CHAPTER ELEVEN
Chris
“Hey, Lalonde, bench press is free now,” Tony hollered, hauling himself up into a sitting position and wiping his forehead with a towel. “Maybe if you spent a little more time at the training facility, you wouldn’t have to use cheap ploys and sixty-foot billboards to score women.”
Except the only woman I wanted to score with wasn’t so easily swayed by my antics—though I could tell my efforts were wearing Hazel down. The evidence was in the way she leaned into my touch, or how sometimes I felt her watching me when she thought I didn’t notice, or the way she had to work to suppress a smile every time I strolled into a room. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I had to make an entrance, but that showing up would be enough.
“No one wants that kind of close-up view of your moobs, Chris. Are you trying to make Blizzards fans vomit on their way to the office?” Austin called from his position at the Smith machine, squatting enough weight to crush a bodybuilder. He was leaner and shorter than the majority of NFL tight ends, but his size allowed him more agility and finesse on the field that other players at his position lacked.
“Thompson, you’re the one who needs to wear a bra,” I said through gritted teeth, inhaling and exhaling as I skated from side to side on the balance board. My glutes and hips were screaming at me to give them a rest, but I refused to quit. The more fluid my mobility, the more lethal a wide receiver I became. “Y’all are just jealous that I’m Denver’s hottest wet dream.”
“Is that what we’re calling bed-wetting these days?” Austin asked, finishing his final set of reps. He pulled the forty-five-pound plates off the bar and stacked them on a nearby rack.
“Maybe Chris should be a spokesman for Pampers.” Tony laughed at his own stupid joke, stretching his legs before tackling hamstring curls.
Ever since our back-to-back wins against Houston and New Orleans, the guys had been warmer to me, almost friendly. And with game twelve against the Raiders on Sunday, we needed to work together as a cohesive unit now more than ever. We had to win our five remaining games if the Blizzards had a chance in hell of making the playoffs as a wild card, and even then a 9–7 overall season record wasn’t a guarantee of earning a spot.
“Lalonde, your agent’s on line three.” Offensive Coordinator Ashley’s voice echoed around the space so loud it threatened to crack the powder-blue-and-silver paint on the walls. Without waiting for an acknowledgment, he retreated down the hallway that led to the offices.
Slowing my movements, I stepped off the balance board, squirted water into my mouth, and walked over to the phone fastened outside the locker room, wondering why Scott hadn’t dialed my cell.
“Did you lose my number?” I asked, propping the receiver between my shoulder and ear.
“I was on a conference call with Wallace, so he transferred me over.”
“What about?” I asked, steeling myself for bad news. It wasn’t uncommon for agents to converse with members of the coaching staff, but that wasn’t Scott’s usual style.
“I got word from the commissioner’s office about an hour ago,” he said, his tone tense.
Dread crept into my stomach, sinking like a rock. “And?”
Scott sighed. “They’ve finished their investigation, and they want you to come in for a hearing.”
“A hearing about what? I haven’t done anything illegal.” I was careful to keep my voice low so Tony and Austin wouldn’t overhear.
He became quiet a moment, as if choosing his next words carefully. Finally he settled on, “You know the NFL does whatever the hell they want. Half the time they make up the rules as they go and hand down sanctions as they see fit. Gone are the days of lax enforcement for violators.”
“Well, what have you heard? What’s the punishment?” I tapped an unsteady rhythm against my green Gatorade water bottle and told myself not to get worked up.
“Rumor is a multigame suspension next season, or it could be a hefty fine. We won’t know for sure until the hearing,” he said over the sound of chair hinges squeaking in the background.
“Suspension?” I said, my frustration and worry growing as loud as my voice. “That’s bullshit and you know it. I’ve willingly cooperated with the investigator’s every request. Hell, current research on Meldonium supports my assertion that my first test only registered as positive because the drug was still leaving my system, not because I was still using, which should prove I stopped consuming the drug before it hit the banned list. What more do they want?”
“I understand your point, Chris, but the fact remains that your initial blood work came back dirty even if the second round of tests was clean. The commissioner isn’t about to let that slide. And anyway, Kent McDougall stated that he’ll appeal the decision if the outcome results in you being unable to suit up.” Scott said the last part calmly, as though that somehow made the hearing okay.
“Appeal? I’ll sue the commissioner himself,” I said. “And I’m certainly not going to allow the league to make an example out of me.”
“It became part of the gig when you signed the contract, Chris. If you wanna run with the pack, you gotta follow the leader.”
Hazel had commented something similar, but I doubted a suspension was what she’d been referring to.
I listened to Scott rattle off schedule details for the hearing before hanging up. “Fuck,” I said, punching the wall, all the fear and worry and frustration finally thrashing out of me like a live wire.
The fallout of this whole mess could ruin current and future endorsement deals, but worse, it could destroy my career, keep me out of the Hall of Fame, make it so all my years of dedication and hard work in the league were for nothing. Fuck.
“Everything copacetic, Lalonde?” Tony asked, flinging his towel over his shoulder and approaching me cautiously, like I was an animal on the verge of attack.
Austin merely gazed at me from across the room, wearing an expression that said he’d rather stay in the dark than know details. He got up and headed to the outside practice field.
Of course this had to happen just as me and the guys were finding our groove again. I took several deep breaths, trying to slow my heart, which was hammering in my ears. I needed to rein in my anger. Lashing out wouldn’t fix the problem.
“Commissioner’s office concluded their investigation. There’s going to be a hearing,” I said. There was no use lying about it—everyone would find out soon enough.
I expected Tony to give me a verbal beating, tell me that news of the hearing would wreak havoc on the team dynamic, weaken our already fragile momentum, permanently derail us, but instead he shook his head and said, “Not good, man. Not good. When do you fly out to New York for it?”
“It’s going to be here at the Blizzards training center in a couple of weeks. Apparently the commissioner will already be in town for an unrelated meeting. Lucky me, right?”
Tony nodded. “What are you gonna do about it?”
I shrugged. “Show up, state my defense, hope the commissioner is feeling generous.”
He patted my shoulder and said, “Hit the showers, then I’ll buy you a beer.” I wasn’t sure why he was offering his support given the circumstances, but I was grateful for it.
As we walked into the locker room, I felt my cell phone buzz in the zipper pocket of my mesh shorts. I pulled it out, surprised to see a text from Hazel.
Can you come help? I’m at the adoption event, the message read, and despite the frustration and anxiety I still felt, a smile spread across my face. Things had gone wrong today, but Hazel pushing aside her reservations and contacting me? That was right.
This is what I’d been working toward, hoping that if I tried hard enough to become the man she deserved, that she might actually begin to rely on me, believe in me—and in return I could believe in myself. I didn’t care if she needed me to wrangle a dozen mange-covered poodles—I’d be there.
“Change of plans, Tony,” I said. “How do you feel about drinking beer with a bunch of dogs instead?”
The Rescue Granted meet and greet was being held at the Breckenridge Brewery. As I pulled up though, I noticed there were hardly any cars in the gravel lot—a good sign. That meant the majority of the dogs had already been adopted, despite the fact there were still four hours remaining to the event. Not that I was surprised. My billboard had garnered national attention, and business at the shelter had been booming as a result.
I parked my Aston Martin near the main building, which housed the restaurant, general store, and growler-to-go station. Situated on a twelve-acre plot of land adjacent to the Platte River Trail in Littleton, the brewery consisted of rural farmhouses and barns outfitted with modern beer-producing technology.
As I stepped out of the car, Tony swung his truck into the spot beside mine. He jumped out of the cab and inhaled a long, deep breath.
“Smell that?” he asked, pulling on a pair of gloves and a beanie adorned with Bruiser the Bear. The day was bright and cloudless, the sky a perfect pale blue, but the wind coming off the Rocky Mountains was harsh enough to bite.
“Malt and barley, my friend. The stuff of dreams,” I said, zipping up my coat and strolling around to where Tony was standing. “The meet and greet is in the beer garden. Hazel didn’t provide specifics about what she needed, but I assume I just gotta load up some equipment and supplies. After we can pop into the taproom for a vanilla porter.”
He laughed. “So Austin and I were right.”
“About what?”
“Well, if you need me here to help you lift dog crates, then you should definitely spend more time on the bench press strengthening your moobs.”
I punched Tony’s arm, my knuckles sore from where they’d connected with the wall earlier. “For that dig, first round’s on you.”
We walked to the rear of the main building, the ice mixed with gravel on the pathway crunching under our feet. As we rounded the corner, I stopped short at the sight in front of me. Crates were lined up in the grass, but none of them were empty the way I had expected. I frowned. If all the adoptees were still here, then where was the crowd?
I glanced around the beer garden for Hazel, but she wasn’t warming her hands at the fire pit with Penny and Donna or taking any of the dogs on a potty break. Where had she gone?
Tony leaned over and whispered, “You made it seem like the event was over.”
“I thought it was . . .” I trailed off, finally noticing Hazel slumped in a folding chair on the covered porch, a blanket draped around her shoulders, her expression frustrated and sad in equal measure.
“Wait here a second,” I told Tony, waving to Penny and Donna as I crossed the yard and jogged up the wooden steps.
Hazel stood quickly, almost losing her balance. “You came.”
“Of course I did. What’s going on?” I asked.
She glanced at my swollen knuckles where bruises were already blossoming but made no comment. The breeze picked up, rustling the fields of hops surrounding the brewery and carrying with it the scent of fried food. Barking erupted behind me, starting up a chorus of howls.
After a moment, Hazel cleared her throat and said, “Today’s event was meant to help our older animal population.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I’d offered to volunteer, but she’d assured me that between her, Penny, and Donna, everything was under control.
“Right, well, rescue dogs over the age of seven are often considered unadoptable, since most families prefer pets that will be a part of their lives for many years, but I thought that this bunch would have better odds because—”
“Because of the shelter’s recent positive press?” I finished for her, my concern growing.
Hazel nodded, wrapping the blanket tighter around her body. “But as you can see, we’ve had a less-than-enthusiastic turnout.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty dead here.”
“I know it’s your day off, but I was hoping you’d . . .” Hazel bit her lip and looked away. When she met my gaze again, her eyes were glassy. I wanted to pull her into my arms, comfort her, but I refrained. She was clearly embarrassed about contacting me, and I didn’t want to push. “I was hoping you’d be willing to spread the word about the event on your social media, maybe even contact the press the way you did with the pet supply delivery?”
“So, basically you’re conceding that you need me,” I teased.
Hazel huffed and brushed a few loose strands of hair out of her face. “Are you really going to make me admit it out loud?”
“There’s a lot I’d like to hear come out of your mouth, Hazel Grant, but we can start with this,” I said, stepping into her space. Her breath caught in her throat, her pupils dilating, and my desire to touch her, kiss her, only intensified.
“Okay, fine, I need you,” she said, warmth flooding her cheeks. I grinned—Hazel had zero poker face.
“Hazel, I don’t know your tastes, but when it involves Lalonde, be careful what you wish for,” Tony shouted from where he was kneeling in the grass beside an open crate with Sausage and Beans cradled in his arms, both dachshunds manically licking his chin.
What a sucker. At least Hazel could rest assured that these two dogs had found themselves a new home.
“Tell you what,” I said, turning back toward her. “I’ll do you one better than simply posting about the meet and greet on my social media.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Just watch and be amazed as your one and only FIGJAM works his magic.”
Hazel rolled her eyes, but a smile lurked at the corners of her mouth. “Did you really just refer to yourself as FIGJAM, and in the third person no less?”
Winking, I hopped off the porch and walked over to Tony, explaining the plan to him. He put Sausage and Beans back in their crate and said, “She’s gonna fall in love with you for this.”
“You think?” I asked.
He snorted. “I’ll contact Olson and Fitzpatrick.”
I nodded. That meant persuading Stonestreet to come was my job. We hadn’t talked since the gala, but Gwen had said he’d gotten over our argument. I was about to discover if that was true. I called Logan’s cell, and he picked up on the third ring.
“Chris?” he said, the sound of clanking plates and loud conversation muffling his voice.
I covered my ear so I could hear him over the wind whistling through the trees and asked, “You busy?”
“Just left the broadcasting studio. Now doing the rounds at the steak house,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Feel like making a quick pit stop at a dog adoption event on your way home?”
Gwen had been right as usual, because thirty minutes later, Logan pulled into the lot with Dustin and Ben arriving soon after. I led the guys around to the beer garden, grinning at how Donna’s jaw dropped and the way Penny practically tripped over her own feet at the sight of us. Hazel stood motionless on the porch.
“So, how ’bout it, Grant? Think a bunch of Blizzards players can bring in the crowd you need?” I asked, spreading my arms wide. “We’ve all already posted about the event on our Facebook and Twitter accounts. Press should be here shortly.”
“I . . . I . . .” she started, at a loss for words.
Yeah, Hazel was definitely considering kissing me, and I was sure going to enjoy it later.
The last rays of sun disappeared behind the mountains as the final adoptee, a nine-year-old schnauzer named Ginger, curled into a ball in the back seat of her new owners’ Jeep. Hazel waved good-bye to the young couple as they drove away, and together we watched their taillights grow smaller as they vanished down the road.
Hazel turned and walked to the pile of equipment stacked behind the bumper of her Chevy Malibu. “I still can’t believe you not only convinced half the Blizzards’ offensive line to show up in support of the event, but each of you gave away signed jerseys to every person who adopted a pet.”
I scratched my jaw and smiled. “It’s about time we used our powers for good instead of evil.”
Shaking her head, Hazel popped open her trunk and loaded some supplies. “Because of you, every difficult-to-place elderly dog found a home. I’m pretty sure you’re actually a superhero in disguise.”
“Please keep up with the flattery. You know my self-esteem is fragile.” I was kidding, of course, but damn if her praise didn’t make me feel all tingly inside. “But really, me and the guys are always happy to help. Hell, Tony practically cried when you offered to let him keep Sausage and Beans.”
Hazel laughed. “Well, the dogs had clearly formed an attachment to him. Not to mention, Tony threatened to steal them if I didn’t concede.”
“Fair point. He’s already talking about smuggling the dachshunds into his carry-on luggage during away games. Should make for interesting TSA security screenings.” I grabbed one of the empty crates and began breaking it down.
She touched my arm, halting my movements. “What happened to your hand?”
I glanced down at my swollen, bruised knuckles. “Bad day at the office.”
“What happened?” she asked again, her eyes traveling over me as if she was reading a book. There was something discerning and welcoming in the depths of green that somehow always pulled the truth out of me.
“My agent called earlier . . .” I recounted the whole exchange, telling Hazel about the hearing. “But obviously I’m going to fight whatever punishment is handed down.”
“That’s one option,” she said, then hesitated. “But maybe it’s time you accepted real responsibility.”
“So you disagree with me opposing the commissioner’s decision if the outcome is a suspension, even though I haven’t done anything illegal?”
Hazel shrugged. “I mean, fighting the ruling is certainly what everyone expects you to do—”
“Well, yeah,” I cut her off. “There’s a difference between owning your actions and allowing someone to treat you like a punching bag for the sake of proving a point. And I refuse to be made an example.”
“Okay.”
That was it? Okay? How was it possible for a simple four-letter word to be loaded with so much resignation, so much disappointment?
“If it’s okay, then why do I hear a ‘but’ in your voice?” I asked. Why couldn’t she see my side in this?
“I just think it’s time you finally learned that consequences apply to all of us, even the invincible Chris Lalonde.” She reached for the crate in my hand. “Anyway, you don’t have to collapse all of these for me.” Conversation over. Subject changed. Just like that.
I moved the crate away from her grasp. “Hazel.”
“What?”
“I’m not leaving you alone to deal with all this.” I finished flattening the crate before adding it to the stack.
“Really, it’s fine. You’ve more than earned your paycheck today.” Hazel picked up the box containing food and water bowls and dropped it onto the back seat of her car, avoiding my gaze the same way she’d avoided an argument moments ago. “And besides, I know you only came today because you felt obligated.”
“Obligated?” I shook my head. “Have you considered that me spending time at the shelter isn’t about that anymore?”
She looked at me, biting her lip. “Then what’s it about?”
“You really can be insufferable sometimes.” I captured Hazel’s wrist and drew her into me. Her cheeks were red and wind chapped, and she was close enough that I could smell the scent of smoke from the fire pit in her hair.
“I thought you specialized in insufferable,” she said, her eyes flicking to my lips, and I wondered if she was imagining all the ways I wanted to drag them across her skin, all the places I wanted to taste, stroke, touch.
“Among other things.” I slid my hand around to the nape of her neck, cradling her head in my palm, and leaned in, brushing my lips against hers. Teasing, promising, enticing. “Want to discover my other talents—”
“Hey, you two, are you celebrating with us or what?” Tony called, his voice echoing through the quiet parking lot.
I was going to throttle him for the interruption. I peered over at where Tony hovered in the entrance to the taproom, his tall, bulky form a dark silhouette against the blinding yellow light that showcased a sleeping Sausage and Beans draped over his massive forearms.
“God, he’s a mood killer,” I groaned.
Hazel sighed. “Go join the others for a beer. Penny and Donna can get rowdy when left to their own devices. I can handle the rest.”
“You two need help?” Tony asked above the loud, jovial noises now pouring out from the opened doorway and into the cool night air.
“Would you just go away already?” I yelled, then before Hazel could escape my grasp, I pulled her flush against me and kissed her, no longer willing to taunt or tempt. The time for playing games had passed. Now it was all-out war. Conquer. Claim. Consume.
I pinned her against the car, kissing her so thoroughly that Tony let loose a long, sharp whistle followed by a “My bad, bro,” before retreating back inside the taproom, plunging us into silence.
Tilting my face back just enough to give Hazel a bit of breathing space, I stared down at her, delighting in the furious flush climbing her neck, the way her eyes glinted with desire, how her chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm. Most of all, I loved the way her fingernails dug little crescent moons into my forearms.
“So, you want to head in, have a few rounds with everyone, or . . .”
“Or?” she asked, her voice a high, thready thing that reminded me of a bird’s warble.
“Or we could clean up here, then go somewhere that’s not the parking lot of a brewery, and I could kiss you again. Like right here.” I pressed my lips against her forehead. “Or here.” I trailed my mouth along her jaw, enjoying the way her head automatically tipped to the side to grant me better access. “Or . . .” I slid my palm down her spine, resting it just above the curve of her ass, not wanting to push too far. “So what do you say?”
“Or. I definitely choose or,” she said with a breathy laugh.