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“Seriously?”
“When he went to Montana State, I followed him out there. I thought we’d be together forever, you know? But then I asked him to ask the coach if I could start officiating, like I did in high school, and…the coach let me work practices. I decided to major in sports health and started officiating everywhere I could. A lot of Pop Warner games. High school, middle school. The coach liked me and recommended me, and pretty soon I was officiating D-3 and D-2 games.”
She ran her hands down her face. “We eventually broke it off, but then I started officiating in the NCAA, and he was a red-shirted senior, so yes, we were on the field at the same time. In an earlier game that year, I’d called intentional grounding. It got him benched, and he was mad.”
Hud’s gut had started to churn. “And?”
“He said I owed him, I said I didn’t, and then he did something…bad.”
He stilled.
“He replaced the peephole in my hotel room with a camera and took pictures of me. Without…without clothes.”
He turned away, his fists tight.
“And put it on the internet.”
He closed his eyes.
“One of the players forwarded it to me. Sort of as a gag, you know, to scare me, maybe. But I was angry, and the next game, I went in looking for penalties.”
“And intentional grounding is one of those subjective penalties.”
“Yes. After the game, he came after me. We had a loud and angry fight outside the locker room. He accused me of bias and using him.”
“It’s illegal to come after an official.”
“Yes. He was told to stay away from me, and I got a restraining order. Only problem was, I was officiating at the All-Star game, and he was invited.”
“And then not invited?”
“Yes. And there went his shot as a draft pick. Last I heard, he was coaching for a college team. But I always felt bad because, you know, maybe…I don’t know. Did I cost him his career? Was I that angry?” She drew in a breath. “I hope not. But I realized that I had as much at stake as he did. If he’d proved that I was compromised…there’s no way I’d have officiated anywhere again.”
She looked at him. “We shouldn’t…” She gestured between them. “I mean, I know we had that kiss, and it was—”
“Incredible.” He’d taken a step toward her, but now stopped. “Iris. You’re not going to cost me my career. Frankly, I’m not even sure I should have a career.” He touched his head. “One more bad hit…”
“I should know this, but what happened after college? I know you played arena ball—you didn’t get picked up in the draft?”
He looked at her. And he hadn’t been sure until this very moment that she didn’t know. And it made it that much easier, then, to skim over the truth. “I was hit by a cornerback in a game. Helmet to helmet. Got a concussion, was in a coma, had a TBI.”
“What? You’re right you shouldn’t be playing. Seriously. Who hit you? I hope they were ejected.”
“Yeah. But they should have been ejected sooner—it wasn’t the first time.”
“Oh, Hud, I’m so sorry. We do our best, but we can miss things. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I would have seen it and ejected the guy.”
He swallowed, managed a smile.
She stepped closer to him, touched his temple. “That’s why you said yes to Ziggy. You needed a backup plan.”
“Which I’m going to decline. I’m just a football player, not some sort of international hero.”
“With that accent, you can totally pass for an international hero.”
He laughed, caught her hand. So maybe she never needed to know, right? He closed the gap between them. “Iris. I’m not going to take advantage of you or hurt you. I’m not going to cost you your career. And you’re not going to cost me mine. But”—he touched her face—“I don’t want to lose you. Fact is, you’re the first woman who’s made me think of something besides football for years. You get me outside my head, and I like it.”
He put his other hand on her face, cradling it. “I like you.”
