drinks.) Sure, he dreamed of moving to France and studying to be a chef, but really, who was he kidding? He couldn’t afford that.

  Go Bullfrogs! The great cacophony of cheers pulsated through the stadium and locker rooms. Clay turned toward his teammates who were all finishing up grooming themselves for their part in yell night. Usually it didn’t matter how they looked—it only mattered how they played. But tonight was different: It was the end of summer, and the beginning of the season, and they were all dressed in suits, ready to march out and take their places in the hearts and minds of their community.

  “Y’all ready?” Clay called out to his team.

  “Ready!” they shouted back. “Go Bullfrogs!”

  Clay’s coach nodded, and Clay led his team out of the locker rooms and into the stadium.

  Go Bullfrogs! As the team marched onto the field, the crowd went wild.

  Clay inhaled the smell of the turf and felt the excitement of the crowd pulsate through the air. He immediately noticed Leigh, sitting in the bleachers not far from where he stood, her long red hair cascading down her back, framing her pale skin, which looked luminescent in the moonlight. She usually wore T-shirts and jeans, but tonight, like all of the students, she’d gotten dressed up. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her in a dress, and the light color made her look so . . . pretty?

  He didn’t know what to make of that.

  She waved, and he smiled at her. Suddenly all of his fears settled quietly in his gut and he felt happy, encouraged, and capable.

  Go Bullfrogs! The crowd cheered as his team took their positions in a straight line, waving to the crowd.

  His girlfriend, Coach’s daughter Carolyn, who he’d started dating at the end of last season when he made quarterback, was standing in front of the bleachers with her sorority sisters, all dressed alike in frilly pink dresses as they riled up the crowd with their cheers. He hadn’t seen her much over the summer; she’d been vacationing at her beach home on Tybee Island while he was busy practicing for the season. But still, everybody knew they were an item—Carolyn had told them so.

  Clay’s teammate Austin handed him the football, covered in blue and white paint, the colors of their team.

  “What the—” Clay said as he tried not to drop the wet ball while Austin, his hands wet with blue paint, stepped back and chuckled.

  “I thought we’d spice things up this year,” Austin said. He slapped Clay on the back.

  “You getting me full of paint?” Clay laughed, and then threw the ball at Austin, the paint splattering his suit.

  Thomas Booth, who stood behind Clay, shouted at Austin, “What a
re you doing with that? You’re making a mess.”

  Austin laughed. “It washes off!” He threw the ball back to Clay.

  Booth furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s not our tradition.”

  Clay laughed and threw the ball to Booth. “It is now!”

  Booth strained to catch it, but too late; the ball, slippery with paint, slipped out of his grasp.

  Crowds of students in the stadium laughed as Booth, his suit now splattered blue, and his face clearly red, picked up the ball.

  “Watch your back,” Booth said. “I’m going to get you for that!”

  The team laughed as they all took turns throwing the ball to each other and splattering each other wet with paint.

  Carolyn walked away from her spot by the bleachers and called out to her boyfriend. “Clay, it’s close to midnight. Everybody’s waiting—when are y’all going to throw the first ball?”

  Austin, his suit now full of blue paint, was left holding the ball. “She’s right, Clay, it’s nearly midnight.” He turned and threw the ball to Carolyn. “Your turn!”

  Carolyn jumped back, but too late—the blue-stained ball hit her pink dress. She gasped and started to cry. “Austin, you moron! How could you ruin my dress?”

  Austin ran over to Carolyn. “It washes out. It ain’t ruined.”

  “But still! How am I supposed to lead cheer when I am blue? This is so not appropriate!”

  Her sorority sisters stopped cheering and crowded around her, horrified.

  Clay walked over to Carolyn. “Are you all right?”

  Carolyn exhaled and ran her fingers through her long, perfectly sculpted blond hair. “I’ll be fine. But I must wash out the stain before it sets.”

  “Throw the ball!” the crowd cheered. “Throw the ball!”

  Clay shrugged. “Are you sure, Carolyn? It would be nice to have you here. Can’t that wait a minute?”

  She shook her head, and then addressed the ladies congregating around her. “I’m fine!” she assured her sorority sisters and waved her hands. “It’s nearly midnight, ladies, so kindly take your places beside your dates. ”

  “Carolyn, please don’t go,” Clay said. “Don’t leave me now.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint,” Carolyn said and batted her eyelashes. “But it would be wrong for me to be here in a stained dress. You’ll have to be brave without me, Clayton,” she said, and then left him alone on the field.

  Austin picked up the ball and handed it to Clay. “Do the honors, buddy.”

  All the sorority sisters took their places and stood beside their boyfriends—the other football players—as they waited for Clay to start the season.

  “Ten! Nine!” The crowd cheered down the seconds until midnight.

  Clay got his arm ready to throw.

  “Eight! Seven!”

  “Clay needs a date!” Trina, Austin’s girlfriend, pointed out the horror of breaking tradition.

  Austin nudged Clay to get Leigh.

  “Six! Five!”

  Clay caught Leigh’s eye and gestured for her to come stand beside him.

  She shook her head no.

  “Four!”

  “Yes!” Clay ran toward Leigh and lifted her over his shoulder, then deposited her right beside him.

  “Three! Two!”

  Clay smiled at Leigh, who looked very uncomfortable standing beside him in front of his school, and then he wound his arm into position.

  “I can’t kiss you, Clay!”

  “It’s all right,” he whispered. “It won’t mean a thing.”

  “One!”

  He threw the ball.

  At midnight, the football hurtled through the air, soaring above the crowd toward the end zone as one of Clay’s teammates, Ricco, jumped to catch it.

  “Touchdown!”

  The crowd went wild as each student turned to kiss their date, as was their school tradition.

  Go Bullfrogs!

  Clay laughed, then turned to Leigh, grabbed her into his embrace, and was about to kiss her. They’d been friends since they were kids but had never gone beyond that.

  The lights went off for a moment as the crowd cheered in the dark.

  “It won’t mean a thing, right?” Leigh asked.

  “Right,” he said.

  Fireworks exploded overhead as everyone in the crowd kissed their dates, but Leigh Truitt broke out of Clay’s grasp and stepped back. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  Clay stared at her.

  “A kiss could make us . . . awkward, Clay. And nothing is worth the risk of losing you,” she said. “Ever. You’re my one, true friend.”

  The band played their school anthem as Clay and Leigh moved further away from each other and tried not to acknowledge that even though they hadn’t kissed, their world had changed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Goldie threw her hair back as she adjusted the collar on her handmade ivory wedding dress. The gown glittered from the dots of iridescent sequins that were sewn into the full skirt, which cascaded past her feet in pools of silk. Standing in front of an antique French chevalier mirror in her bedroom, she smiled.

  “You look beautiful.” Mindy sighed, leaning back on her sister’s canopy bed as she blinked back tears. “Mama would be so proud.”

  Goldie’s smile froze. “Who cares what Mama would think.”

  Mindy sat up. “You don’t wish Mama was here for your wedding day?”

  Goldie’s face was devoid of expression. “No.”

  Rays of sunlight shone through the huge bay window. Goldie usually kept the heavy velvet purple drapes closed, but today she had opened them a crack.

  Mindy rose from Goldie’s bed and stood behind her sister. “She’d want to be here.”

  “No, she wouldn’t.” Goldie shrugged and walked away from her sister.

  Mindy stared at Goldie. “How can you say that?”

  “Because,” Goldie sniffed and picked up her fluffy pink makeup brush. “She left us.”

  Mindy swallowed. “She didn’t want to. Can’t you forgive her?”

  “Forgive her? For what? For leaving us?” Goldie turned around and faced her sister. “She was sad for as long as I can remember, and then she got sick. I begged her to eat and get stronger but did she? No. And then I pleaded with her to call the doctor, which she didn’t want to do, either. She said ‘she’s a nurse and a fever is no big deal.’ That it would pass. And Daddy believed her. But it didn’t pass. She got septic and died. Who in the Western World dies from a fever? Her. Because she was stubborn, and didn’t want to stir herself to see a doctor, and clearly didn’t care about being with us. She had a death wish, I’m sure. She left us and I tried to help but couldn’t do a thing about it. And I refuse to ever be vulnerable like that again. I will never again take no for an answer. You think I want this?” Goldie gestured toward her antique mahogany dressers and canopy bed.

  “What are you saying?” Mindy asked.

  Goldie shook her head. “Every decision I make is about taking care of you, and Daddy . . . ”

  “Which decisions?” Mindy interrupted. “Managing our house? Running Daddy’s business?”

  Goldie stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Yes, that, too,” she said sadly.

  This time, Mindy froze. “You’re not sure about marrying Avner, are you?”

  Goldie’s eyes darted toward the window. “No, it’s not that. Avner’s a darling person. Who couldn’t like such a guy?”

  Mindy stared at her sister. “Like him? Goldie, you’re getting married. Tonight. Don’t you love him?”

  Goldie glanced outside at the figure standing by her patio. She watched him as he caught her gaze and waved. She pointed to the window. “Did you see that?”

  “See what?”

  Goldie twisted her engagement ring on her finger. “That guy in the white suit.”

  With a strong jerk, Mindy pulled all the drapes open. “There’s nobody there.”

  “Yes, there is.” Goldie pointed. “I know him
. I’ve seen that man in my dreams.”

  A light knock at her door interrupted their conversation. Chumie from the boutique arrived, her black hair matted across her forehead from the sweat of carrying heavy merchandise up the stairs. The tight grimace she wore plastered on her face made her look even more like a witch. “Here are the honeymoon outfits you ordered,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Goldie said automatically, barely acknowledging Chumie. She continued her conversation with her sister. “I could have sworn he was in our courtyard a moment ago.”

  Mindy nodded. “But he isn’t now. Who is this guy, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember where we first met other than in my dreams—but he sure is a snappy dresser,” Goldie said with a laugh.

  Chumie stared at Goldie. “You’re about to marry Avner Finkelstein, the sweetest guy in the world, not to mention the catch of the century—and you’re thinking about another man?”

  Goldie turned toward Chumie. “Huh?”

  Chumie’s eyes turned a darker shade of black and Goldie took a step back. “You’ve got the biggest fish in the sea and all you can talk about is some other guy?”

  The room suddenly turned dark as a cloud moved to cover the sun.

  Goldie, for once, was at a loss for words.

  “Avner deserves better than you,” Chumie spat at Goldie.

  Mindy got between the two ladies. “Hey, let’s all calm down now.”

  Chumie shook her head. “You’ll get yours, Goldie,” she said and stormed out of the room. “You all will!” she yelled, and then the only sound in the room was of the heavy oak door slamming behind her.

  Goldie sat down on her bed. “What was that?”

  Mindy looked out the window. It was starting to rain. “What do you think?”

  Goldie twisted her ring. “I didn’t take him from her.”