“London, huh?” Tyler says with a hint of recognition, and he smiles wistfully. “I knew someone from London once . . . anyway, fine. You officially have an errand from me. I hear that the Tim Horton's in London has the best coffee in all of Ontario, and I'm ordering you to go and get me a cup, to be delivered, well, whenever you get back.”
I give him a quick hug, and he holds me close, lifting me into the air. “Thank you . . .”
“Go. Take care of your parents, and I'll keep the fort here.”
Tyler sets me down, and I get dressed quickly, and by the time I'm finished, he’s got my backpack ready to go and has a reheated thermos of coffee ready for me too. “I put two changes of undies in your bag,” he said, handing it to me. “Just in case.”
I nod and look at him, and I can see that he wants to come with me, but he's respecting my request. “Tyler . . . there's so much more we need to talk about. Another time though.”
He gives me a supporting smile. “For now, go take care of your father and mother. Go, and drive safely.”
I nod and go to the door, opening it. I step through, when Tyler calls to me again. “April?”
“Yeah?” I ask, hope flaring inside me as I see the words trembling on the edge of his lips, the same words that have been running through my head since he hugged me after the phone call.
“I . . . give me a call when you get there. I just want to make sure you're safe.”
I smile, and nod. “I will. Thanks again, Tyler.”
“Be safe.”
Chapter 13
Tyler
“Good evening, and welcome everyone to Football Canada Today, your number one rated program on all things football. I'm Trisha James, and with me as always are my co-hosts Owen Steen and Mick Wilson. Guys, we've got a great show lined up today!”
I'm just off the set, fiddling with my tie, and wishing that the Fighters didn't have a policy that all non-game day interviews had to be conducted in a suit and tie. It's not that I can't wear a suit, but that doesn't mean I like it. Especially since I'm wearing makeup, am going to be under blazing studio lights, and it's already seven at night. I want to be home and relaxing before tomorrow's game. It's our last home game for a month, with a bye week in the middle, and I’d like to just get some sleep.
“Okay, so remember, we avoid any talk about the injuries on the defense,” Mr. Larroquette, who's accompanying me on this visit, says. I'd rather have April with me, but I sent her on another errand, this time to get me some goose sausage from a specialty butcher's in the city. She left this morning, and if traffic is good, she might get back in time for the end of the interview, and we can go home together. If not, she'll meet me at home. “Any questions outside your own play, keep to the prepared answers.”
“I've got this, Mr. L,” I reply, giving him a smirk. He hates when I call him that, but sometimes I just can't help it. “Remember, I've done interviews before. I'm cool.”
“Still, just be careful. Trisha especially, she's gotten more than one player to open up too damn much with that smile and cleavage combo.”
I have to admit, Trisha James is certainly a beautiful woman. Long blond hair, a body that looks like it should belong on a stripper more than a sportscaster, I could see why she's been voted Canada's favorite female sportscaster for three years in a row. She's the sort of woman who probably has creepy YouTube channels in her honor.
“Like I said Mr. Larroquette, it's cool. She's got nothing I'm interested in.” The GM looks at me like I'm crazy, but I'm not lying. Since her first trip back from visiting her parents on the outskirts of London, April and I have grown closer and closer every day. I'm becoming positively domestic, looking forward to a night at home with her more than going out or doing something more akin to what I did in my spare time in college. The only thing that April and I haven't done is say the l-word, but I can feel it coming. Hell, I took the time to learn how to do some cooking, that's gotta say something, right? Even if it is just making Hamburger Helper.
“Just be careful,” Mr. Larroquette says, stepping off the stage as the program cuts to commercial and Trisha comes over to our mini-set. Bending over, she displays even more cleavage, and I'm certain those things are surgically enhanced somehow, there's just no way they can't be.
“Hi Tyler, I'm glad you're taking the time to talk,” Trisha greets me, offering her hand. “And without a handler, even.”
“The GM is still here,” I say, motioning beyond the lights that have come up and temporarily blinded me. I blink, knowing that it'll come around in a minute, but I'm dazzled, and can't see anything beyond a few black outlines against the darker black of the deeper backstage. “I'm sure if I get too out of hand he'll whack me with something.”
“Well, I'll try not to make it too rough,” she says. “Let's have some fun.”
I’m starting to think this is part of her game. She's trying to get a little bit of leverage to ask some tough questions.
“Trisha? We're back in ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”
“Just relax and we'll enjoy ourselves,” Trisha says as the producer continues counting down. Her eyes sparkle, and I'm certain. She either wants me, or she’s about to try exactly what Coach warned me about.