Running Home to You (The Running Series) (6 page)

“Seriously?  I have a Visa card with no limit, an entire boardwalk closeby filled with gambling, shopping, restaurants, and shows with headlining entertainment.  But you want me to take you to an empty football stadium?  Juliette Evangeline Fletcher, have I told you lately how much I love you?” he chuckles.  “Of course I’ll take you.  I’d love to show you around.  Just let me make a quick phone call.” 

Evan calls security at the stadium and tells them we’re coming.  I see the signs for Liberty Stadium along the side of the road telling us that we should take the next exit off the Parkway.  As soon as Evan eases onto the exit ramp, I can see the stadium rise up from behind the trees.  It’s huge!  We drive down a five-lane access road that leads directly to the stadium entrance.  The parking lot is completely empty, and there's not a car in sight.  Evan pulls up along the front of the building and follows a path leading to the restricted entrance to a private parking garage.  I look up and I can see the multiple decks that fans must climb in order to get to the highest seating levels.  It’s overwhelming.  This is where he works.

Evan helps me from the car and leads me into the building and through a series of corridors and hallways.  As we walk down the empty halls, I see huge posters behind glass frames displaying the history of the team.  There are pictures of the team over the years, photographs of quarterbacks and owners, and a few Super Bowl Game posters.  Evan stops beside one of the pictures and points to the image.  “Juliette, do you know who that is?” he asks.  It’s a recent picture, so I’m guessing it’s one of his teammates.

“Is it Matt Ortiz, the starting quarterback?” I ask sheepishly.

“Excellent,” Evan remarks.  “And what does the quarterback do?” he quizzes me.

“He throws the ball to one of the receivers,” I reply confidently.  I’m not a complete idiot.

“Good.  Can you name any?” he asks.

“Seriously?  Carlo Rivera is a wide receiver.  Evan, he’s been to our house a handful of times.  How dumb do you think I am?” I ask him, crossing my arms over my chest and giving a stern snort, feeling more than slightly insulted.

“I was just checking, baby.  Very good.  Come on, want to see the field?”  He takes me by the hand and we continue our long walk until we reach a huge set of giant red double doors.  Evan opens them, and we step inside. 

I have to catch my breath as we walk out onto the field, staring first at the stadium before me, then at Evan in awe and reverence.  “Holy crap,” I mutter, barely audible. “How do you do it?” I ask, completely dumbstruck.

“Do it?  Juliette, baby, you know exactly how I ‘do it’, but if you need a reminder, I can take you somewhere a little more private,” he replies, wrapping me up in his strong arms, making me lose all sense of time and space.

Once I gather my wits I ask, “So where does your team sit?” 

“Sit?  There’s not much sitting going on during the games, sweetheart.  But we do have new heated benches to help warm us up between plays when it starts to get really cold.”  Evan points over to the sidelines and I can see a few new age looking white benches lined up along the side of the field.

Evan walks over to the fifty-yard line and calls to me, “Come here, baby.  Check out the view.”  He’s standing in the center of the field with his arms held out, beckoning for me to join him.  I happily trot out to him, where he gathers me up and wraps his arms around me.  Together, we spin around in circles like silly teenagers, gazing up at the empty seats all around us in every direction.

“Wow, how many seats are there?” I ask him.

“Well, including the club seats, it’s a little more than seventy thousand,” he states very matter-of-factly.

I can barely speak, “That’s unbelievable.”

“Nah, we’re not even in the top ten.  The largest NFL stadium is the new Metlife Stadium, which seats over eighty thousand.  You should see that field,” he tells me.

I plop myself down right in the middle of the field, overwhelmed at the scale of it all.  I’m completely at a loss for words as my eyes dart around the stadium.  I imagine what it must be like when these seats are filled with screaming fans, most cheering, but some jeering and heckling, too.  How does anyone focus and perform with this kind of pressure? 

"Do you get nervous when you go out there?  In front of all those people?" I ask him.

Evan sits down beside me and pulls me onto his lap.  "No, not really.  I played high school championship games in front of a few thousand.  Then I played college football, which was a pretty big deal.  The stadium in Maryland has a capacity of over fifty thousand.  I got a little nervous the first few games, but you get used to it after a while.  If you want to see a big stadium, you should see the Rose Bowl Stadium.  That place can hold over ninety thousand people.  After that, playing here's no big deal."  He reaches over and strokes my face, moving my hair behind my ear and nibbling on my neck.

"So, where will I sit when I come to a game?" I wonder out loud, gazing around the stadium, trying to gauge where the best seats are.

Evan stands and pulls me up to join him.  He holds one hand over his brow as he scans the seats, looking for something.  Once he finds his mark, he points to a section of the stadium just beneath the highest seating deck.  There are glass-enclosed suites lining one complete side of the stadium wall. 

"Carlo Rivera and Shaun Marise invited me to join them in their suite.  Sometimes players will get together and rent a suite for their families for the entire season.  We have suite number eighteen, which is just to the left of the fifty-yard line.  You'll love it."  He looks down at me and I can see the sparkle in his big blue eyes.  He's so easy to read.  He wears his emotions across his entire face, and right now, I can see the joy etched in his dimples and hope reflected in his smile.

We spend the next hour and a half exploring the rest of the stadium.  I get to see the locker room where all the players’ equipment is kept.  It looks more like a massive walk-in closet than the metallic locker room with chain-link cages for equipment storage that I pictured from the movies.  It's stellar.  We tour the team's private gym where they work out, and he shows me the offices and meeting rooms where they gather to watch films and discuss strategy.  I can only imagine what it's like when these places are fully staffed and bustling with the energy of the entire team and coaches.  No wonder Evan's been so preoccupied.

We finish our tour where we started, back out on the field.  Evan takes me to the end zone which has the team name, Sentinels, proudly painted beneath the goal post.  Standing there, in the very place where history is made week after week, is both exciting and exhilarating.  Evan looks at me and I can just imagine him in his sexy uniform, all sweaty and dirty, on this very field making the play that wins the game.  I can hear the crowds chanting his name and I can picture fans wearing replicas of his uniform filling the stadium.  The man that ignites hopes and dreams in the minds of so many men and women is standing here with me, and I'm feeling a sudden need to take him right here and right now.

"Juliette, you can't just look at me like that," Evan pleads.

I can feel my heart racing and my pulse quickening.  "Like what?" I ask.

"Like you're ready to rip my clothes off."

"Very perceptive," I acknowledge.  “It’s you own fault, really.  I can’t help it if you’re so extremely fuckable.  Seeing you here, in this place, has my imagination on overdrive.”

"Baby, there are a thousand fantasies I'd love to act out with you right here and right now, but the cameras on this field are always rolling and this is one performance I'd rather not broadcast to the world."  He grabs me, lifts me off my feet, and I wrap my arms around his neck.  "But there's no law against making out in the end zone."  He kisses me deeply, and then breaks our bond momentarily to add a final thought.  “Lucky for you, I never felt the urge to kiss anyone in the end zone before.”

J
ust a short drive south, and we enter the city limits of Atlantic City.  This time, Evan is in charge of our destination.  He parks at Caesar's Palace and we take the elevator to the main floor.  After a brisk walk right through the casino, Evan escorts me to the boardwalk.  It's a beautiful spring day and it feels glorious to walk the boardwalk.  We hold hands and stroll along, carefree, enjoying the sights and smells of the ocean.

"Oh my God, Evan, look.  It's an old-fashioned pushcart.  I can't believe they still have those things.  My grandparents took me down here once when I was in elementary school and we took a ride on one of those carts.  I thought they would be long gone by now."  We watch as a young man pushes a cart down the boardwalk with an older couple sitting inside the wicker cart.  They are holding hands and look so happy and content.  I glance down at our hands with fingers laced together and wonder if we could make it to our golden years together, still feeling the same way we do today.

"Wanna go for a ride, running girl?  I might have to pay the guy a little extra for his effort, but it would be completely worth it.  What do you say, baby?"  Evan is waiting for my reply.

"That's sweet, but I'd really rather walk," I explain.  "Maybe next time."

As we walk along the boardwalk, I ask Evan about how preseason is going.  He hasn't been very talkative the past few weeks, and I intend to take full advantage of the opportunity to find out what's got him so preoccupied lately.

Evan explains to me how he's not the only back-up quarterback.  He's the second-string, but there are two others after him.  I had no idea there were as many as four quarterbacks on some teams.

"But Evan, I'm pretty sure the starting quarterback plays most of the games.  The back-up only plays from time to time, right?"  He nods.  "When do the third and fourth string quarterbacks get to play?" I question.

"Hardly ever.  They can go years without seeing any real game time at all.  A lot of teams don't even have a fourth string quarterback.  I think the only reason we do is because of Matt Ortiz' age.  He's almost forty now, and a serious injury could end his career."  He stops talking for a moment, and I can tell he's upset about something.  His hand moves up into his hair in a gesture that tells me he's either unhappy or nervous.

"Juliette, the other two back-up quarterbacks are getting a lot of playing time with the team right now.  They're running the plays and putting the new guys through the paces.  Neither one of them are newly signed.  They've been with the team for a couple of years each, so they know the players, the coaches, and most of the plays.  I'm at such a disadvantage here."  He's clearly worried about his position and ranking on the team.

He takes a deep breath, looks away from me, and continues.  "It's all I ever wanted, you know – to play here in Jersey.  Having my family with me at my home games.  Sometimes lately I've been wondering if my luck has finally run out."

"Evan Thomas McGuire, stop right there and look at me."  He stops walking and looks directly at me, shocked by the tone of my voice.  "Now, you listen, and listen good.  It's not luck that got you here.  It was skill, determination, and grit.  You earned a spot on that team.  They're not idiots.  They know you're the real deal.  Now that you're cleared to work out and lift weights, you're going to blow them away.  You'll see."

He doesn't respond, he simply shrugs his shoulders and continues moving forward.  "There's more, isn't there?  There's something you haven't told me.  I can read you like a book, bossy man.  Spill."

"Yeah, you're right, there's something I haven't told anyone.  I haven't been able to say it out loud.”  He stops and talks to me in hushed tones so no one but me can hear.  “But the truth is, I'm afraid I won't be able to throw like I did before I got hurt.  I haven't touched a football in nearly two months.  Suppose I'm just average ... or worse?"  He looks completely despondent.  He starts walking again, and I hurry to catch up with him. 

"You've been doing everything the trainers tell you to do, right?"

"Yes."

"You trust them to do their job?  They're good at what they do?"

"They're the best."

"Then you have to have faith.  You'll see.  I can feel it.  You're going to be on that field tearing it up.  Can I say that?  Tearing it up?"

"You can say that," he chuckles.  "Even better would be to say that I'm going to 'put up big numbers'," he tells me.  "That means that I'm going to have a lot of passing yards and a high scoring game," he explains.

"Okay, then.  You're going to put up some really big numbers when you get out there on the gridiron and tear up the field."  I use every football-related lexicon I can think of in one motivational statement.

"Juliette, you're right.  My luck hasn't run out.  I still have you, which makes me the luckiest man alive."  He puts an arm around my waist and pulls me in close to him as we continue our stroll down the boardwalk.  I slip one hand into the back pocket of his jeans as we walk and talk some more.  Thankfully, Evan's mood has lifted and I'm once again joined by the joyful man that I love and adore.

We make it as far as the Steel Pier when Evan's stomach growls so loudly, I swear everyone around us could hear it.  "I guess you heard that?" he asks.