Chapter 3

Left palm itching and brow furrowed deep with anticipation Shane checked his clipboard one more time. Nothing was different from the last time he'd looked at it. Nerves fired through out his body in waves. He'd been promised a crack at the first team in the final pre-season game, and now was that time.

"Ellsworth," Coach Franklin said. He spoke business-like, and calm enough to send a chill down Shane's spine. "Impress me."

With a white knuckled death grip on his helmet Shane set his clip board down and started jogging to the huddle. First team defense was still on the field. Eleven guys who would laugh if they managed to wreck his only play time. Eyes forward, intent on ignoring the other team, he steeled himself.

Xavier Taylor, New York's first team quarter back, met him halfway. Over the weeks the two had gotten along well. Not quite big brother, little brother, but clear professional respect and courtesy. 'X' as the team called him, put a hand on Shane's shoulder.

"Coach did'n tell you," the thick Mississippi accent said. "But ah know you're gettin the rest of the first quarta."

Shane just nodded, and the elder QB jogged to the sideline. Absent minded, Shane tugged on his helmet.

"Eye right 32 dog-n-pony," the tenor in his headset squawked. Shane just nodded.

He got to the huddle and ten men looked at him in anticipation. Shouldering in and licking his lips to calm his jaw, Shane relayed the play to his offense. They stared back.

"On three," he said, adding in the snap count at the last second. Several grunts later they were marching to the ball. The call had been for a standard 'I' formation, tight end on the right side of the line, with the full back and the running back behind Shane. '32' was for the receiving corps. Strong-side to Shane's right would run a ten yard slant, and weak side to Shane's left, would run eight yards, stutter for a second, and streak straight away. The tight end would curl five yards from the line of scrimmage for a dump off pass if the receivers were covered.

The receiver routes were simple. Only the careful 'dog-n-pony' would get them away from the defense for the pass. 'Dog-n-pony' was the offenses call to fake a run, the full back would plow into the defense, giving Shane extra protection, and then Shane and the halfback would fake a hand off. With luck, the defense would pursue the halfback, allowing one of the receivers to get open.

"Down..." Shane found himself saying.

"Set..." His nerves were in his ears, blotting out sounds, and causing his vision to blur around his peripherals.

"Hut ... hut ... Hike!"

Palm stinging from the ball ramming into it, Shane clutched it and took two steps back. Turning to his right, Eldan Gates, the halfback, was running to it. Squat and powerful, the man held his hands in front of his jersey for the ball. Shane slapped him in the gut with the ball, feeling the intense friction as it slid over the fabric.

Continuing his turn, he slid the ball back to his own chest, and looked down to the left sideline. No opposition was coming, so he pivoted the rest of his circle in time to see his offensive line pushing hard to maintain his protection. Leonard Washington, his room mate, had two men on him, and was waging a losing war.

Eyes flickering up field, Shane saw the left receiver hadn't fooled his coverage, and was knee deep in enemy uniforms. Concerned that his protection, and chance to pass, was evaporating, Shane took two steps to the left, and sprinted forward.

Nearing the line of scrimmage, he tucked his head, and heard the defense shouting. Cradling the ball, he dug his feet, and lowered his shoulders. Thunder rang in his ears as he felt something collide with his left side. Feeling it fall away, Shane concentrated on his feet. If they were moving, he was ok. Six steps later, all he could see was green turf.

As he was helped up, he glanced at the score board. 2^nd and 3, he'd run seven yards. Leonard was looming over him. One hand out, he yanked Shane to his feet.

"Don't ever give up on me again," Leonard said. His helmet was face mask to face mask with Shane's. "I got you. Don't you dare run from my mother-fuckin pocket."

Like a child, Shane looked up to the big screen. The replay was running, and on screen so was he. No one had broken past his linemen, and the right receiver had been waving for the pass.

"Fuck."

Something beeped in his helmet, signaling the NFL regulated communications were live again. They'd be silent soon.

"Ok, I hope you got that out of your system," Greg's voice said. He didn't sound happy with a seven yard run. "Four weak fifteen tango."

Shaking his head, Shane waited as the running backs sprinted off field, and two more receivers came rushing to the huddle. Once again, his tight end was going to curl behind the defensive line, this time from the 'weak' left side. The 'four' wide receivers would be two to a side, running crossing patterns to try and get the defense to open up. His offensive line would be blocking man for man. Shane was not going to have as much protection this time.

Calling the play to the huddle, he got ten nods in return. Leonard Washington walked back to the ball with him.

"You know you gotta stand and take it this time," Leonard said. "No matter what, you gotta show them you ain't scared of them. If they get past us you gots to eat the sack and let them know you can take it."

"No fear," Shane said; his jaw was vibrating at the humiliation of his poor decision in the first play.

"No fuckin fear," Leonard said.

With the same snap count, Shane clutched the ball and faded back three steps. Forcing the linemen from his head, he scanned his receivers. They crossed their routes half a second later. He tried to keep his heart in his chest. The slot receiver on his right had a microsecond of lead on his man, and Shane wound up his left arm and blasted the ball just in front of him. Without slowing he pulled it in and accelerated.

Lightening flashed across his eyes, and Leonard Washington was pulling him up. Some defensive line man, who Shane didn't recognize, was glaring at him with a smirk. Shane blew him a kiss.

"Now they know."

The scoreboard said first and ten. Shane had to move ten yards just to get to the huddle. The pass had been good for twenty.

Later, in the shower, Shane contemplated his game time, and realized that he'd not faltered at the speed of the game. The pain of the hit he'd taken, and it had been his only hit, hadn't harmed him. He hadn't scored, but his running back had.

Playing most of the first quarter, and all of the second, he knew what was going on. Reed Franklin was trying to decide if he was going to make Shane the second quarter back, or the third.

Yancey Davis, the perennial third stringer had played all of the third quarter, and most of the fourth. A twelve year veteran that Mr. Tell had hired presumably just to push the competition had finished the fourth quarter. Shane knew he'd be packing his things before the week was out.

He felt that the remaining camp with the Liberty had gone well. Playbook learning had near killed him, but it was hard to digest without a good amount of time. Shane hadn't had any time.

Throwing felt good in Reed Franklin's offense. The plays suited his arm and accuracy. Once he'd thought the book had been made for him because it didn't fit 'X' at all. Xavier was a scrambler, running was a valuable option for him and as a result of looking for those opportunities, and his throwing was less accurate and not good to the same distances as Shane.

Shane's own left handed style was stereotypical. He had fluid movement, but wasn't a huge running threat, had good vision down field, and his arm was a shoulder mounted cannon. Typical of big armed quarter backs, Shane would take a risk on a long pass when the game was on the line. Most of the time his accuracy would let that risk pay dividends.

During a dinner at camp, Shane had commented about the offense to Xavier. The vet had mumbled slightly, and then perked up a bit before speaking.

"Coach Franklin come up thru Denver," Xavier had said between large bites of pork chop. "In the nineties he's an assistant quarterbacks coach. Ah think the plays seem more natural to you, cause you're more like Elway than me."

It was true. Shane didn't have Elway's elusiveness, but the throwing power and accuracy were there for him. On the inside he had hoped no one would be trying to compare him to John Elway anytime soon. It seemed like too much to live up to.

Turning off the shower he wandered into the locker room to find it mostly deserted. One of the backup receivers, Terrence Dawkins, slapped him on the shoulder as he walked out.

"Good play man," Terrence said as he headed out the door.

Camp was officially over, and players could return to their families between practices. There would be only two days a week where they would practice twice a day now. Post camp, it was a job. He'd be expected to dedicate six to eight hours a day to football, and stay out of trouble afterwards. The dream was right in front of him.

Dapper in a white linen suit, Orlando Gustavo the receiver who'd caught Shane's first pass strode to Shane's locker.

"Thank you for throwing it to me," He said in a thick Cuban accent. Orlando's father had come across during the Bay of Pigs, and made a home for his family in south Florida. "I think I can make the last position now. I owe you."

"I just throw to the open man." Shane pulled a Team tee shirt on. "You got open, you got the ball."

"Tha's team work right?" Orlando held out his hand, Shane grasped it and they shook once. "We both want the same thing; we both get what we want. Thank you for being on my team."

Not having any more interruptions, Shane was able to dress in peace. Team mates came to him regularly in New York, veteran and rookie alike. He'd managed to quell the self doubt he brewed in Florida, and played with his heart on his sleeve.

First day of practice in New York, he'd thrown a pass so ugly the corner back who was going to intercept it, just swatted it down and declared it 'too nasty looking to even intercept'. Shane had cursed under his breath, and fired the next one so hard his receiver was shaking his hand out after catching it.

Less professional, the model of New York fit him better. It was 'Work Hard, Play Hard' there. Cleats tied together, and shaving cream in his helmet had just been two of the things he'd found. He wasn't the bad penny here. It felt good.

"Yo Shane, ready to roll?" Tom was standing in the doorway jingling keys. "I got a team car."

Getting to know Tom had been easy. They shared the same ambitious attitude, and were both at the training center hat in hand with barely more than the clothes on their backs. Tonight would be Tom's last night, without pay he'd have to get a 'real' job and move on. Knowing him, Shane figured he would quit before training camp next season and try again.

Shane slung his duffel over his shoulder, and joked with Tom as they got in a team minivan.

"Dude, you threw some good stuff tonight," Tom said when they were half way back to the training center. "What'd it feel like? Nervous? Thrilling?"

"I thought I was gonna barf right up until I put my helmet on, then it all focused."

"Freak you out playing against a real NFL defense?"

"Nope, they just moved a little faster." Shane laughed.

Tom was about to ask why Shane had run on the first play when Shane's cell rang. Knowing that he'd been talking to Valerie Winters through out his time at camp, Tom glued his eyes back on the road.

"Hello," Shane said flipping the phone open. Valerie had called him after all of the preseason games, and he had been calling her every few days in camp as well.

"Shane, Ben Winters here," said Mr. Winters in his exuberant almost manic manner. "Before you say anything son, I won't take 'no' for an answer."

"Answer to what Sir?" Shane smiled. The words were intense, but Ben Winter's tongue in cheek delivery downplayed it.

"Dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yes, I know for a fact, because I called to find out, that you're a free man now, and I want you over for dinner. I'll give you two hours, and that's that," Ben said. He wasn't pushing as hard as it sounded. Shane could feel the ease that the elder man was talking to him with. It was so simple for him to relax around the Winter's for some reason.

"Well Sir..." Shane said.

"Ok Shane, you forced my hand," Ben said with a snort. "I'll go ahead and call Valerie to see if she can make it."

"No that's not it," Shane said, and looked to Tom who was biting is lip and staring hard at the traffic. "I'm hanging out with one of our assistant trainers, who's staying at the training center too."

"That's it? You almost had me for a second kid," Ben said, being dismissive. "Bring him along, Gloria's got a few racks of lamb that'll make your tongue explode."

Mr. Winters then gave Shane an address and told him to take a cab, because that would be far easier than trying to navigate himself there. The address was easy. Shane just had to tell a cabby to take him to the Winters Tower.

More protest was impossible as Ben Winters hung up. Shane shook his head. The Winters family was certain to keep you on your toes. It perplexed him how they could be so certain of their decision making when it involved the lives of other people.

"Tom," Shane said. "I guess we have dinner plans."

"Yep," Tom said. "I heard it all. You either need a hearing aide, or to learn how to turn the volume down."

At Tom's suggestion, they continued to the training center, and changed into better clothing. Still in tee shirts and jeans since they had been expecting a boring night, both men needed to spruce up.

One hour later, they were wearing khakis and polo shirts, and sharing a cab to the tower to meet Ben Winters.

"You study hard kid," The cabby said as they climbed out onto the curb in front of the large black steel building. "We're counting on ya for a Super Bowl."

The building's concierge, a middle aged woman with distinguished grey hair, and a gaudy smile, swept Tom and Shane into an elevator as soon as they came through the gilded revolving door. Twisting a key in the elevator's key pad she gave them jovial small talk about New York and Manhattan specifically. As soon as the door opened into a large landing though, she disappeared as the elevator doors closed.

"I guess we're there," Tom said looking at the large oaken double doors. Shane pressed the buzzer on the wall once, and they only waited a moment before the doors opened.

"Greetings Mr. Ellsworth," said a tuxedoed man holding the door wide. "Please come in. Mr. Winters is awaiting you."

Behind the man in a dramatic blue cocktail dress, with thin strapped heels spiking her height an extra four inches up, was a blonde woman. Clearly in her thirties, she wore a collagen grin, and spoke with a clear and distinct European accent. Shane noticed that every syllable made her perkier than natural breasts shake.

"It is so very nice to finally meet you," she said with a gush of excitement. "Bennie is in the library waiting for you."

With that she pranced off, leaving them in her heel clicking wake. Tom snorted, and Shane just stood bewildered.

"C'mon, you had to know you were going to meet her," Tom said.

"Who is she?"

"Seriously?" Tom clasped Shane on the back. "That's his wife, Ingrid. I've gotta get you to read something besides the sports page."

Following before she vanished down the hall, Shane took in the décor. Where he and his parents had photos and memories on the walls, Ben Winters had art. On the floor of his parent's home was carpet he and his father installed themselves. The floor of the Winters' home was polished and opulent marble.

Keeping himself as casual about it as he could, Shane followed Ingrid off of the marble, and onto the rich wooden surface of Ben's library. It was a copy of what Shane thought a rich man's library would look like. Complete with bearskin rug and high-backed leather chairs. Shelving dominated the walls, and cigar smoke cruised the air.

"Shane," Ben Winters said, climbing from his chair, and ambling to him. "Glad you made it."

They shook hands for a second before Ben turned to Tom with equal exuberance, and introduced himself.

"Tom Wadlow Sir." The two spoke briefly about Tom's position with the team, and the three settled in Ben's chairs. Ingrid took up a position on the arm of Ben's chair. Her relationship with the man became clear after a moment of conversation.

Where Valerie had been engaged and intense with Ben, Ingrid was disengaged, and aloof. She was, in Shane's estimation, more decoration; Ben had her as a true 'trophy wife'.

"I like your moxie son," Ben said to Tom. "You are your own largest asset, you put in whatever you have to with this team, and you'll get dividends from it. I bet after this camp you went through here, and a good endorsement, at a minimum you'll be able to command a job outside of professional sports."

"I hope it doesn't come to that," Tom said taking a brandy sniffer from the omnipresent butler. "I don't want to work outside of the arena I saw the last few months."

"You'll like that," Ben said before Shane or Tom could sample the drink. "Venezuelan brandy, better than Cognac, and it doesn't have to come from one overpriced spot in France."

Shane faded for a minute as he sipped the drink, which was damned good, and Tom continued about how the team was such a high paced and demanding area to work as a sports therapist. Knowing he loved his job, even the one he was unpaid for, and seeing him translate it to a man who by Shane's guess should have cared less, was eye-opening. Tom was in a lurch with having to get another job now.

Ben was rapt as Tom discussed some of the injuries he'd had to not only fix, but prepare a man to endure getting run over by another man right after. Valerie had told Shane of her families love for a person's intensity, and Ben was proving her right.

"Hey Ohio," the smooth and familiar voice said into his ear. "Shop talk boring you?"

With a half smile, Shane turned in his seat to see her. He was standing just as Ben and Tom were coming to their feet. It was manners to Tom and Ben, lady enters the room and you rise. For Shane, it felt different. He'd been taught the same, but it was the first time he'd wanted to just for the girl.

"Darling, tell me you haven't left Florida askew just to come eat with this jock," Ben said winking at Shane.

"Daddy, I scheduled this dinner with you a week ago, and I didn't know you were inviting him."

"Course not, I just decided to not have you wasting your time with me," Ben said. "I figured I'd invite the boy, and you'd spend more time in my presence as a result."

Shane didn't know which way to turn. Valerie just giggled, and Tom was finding the brandy interesting. A squat looking woman with her hair pulled back tight, came in and announced dinner.