SACK: A Football Bad Boy Romance Page 11

  I had the control ball, one that was properly inflated. I squeezed it as much as I could, getting a feel for how it felt. It definitely seemed firmer than the balls I remembered feeling in the locker room, but I couldn't be sure.

  Now, I needed to get my hands on the game ball.

  Chapter eighteen

  "You sure that you're supposed to be down here, little lady?"

  I pressed my lips shut for a moment, my heart hammering in my chest, and tried to ignore that 'little lady' affectation from the massive security guard currently standing in my path. "Yes, I am. You've already seen my credentials, and I need to be out on the field to capture the pictures, videos, and other media for my job."

  The security guard nodded, but he still squinted suspiciously at me. I gritted my teeth, trying to not let my anxiety get the best of me. I just had to make it past this last guard, and then I'd be out on the sidelines of the field!

  From behind the security guard, where the concrete tunnel in which we stood opened up to the field, I heard a roar, boos and cheers all mixed together in a massive wave of sound. Someone, I guessed, had pulled off a big play. Judging from the number of boos to cheers, I guessed also that the Hawks were the beneficiaries of said play.

  Finally, the guard's brain apparently overheated. "Yeah, whatever," he gave in, passing my identification badge back to me and shuffling slightly off to one side. "Don't cause any trouble out there, okay?"

  "I'm just doing my job," I insisted, grabbing my badge out of the man's huge sausage fingers and hurrying past him. "Thank you."

  I didn't wait to hear if he responded to my thanks before dashing out onto the field.

  The bright sunlight hit my eyes like a spotlight, making me stop for a moment and blink furiously. The stadium here, home turf of the Blasters, featured an open roof, and the sun was located almost directly overhead, shining down on the scene.

  Even the sun's rays, however, weren't enough to raise the temperature. I stomped my feet, rubbing at my arms through the Hawks sweatshirt I'd chosen to wear. I guessed that it couldn't be above forty degrees outside.

  Which meant that if the football pressure had been checked inside a warm locker room, they'd definitely be deflated out here.

  After my eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, I hurried over to the Hawks' side of the field. With my short stature, I quickly disappeared in amid the bigger, bulkier male frames of the coaches, assistants, and other players standing and sitting around, watching the action.

  It took some squirming, but I eventually managed to find a place where I could get a decent view of the players currently competing out on the gridiron. I'd had to sandwich myself in between a pair of massive linebackers, and a photographer's tripod kept on poking me in the back of the leg whenever I straightened up too much, but I could at least see the action.

  The Hawks offense was on the field now, I observed. They had the ball right near the Blasters' end zone; that must have been what the big cheer was about, a couple of minutes ago. I'd scarcely managed to find a vantage point before the Hawks snapped the ball, the crouched players on the field exploding into action.

  I saw one broad figure dance back, the football up in his hands. That had to be Chase, I knew, searching for an open receiver. I held my breath as I saw a couple of absolutely gigantic players in Blaster colors break through the defensive line, converging in on his position.

  Just before they came within reach of him, however, Chase must have spotted his target. He shifted his entire body, his arm snapping forward in a smooth but incredibly fast motion. The ball shot away from him, thrown so fast that I could barely follow its path as anything more than a blurred streak.

  It shot up, just over the heads of the grappling linebackers, over the goal line - and a man in Hawks colors leapt astoundingly high in the air and gracefully pulled the ball into his arms as he landed.

  "Yes!" The whole bench around me erupted into cheers, and the sitting linebackers in front of me surged to their feet as they hooted and hollered. I cursed amid the cheering, suddenly unable to see anything but the broad backs of the men in front of me.

  Feeling utterly silly, but with no other option, I squatted down, peering between the legs of the men in front of me. I needed to see where the ball ended up!

  Fortunately, it was still in the hands of the Hawks receiver who had snagged it so easily out of the air. The man did a little dance in the end zone, and I saw dreadlocks flopping around out the bottom of his helmet. DeShaun, I suddenly remembered.

  A minute later, as I watched, DeShaun finished his little victory dance, and he tossed the ball carelessly off to one side. I strained forward as I saw an assistant dash out onto the pitch, picking up the ball and carrying it off. I took a second to note the direction in which the young man ran, and then popped back up to my feet. I needed to catch that ball!

  I extricated myself from the mass of cheering football players, coaches, and assistants on the Hawks sidelines with some difficulty, panting a little despite the chill in the air by the time I emerged into open air. I turned and ran down towards the Blasters end zone, where I'd last seen the assistant with the football.

  There he was! I spotted him turning towards the locker room entrance. I picked up my pace, breaking into a jog. He still had the football, tucked under one arm!

  "Hey!" I called out, as I drew closer to him. "Hey, wait! I need to see that ball!"

  My words, however, were lost in a sudden roar from the crowd. I didn't turn to look behind me, but I guessed that the Hawks kicker must have made the extra point. I put on one last burst of speed, catching up with the young man and reaching out to tap him on the shoulder.

  "Hey, wait," I said, as he stopped and turned to look back at me inquisitively. "I need to take that ball from you."

  The man's face drew into a suspicious frown. "Why? I need to bring it back to the equipment room and check it for-"

  "I'll have it back to you in a second," I interrupted, frantically racking my brain for some explanation as to why I needed this particular ball, right now. "But before it can go back, it, um, it needs Chase's signature."

  "Why?"

  Great. Just the question that I didn't want. "Um, it's for a social media event," I improvised wildly. "We're, uh, we're going to auction it off. On social media. For charity."

  "Really? That's cool. I didn't hear about that."

  "Yeah, it's, um, it's a flash deal." I was starting to get into it now. "The promise was that the first touchdown ball of the game-"

  "This was the second touchdown."

  "-wouldn't be used," I pivoted, "but the second touchdown ball would be. Chase would sign it, and we're going to donate all the proceeds from the sale to local charities in the local city of the home town. It's competitive, and it lets us give back in a public way, too. Should generate some great publicity for us, and for the league overall."

  Now that I'd come up with this idea, I actually liked it! Even if the ball turned out to be properly inflated, I still wanted to get Chase to sign it and create this auction. This would be a great way to get more fan involvement moving forward with the last few games in the season, and I suspected we could raise quite a bit of money!

  The young man hesitated for a second longer, but acting impulsively, I darted forward and lifted the ball right out of his hands. "Look, if anyone asks questions, just direct them to the social media manager for the Hawks," I replied merrily, cutting off his protests before he could get a word out. "Thank you!"

  Tucking the ball under my own arm, I turned and hurried back up the field towards the Hawks bench before he could ask any more questions after me. I needed to find Chase, now, as he came off of the field - and I also needed to find a marker somewhere.

  But first, I reminded myself as I slowed down a little and tried to catch my breath after all this recent running, I needed to find some way to measure the pressure in this football.

  I pulled it out from under my arm and gave it a test squeeze in my hands.
It did feel softer than the ball that I'd liberated from the Hawks equipment manager yesterday, but I didn't know whether it was still within regulation limits. I'd need to find a pressure gauge for that. I really should have come better prepared, should have brought one out with me onto the field.

  Oh well. Nothing to do now but forge ahead as best I could.

  "Chase!" I shouted out, as I neared the bench where the offensive line now gulped down Gatorade or stretched out their muscles to make sure that nothing would set up or stiffen in the cold. "Chase, over here!"

  I spotted him easily - his messy, light hair made him easy to pick out of the crowd. He looked up, surprised to hear my voice. "Katy! What are you doing down here?" he asked, moving over to me.

  I held up the game ball triumphantly. "Charity auction! I need your signature!"

  Chase looked bemused, which was at least better than suspicious. "Charity auction? For what?"

  "It's a new idea of mine," I explained. "We're going to auction off one of the game balls online, and donate the proceeds to a charity in the opposing team's hometown. Kind of a 'killing them with kindness' sort of thing." I carefully didn't mention that the ball in my hands was the same one that he'd thrown for a touchdown just minutes earlier.

  He grinned. "I like the idea. Do you have a pen or something?"

  I cast around, finally managing to steal a marker off of a coach's unattended clipboard. I held the ball steady, and Chase scrawled his signature across the knobbly surface.

  "There you go," he said, returning the marker back to me with a smile.

  "Thanks." I turned to go, but Chase reached out and caught at my shoulder. I stopped and turned back to him, my heart pounding.

  "By the way, I hope you got approval for this, because we aren't allowed to carry game balls off the field or get rid of them until the end of season," he said, grinning at me.

  Shit. I stared back at him, my mind completely blank and devoid of any sort of response.

  For a second longer, Chase looked stern - and then he winked at me. "But I won't say anything," he added. "See you tonight, sexy."

  My heart still pounding in my throat, I managed one last smile, and then turned away, the ball clutched protectively in my hands.

  Chapter nineteen

  Through some series of lucky coincidences and minor miracles, I managed to make it off the field with the ball still tucked under my arm. I was especially nervous about what the mountain-sized security guard would say when I tried to leave the field with the ball, but he'd apparently rotated to a new location, and his replacement didn't even glance away from the TV screens to acknowledge me as I passed.

  Gauge. I needed a pressure gauge. Where would I find one of those?

  Well, the equipment rooms. That would be the obvious answer.

  I, however, didn't know where one of those rooms was located.

  I stopped a couple of employees as I wandered around the back area of the stadium, eventually getting a set of overly complicated directions. Ten minutes later, my feet aching, I found the room and stepped inside.

  Another guard outside the room suspiciously checked my identification badge before he let me inside, but fortunately no one was inside the actual equipment room. Finally, something went my way! I ducked back behind the counter and rummaged around until I found a pressure gauge.

  My heart beating, I put the game ball up on the counter, the gauge poised over the valve. However, as I prepared to take the measurement, another concerning thought occurred to me.

  What if the ball had warmed back up while I'd been wandering around inside, and the pressure was back to acceptable levels? This wasn't a proper test. I needed to check the pressure of the ball outside, in the real conditions.

  Shit. I stared around the room wildly for a moment, and then shoved the pressure gauge into my pocket, grabbed the ball off the counter, and ran back out.

  Another five minutes of getting lost in the corridors of the stadium later, I managed to emerge outside - this time, outside the exits of the stadium, looking out at the expanse of the parking lot. I moved over to a side bench and set the ball down, glaring at it and trying to will it to cool off faster.

  After another five minutes of hopping around and trying to keep warm, rubbing my arms and directing angry glances at the unmoving football sitting beside me, I couldn't wait any longer.

  "That's got to be long enough," I muttered to myself, pulling out the pressure gauge and sticking it into the ball.

  I lifted the gauge up, wiping my finger across the display to read the result.

  Just under eleven pounds of pressure per square inch.

  I sat back, my heart pounding. I had been right! My prediction turned out to be true - the ball that had scored the touchdown for the Hawks was significantly under-inflated! The Hawks were really cheating!

  What do I do now?

  For a few wild seconds, I considered trying to sneak the pressure gauge back inside the equipment room. I came to my senses, however, and instead just chucked the thing into a nearby trash receptacle. Even if someone found it, they wouldn't connect its disappearance back to me.

  The ball, however, proved to be a more difficult item to hide away. Eventually, I snapped some pictures of it, making sure that both the signature on the ball and the Blasters stadium behind the ball were visible, and then carried it off to the busses that shuttled the players, coaches, and other Hawks team members back and forth from the hotel. I stowed it in one of the compartments above the seats, making a mental note of the bus number so I could retrieve the ball later on for the auction.

  What next?

  I didn't have any idea. I honestly hadn't even imagined that I would make it this far - or that I'd actually discover any evidence of the Hawks not playing fairly. Who would I tell? Who do I confront, if anyone?

  Returning back into the stadium, this time heading up to the sky box to try and work some feeling back into my nearly frozen fingers, I tried to think through my options.

  Option one: I tell no one, and take this secret to my grave. On one hand, this seemed least likely to cause any problems for me, personally. But I didn't know if I could truly keep a secret like this for the rest of my life, not telling anyone. Furthermore, if someone else found out that I knew about this cheating and hadn't told anyone else, I could be held as an accessory to the fact.

  At least, that's what I assumed based on all my late night cop show binges.

  Okay, moving on. Option two: I don't tell anyone on the football team that I know about the cheating, but I write an article and send it off to the editorial team on ESPN. This sort of story was the kind of thing that could make careers - or break them. I'd probably get a very cold shoulder from the football leagues and any associated groups, but I could maybe get some national name recognition for this story, possibly even turn it into a book deal.

  Would that be enough to pay for the rest of my life's expenses? I didn't know, and somehow, I didn't suspect so. Maybe if I was a more established journalist, I could keep a career going after this scandal broke. But given my inexperience, I didn't have enough contacts to weather the resulting storm.

  So option two didn't seem promising, either. What else could I try?

  Option three: I tell the team that I know about what was going on, tell them that it's wrong and that they should stop. How would that work out?

  I honestly didn't know what the fallout from doing this option would be. If it turned out that the team somehow didn't know about the balls deflating in cooler weather, I might be safe from any real repercussions, maybe even receive a bit of thanks for pointing out the issue.

  But given how much Chase, the equipment managers, and other players handled the ball, I just couldn't imagine that they didn't know about the deflated footballs. So what would happen if I told them that I knew about their cheating?

  If I told them, I suspected that I'd still end up cast out of my job, discredited and silenced.

  Great, I sighed. Screwed either
way.

  I watched the rest of the game with half my brain, as the other half worried over possible options. At least the rest of the game went well; the Hawks defense did an admirable job of holding off the Blaster offensive pushes, and Chase went on to throw two more touchdown passes. By the time the fourth quarter ran to an end, the Hawks had established their typical lead over their competitor. Some of the Blasters fans were already streaming out of the stadium, unwilling to watch their team lose.

  I posted excited responses and comments on the game on the different social media accounts, but my expression remained glum. A couple of the other reporters even commented on this. "Why the negative face?" one asked. "Your team just won!"

  I made up some lame excuse about worried over our future chances, and ducked out of the sky box before they could ask me anything else.

  My dark mood persisted through the rest of the afternoon. I got a text from Chase after the bus arrived back at the hotel, inviting me to go out with him to celebrate, but I didn't reply. I just lay on my bed in my room, staring at the ceiling, trying to think through my different options.

  What if I told him? Chase? Would he turn me in, dump me out to dry?

  I didn't know the answer to that question. On one hand, his entire career could be tainted by this scandal, if it got out. He, more than almost anyone else, had motive to want me silenced and disenfranchised.

  But he also cared about me - at least, I believed that he did. Would he be so cold-hearted as to cast me aside because I knew his secret? Did he really care about me, as more than just another mark on his bedpost?

  I didn't know the answer to that question, either.

  But the longer I lay in my bed and thought in circles through my options, the more stark my choices became. I could either say nothing and hope that the secret never came out, or I could tell Chase that I knew his secret, and hope that he wouldn't cut me out of his life and burn all bridges behind me.