Earlier in the week, he had gone over to Gabe and Samantha's for dinner. Mainly he had been there so he could get more tips from Gabe outside of the practice fields. The two had spent hours sitting on the couch arguing about his reading the zone coverage and how he had not been on the same page as Joey Seton lately. He remembered it all too well as Samantha piped up from her paperwork at the kitchen table.
"Marcus, you do seem different out there. What's up? Or maybe I shouldn't ask."
"Nothing's going on. There's a problem, I'm working on it, end of story."
Gabe wouldn't let him get away with such casual candor. "That's a bullshit answer. I'll tell you exactly what's going on. You've got your head in your ass and have been avoiding Seton. We're four games in. It's a new season, who cares what happened last year. When you guys start communicating and listening to each other, everything will work and you'll stop playing like you need to be benched. That's the end of the story."
"What the fuck gives, man? We run through the plays beforehand."
"Then get your feet in fucking order, and stop expecting the ball to come to you at the same spot on the field. Each move is a lifeline, listen to the game."
"There is too much testosterone in this room. Marcus, I love you but Gabe has a point."
"I give up. Everyone has an opinion on this."
"I'm not everyone. Besides, mine doesn't count. Listen to what Gabe is saying it makes sense. How can you play effectively if you're going into a game blindly? Right?"
Gabe looked up at Samantha as she gathered all of her papers to move into their bedroom for a little peace and quiet. Or to get away from all of their obscenities as they argued. "Sweetheart, you don't have to leave."
She waved a hand at him. "Its fine. You guys have a lot to figure out, and my students need their reports graded correctly. I doodled a football, so it must be a sign to get out of here for a bit." Walking over to the men on the couch, she kissed Gabe, then left to finish her work.
Her words had struck a chord and stayed in his thoughts since that night. For the practices he intended to have some of the guys change up the routines and throw high and low balls so he could work on his motions. Before everything, he planned on sitting down with Joey to figure out the best way they could keep working together. They had been a good team before, there was no reason they couldn't make a seamless one again.
Confidence raced through him and he found himself getting excited to get to the practice fields. Hopeful to turn his game around, Marcus knew the actions that needed to be taken and it started with the quarterback. There were three days until the game against Dallas; that was more than enough time to pull it together.
****
The coffee shop had been chaotic for each of her shifts. Luckily Hadley had managed to sneak away a few hours each night to the studio and keep up with some of her canvases. One of her clients in New York had sent her an email with the descriptions of what they wanted, so she had been sketching with a charcoal pencil as a slow start. Hours had gone by but one of the canvases had remained bare. It wasn't working until the banging of hammers from the construction site down the street broke through her concentration. Her fingers moved effortlessly and guided the pencil as she etched in several abstract lines. To the beat of the banging and clanking of metal, lines turned into the shapes, which formed the outline of what she would paint.
The client had requested something urban, so it seemed fitting that Hadley's inspiration was motivated by the construction. By Saturday evening, she was anxious to start painting to give it a bold, almost masculine appeal. From what she could tell from the emails that had been going back and forth between them, the client wanted something to represent strength and success. His words were short but very pointed, giving her bullet points of what he expected. He was precise and openly disagreed with some of her suggestions. Nothing scared her, and rather than feeling stressed or pressured, she reveled in the request. Determination to succeed for the client consumed her and flooded the canvas. Creative forces sped through her veins, urging her hands to move.
As she stood staring at the canvas resting on the easel, her head cocked to the side. Distinctly, Hadley recalled the man instructing her on which colors she should use. They went against everything that she had sketched. He wanted black and silver, whereas now that she had created a portion of the piece, she knew otherwise. With fingers tingling at her sides, she dipped one in a rich green and started to layer it on. Skin roaming the canvas, the cool paint lightly coating over the etched lines. Something deep inside her told her to start with the green. She would cover it up with a coat of black, or maybe even a deep purple, but the piece needed to begin with the green.
Her eyes glazed and she soon became possessed by the power of her passion. Flecks of aluminum were glued in the corners, small slivers of glass scattered throughout. Heavy smears of paint pulling everything together. Minutes turned into hours and night became morning. A faint sound interrupted her hypnotic trance. Grabbing a towel, she wiped her hands clean as best as she could and reached for the phone. There were numerous calls and several missed messages. Scrolling through it all, she stopped at a message from Marcus. Since their night together, they had talked on the phone but had not had a chance to see each other. Between practices and then flying out for a game that weekend, and her irregular schedule, a phone call was all they could work in.
His message brought a smile to her face; it was simple and stupid but made her body itch to be around him again. Realizing that it was Sunday, she was dumbfounded that he had considered her on a game day. A thought replayed in her head but she couldn't bring herself to phone Sam and see if they could watch the game together. A nagging feeling irritated her that she even considered watching, but Hadley couldn't fight her feelings all of the time when it came to Marcus. He had become someone she looked forward to talking to, and since their night together she definitely was anxious for him. But even though she wanted to open herself up to the idea of him, there was so much more to everything than she cared to admit.
Ever since they had met, something caught fire within her and as she began each new painting she was fueled with inspiration. On Wednesday, she was scheduled to present one of the latest pieces at a gallery and couldn't have been more excited. It was her first real showing in Chicago and was unsure how her art would come across. Hadley was confident in the work but had visited many galleries since moving, and nothing she'd seen made a perfect match.
The appointment could go either way, so she was mentally preparing for that by keeping her expectations very low. As the paint dried she figured a distraction was needed, and what could be better than Marcus on a television screen.
Flipping the switch on the smaller fan, Hadley set the speed and made up her mind to sit in a bar with the rest of the Chicagoans and become a fan.
****
The Cougars took down the Cowboys, and remained second in the division as they rode into the sixth week of the season. Hard work paid off, and though he didn't outrun the Cowboys' fine secondary for a touchdown, Marcus did complete several passes and gained important yardage. All of the guys were grateful for the win, but kept calm on the late night flight back to Chicago.
The plane had just landed and was waiting to pull into the gate. Marcus sat shaking his ankle impatiently, waiting to get out so that he could call Hadley without having his conversation overheard. While in the locker room after the game, he saw a text from her. She had taken a picture of a beer and sent it to him with a message to follow that she was indeed watching the game. A good confident feeling came over him as she warmed up to his job.
He sent a message back to her, to which she immediately responded. They had gone back and forth up until the minute the team boarded the plane. The last message he sent was more of a question. Coming in late from the flight, practice would get delayed until mid-afternoon. She had mentioned that she didn't have a shift but was getting her piece ready to present at the gallery. They hadn't seen each other for a week and he was hungry for her. The phone remained blank and he scrolled through the messages trying to backtrack to see where he went wrong.
As the front doors opened and the players started to exit, Marcus took a deep breath and put the phone in the breast pocket of his suit. Shaking his head, he figured he crossed the line and got ahead of himself with her. All of the players' bags lay in a heap near the gate, as he reached for his own loneliness curled through him. Sharing a room with Velesquez for the past two days, was definitely nothing but business.
