Page 17 of Rocking the Receiver (Austin Troopers)
CHAPTER 17
GOOD LOOKING
Rupert
Tim’s hand suddenly claws my tense shoulder, jolting me back to the present. To the stadium. To the cheering crowd. My heart races as the two-minute warning approaches. “Are you following the action or do you need me to clue you in?” He takes a bite of his pretzel, then licks the salt from his fingers. “Sorry, it’s about time I ask.” His offer is endearing, considering his knowledge of football is minimal, slightly better than mine was prior to dating Elliot. “I’m so hyped to see Elliot play that I got sucked in right off the bat.”
Today is Elliot’s third pro game. His first home game. Against Carolina.
Yes! I’m officially dating an NFL player, and I’m pretty hyped as well. Known for controlling my emotions, I’m torn between showing how invested I am in the game playing out in front of my mesmerized eyes and concealing my genuine interest.
Not wanted to get busted, I smile at Tim, reach for my water, and guzzle half of the bottle. “Nah, I’m good. I did some research. But thanks.”
I’m no football novice anymore. Only I can’t admit that hearing Elliot talk about games helped to enlighten me. Attending his first professional games strengthened my burgeoning knowledge.
Elliot’s dream came true. He was draft eligible thanks to UT Austin’s mentorship program with The Troopers. It gave him the opportunity to practice under Logan Foster’s supervision, a wide receiver who saw his potential and basically took him under his wing. Elliot’s unwavering determination, hard work, and focus paid off. He got drafted right after college, thanks to a wide receiver named Parker. My boyfriend was pissed that he won’t play alongside Parker, who got traded to Philadelphia, but was thrilled for the opportunity of a lifetime.
After the draft, Elliot dragged me to a tattoo parlor to immortalize his success by marking his skin. “Tattoos are addictive,” Elliot had said once it was done, and I bailed. “It’s the first of many.” Both of his biceps are now adorned with sexy tribal tats.
His impressive preseason performance reinforced his value to the team; Head Coach Oliviera and Wide Receiver Coach Schott confirmed what Foster—or Gunner, as players call him—saw in him. Apparently, Elliot is quick on his feet and blended seamlessly with his NFL team following a somewhat sour college experience. It’s as if he’s always been part of The Austin Troopers, which earned him the LeFire nickname from Coach Dyers, the Offensive Line Coach, who loves to bestow creative monikers.
Go, Elliot!
Consequently, my favorite rookie was given the amazing opportunity to actually play in the first regular season game, then the next one, too.
Right now, though, the score is tight. Carolina is winning 17-14. We’re in the final minutes of the first half, and every play feels like it could shift the momentum. Callum Jones, the impressive quarterback, drops back, scanning the field, and I spot broad shoulders and powerful thighs. Elliot. Too bad his helmet hides his gorgeous strawberry blond hair. The talented rookie makes a break down the sideline. The ball sails through the air in a perfect spiral, landing right in his hands, just past the defender. Dodging a tackle, Elliot cuts inside, surges forward, and crosses into the end zone for a touchdown.
Holy shit. That’s my man!
And now the Troopers are leading.
The crowd erupts. The cheerful Lefevre clan stands as one. The proud secret boyfriend forgets his telltale British nonchalance.
That play is a game-changer, and I jump to my feet.
Woot! Woot!
I catch my breath and chest-bump Tim, overcome with mirth. Elliot’s family is hugging, shouting their excitement over the touchdown celebration music.
Due to conflicting schedules, Elliot’s family couldn’t travel to see his first games live. They made amends by flying over as soon as possible, which means today, and lucked out with a beautiful Sunday afternoon.
And here I am, surrounded by the entire Lefevre family, including their significant others. I’m sitting between my best friend and Elliot’s mother. She’s a die-hard football fan, so seeing her youngest play for the NFL has her on edge.
I have to say that I was taken aback when Tim urged me to fly to Texas so that we could attend one of Elliot’s games together. Needless to say that I feel shitty he has no idea how many secrets have piled up over time. My sexual orientation. My fake relationship with Sally. My first ever lasting relationship. My very real relationship with his younger brother. I remained evasive about my relocation to Texas—well, Austin—but our frequent travels limited this line of questioning since we often met in various states.
And last but not least, my paparazzi charade… Thankfully, my stardom hasn’t reached France, and over the years, the few European Barrels performances have been restricted to Scandinavia. Even in the US, I’m not front-page tabloid material. Nevertheless, I make sure the meager number of paparazzi interested in me get a good shot—preferably outside of Texas—and always around a groupie or a female friend.
Lies that my currently high-profile NFL rookie encourages; we both have to work through a few lingering issues… But let’s not get into that just yet and enjoy the ride.
Unaware of my sudden interest in football, Tim has no idea about the perks I get, like free last-minute tickets whenever my music plans allow me to cheer for my boyfriend—courtesy of Caitlin Cole from the PR team.
My best friend claimed I’d been missing out on this piece of American culture. He couldn’t wait for us to watch the star of the family together. I gleefully accepted, telling him he could treat me to dinner instead of the outrageously expensive tickets.
I love Elliot in action, not only when I’m beneath him, my eyes locked on his, and wearing his jersey.
Tim’s hand snatches my wrist, and I’m pulled into the group hug, overwhelmed by excited screams. “Kudos, bro!” For a minute, I forget that I’m a deceitful best friend. At this very moment, only Elliot Lefevre’s success matters.
The audience remains amped during halftime. “Damn, the fans are wild!” my best friend exclaims once he retakes his seat, as does his family. They’re all commenting on the game and actions I’m not sure I follow. I may be well-versed in football now, but I’m far from being an expert like Mrs. Lefevre.
Tim’s right, though, the fans won’t stop. How can I blame them? They’re all raving about LeFire, but either it’s too noisy for Tim to pick it up, or he doesn’t realize who the audience means. I clue him in. “Seriously?”
“Yup! From what I’ve read, giving nicknames is one of the coaches’ favorite pastimes apparently. Every newbie gets one.”
“At least, they didn’t choose The Frog or something similar. I hated it when your friends called me that.”
“I’d forgotten about that. They were idiots. It doesn’t matter now.”
He shrugs. “True.” His hand grasps mine and squeezes. “I’m glad you’re here.” My heart lurches at my treason. I worry my lips. “I’ve missed this…” Not sure if he’s talking about our friendship or the atmosphere of the game. “It’s been a while.” Another squeeze before he releases his hold and answers his stepmom’s question that I somehow missed.
To get a breather from my gloomy thoughts on this glorious day, I volunteer to grab some snacks and beverages and quickly head for the nearest concourse.
Lost in my thoughts, I push my secrets away and focus on people talking about Elliot. Would they keep on raving about him if they knew he was gay? Would his personal life make a difference? Would they actually care?
I’m somehow relieved that Elliot came out to his former roommate, Chris; I felt bad that he didn’t have anyone to confide in and be his real self with, except for me. Looks like we’ve been fighting the same demons.
During their college years, those two built a solid friendship. Eventually, Chris said he’d guessed something was up because, as months passed, Elliot spent less and less time on campus. His friend was oddly unperturbed by the news, but enraged at Davis’s BS in retrospect. My man is lucky to have found someone who complained to Coach Stevens so that such behavior would be condemned; Elliot didn’t.
Maybe Elliot and Gunner will end up being friends. After all, they do spend extensive hours together, while Chris chose to pursue a Masters’ degree.
The fact that the Troopers are a super inclusive team wasn’t enough to assuage Elliot’s paranoia. Hence, my boyfriend reluctantly felt the need to share his sexual orientation with Caitlin Cole, a PR person for the Troopers, before preseason began. He invited her to our home for brunch, which wasn’t customary, but LeFire’s Frenchness apparently granted him a pass. The forty-something woman was telling him she appreciated his coming forward so that she’ll be prepared in case something came up, when I came down from the rooftop gym. Who would have guessed that she’d fangirl over me? But her lips are sealed. Remembering her gawking face, I stroke the back of my neck, a cocky grin spreading on my face.
Elliot’s cockiness is rubbing off on me…
Oops!
Once I’m done distributing refreshments to my grateful former host family, I sit back down to enjoy the show, and my attention returns to the game. The third quarter is about to start.
Soon enough, I’m leaning forward, elbows resting on my knees. The tension builds as Elliot lines up for the snap.
“Come on, Elliot,” Tim encourages. “You got this!”
The play begins, and Elliot bursts off the line, sprinting downfield with incredible speed. Heat rushes through my body, and my cheeks redden.
I knew he had it in him.
Jones fakes a handoff, then fires a quick pass to him just as Elliot cuts inside.
My eyes widen, glued to the field.
Elliot pivots, and his foot slips awkwardly on the turf.
My heart skips a beat when he crumples to the ground, grabbing his ankle and rolling in agony. I gawk, my eyes bulging from their sockets.
This can’t be happening.
But it is… Overcoming the surge of emotion, I jump out of my seat. “Oh, no!” Blood rushes to my temples while my pulse pounds so hard in my ears that I cover them with my hands to make it stop.
An injury timeout is called. The crowd is silent. The panic is palpable.
Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Helpless, I watch the medical staff hurry Elliot’s way, willing myself to get my bearings. Hands on my thighs, I work to get my breathing in check.
From the distance, the grim look on the medical staff’s faces says it all as far as Elliot’s future in today’s game is concerned.
Over.
Nathan’s breathing techniques come in handy throughout this whole ordeal. I’m amazed by my ability to follow the steps so religiously, but it prevents me from having a panic attack, unlike Elliot’s family members next to me. Dealing with my own shit takes priority, and they’re all too stressed to focus on me anyway.
Certain that I’ve switched my phone to airplane mode, I almost miss the buzzing sound coming from my pants pocket. Fingers clutching my phone, I see a string of rapid-fire texts from Caitlin Cole.
“Fuck!” I mutter between clenched teeth and blankly stare at the screen. Struggling to make sense of the words, I reread the first text.
Caitlin
Hey.
E said you’re here.
Sorry you had to witness that. He’s OK, sort of.
At this point, Dr. Rosie can’t determine if his ankle is sprained or fractured. We’re taking him to the hospital.
Meet me in front of the locker rooms.
Directions follow, as well as another text from my current favorite person, the only one in the know… unless Caitlin informed management after Elliot’s revelation. Either way, I have to trust her, trust them. I haven’t met anyone from the team, aside from her, but I put all of my hopes in Doctor Rosie.
Rosie said he passed out while on his way to St. David's South Austin Medical Center.
Where are U? Meet me in front of the stadium. I’ve arranged transportation for U. Will tag along.
R, are U on your way?
Rupert
Sorry I’m just seeing this now. I’ll be right there.
FYI, his family is also here from France. I know them,
well mostly one of their kids. They’re sitting next to me.
Three little dots dance on the screen.
Caitlin
How do you want to handle that?
Now, that’s a damn good question. My mind races. My heart tightens. My body trembles. Probably sensing my hesitation, Caitlin sends another text.
Tell you what. You & I get a head start so you can go see him on your own terms.
E’s mother is listed in his contact list. I’ll text her now with updates. I’ll tell her to wait for further instructions.
We’ll drive them there in a bit. Would that work?
Relief floods my insides. From the corner of my eye, I see them going back and forth in a guessing game about what’s going to happen next.
Meanwhile, the actual game is back on, but I couldn’t care less.
What a clusterfuck!
Rupert
Thanks for your understanding.
They’re all busy talking, but very worried as you can imagine.
I’ll escape & meet you.
Caitlin
Just doing my job. Now, move it.
Her business tone on texts is contradicted by the care she takes handling Elliot’s case, and mine. With that in mind, I do as planned, reluctantly leaving Tim.
Another treason.