The Hail Mary Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Ginger Scott

  About the Author

  Text copyright © 2019 Ginger Scott

  (Little Miss Write, LLC)

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Ginger Scott

  * * *

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For the diehards.

  Damn, do I love you.

  Chapter One

  Reed Johnson

  This life…it’s hard on a marriage.

  I get to see the young guys come in here on the first day of camp, a lot of them just like me—their high school sweethearts walking them to the front office and kissing them goodbye, wishing them a good day. Those walks, they don’t go on for more than a week or two. Money starts to flow, vehicles get bigger, lives start to separate. Pretty soon, I see those same guys kissing other women in cities far from home.

  Nolan never walked me up to the offices, or camp, or anything; that just ain’t her style. Never was. If she showed up for something, it was because she had something to say. “We’re pregnant!” or “Your mom…she passed.” If I see Noles anywhere near the practice field, I brace myself for big, and I hold on for a ride that’s either going to cut me down or make me fly.

  Maybe that’s the reason we made it longer than most. We didn’t have some false expectations or fairytale dizzy dreams going into this life. We knew it was hard because us was always hard. In high school, life ate us up. In college, the same. I have constantly had this other commitment that ran right alongside the one Nolan and I have, threaded right through the heart of every obstacle and decision we’ve ever made together.

  Football.

  My heart beats out a hard count. My pops says it’s been beating that way since the day I was born. But I don’t know…I think my rhythm was always off just a little when Nolan wasn’t around. She set the tempo, kept me in time with things.

  I forgot that. Maybe she did too a little. I’ve told her that I’m nothing without her but the thing is, I’m nothing without this game either. I’m really not. I’m just some thirty-eight-year-old beer-drinking loud-mouth, who likes Jeeps, plaid flannels, and complaining about how bad my damned joints hurt all the time. I’ve gotten old. Time—my so-called prime—was here, and then I blinked. This game and me, though, we’re not done yet. We have unfinished business. My right hand is missing a championship ring. Three years ago, that title was in my reach, one blown pass away.

  That fucking pass.

  I never threw Otis Rutgers under the bus for his missed route, but that young hotshot did fuck up his path. He was a good five steps late, but really…it wouldn’t have mattered. The coverage was there, and it outsized him no matter where I would have dropped the ball. Twenty-yards in the air, seconds on the clock, and a Super Bowl in my heart—all stolen away by my goddamn college roommate.

  It was hard not to hate him for it just a little. He wasn’t cocky about it, ’cause that’s not how Trig is. It’s why he got paid the big bucks and finished his career with a cache of awards and two bowl rings. Both championships were won by his interceptions—the first, a pick from me, and then two years later one off a Green Bay legend. Damn Giants loved him, made him franchise. He’ll probably get a job in the front office one day, if he doesn’t screw that up.

  Trig retired last year. Body couldn’t handle being hit high and low in two directions mid-air anymore. Thing is, though, his heart? It couldn’t handle life without the game. In less than eleven months, his marriage fell apart completely. Stacia and he got married about a year after Nolan and I did, and they have three kids—all girls. Trig barely sees them right now. Things are…ugly.

  Stacia’s back in Maryland and Trig’s in LA, “living the life.” He blames her for never getting to have fun or cash in on his fame. He’s a fool. I love him, though, so I’m not done trying to save him. If I can save him, maybe I can save me somehow, too.

  I don’t want ugly. Neither does Nolan. That’s why we’re just sticking through this whatever it is we have now. We should probably really talk about it, but that only makes shit slip away more, so I spent camp keeping my head low, being a “leader” like I’m being paid for, and trying to keep myself in one goddamned piece.

  “There’s my favorite client!” My brother’s voice echoes in the locker room, and a few of the young guys finishing up glance our way wondering why I matter. Punks. It may hurt like hell, but I can still out gun them.

  “I’m your only fucking client, which really dude…you should come up with a game plan for after this season. If you want to be in the publicity business, commit. You’re not living in our basement.”

  I’ve been sitting here daydreaming and feeling sorry for myself so long, I haven’t even gotten my shoes on yet. I gesture for Jason to sit down and wait. He drags a chair over from the corner and turns it backward so he can straddle it. He used to do that at the dealerships; he said it was a power move. I’ve never seen it work on a single person, and it only makes me want to kick him in the junk.

  “Gonna be hard to live in your basement when you two get the divorce. I mean, who would I pick? No offense, but Nolan’s a better cook,” my prick brother says.

  I give into my urge and stand up, pushing the chair leg with my foot, knocking him off balance enough to force him to stand.

  “Like my wife would seriously cook you dinner,” I grumble.

  “Hey, hey! Don’t take your mood out on me. My relationship is just fine,” Jason says, tugging on his jacket front to straighten it.

  “You don’t have a relationship,” I throw back, returning my focus to my things, shoveling whatever’s left into a bag just to get out of here. I hear two of the new line guys chuckle, and I decide to let them have their jokes this time. They’re probably making fun of my brother, and that’s fine by me.

  “Maybe I do have a relationship…and I just don’t want to tell you about it, because all you’ll do is shit on it. You ever think of that?”

  I tug my bag up over my shoulder and shove my feet into my shoes witho
ut tying them. Squaring myself to look Jason in the eyes, I seriously consider his thought for exactly two seconds before dismissing him.

  “No. You don’t have a heart, and your soul is bleak as fuck, so no…I’ve never thought of that.” I leave him sniggering to himself as I punch open the locker-room door. He follows me a second later, and I hate I have to make this drive with him.

  He’s right about one thing. I’m taking out my mood on him. I’m glad he’s here to take my shit. I need to get rid of this hostile feeling before we make it to Arizona. Maybe Jason will exhaust me so much there won’t be anything left for Nolan and me to fight about when I get to the ranch. I’m tired of the fighting. It never gets us anywhere, because we never really say anything. I miss us.

  “You need to stop by your place to pick anything up? Or you just want to hit the road?” Jason beeps his Porsche as I approach it, and I toss my bag into the small space behind the passenger seat and then flop my tired body inside, pushing the seat back as far as it will go.

  “Let’s just get on the road. Straight through—we should be there by tomorrow morning. And dude…what’s with this tiny car? We’re the same height. This can’t be comfortable for you!”

  I kick my feet around the small space surrounding them; like a kid too hot to sit still, I finally find a decent spot to rest my right foot. I lean my body into my door when I pull it closed. I hope Jason’s good to drive for a while so I can sleep like this.

  He slips in through his door next, folding his jacket and twisting to rest it behind his seat. It’s a shiny gray, and I can’t fathom riding halfway across the country in a pair of slacks made out of that material. But that’s Jason. Always quick to show people he’s on the job and someone important.

  “Fits me like a glove, bro. Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, smirking at me from the side as he pulls his sunglasses from the small box above the mirror, slipping them onto his face. I stare at him for a breath then chuckle once and wiggle again in my seat, finding room for the seatbelt.

  The drive from Oklahoma City to Coolidge, Arizona takes a little more than fourteen hours—if we’re not in a Porsche 911. Jason’s made this drive in around twelve hours. That’s the only reason I’m willing to fold myself up into this thing.

  Nolan used to make these moves with me. Rather, she made the move twice. We had a good run in California. I was with San Diego for seven years. The politics of sports got in our way, otherwise that’s probably where I would have retired. Ownership loved me, until they sold their piece to a team of investors with other things in mind. Peyton was four when we moved to Minnesota, and I think if we could have stayed there, we would have built a good life. The Midwest suits us—suits Nolan. She was doing some great work with the university, building on her animal-therapy studies for kids on the autism spectrum. Her brother lives on the Wisconsin border, and we saw him all the time.

  Then my dad had his last stroke.

  Nolan and Peyton went back to Arizona, which is really where my girl’s heart has always been, and I went on to Detroit. Long flights followed by even longer fights turned into bad habits and eventually silence. We quit talking about real things and just started existing. I wasn’t even mad at her. How could I be? She’d moved her entire life into that ranch to keep my dad at home and help Rose take care of him. He slurs his speech, can’t control his hands, and his day is spent moving from the bed, to the kitchen, to the patio while two women—who are better people than I am—make him smile as best he can and keep him happy and fed.

  Even Jason sees them all more than I do. He manages my business, which frankly isn’t much now, and then spends the rest of his time lounging by pools in Vegas and L.A. and wherever else I see him posing for selfies on social media like he’s the next bachelor. He still finds his way home, though.

  Home.

  What’s that?

  I need to let go of my anger so I can get back to that place. Home will never feel like home again if I don’t. My head won’t let go of some things, though. And neither can my heart. Nolan and me, we were always forever. Until she betrayed me. With one tiny email, she took away my only other reason to live. Even now, two years later, I get her reasons. She was afraid. She was terrified the next hit I took would be the last, would be the end and turn me into a monster—or worse—a stranger. So she sent one rogue doctor’s medical opinion to the man offering me the contract of a lifetime with the guarantee of getting back to the playoffs, and as it turned out the Super Bowl. She did it all while I was asleep in our bed, and as a result, she turned me into something that’s proving impossible to overcome—a ghost of a man.

  The irony of it all is I haven’t taken a hit in a game since. I haven’t stepped on the field for a game. I stayed in Detroit, riding backup to the backup, throwing drills to receivers in practice to get them warmed up for the real QB. That’s probably what I’ll do in OKC. I probably should have hung it up, but I cling to this goddamn hope that I’ll be that Cinderella story—the backup who has to step in for the young hotshot who gets injured, then proves he’s got just a little more life left in his bones.

  My bones, though…they ache. My heart aches.

  My brother’s stereo is humming his weird EDM music; rather than argue with him over it, I settle in as deep as I can, pressing my head in the space between the seat and window so I can feel the thump of the base in my muscles. I try to remember how I felt when everything in my life was great.

  Chapter Two

  Nolan Johnson

  Reed’s going to be so pissed when he sees his Jeep. It’s too late to do anything about it; call him halfway between here and Oklahoma and tell him to turnaround or just let him make the rest of the trip, see us, then fly back. Honestly, I want to see him, so I decided to just let it be what it will be. Feels like maybe it took his precious vehicle to get him to make the trip out here.

  That’s not fair of me to think. I won’t say it. I’ll keep it in my head.

  Peyton’s locked herself in her room. She’s been in there for three hours—grounded. At fourteen, this girl has somehow sucked me back in time, and I am suffering through every last growing pain all over again. Only now, I’m Mom, and I “couldn’t possibly know what it’s like.”

  My daughter snuck out last night to go to a desert party—in her father’s Jeep. Three years before she can legally drive.

  “Two and a half.”

  That was her response. She didn’t have a follow-up though, when I asked about the enormous gash that covers the passenger side. After an hour of tears, she finally gave in about the cactus she “didn’t see.”

  I’m just glad she wasn’t drunk.

  She’s her father’s spawn. Not an ounce of caution in her chemistry, and now that she’s a teenager, I can’t help but feel like I’m raising a mini-Reed in almost every way. I suppose I should be grateful for the roadmap. At least I know what’s coming, and I can try to head off the worst.

  I’m not sure what car I’m rooting to round the driveway first—Jason’s or Sarah’s. My best friend isn’t exactly helpful when Peyton goes full Peyton. She’s more of her usual self—the influence.

  “You make good pancakes, Nolan. Good…damn…pancakes.”

  I smile while my gaze drifts from the front window to the place where my father-in-law, Buck, runs his fork sloppily along his plate, soaking up every drop of butter and maple left.

  “It’s not my pancakes you like, Buck. It’s the sugar.”

  I wink and he chuckles as I walk over to him and take his plate. Buck’s wheelchair-bound now. That last stroke stole away most of his motor control on the left side of his body, and it’s made a lot of things impossible. Not everything, though. That man still shows up to every CHS Bears home game. When Rose can’t take him, I do. To be honest, I kinda like going. I’m a glutton for the nostalgia, or maybe there are just a lot of things I miss a whole hell of a lot.

  “Ah…” He holds both hands up, one much higher than the other, as if he’s
been caught stealing from the cookie jar. “You got me.”

  I lean forward and kiss his cheek, then carry his plate into the kitchen. I worried at first that it would be hard to be here alone with Buck. He doesn’t talk as much as he used to. The words take so long to come out. But we’ve found this really comfortable rhythm with each other. Maybe he and I just don’t have to talk. He always seems to know exactly what I’m thinking, even when I try to hide it. It’s why he didn’t go to church with Rose today. Reed’s coming home, and Buck wants to be here for me when he shows up.

  “All right, bitches. Let’s get this party started!”

  My eyes roll at Sarah’s arrival, but I’m still relieved she’s the one who got here first. I’m not ready for Reed just yet.

  “You’re almost forty, Sar. Time to drop the partying…and why does everyone need to be called bitches?” My friend hugs me and promptly moves on to Buck, who leans with his cheek out ready for a pretty woman to plant lips on.

  “I’m thirty-nine. Quit with the rounding-up shit. And besides…I plan on partying until they drop me in a grave. Ain’t that right, Mr. Johnson?” Sarah kisses Buck and his mouth pulls up high on his right side.

  “And this, woman…” she moves into the kitchen and sets an oversized canvas tote on the table, unsnapping the top and pulling out two bottles of the best Pinot Noir in the world. “...is the reason for the party.”