Disclaimer: don't own FNL, but I wouldn't mind owning Tim Riggins...
I caught in FNL bug in the last two weeks, watching the first seasons in only a few days to get geared up for season 3. Completely love it. It actually makes me miss high school, how pathetic is that. Although, there is almost nothing better that high school football. I went to every game, the team's personal little photographer. That was inspiration for Jordan...so I hope ya'll like her...
Chapter 1
More Than Just a Game
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Jordan sits up in bed with a groan. The notebook open on her chest flipped to the floor. She rubbed her face, staring at the notebook, her eyes only half open. "Dammit," she swore under her breath, slamming her hand down on the alarm clock. Fell asleep writing again, just like every other night. She snorted. Other than the nights she spent trying to babysit fifty football players. Speaking of...
Standing up, she grabbed her phone and called the first number on her speed dial. Holding phone with her shoulder, she rummaged through her pants drawer. "Hello, Jordan," a voice answered.
She laughed. "Is he awake?"
"What do you think?"
She heard a few mumbles in the background before a familiar drawl rumbled, "Yeah?"
"Wake up, sunshine. You're going to be late," she ordered lightly.
"Do you have to call me every morning?" Tim groaned.
Jordan chuckled, kicking off her sleeping shorts. "I saw how much you drank last night." She hopped a few times, pulling her jeans up to her waist. "Tell Tyra she can screw around with someone else's fullback for a change."
"Jordan says Hello, babe." She could hear the smile in his voice.
"I'm sure she did," Tyra growled, not far from the phone.
Jordan laughed out right. "Get you're ass up and pick me up in fifteen minutes. And try brushing your teeth for a change so the reporter doesn't ask if you drank last night." She flipped her phone shut, tossing it on her bed.
Jordan scurried past the radio, tapping the power on. "Good Morning west Texas," it blared. "Slammin' Sammy Meade comin' at ya with Panther Football Radio." She smiled, scanning past each shirt in her closet. "Who wants to talk Panthers, I'm all ears..."
Picking out a plain royal blue tank, she tossed it on her bed, and searched through her underwear drawer for a clean bra. "Oh, you guys can shove it," she spat at the radio. Some things never change. No matter wins or losses, the Head Coach of the Dillon Panthers will always have people looking over his shoulder and criticizing. That's what happens in small town football. Especially in Texas.
Eric Taylor would be a highlight in the history of Panthers Football, State Championship or not. He didn't just know football, he was a student of the game. Any real athlete could tell you the difference. Even an aspiring sportswriter could. After six years of rotating between quarterbacks and JV, finally, he'd been given the job he really deserved. Now Dillon would see where he took them. "Make sure you catch NBC Sports News thursday night with a half hour special on Panther Football with interviews from coach and players taken all this week."
Jordan glanced at her watch. "Shit, shit, shit." She hastily finished tying her shoes, put her notebook and camera into her messenger bag and flew out her bedroom door.
"Aunt Kami, I'm going to practice," she yelled down the hall. Jordan frowned as she stopped in the living room. She disappeared in to the kitchen, only to appear a moment later with pills and a glass of water in her hand, and a bagel between her teeth. She set them at the coffee table beside the couch, where her drunk and unconscious aunt slept. "Maybe I should be the mother," she muttered. "Aunt Kami," she shook her. "Aunt Kami, wake up."
A honk sounded from outside. "Aunt Kami!" The woman finally stirred. "There's pills on the table. I'm off to practice."
"Yeah, yeah," the woman groaned.
"Bye!" Jordan sprinted out the front door and across the yard.
It was already warm at 6:45. You could always count on Texas not being cold in the summer mornings. She hopped into Tim's truck and he zoomed down the street. "And you said I was going to be late..." he teased.
"Didn't I tell you to brush your teeth," she commanded, her nose wrinkling.
"Knew I forgot something," he smiled.
Jordan threw a pack of gum at his chest. "Chew that, unless you want them to ask why Coach promotes underage drinking."
He laughed, but did as he was told. "Good thing I have a mother to look after me."
She punched his shoulder. "You'd be grounded if I was your mother." They both laughed. "Put on Meade," she asked, ignoring the rock music from the radio.
"Why? He'll just piss you off by the time we get there."
"I like to know what other people think," she said annoyed. "That's what writer's do."
"Is that right, Mrs. Sporting News?" he grinned at her.
"That's Future Mrs. Sporting News." No matter how much he irritated her, she could never blame him. That's Tim Riggins. Other than being a first class drunk and one of the best fullbacks in the state. And he was only a sophomore. Eventually, she learned how to fight back. He knew how to push her buttons. But more importantly, she knew how to push his.
"So..you and Tyra, how's that going?" She glanced at him expectantly. He frowned and almost growled at her. Jordan laughing, pleased with herself. "Don't look at me like that. You picked her."
He drove into the school, heading towards the stadium. Jordan saw the news van ahead. "Let me out here," she ordered. She jumped out. "Chew a second piece." He didn't answer as he sped off. Jordan snapped a few pictures before heading over for a meet and greet. Coach Taylor was already with them. "Hey Coach," she called.
Eric Taylor smiled and waved a greeting. "Morning, Jordan." They shook hands. "This is the girl you want to meet. Jordan Ross, Tommy Haskins from NBC Sports."
She gave them her best smile. "Hello."
"Jordan Ross, editor of the school paper, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"We'd love to talk to you too, if that's okay with you."
Her heartbeat sped up. "Yes, sir, I'd like that."
Eric gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Why don't I leave you with Jordan here while I get ready for practice." She smiled, hearing the anxiety in his voice. He didn't like being in front of the camera much.
"Sure thing, Coach." They shook hands, and Eric headed back for the locker room.
"Well, let's head to the field." Haskins and his crew followed her. "We can probably go ahead and set you guys up in the endzone here."
They both stopped and admired the empty field. This was definitely the way to spend the mornings, before all hell broke loose. The crew began setting up behind them. "You're a sophomore, right Jordan?"
"Yeah."
"Don't get me wrong, but...what are you doing on a football field?" Haskins stood with his hands in his pockets and a genuine interest in his eye.
Jordan took a few more steps onto the field, taking her time to answer. She knew he'd be recording it. "Where'd you grow up, Mr Haskins?"
"California."
"Spend anytime in Texas?"
"Here and there."
Jordan nodded. "In small town Texas, football's a way of life. This field, this stadium. It's the heart of Dillon. Every boy is raised to be a Panther. Even when you're an only child. I was supposed to be a boy. But I still learned how to tackle and throw a spiral. When I was eight my mother made me a little cheerleader for the Pee Wees. I only lasted one game." They laughed. "But it didn't take me away from it. I happened to meet my two best friends that summer. Football will always be our life."
"When did you start writing about it?"
"Since I knew how." She was about to elaborate when the locker room door opened and a suited up football team began to empty out. "Here come your stars."
Tim was the next one in the chair. Jordan stood behind the cameras, snapping a few shots before the interview began. She crossed her arms and gave him the look before he was even asked one question. He rolled his eyes, giving her a grin. He knew damn well what that look meant. Don't start anything.
"What's you're name, son?"
"Tim Riggins. I play, uh, fullback."
"Do you have any comment about the rumors of racism among them team?"
"Racism?"
"Centered towards Bryan Williams," Haskins included.
Tim shook his head. "It's not racism, man, I just don't like him. He can be from Saudi Arabia, Sweden or Czech. That dude could be Santa Clause and I wouldn't like 'em."
Jordan frowned. "Here we go," she said under her breath. Typical Tim Riggins. At least they can't smell the whiskey.
Haskins nodded in understanding. "It's known that you're one of the more aggressive players. What do you find appealing about that?"
The fullback shrugged. "I just like to hurt people. Throw 'em down. That's what a fullback does."
Haskins laughed. "I can't argue with that." Jordan smiled. Maybe this wouldn't go as bad as she thought. Like so many things with Tim go. "So, you and Jason Street have played together for a long time."
"Since Pee Wees. Six is the best quarterback in Texas. I'd run through any line for 'em." He took a gulp of water from the jug in his hand.
"Tim, now I don't mean to be inappropriate, but is that alcohol that I smell on your breath?" Jordan closed her eyes and slumped her head. "Have you been drinking?"
Tim stared lazily at the reporter. "No."
"Not at all?"
"No."
Jordan stepped around the camera just as Eric glanced their way. She wound her finger in a tight, quick circle. "Alright, Riggins! Wrap it up!" Coach Taylor ordered from midfield.
Tim stood, grabbing his helmet. "Just one more question, Tim. Do you think the Panthers will get to the State Championships?"
Pulling on his helmet, Tim answered clearly. "I don't think God himself can stop us." And he trotted off in the Coach's direction. Jordan covered her mouth to keep from laughing. No matter how quiet he was, he'd always find someway to surprise. Impress even. The rest of his life may be dull, but with football, dramatic was the way he played.
"Jordan," Haskins called over to her. "Why don't you take a seat," he motioned to the chair across from him.
"Yes, sir." she straightened her clothes, set down her camera and ran her fingers through her windswept locks.
"Ready?" Haskins asked, amused.
"Born ready."
He laughed again. "That's what I like to hear." He paused, situating himself in his own seat before he began. "Jordan Ross. Sophomore. Editor of the school paper. I'm told you even write a complete second paper that is dedicated just to football. And that's circulated through the whole town, not just the school."
"Yes, sir."
"How do you make time for that much writing?"
"I only write the football articles, and act as an editor to the rest of the staff."
"It seems you have a special place on this team."
She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Not one person has something bad to say about you. I understand that Coach Taylor considers you as much a member of this team as anyone. What do you have to say about that?"
She speechless for a moment. "I, uh-"
"Does that stun you?"
"No, it's just-" she took a moment to catch her bearings. "I look up to Coach Taylor. We all do. He's a good man. A damn good coach. And I think he handles this team better than any ever could."
"You seem to have a strong relationship with the Coach."
"As strong as any student can have with a teacher."
"i understand your parents died in a fatal car accident when you were 10."
She stared at him a moment, making sure her emotions were in place. "Yes," her voice was tight.
"Would you consider your relationship with Coach Taylor almost father like?"
Jordan took a deep breath. "I've learned some very valuable lessons from Coach Taylor. Ones I don't think I could learn from anyone else. He has given me guidance and advise that I could never ignore. And part of that has shaped me to the writer and person I hope to be." She paused. "This is more than just a game. We've all learned things here that will help us beyond handling a football or scoring a touchdown. Honor. Tradition. Family. Struggle. Now, whether those are things you learn from a father or not, I'll leave that up to you."
"Well said, Jordan." He gave an impressed nod. "I hear you are preparing an article that the Austin Times are considering to publish." She grinned. "Mind telling us the subject?"
Her grin turned impish. "It wouldn't be a surprise than, would it?"
He laughed again. "I guess not." Jordan took his offered hand in hers. "Thank you for you time, Jordan."
"No problem, Mr Haskins," she smiled. "It's been a pleasure."
School was just like every other day. Despite the fact that she almost fell asleep in Pre-Calculus, Jordan was anxious. Who wasn't the Monday before the first game of the season? That's the only thing there was to talk about. Welcome to small town Texas, where there was nothing more important than football.
Jordan was chewing on her pen cap when a peck on her shoulder interrupted her from lecture on The Scarlet Letter. She flinched and dropped the pen on her desk as she heard a chuckle from beside her in response. She glanced at her closest friend in this life, who never seemed to stay out of trouble. "What?" she mouthed to Tim.
"Nothing," he mouthed back.
Jordan turned back to the front of the classroom, only to be hit in the cheek a second later. She looked down at tiny wad of paper by her hands, then narrowed her eyes at him again. "What are you doing?" He shrugged at her with his trademark grin. "Stop," she commanded silently. She tried desperately to pay attention to Mr. Simms, but was prepared to defend herself this time. She waited for the attack. And then, when she saw his hand rear back for the toss, with a quick snap of the wrist, she flicked her pen at him, hoping Mr. Simms remained oblivious.
The entire class turned as his yelp. Tim held both hands over one eye, as Jordan did the same to her mouth, her shoulders shuddering violently. "Shit, Jordan," Tim groaned.
"Language, Mr Riggins!" Mr Simms ordered. "What happened?"
Jordan took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Sorry, Sir. Pen got away from me," the last word coming out in a giggle. The class echoed in her laugh.
The teacher sighed. "Go get that looked at, son. We can't have a game without our fullback."
Tim nodded, gathering his stuff. "I'll go with him, Sir. So he doesn't walk into anything else." Another laugh filled the room in reply.
"I need you back next period, Ms. Ross."
"Yes, sir," Jordan said as she guided Tim out of the room. As soon as the door shut behind them, Tim pushed her away bringing his hand away from his eye. She allowed the laughter to burst out of her mouth.
"Damn, Jordan. You're lucky I'm not bleeding. Coach would have your head." He checked his finger for blood.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll just tell him you started it."
Tim scoffed. "So elementary of you."
Jordan snorted, punching his shoulder playfully. "Like you never act like a little boy on the playground before."
"Hey, careful," he sheltered his arm. "I don't think the town would like you very much if you kept me from the game Friday night."
"Don't be such a baby," she teased, stepping in front of him, stopping him from going any further. "Let me see." Jordan took his face in her hands, inspecting his left eye. "It's just a little red. You'll be fine." Her heart stopped. She had never had his face this close to hers. He pushed her away, not recognizing her hesitation.
"Well thank you, Dr. Ross."
Jordan went to slap him in the chest this time, but he dodged it. "Oh, he finally learns," she gloated.
"You know what happens when you pick fun at me," he warned her lightly.
Jordan froze. "Don't even think about it."
"Thinking about it."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Daring." He took one step towards her.
"Wait!" She stopped him. "Camera." She set down her bag lightly, and smiled at him. "Now." She ran down the hall, but only got a few steps before he caught up with her, grabbing her firmly around the waist. "No!" she yelped. "Don't!"
"You started it!" he laughed, picking her feet up from the ground, spinning both of them in a circle. Her flailing feet kicked his own legs and he lost his footing, sending them both tumbling to the ground in laughter.
"Riggins!" Silence enveloped the hall as they both looked up to see Coach Taylor standing over them. "What are you two doing out of class?"
Tim loosened his grip as Jordan stood abruptly, straightening her clothes. "His eye, Sir," she pointed at Tim, who was standing up slowly. "My pen collided with his eye. We are on our way to the nurse."
Eric nodded sarcastically. "Is that what you're doing?"
"Yes, Coach."
Eric sighed. He could hardly discipline the two. They kept each other sane. "Let's see that eye, son." Tim allowed him to glance at it. "Go on to the nurse. And I expect to you to be at practice on time."
"Yes, Sir," they both voiced, heading back down the hall.
He chuckled to himself as he watched them throw slaps at each other, both dodging each attack.
Jordan smiled as she entered the locker room. Her finger hit the review button steadily, as she glanced through the pictures to captured throughout the day. "Hey, Jordan!" a voice yelled in front of her. She flinched in surprise.
"Any good ones of the Smash?" Bryan asked with a grin.
She rolled her eyes. "Isn't there always good ones of everyone? When is the Smash gonna start trusting Mrs. Sporting News?"
"When she gets him on the nightly news." He passed her in the tunnel.
"Don't worry, she'll be covering the best of the NFL soon enough. The Smash just has to get himself there," she laughed.
"Don't you worry, baby. He will." He left her in the tunnel, as he disappeared out the door.
"I don't know how you can stand that guy?" Tim asked, walking up to her, his hair wet from a recent shower.
"It's called tolerance, Riggins. Maybe you should give it a try," she slapped his shoulder, quickly taking a few steps back before he could react.
"And maybe you should try a little attitude on for size. It might even make you sexy," he taunted.
She stashed the camera safely in messenger bag hanging off her shoulder, then eyed him playfully. "Did I just hear Tim Riggins call me sexy?" Jordan placed her hands on her hips.
"No, you heard Tim Riggins say she could be sexy," he corrected.
She waved him off and headed deeper into the locker room. "I'll be at the truck in a minute. Just need to talk to Coach."
"Don't get me in trouble again."
"You get yourself into trouble." She heard the door shut behind him.
Jordan poked her head into his office, double checking that he was alone, then knocked a few times on the open door. Eric glanced away from his computer to wave her in. "Jordan, what can I help you with?"
She took a few cautious steps forward. "Just wanted to apologize for earlier today, Coach."
He completely turned away from his computer. "For what?"
"Me and Tim. It wasn't his fault, Sir. I was the one that hit him."
Shaking his head, Eric stood. "No worries. You're still kids, right?" Giving him a hesitant smile, she looked away. His radar zoned in instantly. Jordan Ross never had difficulty expressing herself, unless there was a problem. "What's up, Jordan?"
"Something from the interview, Sir," she began reluctantly. "There's nothing wrong or anything. He just said something that..."
"What?" he pressed lightly.
Jordan smiled inwardly, thanking the Lord for this man and his kindness. You could never find a way to lie to him. "He mentioned that you considered me a part of the team."
Eric stared at her for a long moment, surprised that this, of all things, was what confused her. He stood, sitting on the edge of his desk, facing her. "After everything you have done for this team, and still do, what makes you think I wouldn't believe that?"
Her feet shuffled, uncomfortable. "Nothing, I just..." She was unsure of how to continue.
Eric crossed his arms. "You are an exceptional leader, Jordan. I see how the guys look to you. And they see you as more than just their claim to fame. You love this game as much as any of us do, and understand it just as well. You give them something that none of the coaches can." He paused. "A friend, and a damn good one. You guide and support them in ways that we can't."
Jordan couldn't help it as a few tears fell down her cheeks. "You give them the motivation they can't get themselves." His voice soft, yet still held a strong purpose. "You're the heart, Jordan. And this team wouldn't be the same without you."
She stood in place, unable to gather the words this moment meant to her. This team had become her family when she lost hers. Jason and Tim were always the brothers she never had. She was just as important to them, and that's what made her heart light. The reason for her tears. "I can't tell you how much that means to me, Coach," her voice wavered.
"Yes, you can. You are." Eric stepped up to her, setting a hand on her shoulder. "You are a Dillon Panther. Never forget that."
"Yes, Sir."
"Now get out of here," he ordered, sitting back down behind the desk.
"Thank you, Sir." She left, before he could say something else that brought more tears. She wiped her face hastily, before exiting the double doors into the parking lot.
Tim started the truck at her appearance. She hopped in quickly, keeping face turned away from him. "Anything wrong?" A little concern in his voice.
"Nope. Everything's great. I'm starving."
He laughed. "You read my mind."