Thank you for ALL of your wonderful feedback throughout the story - whether it's been here on the thread, or in a PM or email. I appreciate every single bit of it. A very special thanks to all of the lurkers who came out for this fic, and here's to many more delurkings in the future! It always makes me happy to bring one of you out of hiding.
Also, I have to give my boys, the New England Patriots, a shoutout here for their awesome performance against Atlanta. The score doesn't begin to reflect the actual game - which we controlled for the most part. ATL put up a good fight, but you just can't stop the combination of Tom Brady and Adam Vinatieri when they're having a good day!
Okay, enough blabbering. Since the final chapter is usually when everyone comes out to say how much they did or did not like the fic, I'd like to go ahead and give a preemptive thank you to everyone who replies. It's been a pleasure entertaining you all.
Part Twenty - And The Crowd Goes Wild!
Liz hurried through the cool early April weather in Bristol, sipping at a steaming cup of coffee she’d grabbed from Starbucks on her way to ESPN Headquarters. She smiled brightly at several colleagues who passed by as she made her way up to her office.
“First time for the Draft?” Linda Cohn asked, a knowing expression coloring her features as she stepped inside the elevator.
Liz nodded, unable to deny the sick excitement churning inside of her stomach as she thought about what would be her first time covering the NFL Draft for ESPN. Usually, the Draft coverage went to the two most veteran anchors, but Dan Patrick was out with the flu, so she and Rich Eisen were covering the Draft from the NFL Total Access arena.
Over the past few months that she’d spent in Bristol, she’d gained the respect and admiration of her co-anchors as well as the general sports public, and was now as recognizable a face on SportsCenter as any other. All of her years of hard work had finally paid off, and she should have been ecstatic at the chance to participate in one of the most important events in the National Football League.
Part of her was. But no matter what she achieved, there was always a large part of her that couldn’t be fulfilled. She’d hoped that with time she’d come to accept that she and Max were really and truly over, but the pain hadn’t subsided as the months passed. It merely became a dull ache that she learned to live with.
She thought back to Super Bowl XL and remembered how she’d sat in her apartment watching that final play – hands held over her mouth and eyes wide as she prayed with every ounce of her being that somehow Tampa Bay would come off victorious. When it hadn’t happened, she’d been sick to her stomach knowing that all of Max’s hopes and dreams had just gone up in smoke. Although he’d won the MVP trophy, which was something so extraordinary for a losing team to achieve that it was still being discussed months later, she’d known that it wasn’t the same as winning the Super Bowl.
She’d expected to see him dejected and downtrodden in later interviews, but he’d been strangely accepting of it all – even going so far as to admit that the Bucs really had more work to do, and that they’d have another chance during the next season. Considering how anxious he’d been after his injury, behaving as though he’d never have another chance to play for a ring again, to say she was shocked was an understatement.
She’d also heard that he’d reconciled with his family. It was all over the news; pictures of Max and his father embracing after the Super Bowl, images of him standing up beside his new brother-in-law at Isabel and Alex’s wedding. She’d been invited, but she hadn’t wanted to cause any waves. Or maybe she was just too scared to see what Max’s reaction would have been.
They hadn’t spoken since that terrible day in Tampa Bay when he’d called it quits, and she’d dreaded reading the gossip columns in fear that she’d find him attached to some busty blonde football groupie, or worse – a really nice woman whom he’d fall in love with and forget all about the hardheaded, stubborn girl from his hometown whom he’d spent a few precious weeks with. But so far, nothing. She knew it was only a matter of time.
As for herself, she knew she was nowhere near ready for another relationship. She’d been asked out by a few men from work, but much to Maria’s disappointment, she’d turned them all down flat. She couldn’t imagine pretending she felt anything for these men when the only one she really wanted was living a thousand miles away and wanted nothing to do with her.
That bleak thought in mind, she entered the NFL Total Access soundstage and greeted her co-anchor for the Draft, Rich Eisen. They exchanged small talk while going over their notes, and Liz found herself forgetting about Max for a merciful moment as she always did when she immersed herself in work.
“So, who do you think Oakland will take for the first pick?” Rich was asking, sitting back and letting a makeup hand apply a small coat of powder to his face to get rid of the gleam on camera. “USC has seven starters entering the Draft this year.”
“Although I’m sure he thinks differently, I wouldn’t bet on Matt Leinart walking away with it,” Liz answered absently, shuffling note cards between her fingers. “I’m gonna go with Reggie Bush, maybe. Auburn has three receivers entering – Obomanu, Taylor and Aromashodu. I guess it depends on if Oakland decides they want a running back, or a wide receiver. Since they picked up Randy Moss this season, my money’s on Bush.”
Fifteen minutes later, the cameras were rolling and Liz smiled brightly as the lens focused on her. “Welcome to SportsCenter’s live coverage of the 2006 NFL Draft from Bristol, Connecticut. We’ll be taking you through the day’s picks from New York, and keep you updated on what’s happening in the NBA Playoffs, as well. I’m Liz Parker.”
“And I’m Rich Eisen,” her co-anchor continued smoothly. “Let’s start by going through our list of Draft prospects for this season. Everybody’s already heard about the boys from Southern Cal, and there’s D'Brickashaw Ferguson from Virginia to consider, but let’s discuss the guys that might sneak into the first round and surprise us all.”
They spent the first half-hour listing the Draft potentials, exchanging witty barbs and sarcastic rejoinders that made SportsCenter infamous in the world of sports news. As the Draft began in New York, they switched over to their reporter stationed at the Draft, awaiting to hear who’d come out with the number one pick for the Oakland Raiders.
When Reggie Bush from the University of Southern California was called, Liz grabbed a marker and walked over to where they’d tacked a poster with all of the prospective Draft choices photos. She drew a large X through Reggie Bush, and Rich started laughing.
“One down, thirty-one more to go.”
The Draft continued, with obvious choices like Matt Leinart, DeAngelo Williams, Mathias Kiwanuka, Rodrique Wright, Jonathan Scott, Vince Young, Eric Winston, and D'Brickashaw Ferguson all being called up to accept their new team jerseys. Each time a new player was received into the NFL, Liz marked them off of their list, amidst whistles and applause from the SportsCenter staff.
She grew quiet as their New York affiliate displayed Malcolm Glazer, owner and president of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, stepping up to the podium to declare Tampa’s pick for the tenth Draft choice in the first round.
Unable to help herself, she began fiddling with the red marker in hand, struggling to keep a straight face as she caught sight of Jon Gruden standing behind Glazer, looking grave and solemn. She tried not to wonder if Max was in New York, as well, although she knew he probably wasn’t. Most players watched the Draft from back home, choosing privacy over publicity.
She was so distracted that it took her a moment before she realized what the Tampa Bay owner had just said, and did a double take when it finally sunk in.
“With the tenth pick in the first round of the Draft, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers select Liz Parker, SportsCenter, for the 2006 season.”
Liz’s mouth fell open, and unrecognizable sounds came out as Rich Eisen turned to stare at her. Silence at the Draft site had been replaced by murmurs of confusion, as Malcolm Glazer and Jon Gruden stood there, smiling as if they hadn’t just said the most asinine thing in NFL history.
All of a sudden she felt every camera in the room on her, and to her shock she saw herself plastered on the wide screen television behind the Draft Podium, which was generally used to portray players who’d decided to stay at home instead of traveling to New York to accept their NFL teams.
“Liz?” Rich Eisen laughed uncertainly. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t—” She trailed off as her cell phone began to ring from the inner pocket of her suit. Aware that her every movement was being broadcast on live TV, she flushed and reached into her pocket to pull out her phone. It continued to ring as she goggled at it like she’d never seen it before. Finally, she flipped it open and said, “H-Hello?”
“I know we’re not the New England Patriots, but I can promise that you’ll get your money’s worth out of Tampa Bay.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. “Max? Is that you?” she asked in a wondering voice. She glanced up, seeing her flabbergasted expression reflected back at her on the teleprompter. “Max, what—”
“I need you to open the door, Liz. I don’t have a key to the studio.”
She shot a glance toward the studio door, wandering over as if in a dream. Rich was calling her name behind her, but she’d forgotten his existence and that of everyone else’s as she slowly pulled open the door to find Max standing there, a small smile on his face.
“What’s going on?” she managed, staring at him with dizzying incredulity.
He took a step forward, and she took one back, still in disbelief. It didn’t deter him, simply caused a determined expression to cross his face as he continued his way inside the studio. Murmurs went up from around them, but she couldn’t look away from his intense gaze, heart pounding inside of her breast.
When he finally responded, there was an earnest note coloring his voice. “I’m drafting you.”
Before she could blink, he held up a Tampa Bay jersey with the numbers 00 and the name Golden Girl emblazoned across the top. Her phone clattered to the floor as she stared at the jersey. It should have been cheesy and ridiculous, but she couldn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes.
“Max…” she began thickly, blinking slowly as he started toward her again.
“Wait, before you answer,” he interrupted, swallowing hard. He slanted a quick glance around the room, as if only now realizing that they had a captive audience. He motioned to a nearby technician, who brought over a microphone, which he slid around his head, adjusting the mouthpiece so that whatever he had to say could be heard in New York as well. Liz could only continue to stare in disbelief as he took a deep breath and began talking.
“When you enter your name in the Draft, you’re pretty much giving up any leeway you have of deciding where you want to go. You go with the first club that says they want you, which is what these people did,” he said, and Liz blinked at the familiar words. She struggled to remember where she’d heard them before, then realized with a start that they were the same ones she’d said to Max when asking for an explanation as to why he’d gone with Tampa Bay over Cleveland.
She shook her head slowly, confused. “Max, I don’t—”
“And I know that SportsCenter is a solid job, and exactly what you want,” he continued with an edgy hitch in his voice. “But the thing is, Liz…”
He paused, reaching out to take her hand while her lips began to quiver with the effort of holding back tears at seeing him once again. When he spoke again, his voice was husky and soft. “I…I need you more. You see, I’m kind of in this major rebuilding stage – getting some stuff in my life in order for the first time in, well, forever – and I just can’t do it. Not without you.”
That did it. She felt the first of many tears slide down her cheek as her breath hitched in her chest. He was staring at her with the most open and honest expression she’d ever seen on anyone’s face, and she could read the anxiety and uncertainty clouding his gaze.
The stupid idiot actually thought she might refuse him.
In as calm a voice as she could muster, considering that she was trembling from head to toe, she replied, “Well, then. How can I, in good faith, turn you down?”
You could have heard a pin drop in the seconds after she made her proclamation, and slowly Max’s expression turned from nervous, to disbelieving, to utter ecstasy as he dropped the jersey and reached out to pull her to him. She met him halfway, eagerly finding his mouth with her own as the entire studio erupted in thunderous applause. She framed his face with her hands, lovingly running her fingers across his skin, reacquainting herself with every subtle shape. His arms tightened around her, until she was lifted off of the ground and they were both spinning around, kissing through their mingled tears.
Dimly she heard Rich Eisen commentating on the event, and Jon Gruden’s voice back in New York saying, “That’s really sweet and all, but we’re really taking Marcus McNeil. I just want to make that clear…”
Liz couldn’t help it, she threw her head back and laughed. She waved absently as Max grabbed her beneath the knees and lifted her fully into his arms, calling out, “See you next Friday, Rich!”
Within minutes they were back in her office, the door locked and kissing one another with ravenous hunger and desperation. Max backed her up against the desk, lifting her onto the hard surface while his fingers found her breasts through her shirt. She pushed him away slightly, unbuttoning the front of her blouse as he tried to kiss her again.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she moaned between kisses. “Oh, God, Max…couldn’t you have just called?”
“I did,” he pointed out huskily, sucking on her lower lip and resting his forehead against hers. “I wanted to call two months ago, but I thought a Grand Gesture was due.” He turned solemn for a moment. “Liz, I know I was a complete ass back in Tampa, but—”
“Don’t you dare,” she interrupted fiercely, clapping a hand over his mouth before he could continue. She then grasped his face between both palms and forced him to meet her gaze. “Max, it’s time we stopped keeping score about who’s acting like an ass and who isn’t. Neither on of us played this thing perfectly, did we? If you were an ass, I was a selfish bitch and—”
“Don’t call yourself that,” he said, covering her hands with his own. “Nobody calls the woman I love a bitch, even the woman I love.”
“I can call myself anything I…” She trailed off, registering his words with wide eyes and an inward breath. Tears once again stinging her eyes, she whispered, “What did you say? I think I’m having a really incredible dream, because I thought I just heard you say you…”
“I love you,” he repeated firmly, punctuating the statement with a hard kiss. “And this is one dream neither of us are waking up from. I can promise you that, Parker.”
She stared at him. “And what about the fact that you live in Tampa Bay, and my work is in Connecticut?”
“What’s a couple thousand miles when I get frequent flyer miles from Delta?”
She broke into a reluctant smile as he scooped her back up and buried his face in her neck. “I don’t care where you work, as long as you promise to be mine. And not just for the 2006 season,” he added, “although I think the world might be truly disappointed if the Golden Girl dumps the Golden Boy after this. I’ll make your life a living hell, don’t think I won’t. I’ll show up everywhere you go, haunting you until you take me back just to keep from losing your mind. I’ll—”
“Max, stop,” she laughed thickly. “That’s something you’ll never have to worry about.”
His fretful expression melted into one of fierce longing, and his voice turned low and gruff. “I’m glad you were there that day in the park, Liz.”
“I’m glad you hit me in the face with a football that day, Max.”
He grinned sheepishly. “I was hoping you’d say that.” His mouth found hers again, and they quickly divested themselves of clothing as their hands roamed one another’s bodies earnestly. Just as he was set to thrust inside of her, he pulled back and met her questioning eyes. “Marry me,” was all he said.
“Yes, oh yes I will.”
He drove into her and they both gasped with pleasure, trying desperately to get as close to one another as they possibly could. As intense as their lovemaking was, they still managed to exchange witty comments back and forth as had been the crux of their entire relationship, from the very beginning.
“I’ve got a sports question for you, Miss Parker-soon-to-be-Evans,” Max managed around a groan as he slid his arms down Liz’s naked back and grasped her bottom. “You’re fourth and inches, and there’s seconds on the clock. What do you do?”
Liz sank her teeth in his shoulder to keep from screaming out, before answering in a shaky tone, “That’s easy. Quarterback sneak.”
And that’s just what he did.
<center>THE END...or is it?</center>
