Don't Ever Give Up Ch. 08

"Son of a ... fuck!" Tim said.

"You gonna go after her?"

Tim stood there in the concourse and stewed for a minute. He looked at his watch.

"No," he said, to Carlos' surprise. "We have about half an hour left before the bus takes off. If you don't get a shower, I'm FedExing your ass to Miami. I need to go to talk to Coach Taylor for a few minutes."

With that, Tim turned and walked away.

******

"Richards!" Hank Taylor yelled, piercing the dull roar of nearby Wednesday afternoon traffic - and quite possibly the sound barrier. "Get in there! And for God's sake, please show McDonald how to keep the fucking football off the grass!"

A player sprinted off the sidelines and into the practice huddle, and on his way, he passed Carlos, who was taking his time walking off the field. When he reached the sidelines and his irate coach, Carlos shrugged his shoulders and simply said he didn't know what was going on.

"I know what's going on!" Taylor bellowed. "You started this season as another boring three-yards-a-carry running back in the ACC, and now you're close to being the top running back taken in the NFL Draft. And for some reason, now you think that means you don't have to hang onto my god-damned football!"

Tim stood nearby, chatting with the placekicker and watching Hank deliver an ass-chewing that would have made some of the offensive linemen cringe. N.C. State's football coach was not normally known for his calm demeanor anyway, but Tim noticed his face turning a shade of red generally reserved for little sports cars and the stop signs they're fond of running.

He had his reasons, though - Carlos had coughed the ball up on three straight plays. He'd begun the practice by catching a tiny screen pass and breaking it for a touchdown, but it had been all downhill after that. Usually Hank let the running backs coach or offensive coordinator deal with such problems, but since the Wolfpack's game plan was more or less built around Carlos - specifically, Carlos not handing the other team the ball every time he touched it - Hank decided to dive into Carlos' ass with both hands.

Hank continued yelling, then finally turned his attention to the field. C.J. Franklin, N.C. State's sophomore quarterback, handed the ball to Carlos' understudy, Ashad Richards. To his credit, Richards didn't fumble the ball. He didn't make it past the line of scrimmage, either.

"Shit!" Taylor yelled, as Carlos just looked on. "You see that? You can't hold onto the ball, and Richards can't move the ball. You really want me to force C.J. to win this game for us?"

C.J. was pretty good at not making the big mistakes that tend to cost the team a game, but he was not the type of quarterback to take over a game and win with his arm. For that matter, N.C. State didn't have those kind of receivers, either. Taylor cussed quietly under his breath, waiting for a response that Carlos wasn't about to deliver.

"Go talk to Dr. Fetters," Taylor said, half-shoving Carlos toward Tim. "Whatever's in your head right now, you have about 12 seconds to get it the fuck out."

Carlos strode over to Tim, who sent the placekicker on his way. Neither man said anything for a minute, but when Hank looked over his shoulder and growled, Tim felt compelled to say something.

"I think your 12 seconds are up, Carlos," Tim said.

"Fine by me," Carlos said, grabbed his helmet off the bench and started back toward the field. Tim grabbed the sleeve of his jersey.

"What's going on?" Tim asked.

"Act like you don't know some more," Carlos replied, refusing to make eye contact.

"I don't know, Carlos," Tim answered. "You haven't made me aware of any problems."

"No," Carlos agreed, "I haven't. You made me aware of a couple, though. And you ain't doing shit to fix 'em."

Tim stared back, stunned. It didn't take him long to fire back a response.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Carlos?!" Tim yelled as loud as he could without attracting the attention of the rest of the team and the coaches. "The biggest game in school history is two days away, and you're going to half-ass it on the field because of something going on in _my_ personal life?"

Carlos was about to respond, but Tim wasn't near finished.

"That's un-fucking-acceptable, Carlos," Tim said. "My personal life is none of your God damned concern. You NEVER put yourself in front of the needs of this team, especially for something that does not involve you!"

Tim ran out of breath, but Carlos didn't have a response, either, so both men stood there icily staring at one another in the sweltering south Florida mid-day heat. Even on New Year's Day, it was still ridiculously hot, and both men were sweating.

"This isn't like you, Carlos, so I'm not going to say a damn thing to Coach about this," Tim said. "But you get your ass back on that field, and stop this junior high nonsense bullshit."

Carlos didn't budge. "No."

Tim turned his face to the side, almost as if he'd been slapped and was trying to absorb some of the sting.

"Excuse me?" Tim replied. "Look, McDonald," he said, using his last name for the first time since Carlos' sophomore year. "You come over to my house a lot for parties and such, and I consider you a friend. But right now, we're not friends. I'm a team official you just disobeyed. Guessing Coach Taylor won't be all that pleased."

"And I'm guessin' Coach Taylor won't give a shit," Carlos said. "You see Richie Rich out there, getting his ass drilled by the third-string D-line. I get a DUI tonight and Coach'll find a way to get me on the field Friday night. Disrespecting you ain't going to matter."

Tim was unmoved. Carlos had a point, but Hank Taylor did put a lot of stock in Tim's thoughts on his players' mental health. Tim knew if he really wanted to, he could convince Coach Taylor that their star running back was having mental issues and couldn't be trusted to hang onto the ball.

"Let's test that theory," Tim said after a few more seconds of silence. He started toward the coach, but Carlos stepped in front of him. He put the helmet back down on the bench and put a hand on Tim's shoulder.

"Listen, Doc. Listen to me for one damned minute, and then I'll get back on the field, just like you want. Hell, I'll even tell Taylor that I just fumbled three times to get your attention. But stand there, and fuckin' listen."

Tim checked his watch, implying that he was counting to 60 seconds.

"First, I ain't hittin' it with Leira no more."

"Carlos, what you do is your business," Tim replied.

"I know that," he said. "And while I know this is the pot callin' the kettle black, I can't be with no girl who could do you like that."

Tim nodded. "The whole 'bros before hos' concept."

Carlos made a face. "Uh, yeah, if this was like ten years ago."

"Thirty seconds," Tim said impatiently.

"Let your girl off the hook, Doc," Carlos said.

"Oh, now you're the one giving orders?" Tim replied indignantly.

"For the next half a minute, yeah," Carlos said.

"Why the hell is this even your concern?" Tim asked.

"Because you and I both own cell phones, but apparently, I'm the only one who answers mine."

Tim had no reply to that, and looked at the grass.

"She didn't do a damn thing wrong, Doc," Carlos continued. "Well, she did almost get herself arrested for beatin' the shit out of Leira at the party, but that shit was actually kinda funny. Anyway--"

"Say what?" Tim asked curiously.

"You saw them ginormous sunglasses Leira had on the other day," Carlos answered. "Bitch had a black eye the size of a damn grapefruit. Your girl caught her with the best left hook I seen since Ali-Frazier."

Tim couldn't help himself, and let out a small laugh. He'd seen Julia when she was angry. Incredibly sexy, just like every other moment of her life, but not a whole lot of fun to be around.

"Anyway, she ain't done nothin' wrong, Doc," Carlos said. "Yeah, you findin' that shit out was like gettin' yo ass whooped by Kersee and the fat boys over there. I get that. Needed some time to work shit out. Get that, too. But see, you and I ain't the same. Me? I do all my business between the sheets, and when it's over, that right there is the door, and it closes kinda fast, so get through it kinda quick-like, know what I'm sayin'?"

Tim looked down at the ground and shook his head. Carlos certainly had a way with words.

"But you? And most people, I guess? Y'all do this whole love deal. I ain't never gonna understand it, but even I ain't dumb enough to miss the way you look at her, man. You love that girl. You had some time to deal with shit. Now, leave it in the past, and get back to what's going on in the here and now."

Tim looked up and made eye contact with the star running back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized this scenario was, on the surface, extremely absurd. He held two post-graduate degrees in psychology, and yet, here was a dread-locked, gold-toothed, soon-to-be multi-millionaire athlete standing here putting things in terms even the biggest moron in the world could understand.

Coach Taylor again glared at Tim and Carlos, and gestured toward the field. Tim nodded.

"Do me a favor, Carlos," Tim said after a few seconds. "Don't go around making this much sense in the NFL. You're gonna give N.C. State a bad reputation. Football players are supposed to be idiots."

"Hey, you know how I do," Carlos said. "I can be the dumbest smart dude in the room, if that's what I gotta be."

"Yes, I'm well aware," Tim replied. "And not that it's any of your business, but..." Tim trailed off. Carlos waited, despite hearing several coaches groan at yet another bad play by the backup running back.

"I've got a plan," Tim said. "We get back on Saturday, and I'm kidnapping Julia and taking her to Hilton Head Island for a few days. Just the two of us in a little cottage by the ocean."

"Some body rockin' knockin' da boots," Carlos replied, blatantly ripping off an R&B song from the 90s.

"In your language, yes."

"Well, definitely do that," Carlos said, "but you know how that Snickers commercial goes, right? Why wait?" Carlos grasped his helmet and turned toward the field.

Tim looked the question at Carlos.

"Might wanna get back to the hotel, Doc," he said. "Never know who might be waitin' on ya."

He grinned as he ran back onto the field, inserting himself in the huddle and sending Ashad Richards back to the coaches. Tim walked over to Coach Taylor.

"What the fuck was that about?" Taylor asked him.

"Sir, keep in mind, if you ask me that question again, I'm going to have to answer it," Tim replied, and Taylor threw him a look.

"OK, let me put it a different way," Taylor said. "He gonna fumble my football anymore?"

"No, sir."

"Then I don't give a fuck."

Tim figured as much. "I need to get back to the hotel, Coach. Have to get some notes together for the basketball team."

"Get outta here," Taylor replied. "See ya in the morning for film."

Tim took off toward the exit. The last thing he saw before leaving the field was Carlos putting the ball on the ground again - in the end zone after a 70-yard touchdown run.

Tim treated the rented Honda Accord like there was a logo spray-painted on the hood, zigging and zagging through mid-afternoon south Florida traffic like it was the Daytona 500. He got Carlos' meaning, and he didn't want to keep Julia waiting. She had to be pissed off about what she'd seen in his office. Obviously, things weren't completely torched -- Carlos could be pretty convincing, but if Julia really thought Tim and Leira were messing around in his office that morning, not even Carlos could have convinced her to come down to Miami. Still, he hadn't been returning anybody's phone calls, Julia's included, and Tim had no idea how long she would wait before giving up and going back to the airport.

Tim left the car with the valet and sprinted into the lobby at the Marriott Harbor Beach Resort in Fort Lauderdale, the ridiculously expensive hotel N.C. State was shelling out large wads of cash for. He didn't see her in the lobby or the gift shop, and he was just about to go upstairs and check his room when he spotted her sitting at the bar in one of the resort's restaurants.

He took three steps toward the bar, but the sight of her froze him in his tracks. She wore a purple diagonally pinstriped blouse along with a black skirt that made most standard-issue miniskirts look like hand-me-downs from an Amish village. It was barely four on a Wednesday, but she was dressed like it was midnight on a weekend in South Beach. The restaurant was about half-full, but she might as well have been the only person within four blocks.

Tim made his way into the restaurant and stopped behind her without letting her know he was there. Just watching her sit patiently, twirling the umbrella in her fruity drink, seemingly oblivious to the attention she was getting from the men in the joint, sucked all the air from Tim's lungs and left him momentarily breathless.

It took him a minute to find the words.

"Good God, you are the most gorgeous woman in the world," Tim said, and waited impatiently for her reply. When he got it, he was sure everything was okay.

"You haven't even seen the front of me yet," she replied, still facing the bar.

"True," Tim said. "Would you care to fix that?"

"If you want something, you have to go out and get it."

Tim grinned to himself. He stepped up even closer to Julia, placing his hands on her shoulders and enjoying the coy moan she let slip from her lips as a result. He tried to savor the moment, relishing her scent and memorizing the curves of her shoulder, the gentle slope of her neck, and the way her dark hair hung loosely over both.

Finally his impatience took over, and he quickly spun Julia around on the barstool. She became the aggressor then, pulling Tim's face down to her own and crushing him with a violent, passionate kiss that left anyone who might have been watching stunned. For one, the bartender was staring blatantly.

Tim felt Julia's hands roam up and under his red N.C. State polo shirt, and he had to fight not to return the favor with her purple top.

"Upstairs?" Tim said, pulling away from Julia's oral assault for a split-second.

"Now," she replied, breaking away and pulling Tim after her. Tim spotted the bartender chuckling slightly as they half-ran, half-jogged out of the bar and to the bank of nearby elevators.

The ride to the fourth floor was short, which was probably the only reason their clothes stayed on the entire time. Luckily, Tim's room was only three doors down from the elevators, or he might not have been able to resist the urge to throw Julia down in the corridor.

Once inside his room with the door locked, their clothes never stood a chance. Her up-scale, attention-attracting attire, and his practical, N.C. State issued casual gear - all of it landed in various heaps throughout the room. Before they hit the bed, though, Julia needed to use the bathroom really quickly, one of those mysterious "freshen up" things that Tim neither understood nor cared to.

When she came back, Tim decided to offer her an out.

"You know, I figured you'd want to talk first," Tim said. Julia quickly closed the gap between she and Tim and pushed him backwards onto the bed, falling on top of him with the momentum.

"Oh, we'll do plenty of talking later," she promised. "I'm only going to talk now if you make me."

******

"Can we play a game?" Julia asked.

"I'm pretty sure we just played several," Tim replied, eliciting a long, drawn out giggle from his girlfriend. The pair sat in the in-room jacuzzi tub, naked and tangled up together in the 106-degree water, nothing else in the room but a bottle of champagne and two glasses. The sun had gone down about an hour ago, but neither Tim nor Julia had really noticed. They'd spent the entire afternoon wearing out every available surface in the room, with a few choice power naps mixed in here and there.

"Sure we did," Julia answered. "But we _do_ need to talk. So, let's do it this way. I ask you a question, you ask me one. We go back and forth till we're both satisfied."

"Define satisfied."

"Mentally satisfied," Julia responded. "It'll take a lifetime and then some to physically satisfy you, you pervert."

"Yeah, and the next time you complain will be the first time."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing."

"Go ahead. I'll answer anything you want."

"Except my phone calls?"

Tim's face fell. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I knew you were mad at me, and I didn't really want to deal with that this week. I needed to focus. If it's any consolation, I didn't answer J.T.'s or Sheila's either."

"You're not dating either one of them," Julia said. "And thinking about me makes it hard to focus?" Julia asked. It was clear she was a little bit hurt.

"That's another question."

"My game, my rules," she replied. "And I get a follow-up."

"Ohhh, I see how this is going to go. Next you're going to tell me I'm only allowed to ask yes-or-no questions."

"No, I won't," she said, poking Tim in the ribs. "How does thinking about me affect your focus?"

"Well, let's see," Tim said. "Maybe because thinking of you tends to send all the blood that's supposed to be in the one head racing uncontrollably toward the other?"

Julia laughed heartily, but refused to let the subject go.

"Really, babe," she said. "You didn't answer my calls because you thought I'd be mad. Why?"

"Carlos told me about your trip to the arena. The last time you saw me, your sister was doing her best Spearmint Rhino impression behind my desk at the arena," Tim replied. "He said you took off before he could catch you, which is saying something considering how fast that fucker is. Anyway, that sounded pissed to me."

"Oh, I was," Julia said. "I got outside to my car, cussed worse than you, and started the car."

She let that hang in the air for a second.

"But then I realized you wouldn't do that."

"You have that much faith in me?" Tim asked.

"Yes, but that's not why," Julia replied. "Look, I know she's drop dead sexy, and I'm not naïve enough to think any red-blooded male wouldn't enjoy having her bouncing on his crotch, even if he had me to do the exact same thing for him."

As she spoke, Julia slid closer to Tim on the seat and draped her right leg over Tim's left. It was half-sexual and half-cuddly, but it felt very right to Tim.

"But when I thought for a half-second, I knew there was no way you'd let that happen. Not with her, not after... whatever she did. I have no clue what happened, but just being around you these past couple years, I knew you wanted nothing to do with her again."

Tim began stroking her leg, lightly massaging her calf and the underside of her knee. Julia sighed contently.

"So, I started walking back to your office, and I was just about at the door when she came outside. Tears were streaming down her face, but when she saw me, she started sneezing. Guess she was trying to act like it was her allergies. Anyway, I asked her what had happened, and she just glared at me and told me to, and I quote, 'Figure it out for your fucking self.'"

"Sounds about right."

"I told her that whatever you'd done or said, I had no doubt she deserved it. She got back in her car before I could give her a matching set of black eyes."

"Yeah, Carlos told me about that," Tim said as he busted out laughing. "As much as I wanted to get out of there, I wish I'd stuck around just a little longer to see what you did."

"Not my finest hour," she admitted, "but it felt damn good at the time. Anyway, I couldn't get back inside the building, but I saw your office lights were off through the door."

"Ah," Tim said. "I wish I'd have stuck around a little longer."

"Me too," she said, and then things got quiet for a minute. "How did that feel, though? Having her on your lap again?" Her voice sounded so shy, as if she was a little nervous about hearing the answer. Tim knew how to fix that.