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“I mean, where do you think the term bawdy wench came from?” I retorted, turning around on the path to head back to the dock, almost tripping over a small dog. “Oh, sorry, sorry ma’am.”
The woman smiled, then stopped, her eyes widening. “Wait, are you—? You’re Jake Skyler.”
“Another fan? I should let you go.”
I nodded to the woman, pointing to the phone. She waved her hand, indicating that she’d wait. “I can’t wait to see you Rae-kale, I…”
She jumped in: “I love you, and yes, I’m excited to see you, too. I’ll let you get to it,” she said.
“I love you too, so much, and I love hearing it from you with my favorite accent.”
She made a kissing sound on the phone before clicking off.
Shifting my attention to the woman who wanted to shake my hand and get a selfie, I smiled graciously, just wanting to move on. I was not sure I would ever adjust to this level of recognition. You want it, even dream about it, but once it morphs from the random person lighting up because they saw you on TV into you scanning your surroundings all the time, pulling your cap low, getting bigger sunglasses, praying when you’re with your girl you can both relax… it transforms your behavior.
Social media heightened the complications of fame. I didn’t want it to affect her, so I made a mental note to ask Dwayne if he still talked to Summer. Maybe he could subtly ask her to stay off my accounts. That’s always precarious, suggesting an ex-lover stops weighing in on your life.
I knew the strenuous path up to the peak would reward us with a postcard view of Lake Tahoe. I heard the guys heaving, their bodies working to adjust to the altitude. The lake sits around six thousand feet above sea level, earning it the name ‘The Lake of the Sky.’ I loved that name and the history of this place. Teddy Roosevelt saw the lake for the jewel it was, despite the lumber industry that was destroying it. Sometimes, I snuck in a few historical facts about Tahoe to the team, quoting Mark Twain or John Muir. They were known for writing about Tahoe, but I usually kept it short. As I said, I could read a room, and the guys were more interested in the celebrity golf tournament held every year on the South Shore that Dwayne and I got invited to this year, than the historical environmental significance of Lake Tahoe. Once we forged up one of the trails that wound up a mountain, I knew everyone would regret those extra tequila shots last night. I had done one but passed on the next three. The mountain air made you plead for oxygen. My lungs always felt like they were stretching so much, and I clutched my chest several times.
“God dang,” Dwayne said with a cough, sounding like he was gagging up a hairball. “How come I always forget how damn hard this is? Screw those tequila shots. Tonight, I’m drinking water.” Just then, recruit Jaxton, who had drunk only water last night, jogged right by us. No one passed Dwayne and me during these hikes; it was sort of a code.
I shot Dwayne a What the hell? look; he shrugged, replying to the question in my face. “Not sure…I’d try to catch up to him, but I might die.”
“Dude, it doesn’t look like he’s out for a team hike. Did you see the look on his face? This is serious to him.” I grimaced, letting Dwayne know I wasn’t pleased.
The team had convened on Tahoe almost four days ago, and the intention of this yearly gathering, that I’d set up and paid for, was first to adjust to the altitude. Second, to get a little pre-workout as a sort of transition from the non-scheduled summer to We have to get it together to prove that Super Bowl win wasn’t a one-off. Still, the most crucial goal was for this team to bond, to get in sync before pre-season training. Amongst a group of guys who worked hard to include each other, Jaxton ensured he was an island. Dwayne and I kept our eyes on the other guys, making sure no one jumped to conclusions or gave Jaxton the cold shoulder just because he was odd: his icy stare, the closed-off body language, not to mention the tattoos. Lots of guys come in with tats, but his torso was literally a fucking museum migrating up his neck and down his arms. I wasn’t sure about his legs because he always wore sweats or jeans.
None of that mattered. His expression read Come near me and you die. There was a vacancy that inhabited his gaze. Whenever I talked to him, his eyes fixed on my face, unblinking, he’d nod and say flatly, “Yes sir.” Literally, to everything, he’d say, “Yes, sir.”
Dwayne matched my expression, and then his face softened. “Skyler, not everybody is as driven as you are to make connections, to become best friends with everyone. He’s not a talker,” Dwayne explained. His justification for our new recruit lacked conviction. I could tell by his tone and how long it took for him to respond that his head was also ringing with concern. “You and the coaches all agreed he’s mine, and I want to take it slow with him. He has the feeling of a domestic dog that someone dumped off the side of the road, so he’s had to learn to live in the wild. He doesn’t trust anyone.”
Pushing my legs upward, methodically taking in the distilled mountain air through my nose, letting my lungs absorb as much oxygen as possible at this altitude, I took a moment to contemplate his analogy of Jaxton. How animal-like we become when emotional safeguards are stripped away. I couldn’t relate to that. Sure, I’d gotten really pissed, knocked a racist asshole to the floor, hit a few walls, yelled profanities when an opposing team’s player sacked me unnecessarily, or told a girl I was done because I didn’t trust her. I’d reacted, but my frontal lobe always yanked me back, and my human response took over. I guess there’s a lot to be said for how I was raised—secure and surrounded by love and outward praise. It was the foundation I always returned to. Even when I felt like my brain was in freefall, my upbringing played in my head, and snippets of parent or sibling interactions crept into my mind during those moments of rage when my animalistic brain wanted to rule.
As we stepped up to the top of the ridge, I cupped Dwayne’s shoulder, unsure of what I was about to say, but he had to feel that I had confidence in him in this situation. “Dude, if anyone can break through to him and bring him into the fold, it’s you. Hopefully, he will see that he has a family here.”
Dwayne’s eyes tilted toward me, the corner of his mouth turning up: "Thanks, Skyler. That love-twitting heart has gone and made you soft. I like it.”
“Fuck off,” I whispered with a guffaw.
I could hear the guys gasping for air and expressing astonishment. A few of them had tapped out and were sitting on the rocks, groaning. We had a couple of guys who helped out at training camp who were from Tahoe passing out water. They had both climbed this mountain with thirty-plus pounds of water bottles in their backpacks. Jeez, I couldn’t imagine it.
“This is always worth it, Skyler. Thanks for making this happen.” Grady boomed, our young, boisterous tight end, who we’d recruited last year. He’d given everyone a fist bump last night after a few shots. He went on and on about how much he loved this team, not only because he got to be part of a Super Bowl win in his first year in the NFL, but because of Coach Easton, Coach Mark, Dwayne, and me. He kept hugging Dwayne last night. Dwayne finally was able to sneak off to the bathroom and shot me a look indicating that Grady had long since passed the line into Annoying County. Once Dwayne slipped from his orbit, Grady came over to tell me how much he loved me. I noticed that Jaxton, who was sharing a room with him, glared at Grady like he might choke the shit out of him in his sleep. Dwayne and I had worked out a seemingly brilliant plan to have them room together, hoping that Grady’s oozing extraversion would soften Jaxton’s enigmatic persona, but it was clearly backfiring.
“Hey, Cap, I love this.” I twisted my neck to meet the brightest, whitest smile in the NFL—Tracey, our backup quarterback, or Tigger as I called him. The kid literally bounced instead of walked, like he was so thrilled to be alive. His hair was in a ponytail, his hands on his hips, and he looked more like a GQ model than an NFL quarterback. Even when we lost, he was cheery. I couldn’t imagine anything getting this kid down. Damn, being a quarterback for the team was beginning to feel more and more like being a father. I wanted a big family, loved kids…I’d always thought I’d have five. As I surveyed the guys, the varying personalities and backgrounds, with their different needs, it hit me that being a parent might even be harder than this. Five kids was certainly looking a lot less doable than I’d originally imagined.
Chapter Thirty-One
Her pulse throbbed in her ears after the insane drive from the Reno airport, over the mountains, to Incline Village along Lake Tahoe. She’d assured Jake that she would arrive in time to go with him and several team members on the catamaran boat for a sunset cruise. She hadn’t been prepared for the road with its sharp turns winding around the mountainside. It could have been enjoyable—the scenery was breathtaking—but with the strong winds, she had to hyper-focus on keeping the car on the road. Finally, she pulled up under the carport at the hotel across the street from the lake. Her phone buzzing to life in her purse.
Jake: Hey, they’re loading the boat. They said ten minutes…Send
Rakell: I’m here…Send
She answered her phone when she saw his electric-blue eyes pop to life on her screen “Hey Jake, just a second.”
A tall, bald man sporting a genuine smile opened her car door. “Are you staying with us, Miss?”
“Yes, um,” she said, swinging her legs to the side and stepping out. “Jake,” she said into her phone, “I just got here. Where do I get a key?”
