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Spoiler Warning: Contains a mild spoiler for Kyell Gold's "Out Of Position" series. Don't read any further if you don't want plot points of books 1 and 4 revealed before you read them (which you should have done already if you like furry football literature, and should go do now if you haven't!)

Disclaimer: The UFL, Dev Miski, the Chevali Firebirds, the Yerba Whalers and the cities of Yerba and Pelagia are the intellectual property of Kyell Gold. This short fiction is entirely non-canon to his works, but has drawn much inspiration from them.

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Delay of Game

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"C'mooooooon.... It'll get you out of the apartment for a bit, heck knows you could use a bit of sunlight, and you've had your nose buried in those books all week. Take a break man, before you burn your brain out." Sean punched me playfully on the arm, the burly cougar trying to get me out of the apartment to go throw a football with him, out in the fresh air over at the park near our complex. He'd made the college team earlier this year, weak-side linebacker on defense, the larger feline often out at the gym training or out with the team. It gave me quiet evenings at least for study, but meant he could be a tad insufferable sometimes about my lack of sports involvement. I'd done track stuff back in school, had been on the running team until....

"Fine, if only to shut you up for fifteen minutes..." I sighed exasperatedly. Leaning back in the chair, my back popped from being sat hunched over coursework for too long, making me grimace and Sean wince at the noise. I was due a break, plus I knew he wouldn't give up anytime soon. The mountain lion grinned, tossing his practice ball from hand to hand.

"Thirty, and I won't pester you for the rest of the day." Rolling my eyes comically at Sean as I shook my head in mock despair, I pushed my chair back from the desk and stood, grabbing a hoodie to throw on. Summer up near Pelagia wasn't as warm as back home, but it was temperate enough that the cougar with his extra bulk felt content with shorts and a Manticores t-shirt. God knows why he supported them, they were one of the worst teams in the UFL. I'd never really followed football that closely, it'd always been the sport of the jocks at school... the "manly, straight" kids, usually bullies to any of us not-straight ones.... until the news broke about that Firebirds guy a couple of years ago, the gay one, and that caught my attention. Dad had tried to get me to watch games for years before that, but I'd never been enthusiastic for athletic stuff after the crash. We'd throw a ball out in the backyard for fun... what a backyard Dad's place had, it was huuuuge... I just couldn't handle being on another team in school though, so it was something I watched instead.

College, to me, was for studies and academics, whereas for Sean it was a step on the ladder towards his UFL dream. He was good, but I didn't know how good. We'd watch games together, and when that second guy came out at the championship, I really started taking notice of the sport. Maybe, just maybe there was room in athletics for guys like me, who didn't exactly fit society's accepted norms. Either way, I quickly learned how the game worked enough to be able to follow it more closely with Sean before we ended up at the same college by chance more than anything. I even surprised Dad with how much more interested I seemed about football in the last year of school and when I was home from the first year of college over the holidays.

We headed out to the park over the road - Sean's windows looked out over it, mine faced the opposite direction, looking over towards the downtown area, huge buildings clustered around the port and waterways. It was nice being this far out; sure it meant that the commute into the city and to college took a little longer, but it was much quieter, much greener out this way. The sun was pleasant through the smattering of cloud cover, and warm concrete gave way to cool, soft grass beneath our paws as we wandered across the park towards one of the more open areas. I liked this park, as it had some nice winding paths through tree-sided avenues and varying gradients for me to run on. Despite not being on a running squad, I still liked keeping myself fit.

"HEADS UP!" came Sean's voice, snapping me out of my thoughts as we walked across the well-tended lawn, my head turning towards the sound just in time to see the ball sailing my way.

"Sean, you tit!" I cursed as I brought my hands up in time to catch it, the upside to a cheetah's reflexes. Sure, you'd tire me after more than a couple of minutes straight sprinting, but in bursts there weren't many species that could match our acceleration or movements. I snapped the ball back past him, forcing him to run further away. He chased it, laughing at my outburst, but still managed to get a hand to it, snatching it out of the air.

"Gotta do better than that to make me miss an interception, Spots!" he called, before launching the ball back to me. He'd tried out for Quarterback in school, but hadn't enjoyed the lack of tackling so had moved to a more defensive position, racking up an impressive number of sacks in his first season playing. That's why we were both at Pelagia Tech, me on my academic merits alone, and he'd managed to score a scholarship.

My mental faculties, however, weren't going to help me catch the pass other than a quick physics calculation on the fly as to where the ball would likely land, so I took off at a jog that turned into a run, stretching my hand out to catch the ball. Catching it easily, I threw it back, taunting him. "No wonder you never made Quarterback with a throw like that!".

Sean caught the ball with no problems, though I could swear I saw his tailtip flick irritably. "I never wanted to be a QB, I don't get to knock people over doing that. Besides...." he took a moment to launch the ball back, but harder this time, aiming past me rather than at me, "...at least I'm doing something with my skills. You could've been a track star by now!"

I froze momentarily, my ears going back as my friend's words stung. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I ran after the ball, the pigskin starting to turn in its arc as it went past where I was trying to catch up to it. Sean knew why I didn't do track teams anymore, why I couldn't.... Could I? I mean, I jogged and ran every day, the leg healed years ago, but something... someone was holding me back. Me? Her? Reaching for the ball at a steady run, not my fastest, it clipped my fingertips and tumbled over into the grass.

Sean laughed at my fumble. "Call yourself a turbocat," he mock-jeered as I launched the ball back, bringing him closer this time. "...You gotta run, Spots. Run." He launched another pass, not the short one that I'd hoped for, but one just as long as before. I sighed and shook my head, taking off at a run, opening up into a sprint as I saw that I'd be far too short this time if I wasn't quicker. This time I got my hand to it, my blunted semi-retracted claws helping me hold onto it.

"HAH!" I exclaimed, tail lashing as I threw it back long, well, what passed as long for me. "Who's slow now?"

He dived for the ball, snagging it out of the air with ease, to my frustration, rolling and coming back to his feet before firing it back, short this time. "By my count, it's you," the tawny-furred cat shouted as I was forced to run back further from him to catch it, my feet digging into the ground as I set off at a sprint, determined not to let him get one over on me. The ball spiralled as it flew, arcing down towards a spot that I wouldn't get to at my current pace. I had to be quicker, had to push harder. I ran to stay in shape, but I'd not opened up properly for years, so I felt muscles protesting as the memory of how to move faster was pushed upon them. I stretched my arm out as I turned, still running....and missed. The ball bounced end over end as it hit the ground a couple of feet out of reach and I tripped over my own footpaws, following suit. I landed hard enough to wind myself, but not badly enough to injure anything.

Frustrated, I pounded my fist back into the ground as Sean ran over to see if I was okay. "Daaaaaamn, Spots, you *almost* had it...never seen you move that quick before..." The cougar appeared surprised as I looked up at him from where I lay on the grass, panting as I caught my breath. He held out a hand to help me up, which I batted away, pushing myself up to my feet and stretching out muscles that were decidedly unhappy at me. Sean harrumphed, jogging over to where the ball had rolled to a stop as I continued to stretch out, something I probably should have done beforehand had I known he was going to get me running around like this. "Seriously, Spots, you were quick there. A bit more 'n' you'd..."

"Shut up and throw the damn ball again...." I cut him off, annoyed at missing another pass. It shouldn't have bothered me, but for some reason it did. I used to be quick, I could have gotten well ahead of a pass like that, but now... Sean tilted his head quizzically although it seemed like he knew just what he was doing, sensing my annoyance as I brushed the grass off my shorts and knees. He opened his mouth to say something but a sharp look from me kept him quiet. "Throw. The damn. Ball." He backed up several yards with me doing the same, cocking his arm back for the throw.

---

Mom had been driving me back from a late practice session with the running team when some drunk idiot ran a red with cops chasing him, must've been doing well upwards of 70 when he used us as an emergency stop. Y'know when people say time slows down in an accident and you can see every little detail? I wish they were wrong. I can't help but see every microsecond in my head clear as day when I think back to it. Looking over to talk to Mom about how I'd thrashed Jez - he was the other cheetah in the team - to the finish line and seeing the headlights right outside her window just before the impact... We must've barreled three...maybe four times down the road before we came to a crunching, grinding halt on the roof of the car; broken glass, things from Mom's bag, and the glovebox flying past as though in slow motion or zero gravity. Felt like it took a lifetime for us to stop turning over, but the police dash footage I saw weeks later showed it was seconds. Seconds. That's how long it took for me to go from being the fastest on the team to off it.... And from having two parents to one.

Hanging upside down, I didn't feel the pain in my leg at first. One of the pursuing cops managed to bust my door open; it was so bent in from where we'd been pushed up against and over a reservation barrier that he nearly had to rip it off its hinges. Huge brute of an Ox... his arms were so strong yet so careful as he got me out from my seatbelt and pulled me free, dazed and calling for my mom. I struggled against him, trying to get back to the car, to see why Mom wasn't answering or moving, but he held me back. "Kid, it ain't safe, let my colleagues help yer mom.....christ, your leg!"

It was those words that made me look down at myself, sensations coming back as I saw what'd made him say that. My thigh was fine, but my lower leg looked wrong, so wrong, it shouldn't be bent at such an angle between my knee and ankle. It was at that point that both shock and adrenaline kicked in along with the pain from the break, making me dizzy and nauseous. "I gotcha, kiddo..." was all I remember him saying as I collapsed and went faint, his strong grip holding me as he used his shoulder mic to radio for an ambulance.

I don't remember a whole bunch more at the scene. Someone came up to me with a facemask, giving me some sort of gas which helped calm me down and not care about the pain. It was still there, but it wasn't a problem. Someone was crying out in pain, was it Mom? There were blankets, and then I was on a trolley, then in an ambulance. I remember beeps, lights in my eyes, someone asking me my name. I could still hear the person hurt, was it the jackass who hit us? A sharp pain near my wrist for a second, and then they stopped crying out. It was me, I realised as I sank into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, Dad was by my bedside holding my hand. He looked tired and his eyes were red and puffy, like he'd been crying. Us cheetahs get mocked for our "tearmarks" sometimes, but there were real ones tracked through his fur. His shirt was crumpled as though he'd been sleeping in it, though it was the one I'd seen him wearing that morning. Had it been that morning? Bright sunlight streamed through the window, making my eyes wince closed as I looked over. It had been getting close to dusk when we were driving home, how was it light now? "....Dad?" I tried to say, but the word came out croaky and hoarse, my throat was so dry. He squeezed my hand gently, tried to smile but it didn't reach his eyes. Why was he so sad? I thought he'd be happy to see I was awake. I tried to sit up, but a dull ache made me stop moving. He saw the pain on my face as I moved, putting a hand on my chest to keep me laid on the hospital bed. "No, just lie there for now...." he said. His voice cracked. I slowly became aware of more details - I was in a private room of a hospital judging by the medical equipment and fittings around the room, plus the sounds of monitoring equipment coupled with the scent of disinfectant. A surgical gown separated dad's touch from my chest and the bedsheets were raised over my right leg, as though a frame were beneath it. "....It was broken, you needed surgery. There's pins and..." Dad tried to say, but his voice trailed off as he swallowed.

"Dad..... where's Mom?" I asked. It was the first time I ever saw him cry so hard.

---

"Go long!" I shouted at Sean as I took off at a run, glancing over my shoulder as he launched the pass with a grunt of effort, his strong arms sending it arcing upwards and along further than before. This time, I thought to myself as I changed direction to put me heading towards where it would land, this time I'll have it. I dug deep, leaning further forwards into the sprint, claws scrabbling for traction in the soft ground as I ran, ran hard, ran fast. I ran so that I would be where I needed to be, not just for the catch, but for me. Time seemed to slow as the ball spiralled downwards towards the floor, my hands reaching out for it as I closed the distance to it and caught it this time, snatching it out of the air before it could hit the ground. I slowed to a jog and turned to see Sean further away than I expected, his jaw agape before he let out a whoop of joy.

"DUUUUUUUUUUDE! I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!" he yelled from across the park, a couple of folk out for a walk turning their heads at the yell, scowling at the cougar as he whooped and hollered, jogging across to me. "Mate, where've you been hiding that speed all this time? Seriously, we could use someone like that."

I chucked the ball back as he got close, shaking my head. "I'm not that fast....used t'be, maybe, but since...."

He punched my arm again as he stopped next to me, stalling my words. "Yeah yeah, since the accident, I know. I remember." He looked at me with a mix of sorrow and frustration "I'm serious, Kyy... You can't keep using that as an excuse..." He held up a finger to silence the outburst that he knew would follow. "...I get it, you miss your mom, who wouldn't? But you can't keep using it as a crutch to lean on. Sometimes..." he put a hand out, gesturing towards my leg, only very faint marks in the fur showing where the pins had been in after the accident, "....sometimes you just gotta throw the cast off, put the crutch down, and learn to run again."

I wanted to protest, really shout him down for using that against me....but I'd be such a hypocrite if I did, using it myself to hide from my feelings and the past. Maybe he was right...no, I *knew* he was right. I sucked in a deep breath, closing my eyes and holding it a second or two, before exhaling slowly. Opening them again with a clear head, everything seemed brighter in the sunlight, despite a little cloud cover. "She'd want that, wouldn't she?" I said, more of a statement than a question, Sean knowing who I meant. He just grinned and nodded, chucking me the ball and jogging backwards. "Your throw, Spots. Make it a good one, then you run. For her."

I threw. I ran. We passed and ran for an hour, two maybe, before heading back indoors, exhausted and panting. Sean hit the shower first after getting a promise from me that I'd come along to the next team tryouts, which I said yes to just to get him to go wash up. I almost said no, voicing my worries about how the rest of the team would react to having a gay kid try out for them, but he pointed to the Firebirds poster that hung on the wall in our living area. "Y'see that?" he said, gesturing at the large glossy print of Devlin Miski that Dad had got for me last year "...There's at least four or five other guys on the team have that exact same poster. They don't care who he sleeps with, just that he's a great Linebacker. The team'd be the same with you, trust me."

"Fine, fine, I'll give it a try, now go wash up, you reek!" I gave Sean a shove towards the bathroom, ducking the damp t-shirt that he peeled off and threw at me. Wandering into the kitchen, I grabbed a glass of iced water - thank god for refrigerators with ice machines - and threw my sweat-soaked hoodie in the laundry basket. My cellphone was flashing with a notification light on my desk, a missed call from Dad. I necked half the glass, winced as brainfreeze got me briefly, then hit the button on the screen to call him back. He answered after a couple of rings, as he usually did. "Hey son, how's things? Just wanted to check in on you."

I sat back on the edge of the bed, curling my toes in the soft rug beneath as I smiled even though he couldn't see it. "Things're good, Dad. I ran today." I heard Dad catch his breath, but he didn't say anything until I spoke again. "I really ran."

---

Sean slapped me on the back with a "You got this, Spots. Do it for her, do it for you!" as I headed out to the field markers when my name was called. Shaking my arms and legs out to loosen them up, I stopped at the line for the 40 yard dash, settling down into a 3-point sprint start position. My body felt like it was vibrating with nervous energy as I awaited the starting pistol. Sean and I had continued spending evenings together throwing passes and running practice plays before he managed to get me to come along to a training session with the team. I just watched to begin with, but after some persuasion from Sean... okay, much persuasion... the team Coach gave in and let me join in for a few exercises. Things went well from there, I was invited back to join in with non-game training, and even got pulled aside by the Offensive Coach who wanted to know who I'd played for in the past. He didn't believe me when I said I'd literally been throwing balls with my roommate for weeks, and put me through some of the drills his receivers did.

That led to today, Sean watching from the sidelines with the rest of the team while I went through all the tests and trials that they'd done in the past to join the team. Coach Petersen, the head coach of the team, had been impressed with the progress reports from Coach Sanders (the Offensive team coach I'd been training under) and decided to give me a separate tryout halfway through the season, rather than wait until next year. I'd already done gym weights, shuttle runs, cone drills, jumps, pass plays, and now my final task was the 40 yard dash. This one would tell them if I was good enough, this one would tell me that I was good enough, that I'd left the crutches behind and learned to run again. My legs braced ready to launch, ears back and heart thumping in my chest. It felt like forever, when was that damn pistol going....

Crack! Don't think, just go, push off, launch into top gear instantly, go go go go RUN. My paws tore divots out of the field as I sprang off the line, head down, arms pumping in pace with my legs, the practices with Sean having them in better condition than they'd been in years. 10 yards down I pass the 30, it feels like time's slowed again as it did for the crash, and for that catch in the park. 20 yards, I can see the timer at the end of the field, but I ignore it and focus on the moment. 30 yards, and I'm sure I'm moving faster than I've ever pushed before. I'm gonna show the team I can do this. I'm gonna show Sean his faith in me is good. I'm gonna show *me* I can do this. I'm gonna show Mom...

1. I cross the line and the clock stops. I hear cheers and whoops as I slow down, using the end zone and then some to decelerate to a jog, turning, not wanting to look at the time yet. Not yet. I suck air in hard through my nose and exhale out my muzzle, hands behind my head to open my lungs up wide. The team are all yelling at me, pointing at the clock behind me, Coach seems to be checking the timing computer. I turn to look at the clock, and sit down heavily as my knees go out.

4.00 dead. Must be a timing error, there's no way that could be right. Could it? "Reymont! Get yer butt off the floor and get over here," Coach shouts. I stand up, but as I do so I'm mobbed by Sean and several of the guys that have adopted me as their unofficial stand-in receiver.

"Maaaaan, how'd you move that fast?" "Dude, what are you taking?" "That's sick, do it again!" So many voices, pats on the back and arm thumps, I'm gonna have a dead one by the time I reach Coach. Laughing and covering my arm where someone else tries a congratulatory thump, I slip out of the throng, making it across to Coach Petersen unmolested. He looks me up and down, turning his datapad to show me the timings. It's not an error. There's the mark of the pistol, the mark where I left the line, then where I hit the 40. "I dunno how you did that, kid," the gruff voice of the broad-shouldered Tiger rumbles "...but you're gonna do it every time a pass comes your way then take it to the end zone. We're gonna outrun every team this year with you on board."

It takes a few seconds for everything to sink in, my brain slow for once as I realise what he's saying. "Wait....me on....I....I'm on the team?" I stammer, Petersen grinning as he nods.

"Damn right y'are, I'd be a fool to let you end up on someone else's offense, we've been short a good Wide Receiver since Thompson busted his ankle!" He leans in closer, lowering his voice so that it doesn't carry to the others. "...And if you get any stick about being a "receiver"..." one eyebrow raises knowingly, "...you tell me. We don't discriminate on this team. You prove who you are out on the field, that's who you are to them." He calls out louder to the rest of the team, "What say you give it up for your new teammate?" The words have barely left his greying muzzle before I'm lifted into the air triumphantly by the guys, cheering and congratulating me.

As I'm put back down, Sean comes up to give me a bearhug like only the strong cougar can. "You do it for her?" he asks as he sets me back down before he bruises a rib; it wouldn't be a good idea to injure the newest player on the team so soon.

"No..." I say, glancing upwards at the sunny afternoon sky "...I did it for me."

---

"Duuuuude, your head's in your books too long again, time to go play...." Sean's cheerful jibe reaches my ears where I'm sitting at my computer desk. My books are open to one side, but it's my email client that I've got open, the cursor blinking away there for several minutes now. Sean's only teasing - we go out and train together regularly now that we're both on the team (although on opposite sides, him being on Defense and me on Offense), but it's nice to have a break from studies to go throw a ball in the park on a good day.

"I'll be right out, I'm just writing an email!" I say, looking around at the cougar leaning around the doorframe. He's bulked up even more these last few months to the point that the O-line don't like playing against him now, he just flattens them. Sean nods and pats the wooden frame "Don't be too long, else I'll have Sanders line you up against me just once next practice," he teases, padding off down the hallway towards the front door. "Yeah yeah..." I reply, but my mind is more on how to start this email. It's a miracle I've got the contact, Dad had to pull some strings with the Whalers down in Yerba to get it. Thankfully he's not above using his sponsors' weight to cash in a few favours here and there, and apparently there's someone there with links to my intended recipient.

I close my eyes, mentally composing how I'm going to start this. Don't want to sound too formal, but likewise I don't want to seem familiar, that'd be wrong. I start to type what I think works best, the words soon falling onto the page how I want them.

"Dear Mr. Miski...."