Love & Football

Love & Football

by

V. L. Jennings

SMASHWORDS EDITION

*****

PUBLISHED BY:

V. L. Jennings on Smashwords

Copyright © 2012 by V. L. Jennings

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*****

Colorado Coasters Stadium

Denver, Colorado

Current day

Prologue

In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities

--James Arnay

Drizzling rain pelted down the soggy crowd hovering in vibrant expectation seated about the stadium, drenching each inhabitant with tiny droplets of icy crystals until the very air was fraught with frigid humidity.

Had they ever played in the rain?

Gently shaking her head she couldn’t recall. She could remember them playing in the torrid sunshine, and definitely the blustering snow, but never the drizzling rain.

It was cold. Peaches shivered inwardly and outwardly—frozen to the bone—and jammed gloved hands into her pea coat’s pockets for warmth. Navy in color, she figured it was as drab as the weather but she was in a mood so that was it. And to make matters worse, she could barely see through the haze of speckles spattered upon her designer, wire-framed glasses.

What am I doing here? This is punishment.

It was the second quarter, and two minutes and forty-two seconds remained before halftime. And to make matters worse, the Colorado Coasters were behind twenty-four points.

Plus, it wasn’t like she didn’t intend on being here. It was her chosen profession, this television interviewing thing. It had been a dream of hers from when she was old enough to spit and mean it, so yeah, she needed to be standing right where she stood—behind the home team’s bench.

I wonder if he can stand it. Well tough, we’ll have to see what he’s made of.

Nerves assaulted her and her stomach did back flips, and to calm her raving emotions she retrieved a wad of Kleenex from her pocket and rapidly smudged water from her spectacles. She donned the pewter frames again and swiftly her eyes were riveted to the quarterback. Her pulse quickened in trepidation and anticipation, a feeling she was certain had overtaken the entire sports arena, with each person probably holding his breath on the edge of his seat to see what would happen next. Uh-huh, this upcoming play needed to be a good one and everyone knew it. Her hands fisted as tiny balls, and she squirmed them into her pockets, just for the sake of doing something constructive.

At that moment, the center hiked the ball to number ten, who unsteadily went back for a three-foot drop. The front lines were soaked, their grubby and dirty uniforms unkempt from the fray, and each lineman crashed into the other for dominance, pushing and shoving in the wet grass. They seemed tired from the whole of it—she surmised from the weather—and it was as if in slow motion that an opposing line backer for the Boston Bombers dashed after the quarterback, his right beefy hand outstretched to his face.

The QB dodged swiftly and bought himself an extra precious second or two, to run to his right and confidently throw a thirty-five yard bomb! It was a little shaky but number eighty-two, the wide receiver for the Coasters was there and made a dazzling, one-handed catch! It was beautiful! He was beautiful!

Peaches clapped her hands in unanticipated glee! And for some inexplicable reason, this hopeful game-changing event caused her to reflect on her tumultuous broadcasting journey.

Indeed, she had three passions—the first was football.

Twenty-eight years ago

Fargo, Nebraska

Chapter One

I love you, not only for what you are but for what I am when I am with you

--Roy Croft

John Stephens stood six-four and weighed-in at two-forty. Playing pro football was always his dream but for him it was unattainable. Born to one of four sons to a religious farmer in Nebraska, there just wasn’t enough dough to send him to college, so it was a bust.

In high school he met Barbara Jean Hollister, an upper-middle class girl, and loved her the minute he laid eyes on her. The fair-skinned, honey blonde, hazel-eyed beauty, whose family had moved from Lincoln to Fargo over the summer, was noshing lunch with her friends in the cafeteria. When his heart had been claimed, she was donned in a grass green button-up sweater and black wool skirt, a matching grass green scarf was tied loosely about her high pony and John was, in a word, stunned. She looked as if she’d just stepped out the ʼ50’s, and she was simply cute as a button.

Would she ever date an African American?

This was the burning question foremost in his mind and he deduced the answer was no. Shaking his head in utter defeat, in resignation he carried his books home and began his chores for the day.

But he did catch her eye, moving from class-to-class at school. She even took note when he’d given oral reports in English Lit, or expounded on a thought in World Studies. Oh, yes, Barbara watched the big, strong, muscle-bound teen give such clarity and simplicity to life’s wonders, and despite his meager apparel—a faded red and black plaid shirt which were cuffed at his forearms and jeans. His wide shoulders were quite perceptible, and she imagined there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere; he was intriguing. Indeed, she and her friends had whispered between them on how his clothes hugged his awesome frame from head-to-toe—as a second skin really—and thought he could easily have made the football team.

Plus she thought he had the most amazing, amber-colored eyes she had ever seen; the brilliance of dawn was at its birth. Dark caramel in color, his hair was curly and dark, not coarse but wavy, and his shy, gentle demeanor only piqued her curiosity even more. Yes, John Stephens was nothing like the arrogant, self-assuming boys that always wanted to take her out. But he was full of surprises.

The studious girl had a keen interest in science and seemed burdened to carry at least five novels a day to her home; she didn’t live too far away. Usually her mother would retrieve her, but the State was in a recession, and sometimes she walked home from the bus stop during these stressful times.

One day after the bus had customarily expelled its riders on a dirt road almost a mile from her home, he worked up the nerve to say, You sure have a lot to read. Would you like me to carry those for you?

Boy, her heart skipped a beat from his invite and it was cold outdoors. Other guys had asked her but they always tolled a price so her ready reply was ‘no’. Somehow, somehow she just knew this time would be different. And he was right—they were awful heavy—and this week her mother’s car was on the fritz. Giving him a sideways glance she asked, Do you mind?

Not at all . . .

And so their friendship began.

And it never mattered to Barbara that John was African American.

Many times she fantasized about him and his deeply bronzed skin; hers absolutely sizzled from the keenness of his stare, and she sensed it: he desired her. Both fascinated and delighted, these were emotions she hadn’t felt for a long, long time.

Still, she couldn’t help but gaze at his handsome visage and ponder: Can he afford to take me to the soda shop?

Yet, on their way to her house his thoughts mirrored hers exactly and he asked, What’s your favorite ice cream?

"Umm, I like French vanilla."

I’d like to take you this Friday—my treat. Would you like to go?

So the answer was yes he could afford to take her and a wide smile adorned her face when she responded, "With you, John, sure!"

Thus daily they chatted on the way to her home and she found him to be a simple, sweet, caring individual—not one for pretenses.

What you see is what you get.

And she never thought it was a bad thing . . . not at all.

The two became inseparable—imperceptible on where the one ended and the other began—this despite the cruel glares. Their walks home eventually became dinners out on the town and family gatherings alike.

And that’s when he desired to make it permanent.

Indeed, he decided to learn a trade to provide for Barbara in a ‘manner to which she was accustomed.’ To that end he lived in Lincoln during the summer months while learning the newspaper business.

First, John began his budding career as a delivery boy. Asking the right questions, he worked his way up the corporate ladder, scrounging his money. Later he became a big-time Account Exec and placed ads in the paper. It was where he wanted to be—mostly on his own time throughout the day. A breeze selling to female clients, he flashed a devastating grin while blinking long, dark lashes. To win male clientele, he discovered a firm handshake and steady gaze helped—along with an honest approach. Well this tack made him a hit, and he’d saved enough cash by high school’s end to finally ask Barbara for her hand in marriage.

Except . . . Barbara had a hand up her sleeve, a future of her own to fulfill. And although she thought John was the handsomest man she’d ever seen, she wanted to help ones in need, and applied for studies at the University of Nebraska to become a nurse.

He acquiesced—he wanted her to be happy—but was not deterred from his mission. Uh-uh, he wasn’t losing the fair-haired lovely to any of the studs at the University. Accordingly he increased the momentum and force of his love and compelled the blonde beauty as ground lead to a magnet to submit to his will.

No, she couldn’t resist his advances, and shortly thereafter they were wed. The pair relocated to Lincoln where John worked full-time at the Flaming Star to begin their lives anew.

Daily he retrieved his bride from campus in a navy ʼ68 Cougar, and as always during the fall months the team was practicing on the huge green field. Bouts of nostalgia would overtake him and he gripped his hands in remembrance, recalling the numerous times he had pretended to be a line backer when playing with his brothers at home. Matthew his oldest sibling was at quarterback, while his other brothers Mark and Luke mimicked wide receivers. Trying to halt them as a steel wall he used all the strength he could muster. Some days he was pretty successful, and stopped them from reaching the end of the corn field for a touchdown.

Yeah, those were fun times but he needed to get a grip. He needed to focus on his work at the paper and secure a living with his brain instead of his brawn. Indeed, he discerned that his family’s future prospects were as high and bright as the stars in the sky on a cool, crisp night. He only had to center his thoughts to get there.

Barbara had Cole in her third year at the University. But she desired to wait until after graduation to have any more children. She was proud that John had a son but she pined for a mini-me of her own—a baby girl—and delightedly three years later Cary finally arrived.

Peach-orange skin as fuzzy and supple as ripe juicy Elberta peaches—heady enough to eat—was Cary’s chubby cheeks. Hence, they called her Peaches.

An infant when her father got the itch to move, he’d heard Denver was a booming city where the mountains were etched against a backdrop of bright blue and the air was crystal clear. Yes, he desired to raise a family there, and it was over dinner when he would broach the subject with his wife.

Babs, uh, I like Nebraska, but I think our children would be happier in a culturally diverse area. What do you think?

The hackles on her neck stood on edge but she was willing to hear it through. She knew the hardships they had suffered as an interracial couple in Lincoln, and certainly she wouldn’t want her children to feel the jibes, either. Her parents helped out when they could, but still. Focusing on cutting away the meat from its bone, she speared a piece of pork chop and tentatively asked, Where do you have in mind? She placed the bite in her mouth and chewed slowly. This was too important and she couldn’t let him to back off, at least not until she had heard him through.

Denver. John sold his pitch, like the big-time Account Exec that he was and added, I’ve been told a lot of jobs are there, and if things don’t work out—say maybe in a year—we can move back home. I’ve, uh, sent some resumes—just to test the waters—and I’ve guestimated that we can be there by December’s end . . . He let his voice trail off and blinked cautiously at her thoughtful expression. Then he asked her, Would you like to think about it?

No, she said and set down her fork. Nostalgically her eyes slid over the room, at the hodgepodge of pictures that lined each wall in their makeshift living/eating quarters. A two-bedroom apartment, they had moved here when they first married. Sure, it was a little tight on space and it seemed everything fell apart or wouldn’t work properly, with its white textured walls and cracked off-white linoleum. Ancient white fixtures from the late 80’s adorned its kitchen, and they owned a white microwave that barely worked. But their children were infants in this house and it would always hold a special place in her heart. It was a tiny beginning but nothing could smother the warmth and love they had shared therein. Except . . . maybe it was time for transition and maybe that time was now.

Look, I trust your judgment. Then she shrugged her shoulders and added, If you want to move, let’s go.

So John secured work at The Denver Pipeline, and courageously volunteered to babysit the kids while Barbara worked her shift—from Sunday through Thursday—in ICU at the county hospital. This allowed her a stress-free day to herself during the week while John bonded with the children, watching his favorite sport, football.

"Cary is a homely dork!" the children chanted horridly at school.

"No, I’m not!" she retorted, as tears streamed in rivulets from her brilliant, amber-hued eyes. Yet, it was true: Cary Stephens was as smart as a whip and as ugly as a duckling.

At eight years old, her long raven hair was wild, curly and unruly, much as an untamed Amazonian jungle. Managing to harness it long enough to braid, Barbara wet it, brushed it, and wove it into two big plaits down her back. Satin bows the color of orange-saffron adorned their ends, to complement her orange-yellow eyes, and by day’s end they would be blown in the breeze and lost for good. Dark, golden honey was the tone of her silky-soft skin but no one ever noticed. Distracted from her awkwardness they felt she just wouldn’t fit in.

Indeed, Peaches was a stark, startling contrast to her older brother, Cole, whose fair, ivory-colored skin and golden-brown hair set off piercing, wide, warm-green eyes. His lightly nougat colored locks were barbered into a handsome, once-inch taper on both sides of his sleek face and nape, and yes, he was a handsome kid.

At ten, Cole’s teeth were straight and white while Peaches wore braces. Cole’s cheekbones were sharp and lofty; Peaches’s fat and chubby. Being very athletic, at fourteen there were scores of medals shining proudly about his room for his outstanding achievements—mainly in football.

Peaches could only wish she were half as good at sports, feeling completely out-of-place at recess. When she ran her knees wobbled and her hands and arms were never in unison. When the kids played their childhood games no one chose Peaches—not if they didn’t have to. Shaking in fright she didn’t mind; she understood.

It was during those years that while watching the Colorado Coasters, the local football team on TV, that John hooted and hollered like an Indian ritual for war. With each win and crashing disappointment he was incognizant of the four eyes upon him, recognizing a fever that no antibiotic on earth would cure.

As a result, Cole imitated his father’s intensity, eventually copying the plays on TV. Centering on content and regulations as featured in the sport with football in hand, he would slo-mo the moves until they were picture perfect.

Yes, curious at her father’s antics and her brother’s preoccupation, Peaches grew to be equally obsessed. And the three football junkies virtually spent the months of February through June in unquenchable boredom until training camp. Once it began its run again, as bodies revived to life, they flipped the remote from channel-to-channel to glimpse any tid-bit of football they could find.

The Football League of America (FLA) was the most lucrative sports enterprise this side of the Atlantic, and it boasted hypnotic, love-crazy fans no matter the odds, no matter the location, no matter the age of its patrons.

Enthralled, Cole’s dream was to become a wide receiver, and it was his resolve to have his vision fulfilled. Over dinner he told his dad one night, You just wait! I’m gonna be big and I’m gonna be a star!

John couldn’t shoot his aspirations out the sky like that but a hand ruffled his hair in mild amusement when he said, Go for it, son. It can’t hurt! Keep hope alive.

Speechless, Cary didn’t have a clue which stuffed animal was her pal for the day, let alone choose a career she would like for the rest of her life. Still, she decided watching her brother play in her favorite sport couldn’t be too bad.

For sure, with forty teams in the FLA (twenty teams each in the Eastern and Western Division) he was destined to play for one of those teams . . . or so she thought.

His sought-out destiny began in the little leagues—the Denver Bobcats to be exact. This proved to be beneficial, since it helped him learn routes and strategy. He discovered his strengths and weaknesses by earnestly striving to be the best.

Later he scoured videotapes of wide receivers in college and in the pros, to mimic the moves he saw with precision. He recorded football games as they aired and imitated the most popular wide receivers, making the move picture-perfect, to achieve notoriety in the Denver Metro area.

The Colorado Coasters were impressed with his spectacular performance during his college days, particularly his junior year when the University of Denver boasted a twelve-and-two record. In one game the Pioneers were losing by thirty-one points in the third quarter. The quarterback, Loren Morrell, had the defense panting in desperation. Loren sent a strike to him at the end of the third quarter, and then four more strikes in the fourth, for a whopping thirty-five points!

Oh, yes, the Coasters were impressed with Cole’s one-handed, outstretched body-contorted catches he’d made, and the Pioneers won that game by night’s end.

Indeed, these two players were an explosive duo throughout the duration of their friendship, and caught everyone’s consideration from coast-to-coast.

After the FLA draft, the Coasters wasted no time in entering their offer for him. The owner Eli Whitten, along with the head coach Jerry Ellis, were frantically in need of a wide receiver—one the caliber of Cole Stephens. He offered versatility and youth—something to rejuvenate the team.

And he was good.

The Coasters made a bid for eight figures over seven years—with a signing bonus of two mil to boot! With contract in hand Cole secured the number eighty-two.

And he was sitting pretty.

Colorado Coasters Stadium

Denver, Colorado

Current day

Bounding down memory lane as an overgrown puppy didn’t seem to lift her mood (and she simply adored puppies!). No, but Peaches huddled her shoulders to reprove the weather and a slight moue graced her features.

After the previous catch was made the Coasters found themselves on the twenty-eight yard-line, and instantly Cole glimpsed his sister from the field; took-in her frown. Through the throngs of folks on the sideline he sensed her anxiety by her aloof body language. Usually chatty with those of her crew she seemed distant, alone. Yeah, he loved his lil’ sis but today she was as frosty as the weather.

And he didn’t want to think the cause might be Loren.

She’s dressed warm enough; a little rain won’t kill her. What’s with her anyway?

And just as speedily his attention zoomed back to the game.

The ball was